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By the time Kate removed all the vitriol from her first draft nothing remained about Allen. She clasped her hands and cracked her knuckles—a habit her mother could never get her to break. When she started the new draft, she envisioned the least charge or accusation which could be brought against the councilman. Two immediately came to mind, so she led with those points and provided background for the offences. She sailed to the end paragraph, which provided some biographical information about the Fortune Enterprises executive. Usually, she would work an article more before sending to Helen, but she wanted to make sure she was on the right track. An hour after the upload, Helen knocked on Kate’s cubicle wall.
“This needs a bit of tweaking,” the editor said, pulling a chair close to the reporter’s desk.
Kate said, “Is it worthless or worth fixing?”
“Given that we have no idea what, if anything, will be brought against Allen, your article is a good template. My suggestion would be to put stronger information about each charge. You would want to confirm with the police or prosecutor what can be released. For example, I know you have more about the relationship with Wainright and what happened with the survey.”
“I’m probably doing this too early.”
“Keep in mind, the police may have a lot more than you do. It would be better to let their investigation come to a conclusion and let the prosecutor decide what the charges are.”
“I know you’re right, and I appreciate your reading my cathartic piece. You should have seen the first draft.”
Helen snickered. “I hesitate to imagine.”
“Honestly, my greatest fear is that nothing will come of it. That he’ll get away with what may turn out to be making a huge profit for himself and bolstering Branson’s tourist industry.”
“Don’t forget, you can probably have him charged with assault. It might be a stretch, he might get away with it, but nevertheless he threatened you.”
“He was so desperate when he came to our house. It was so out of character, at least his public persona. More than that, it was careless.”
“And it was all about the agreement between his grandfather and Etta Stupholds?”
“And Lex Porter. The three were best of friends.”
“Right,” Helen acknowledged in a whisper.
“Best of friends,” Kate repeated, remembering her conversation with Etta about the three childhood companions.
“Kate, I need you to focus on the article about the local fires. Do a follow-up based on the new information you’ve gathered. Check with Chief Scherington to verify before we print it. Let’s run it past your detective friend too, as a courtesy.”
Helen’s reference to Tom created a warm bubble in Kate’s tummy which quickly spread to her arms. She smiled as the editor walked away. But before Helen made it down the hall to her office, the reporter returned to the nagging question she had about Etta.
***
KATE KNOCKED ON THE screen door still mulling over the best approach to a follow-up interview. Although surprised, Etta nodded, turned, and ushered the reporter into the living room.
“So, tell me what has confused you,” the older woman said once they were settled.
“The partnership agreement,” Kate said. “First, let me confess I gave you a copy. Call it my reporter’s instinct or paranoia, perhaps.”
“I realized later it was a copy.”
“You didn’t contact me to request the original or to ask what I intended to do with it. But you must have mentioned it to Jack, because his grandson came to my house to retrieve it.”
“I didn’t know,” she whispered. She sat forward in her chair, her expression somewhere between embarrassed and concerned.
Kate said, “He took me by surprise and was quite rude, even threatening.”
“I understand why you’d be upset and maybe even confused, but, as you pointed out when you returned the documents, they belong to me. They are my keepsakes. I don’t believe I have to explain my motives or my actions regarding them to you.”
Taken aback by Etta’s sudden frankness and, even more so, by the controlled low tone of her voice, Kate hesitated before responding, then chose the direct approach.
“I would agree with you except for one thing. The partnership agreement is potential evidence in a criminal investigation.”
“That’s pretty far-fetched even for you.”
“As a matter of fact, it brings up another point of my confusion. It seems to me you would have to know details about Lex leaving the company, since you were not only longtime friends, but partners.”
“I told you he wanted to start his own store.”
“Why go it alone? Why not open another location for Riverside? And you had to know when he returned to Branson.”
“You’ll have to leave, Kate. I don’t intend to defend myself against your fantasies.”
Before Kate could react or respond, the front screen slammed and Bryan Porter stormed into the room, his face flushed, his tearing eyes focused on Etta.
Kate came off the sofa and stepped back toward the window, not sure what the clearly troubled man might do.
“I’d like to hear your answers to Kate’s questions. And don’t forget I witnessed Jack kicking my dad out of Riverside. And, I might add, you did nothing to help him.”
Etta said, “You don’t know what you’re saying. You were a boy. You’re remembering your mother’s version of events.”
“I may have bought that once, Aunt Etta, but I’m beginning to question what you’ve told me. So I want the truth. You owe me the truth. Like you owed me the partnership agreement, the one you said didn’t exist, but you had all along.”
“I’d forgotten about it.”
“You’re lying,” Bryan said, wiping his damp cheeks.
“Your father lied to you, then abandoned you and your mother. You’re trying to push his guilt off on me.” Etta walked toward Bryan slowly, stopping about two feet from him. “I don’t blame you, Bryan. I understand how much your father meant to you.”
He hung his head. Etta took a step toward him and the sobbing man responded to her offered hug. Kate couldn’t hear their exchange as they prolonged the cathartic embrace.
Etta took a step back, gently releasing her hold. She steadied herself against the chair, then sat down.
Kate said, “Can I get you some water, Etta?”
“I’ll be okay, but I probably should lie down.”
Bryan slowly guided Etta to her bedroom.
Mesmerized by the strange encounter, Kate sunk to the sofa. She understood the impact of losing a parent, but the additional complications of Lex Porter’s betrayal and disappearance had devastated his son’s life.
Bryan returned to the room and said, “Can we talk for a moment?”
The reporter came to her feet but wasn’t sure how to respond.
“Don’t worry, I’m okay,” he said, his demeanor more relaxed. “All I want is to hear about the partnership agreement you found. It’s between Jack, Etta, and my dad. Right?”
“The document is informal and handwritten, but my father’s lawyer says, if authenticated, the contract is legal.”
“And she had it in one of her boxes?”
Kate asked, “Is that what you were searching for?”
“I told you before, I had nothing to do with that break-in. But from what I heard about the aftermath, I can’t believe whoever did it wasn’t able to find the agreement.”
“She had given me the box on loan for one of my crafts fair articles.”
“Seems like a strange coincidence.”
“I suppose,” Kate said.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared at the floor.
“Bryan, what did you mean Etta didn’t help your father when Jack kicked him out?”
“I was on my way to my after-school job at the store. I heard the loud voices, a terrible argument. I knew better than to go inside. I ducked behind a big barrel on the porch.”
He bowed his head and closed his eyes, forcing a tear down his cheek. After a moment, he wiped his face and shook his head as if to chase out the memories. “Sorry,” he said.
“Could you make out details of the argument?”
“My dad was defending himself, saying he had no idea what Jack was talking about. Jack called Dad a liar. The louder Uncle Jack got the quieter Dad became. Ultimately, Jack shouted for Dad to get out and never come back. I didn’t know what to do so I watched my dad walk off the porch and away from the store.”
“And Etta was there?”
“No. I ran to the back entrance. I knew she’d be in her office. I begged her to do something. To smooth things over between them. She said it was my dad’s fault and he would have to live with the consequences. She wouldn’t tell me more.”
“What did you do?”
“What would any eight-year-old do? I ran as fast and as far away from that office as I could. I never returned.”
“Did you tell your dad you heard the argument?”
“Nope. Not my mom either. But she knew about it.”
Kate said, “Your anger makes more sense now.”
“My therapist would disagree with you,” he said, managing a half-smile. “Can I ask you something?” When she nodded, he said, “Why are you so sure my dad came back to Branson?”
Reluctant to tell him the truth, Kate said, “What makes you think I’m sure?”
“You told Etta she should have known when ... not if ... he came back to town.”
“Wouldn’t you and your mother have seen him if he had?”
“You’re trying not to answer my question,” he said.
“How could I know for sure?”
“For one thing, you’re a good investigative journalist. And I suspect dating a cop helps.”
“Tom and I don’t discuss work.”
“Never mind, I already know the skeleton is my dad.”