Read Online Family Skeletons: A Spunky Missouri Genealogist Traces A Family's Roots...And Digs Up A Deadly Secret by Rett MacPherson - Free Book Online Page B

believe me, but Mary really did feed the fish the land records that I was working on.” That was two years ago, and I hadn’t been forgiven yet.
    â€œWell? Where are the marriage records?”
    â€œI haven’t got them finished. Easy as that. No big conspiracy, I just don’t have them finished. I have had a lot on my mind.”
    â€œYes, like Colin Brooke?”
    â€œJust what is that supposed to mean?”
    â€œThe whole county knows that you and he were talking in your backyard last night. Really, Victory. With your husband and children right inside.”
    â€œOh, Sylvia…” I debated whether I should tell her that he was hitting on my mother. I suppose to her generation, any time two people of the opposite sex are in a backyard alone, that is a sign of something fishy. “He wanted to talk about the case.”
    â€œThe case?” Wilma asked.
    â€œNorah Zumwalt. He wanted to discuss a few things, that’s all.”
    â€œAnd you had to do that in the romantic moonlight?” Sylvia asked.
    â€œThere was no moon last night,” I answered.
    â€œI think the butler did it,” Wilma said.
    â€œShe didn’t have a butler,” I stated. Why did I feel as if I were in a zoo? “I just came by to get a file that I left here the other day.”
    Just then a horn sounded out on Jefferson Street.
    â€œWho would that be?” Sylvia asked.
    â€œOh, that’s probably the sheriff. He and I are driving out to Washington this morning,” I said, and picked up the file and walked out of the office. I confess. It is a great perversion of mine to shock little old ladies.
    â€œI’ll get you your marriage records, Sylvia. I promise,” I said, heading back through the ballroom and eventually out onto the sidewalk, where Sheriff Brooke waited for me in his yellow Festiva.
    Everybody on the street stopped to look at me as I got in his car. People stood in the windows of the shops on the street and watched me. Heck, I think even the dead over in the Santa Lucia cemetery were watching.
    I shook my head as we pulled away from the Gaheimer House and took off for Washington, Missouri.
    It was a pleasant day, the sky was azure, and the foliage was bursting with life. These kinds of days erase all of the ugly things that fill one’s life. Life is tricky. It lulls you into a false sense of beauty and hope, and then hits you with lightning.
    The drive out Highway 44 was nice, if not enjoyable. Basically, we talked about how I got involved in genealogy and history. Some people find it hard to believe that a “young” person can be interested in those sorts of things. I suppose a greater percentage of family historians probably are over forty. But there are a great many young people just as enthusiastic about their heritage.
    I had called the four numbers that I had, until I figured out which one was Louise Shenk. Finding her house was easy. It was a cute little two-story white bungalow, complete with a porch swing and roses. The yard was perfect and completely cluttered with several blooming plants.
    My stomach was jittery. I’d never done anything like this before. Sheriff Brooke exuded calm. He walked with an air of superiority, his shoulders thrown back. He was close to forty. He was by no means ugly, but not exactly handsome either. It would be difficult, I knew, for him to take the backseat during our visit.
    I rang the doorbell and waited. A robust old woman answered the door. Her eyes were bright, and the hair that wasn’t white was of a dark color.
    â€œLouise Shenk?” I asked. I gave a big, bright smile.
    â€œYes,” she answered, unsure and out of breath.
    â€œHi, my name is Victory O’Shea. I’m tracing the Counts family tree, of southeast Missouri. Could you answer a few questions for me?”
    She hesitated, looking from Sheriff Brooke back to me. I sensed her unease. “We can sit here on the porch. Just a