Jill Nelson - Legacy of Lies

“Nothing I plan to take along. I’ve got copies of these and more in my file back at the office. I thought Nicole might find them of interest.”

Nicole accepted the sheaf of clippings. “What are they?”

“You can draw your own conclusions. We found them in a trunk in the attic.”

Unfortunately, there was nothing incriminating about an older resident of the area hanging on to news clippings about the kidnapping. It was the most sensational event to happen in the area since the railroad came through. Reading those ought to enlighten Nicole.

Terry and Derek clomped down the porch steps. Terry threw one of his lady-killer smiles toward Nicole. If she saw the look, she didn’t respond. Good for her.

“We’re heading for the shop now,” Rich said.

“Wait!” Nicole lunged from her seat. “I’ll go with you to unlock the door.”

“I was going to ask for a key, not use a crowbar.”

She sniffed and turned toward her grandmother. “Just hang tight until I get back. We’ll straighten the mess together.”

“Mess?” Jan blinked.

“Cleaning up after themselves is not in search protocol.”

The woman responded with a faint “oh,” and Nicole headed for her car.

Rich followed her down the steps and caught up with his deputies.

“Feisty, ain’t she,” Terry said out of the corner of his mouth. “That’s the best kind.”

“Don’t push my buttons today, Bender.”

“Okay, Chief. But I was just sayin’…” With an elaborate shrug, he got into his car.

Rich followed Nicole’s little Ford into the alley behind the shop that was located on the corner of Ellington’s brief main street. He stopped his vehicle beside hers. Without a word, she unlocked the back door and stepped aside while he and his deputies went in. She’d admitted him into a combination storeroom and workroom. A sewing machine, a dressmaker’s dummy, and a table laden with bolts of fabric, scissors, measuring tape and other utensils sat on one side of the area. The other end of the long room was occupied by stacks of boxes.

Nicole poked her head inside. “I guarantee you won’t find anything. I’ve been cleaning and sorting and throwing since I got here—practically over my grandmother’s dead body.” She stopped on a little gasp. “Poor choice of words.” She paused. “Anyway, the boxes contain old financial records. I doubt my grandmother ever threw away a slip of paper. If those trip your trigger, go for it.” She closed the door just shy of a slam.

Chest tightening, Rich turned toward the stacked banker’s boxes. If the ransom from the kidnapping was laundered through the shop, he could be staring at the evidence.

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