Roz Fox - A Secret To Tell You

April remembered the page tucked among the letters addressed to Oriole from Kestrel. April guessed Tony Santini might be Kestrel. So, if Norma’s story wasn’t a figment of her imagination, the scrambled letters on the pages she’d seen could be secret, encrypted messages.

April injected her first comment in a while. “When I was in college, I read a biography of the Countess Romanones, who supposedly worked as a clerk in a U.S. company with offices abroad. Part of her job was actually to decode intercepted enemy messages.”

Norma’s head shot up. “I did that for a few months. I was used to helping my father with his banking, and I discovered I was good at unscrambling codes. Things moved fast, though, and I was transferred to Morale Operations, later called psychological warfare. We disseminated propaganda, so I began delivering messages to field agents, as well. I was taught to kill swiftly and silently when necessary—but fortunately it wasn’t necessary, not for me. Still, a difficult lesson for a refined former debutante. It was far easier to act like a silly young woman out for a good time. In those situations I was expected only to store the conversations taking place around me in a number of languages. Although sometimes that had serious consequences, too,” she said, her eyes blanking momentarily.

Such a sad expression came over Norma that April’s imagination ran wild. So wild, she stopped her guest right there. “Mrs. Santini, uh, Norma. I can’t bear to think I’ve contributed to these painful memories.” Gently, April tugged the mug from the woman’s tense fingers and began escorting Norma back to the entrance. “Those letters and any information they contain should be kept private.”

At the door, April squeezed Norma’s arm. “I swear I’ll return them this afternoon. I’ll try for three o’clock, four at the latest. I ought to be able to manage that, but I really should get back to the work I was doing before you arrived.”

Her promise seemed to relieve Norma. Still, April had grown more curious than ever about those letters—and why they were hidden in a wall. Obviously, someone had intended they’d never see the light of day. If the letters contained damning secrets, why hadn’t Norma simply burned them in the old stone fireplace that flanked the very wall where they’d been discovered?

Teary-eyed, Norma held tight to April’s arm as they maneuvered down the outside steps. “April, you can’t even begin to know how happy you’ve made me. I thought those letters and photographs were gone forever. I thought Anthony had destroyed them.” Awkwardly, Norma turned back and hugged April.

As they stood there, April glanced out at the road—and recognized Eric Lathrop’s battered red compact some distance away but moving inexorably closer.

“Norma, you have to leave now! The reporter I mentioned yesterday…he’s on his way here. Eric’s not so bad, but he’s persistent when he’s after a story. I’m sorry to say he saw your letters, and he’s sure there’s a scandal contained in them. What’s more, his boss is biased against your son. So, you need to go.” April couldn’t have hustled Norma to her car any faster, practically lifting the slight woman off her feet. When the chauffeur opened his door and struggled to get out, April motioned him back inside. She opened the back door and stuffed Norma in, all while babbling that the chauffeur should get moving now.

The two vehicles passed as Eric swung into April’s lane and the old six-passenger Lincoln shot out onto the two-lane county road.

Eric vaulted from his car, leaving his door hanging and his engine running. He dashed up to April, and grabbed her arm. “Dammit all, did you just give Santini’s mother those letters? You lied last night when you said you didn’t have them here. You know I want them, and I was willing to pay.”

From her seat in the back of the Lincoln, Norma Santini craned her neck to see the reporter. She saw him grabbing April. Tapping Joseph’s shoulder, she said, “Slow down please, Joseph. I think that man’s up to mischief.” The words had barely left her lips when Norma saw April plant her thick-soled work boot squarely on the reporter’s instep. He let go of her and hopped around rubbing his foot. April went into the house and slammed the door.

“Never mind, Joseph. Ms. Trent has taken care of the problem. I’m so glad I came to see her.” Settling into her seat again, Norma indulged in a satisfied smile. “April puts me in mind of myself at her age. Oh, I wish she hadn’t gotten off on the wrong foot with Quinn. Wouldn’t they make a grand pair? Did I mention she’s dropping by the house this afternoon, Joseph? I wonder if I could persuade her to stay for dinner,” she murmured.

The chauffeur, who’d been with Norma since well before her husband’s death, threw her a glance in the rearview mirror—a glance that warned her she should proceed with caution in that particular matter.

True to her word, April collected the letters from Robyn, who said, “I got your frantic message. What’s the big mystery, April? Why are Eric Lathrop and his boss so interested in those letters? By the way, did I tell you I’m redecorating his boss’s home? Even his witless wife brought up the letters. She pumped me about how well I knew you and asked whether I thought you’d give Eric or her husband the information they want. What information?”

April opened her briefcase and dropped the letters on top of the brick mason’s bid. “Robyn, in about half an hour, it’s going to be a moot point. I’m on my way to Mrs. Santini’s place now to give her back her letters.” She groaned. “Considering how much trouble they’ve been, I wish I’d never found them.” Briefly, April filled her friend in on Eric’s latest attempt to get the letters.

“So I take it you’re not going to Quinn Santini’s fund-raising ball with Eric? He apparently told his boss you were.”

“My brother gave him some tickets. But no, I won’t be attending anything with Eric. He’s toast as far as I’m concerned.”

“Good. You can do better. But I hoped we could go shopping for dresses. I feel a shopping attack hovering,” Robyn said with a wink as April prepared to leave her shop.

“I’ll tag along. I love watching you shell out money, Robyn.” They arranged an afternoon to meet for lunch and shopping.

There were two men working on the Santini front gate when April tried to turn into the drive. “Norma Santini’s expecting me,” she said after rolling down her window.

The workmen weren’t very trusting. One phoned the house and received an okay before letting April pass.

Norma met her at the door. “You came! All day I’ve worried that you’d change your mind.”

April extracted the bundle and placed it in Norma’s outstretched hands. “You’re welcome to these. My advice—burn them.”

The older woman clasped the letters as if they were precious jewels. “Won’t you come in?” she said. “I’d love to have you stay for dinner, my dear.”

“Thank you, but I can’t. I have just about enough daylight left to dig holes for my light poles. The mason said if I get them set, he’ll work in bricking around them next week.” She tripped lightly down the steps and waved as she got into her pickup.

Driving out the gate where the men were still working, she passed Quinn Santini’s Lexus. “Phew, that was a close call.” In the rearview mirror, she watched him turn through the gate. April felt a surge of relief at declining Norma’s dinner invitation.

Back at the house, Norma settled in her favorite chair to begin reading her precious letters for the first time in almost sixty years. She’d reached the end of the first letter when her front door flew open and her grandson burst inside. Sniffling, Norma fumbled for a tissue and attempted to hide the letters in the folds of her skirt.