Mid-morning
Kaser silently imagined the shock on Ed Dillon’s face—or, for that matter, Dillon’s boss Durocher—if they knew how many new bodies could pile up when one does a thorough scrub of family skeletons. And Kaser was nothing if not thorough. It was exhilarating to have the freedom to design one’s own parameters in such a contract... with virtually unlimited compensation. In cash! And the bosses too terrified to ask any significant questions. Ha.
Information Kaser obtained the previous month from old man Barkley—and his Vernon kin—had opened a gold mine of other leads. Many of those new threads centered on the Slate family, which had become arch-enemies of the Vernons after that death in 1889. The question for Kaser was—how many Slate family descendants remembered, or ever knew anything about, the tragic event... and what type of records had been left by their ancestors?
In this regard, Barkley’s painstakingly preserved records were immensely helpful. Not only had Barkley’s family—including the Vernons, of course—worked tirelessly to counter those inflammatory rumors by the Slates, but they’d even attempted to track down people who’d been briefed, hoping to convince them otherwise. Of course, it was an impossible task. The old analogy was true: spreading gossip was like standing atop a tower and emptying a feather pillow’s contents into the wind. One can never track down all the feathers. But, to be frank, one didn’t need to find all of them, because such scattered rumors wouldn’t be any more traceable by Senator Fitch’s operatives than they were by Kaser.
But if a few of those feathers had a lot of color... maybe they’d show up in one search or the other. One such feather was a Vaudeville actress who’d later worked in silent movies. Kaser had found her name in Barkley’s obsessive, but convoluted, list of people he knew had heard the ugly rumors about his maternal grandfather, Matthew Vernon. Research on that actress’s name had finally turned up a few ancient clippings about the Harte Dramatic Company, including one from the week in 1907 that they’d played in Hickman, Kentucky. Only the fastidious research of a genius like Kaser could have discovered that Lynetta Taldsworthy in that traveling troupe had later become the silent movie actress Lynette Harte.
Of course, that actress was long gone. But she’d left descendents and it was possible some of them had heard the rumors about old man Vernon being a murderer. However, there was no way Kaser could have located that actress’s relatives without interviewing the remaining Slate family members. There weren’t a large number to begin with. Cut down in the prime of his life, Frederick didn’t have as many offspring as many men of that era. And there weren’t many left. Evidently, in their embittered quest for justice against the murderer of their ancestor, that family line had slowly petered out.
But one Slate relative had surfaced... and she, like Barkley on the opposite side of their lengthy feud, had kept the movement alive. It was through an interview with the Slate woman—who’d married a Bier—that Kaser first learned of correspondence with a granddaughter of the actress. Some might consider it serendipity, but Kaser knew it was good old fashioned relentless thoroughness. It was a shame the elderly Bier woman had to be dispatched to the hereafter, because she’d been lucid, pleasant, and chatty.
The small town coroner, as expected, categorized the death of Ethel Slate Bier as a slip and fall accident.
In his hotel room, Kaser scoured his massive collection of files. The finish line was in sight and he had to be certain no ends were left loose. The folder on Helana Harte Ross was not only a vital link, but its information would require another trip to California in the next couple of days.
After his September twenty-third phone conversation with the widowed Mrs. Ross—in which he’d pretended to be a biographer—Kaser realized there was a slim possibility that some of the old actress’s belongings could still exist... despite the granddaughter’s belief that all had been mistakenly discarded. If any material had survived, it might include a reference to the murder committed by Durocher’s great-great-grandfather. Kaser wondered if the aspiring politician knew any facts of that murder—rather than vague rumors—and if she actually feared it would negatively impact her campaign. Well, because of Kaser’s independent and exhaustive efforts, nobody would ever find out.
Kaser read over the notes from his follow-up phone call with Mrs. Ross on the following evening, September twenty-fourth. Helana Ross had nearly complete recall and eagerly explained everything for the person she believed was her grandmother’s prospective biographer. As he read the page, Kaser smiled faintly—he’d written it almost like a newspaper report.
During the year after Lynette Harte’s death in 1970, most of the old lady’s belongings had been moved to a sturdy brick storage building behind the main house. By then, newly divorced Helana had moved into the larger house and remained there nearly ten years. During that period, Lynette’s stored items were undisturbed. It had been the granddaughter’s eventual plan to donate most of the Vaudeville and movie memorabilia to a museum, if she could locate one which was interested.
In about 1981, Helana re-married, left the Harte homestead, and moved to Idaho with her new husband. She’d lost contact with Lynette’s material when her father, John Jr., moved into his mother’s vacant house. During his residency, John Jr. added lots of his own belongings to the brick storage building and even installed a nearby metal shed for the overflow.
In about 1995, Helana’s younger brother Johnnie relocated to New Mexico. Since both of these children had moved away from California, their father named his attorney as executor of his estate.
Near the end of 2005, the ailing John Jr. died at age ninety-four. Around that same time, two states away, Helana’s husband became ill. While dealing with the estate, the executor lawyer later swore, he was confused as to Helana’s and Johnnie’s interests, so multiple complications arose. Lynette’s and John Jr.’s furnishings and valuables were auctioned off, the main house got inside paint and new carpet, and the property was listed. A few months later, the Harte house sold and the attorney rushed to get it ready for the new owner. He hired a cleaning crew whose duties were limited and specific: clean the structures and haul away any trash. When they discovered several file boxes—filled with what they later described as old papers, letters, and pictures—they did as they’d been told and discarded them.
When Helana was notified about the closing on the Harte house, she asked about Lynette’s souvenir boxes. At first, the attorney denied any knowledge of that material. But later, after quizzing the cleaning crew, he learned when and where they’d been discarded—at the dumpster of a local grocery.
But by the time Helana got this information, numerous dumpster pick ups had already been made. Her grandmother’s cherished career souvenirs and many family belongings were long gone.
Kaser put down that page and flattened his sturdy hand on top of the attached sticky note in his own handwriting: “Maybe long gone... but maybe not. Like bad pennies, some things turn up again.”