Blood Relations Page 5

  What had happened to The Phantom? As a kid, I had wondered about the diamonds. And about what had happened to the very young and beautiful Jessica Huntleigh. But now, looking out upon the mighty Mississippi, I couldn’t help but wonder what had caused the steamer to sink all those years ago. Was she overloaded? Was she running loaded flat? I’d seen pictures of steamers so full of cargo or people that they ran flush with the water. If the captain had flanked her, driven her a little too hard, and she were flush, it wouldn’t have taken much for the water to overtake the boat.

  “Mrs. O’Shea?” a voice asked.

  I turned away from the river and saw a young man standing on the porch next to me. He was a good-looking chap. Probably about twenty-eight, fairly tall, with green eyes and a military-looking haircut. “I’m Jacob Lahrs,” he said, extending a hand.

  “Oh, yes, Mr. Lahrs,” I said, and shook his hand. No surprise that he had an extremely firm handshake. I had taken his phone-call several years back when he had inquired about water levels and the wreckage. I wondered, momentarily, who had contacted him. “I’m sorry, but I forgot to call you.”

  “That’s all right,” he said. “I happened to be down here last week with my mother. It was her birthday, and we came down here to shop and have dinner. When I saw how low the river was, I had a feeling that it would be getting low enough for the wreckage to be visible.”

  “So,” I began. “Why didn’t you just dive down there before now?”

  “The river is so polluted, you can’t see a foot in front of your face,” he said. “You also can’t see when you’re getting tangled up in anything. And believe me, there’re tons of things to get tangled up in. You ever been out on the Mississippi?”

  I shook my head.

  “I got snagged on a ’57 Chevy once. There are cars out there, refrigerators, you name it. I’d just as soon wait until it’s shallower.”

  “And what exactly are you diving for?” I asked, as if I didn’t already know. But he surprised me with his answer.

  “I want to try to determine what caused the steamer to sink.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “No, I’m not after any diamonds,” he said. “I don’t believe there were any on board anyway.”

  Finally, somebody with common sense. “Why’s that?”

  “The entire diamond myth came from one source only. A woman who survived the wreck,” he said.

  Professor Lahrs had a military build, too. He wore an olive green sweater under one of those winter windbreakers. Large, broad shoulders made one think that he worked out on a regular basis, and he just held himself like a lot of military people do—shoulders back, chin up. He was teaching at one of the local colleges, if I remembered correctly. Biology, I think.

  “Are you sure?” I asked. “I thought there were many accounts of people saying—”

  “People saying they heard about the diamonds. But only one woman said she actually saw diamonds. I just don’t believe her,” he said. “She was a woman of a questionable reputation, if ya know what I mean.”

  Prostitute. Showgirl. Something along those lines.

  “I see,” I said. “You sure know a lot about the steamer.”

  “I’ve read everything your Historical Society has on it. Plus, I’ve read the material at the library in Wisteria, and even some of the holdings up in St. Louis. It did make the St. Louis papers at the time, and even Chicago and Memphis mentioned it,” he said.

  If there were uncut diamonds from a diamond mine in Arkansas on board, I would think that the Arkansas papers might have carried the news, as well. And the New York papers probably carried the news, too, what with the Huntleigh heiress being from New York.

  “Did the Chicago and Memphis papers mention diamonds?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I believe they called it an ‘ungrounded and unsubstantiated claim.’”

  “Well,” I said, “I wish you the best of luck in finding out what happened. The town would be grateful to you if we finally knew what happened to the steamer. Maybe we could even put up a plaque at the site.”

  Professor Lahrs’s eyes lighted up. “Oh, would you?”

  “I don’t see why not. Sylvia’s really good about spending money on that type of thing,” I said. “We just never considered it before because we really didn’t know what had happened. So, if you find out why the steamer sank, then we’ll have a plaque made for it. Because when the river gets back to its normal level, you won’t be able to see the wreckage anymore. It’d be nice if we had some sort of reminder as to what lies beneath the water.”

  “Oh, that would be so cool,” he said.

  Just then, two men came out of the Murdoch Inn and joined us on the porch. “Oh, this is my assistant, Jeremiah Ketchum,” Professor Lahrs said.

  “Mr. Ketchum,” I said, and shook his hand. Jeremiah Ketchum was about forty, I’d say. He had smooth skin and blond hair, and I only guessed his age at about forty because he held himself like somebody who had been around the block a few times.

  “And Danny Jones,” the professor said. “A very promising student of mine.”

  Danny Jones, however, was young. Very young. I’d say about nineteen. His eyes were brown, and his hair was done in one of those two-tone styles that all the young boys were wearing. Although short and dark on the sides, the top was a little longer and bleached blond. He looked as though maybe somewhere way back on his family tree, there had been an island ancestor. Based on his hairdo and his baggy pants, my daughter would be in a serious swoon if she saw him.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said. “All of you.”

  “We’ll try to do the least amount of damage to your town as possible,” Professor Lahrs said.

  I gave a small laugh, wondering how he had read my mind. “Well, good luck, again.”

  “Oh, I’ve got more than luck on my side,” Professor Lahrs said.

  “Oh?” I asked.

  Danny Jones smiled. “His great-grandfather was the captain of The Phantom,” he said. “He thinks he’s got help from his long-dead ancestor or some such supernatural crap.”

  I’m not sure why that particular tidbit of news bothered me, but it did. Maybe it was because Jacob Lahrs’s great-grandfather had succumbed to a pretty gruesome death, and if it were me, I wouldn’t have welcomed help from beyond the grave.

  “The river is in my blood,” Jacob Lahrs said, looking out at the Mississippi.

  Maybe it’s more like your blood is in the river, I thought.

  Eight

  Fraulein Krista’s is the coolest place in the world. It’s where I retreat when I want to get away from everything. Not that there are a great many things I want or need to get away from, but it seems to be the one place, other than the riverbank, where I can collect my thoughts and just veg. Part of it is because the owner watches out for me when I come in and tries to make sure that nobody bothers me.

  On Saturday, I sat in my favorite booth, the one in the corner of the restaurant, which has a good view of the street and the tourists outside. And even though I could see what was going on outside, nobody could really see me in the restaurant, unless they were sitting right across from me, because the tall wood walls of the booth hid me from the other patrons.

  Everything in Krista’s is dark and rugged. Exposed beams on the ceilings, and dark wood, almost black, all around the booths and halfway up the walls. At the end of the bar, there is a stuffed grizzly bear that we’d nicknamed Sylvia. I’m not really into stuffed things, so I just tell myself that it is a pretend stuffed bear. But the best part about the restaurant is all of the waiters and waitresses hustling about in their green velvet knickers and dresses, serving beer in steins and food on pewter dishes.

  “What’s it gonna be, Torie?”

  I looked up to see Krista herself, who always seems to know when I come in and who waits on me personally. She is tall and has blond hair, blue eyes, dimples. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that she is one of Tolkien’s elves. She holds herself as o
ne would expect a tall beautiful blonde to hold herself—like the world is hers for the taking.

  “I’ll have one of those things I can’t pronounce, with the crumbly stuff on top, blackberry tea, and … I don’t know.… Surprise me.”

  She raised her eyebrows and sat down across from me in the booth. “Feeling adventurous today,” she said. “What’s up?”

  “I’m on my lunch break. Saturdays are always pretty busy over at the Gaheimer House.”

  She gave me one of those looks that said, Okay, whatever. Be in denial. That soon faded and was replaced with a golden smile and then an expression of concern. “Again, what’s up?”

  “Nothing,” I said.

  “How’s the slugger?”

  “Meaning Rachel?” I asked, glaring at her. “She’s fine.”

  “And Half-pint?”

  “Mary’s good, too.”

  “Torie,” she said. “There is something on your mind.”

  There was, but that didn’t necessarily mean that I was going to share it with her. I love Krista. She’s great. But my inner circle, the people with whom I share personal things, is pretty much limited to my mother, Rudy, and my best friend, Collette, who lives up in St. Louis.

  “There’s always something on my mind, Krista.”

  “So, did that Lahrs guy start his diving today?”

  “As far as I know,” I said, looking out the window. I couldn’t see the river from where I was sitting, but I could imagine him down there in his scuba gear, looking all around. “I think he and Bradley Chapel have struck a bargain.”

  “The guy from Channel 6?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “How so?”

  “I think Jacob Lahrs has agreed to let Bradley film him. Jacob gets publicity, plus a documentation of his discoveries, and Bradley gets the story he wants,” I said. “At least I think that’s what’s going on, because I saw Bradley down there filming and talking with Jacob’s assistant, Mr. Ketchum.”

  “Well, it’ll be interesting to see what they dig up,” she said. She stood then and put one hand on her hip. “I’ll be right back with your crumbly thing and your tea.”

  No sooner had she left than Sheriff Brooke took her seat. He was in full uniform, which meant he was on duty. He put his hat on the seat next to him and clasped his hands in front of him. “Hey.”

  I was going to have to find a new sanctuary, because this one was just getting entirely too well known. I looked toward the door and wondered just how he knew I had been sitting here, since he couldn’t have seen me from the entrance. I didn’t have to ask him.

  “You always sit here,” he said. “And if you’re not at the Gaheimer House or your own, this is usually where you are.”

  “Not true,” I said, defensive at being so predictable. “Sometimes I’m at the library. In fact, I’m always at the library. Or the courthouse, or out with the kids. I am not always here.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Then how’d I know that you’d be here?”

  “Beginner’s luck.”

  He laughed at that. The sheriff and I share a long history. Most of that long history has been filled with me despising him in different degrees. But he is a good guy, regardless of how much he irritates me, or how many times he has arrested me. And he makes my mother very happy. Sheriff Brooke is about twelve years younger than my mother, which I found really hard to deal with at first. But they’ve been married over a year now, and I have to admit that they are really meant for each other. He is a much better husband than my father ever was, and that was my opinion before Ms. Stephanie Connelly came knocking on my door.

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  “Lunch,” he said.

  “Aren’t you supposed to ask me if I mind if you join me?”

  “Now, if I did that, you’d say no.”

  “Duh.”

  He just smiled. “You’re awfully cranky. More so than usual.”

  “Go sit somewhere else, thank you very much.”

  “Did I say cranky?” he asked, putting his hands up in a defensive posture. “Nope, no cranky people at this table.”

  “What do you want?” I asked. “Besides lunch.”

  “Your mother says you’ve been … distant the last few days.”

  “Oh, well. If she’s concerned, have her call me.”

  “She didn’t send me here to find out what’s up with you,” he said. “She just mentioned it in passing, so I thought I’d come see if you’re all right.”

  I just stared at him. Right. He was concerned for me. I believed that like I’d believe in a giant bunny rabbit leaving hard-boiled eggs all over my backyard.

  “Okay, all right,” he said. “I just want to know if there’s something I should know about. Found any bodies lately? Do you think your neighbor is really Jimmy Hoffa? Confederate gold in your basement?”

  “You know what? When Krista gets back here with my lunch, I’m going to have her throw you out on your ear,” I said.

  “Come on, Torie,” he said, smiling. “I just want to know if there’s anything I should know about.”

  “No. Nothing.”

  “Okay,” he said. He smiled at Krista as she came back with my food and a cup of coffee for him. “I’ll have the stew, Krista.”

  “Sure thing, Colin.”

  “What do you make of the wreckage? You think Jacob Lahrs is going to find out what really caused the boat to sink?” the sheriff asked me.

  I shrugged, sipping my tea. “Maybe.”

  He looked at me long and hard for a moment. “Okay, snap out of it. The Torie I know would be down there in her own wet suit, looking for diamonds and daring anybody, including her ever-wise and all-knowing stepfather—me—to stop her. What gives?”

  “You don’t like the new and improved, all grown-up and mature Torie O’Shea?”

  He took a drink of his coffee, contemplating what I had said. “I’m concerned,” he said. “Because this isn’t you.”

  “Oh, well.”

  “I bought a new fishing pole in Wisteria the other day.”

  “Oh yeah? Bet you can’t wait for spring.”

  “This fishing pole is so nice, I’m thinking about putting on my battery-operated socks and going fishing this weekend,” he said.

  His stew came a few minutes later and we ate in silence for a while. He commented on the Rams; I mentioned the snowstorm we were supposed to get next week. He brought up a case he was working on over in Wisteria. I listened like I really gave a damn. I don’t know what came over me, but I just couldn’t hold it in any longer.

  “Colin, if … you…”

  “What?”

  “Hypothetically speaking,” I said. “If you found out you had a sister or a brother you’d never known about, how would you feel?”

  He just stared at me for the longest time. “I don’t know,” he said. “Weird, I guess.”

  “Weird?”

  “Yeah, like I was somehow responsible for them.”

  “Huh?”

  “You know, sins of the father sort of thing. My dad is dead. So if a sibling came to me and said that he was my dad’s son, I’d somehow feel responsible. Like I should do something to make it all right. And that would be weird.”

  “Who said it would be your dad’s child?”

  “I’m just assuming, since I spent every day of my life with my mother, that it wouldn’t be hers,” he said. “Of course, I guess she could have had a baby before she met my father and had me, but I just assumed, in this hypothetical situation, that it would have been my father’s. Why?”

  “No reason.”

  He nodded, but there was a questioning look in his eyes.

  “So, you’d feel responsible,” I said.

  “Yeah, probably.”

  “Would you be angry?”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “What my relationship with my father was like.”

  “Would you be jealous?”

  “Of what?
”

  “Well, I don’t know. Like you suddenly have competition. That when everybody finds out about your new sibling, they’ll like him better. Especially your dad.”

  “My dad’s dead.”

  “But if he wasn’t.”

  “Maybe a little,” he said, and took a bite of stew.

  As he reached for the salt shaker, I stopped his hand. “Mom says you’re not supposed to have salt.”

  He gave me a slightly abashed look and set the salt shaker back at the edge of the table. He picked up the pepper shaker instead, then added a generous amount of pepper to the stew.

  “Would you feel betrayed?”

  “Depends. If Dad knew about the child and never told me, I might feel a little betrayed. It would depend on when the child was conceived.”

  “During the marriage to your mother,” I said a little too hastily. He regarded me cautiously.

  “Yeah, I’d probably feel a little betrayed.”

  There, the sheriff had agreed with how I felt. If he were in my shoes, he’d feel the same way. I felt better. Less guilty. Validated.

  “Of course,” he said, “if this were to happen, you know, hypothetically and all, I’d have to consider how that sibling must feel.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Growing up and never knowing his or her father. Must be pretty tough to have only one side of a family.”

  I said nothing.

  “Makes you sort of happy that you’ve got the family you’ve got, doesn’t it? I mean, you know all of your family and have a great relationship with all of them and everything. You’ll never know what it feels like to be on the outside.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Kind of makes you feel good, doesn’t it?” he asked.