Susannah's Garden (Blossom Street #3)(78)

Not wanting to interrupt Carolyn at the mill, Susannah decided to use a computer at the library downtown. She left without speaking to Chrissie. Her daughter had come home late last night. Susannah hadn’t said anything about seeing Troy with someone else; she’d sit on that for a while and learn what she could about this other woman before confronting either Chrissie or Troy.

Susannah drove to the library and logged on to the Internet. However, even with the librarian’s help, she wasn’t able to get into the Colville sheriff’s files.

Next she logged on to the local newspaper archives and did a name search for Jake Presley and found nothing. While she was there, she tried Doug’s name; what came up was the article that reported his car accident. As she read it, tears filled her eyes.

If she’d seen it years ago, she didn’t remember. The newspaper said Doug’s neck had been broken and he’d died instantly. She breathed a sigh of relief that the car hadn’t caught fire and burned. She hated the thought of anyone suffering that way. Self-consciously she reached for her purse and dug out a tissue.

Thanking the librarian for her help, Susannah left a few minutes later and crossed the street to the sheriff’s office. The woman at the front desk, all too obviously watching the clock, seemed eager for her break.

“Hello,” Susannah said as she stepped up to the counter. The clerk was young and probably didn’t remember her father, who’d retired a number of years earlier.

The clerk looked up, glanced at the clock again, and frowned. “Can I help you?”

“I hope so. I’d like to talk to someone about any charges filed against Doug Leary back in the early 1970s.” She looked for any sign of recognition in the other woman’s eyes but saw none.

“When exactly?” the clerk asked.

“1973.”

The woman shook her head, her short curls bouncing. “All paperwork before 1978 is stored in the basement.”

“Would it be possible to have someone get it for me?”

The clerk stared at Susannah. “You’re joking, right? We’re already short-staffed with two people on vacation.”

“But they’ll be back soon, won’t they?” Susannah pressed.

“No one’s got time to search through the archives unless it concerns a current investigation.”

“This has to do with my brother. He was killed in a car accident and I recently learned that he might’ve been in some kind of trouble. I want to know what that was about.”

Frowning, the clerk shook her head. “Sorry, I can’t help you.”

“Greg Dalton was the sheriff in 1973, wasn’t he?” He’d been a good friend of her dad’s.

The clerk turned toward the wall, where a row of photographs was displayed. “Looks like it. That was way before my time.”

“Does he still live in the area?”

The clerk nodded and stood as another woman joined her. “I believe so. I’m taking my coffee break now. If you have any other questions I can call for a deputy—if there’s one handy.”

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.”

All Susannah needed to do was look in her mother’s personal directory for the retired sheriff’s address. He’d played bridge with her father at least once a week for as long as Susannah could remember. She drove back to the house and, without too much difficulty, located the address—Old River Road, a couple of miles out of town.

On the off-chance that he was home, Susannah drove there, then headed down the dirt driveway with the name Dalton printed on the rural route box. When she parked in front of the house, an older woman came to the screen door, holding it open. The house was small, the lawn green and well maintained. A creek flowed along the back of the property.

“Mrs. Dalton?” Susannah asked as she climbed out of the car. She didn’t recall her first name.

“Yes. Can I help you?”

Mrs. Dalton was in her midseventies, a pleasant-looking woman with curled gray hair and a comfortably round figure.

“I’m Susannah Leary. My married name is Nelson.”

“Susannah, of course. It’s so good to see you! How’s your mother doing? I wanted to get into town to visit after your father died, but I swear there just aren’t enough hours in the day.”

Susannah smiled, and they exchanged a warm handshake. “Thank you.” It was difficult to accept condolences even now; Susannah was never quite sure what to say. They exchanged pleasantries, and Mrs. Dalton invited her into the house.

“Would it be all right if I asked Mr. Dalton a few questions?” she asked.

“Questions?” the older woman repeated.

“I’ve recently come across some information regarding my brother. You remember Doug, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes, of course. I don’t think your dear parents ever recovered from losing him.”

Susannah swallowed hard.

Mrs. Dalton frowned. “Susannah, I’m afraid my husband’s been ill for some time—a heart condition. I don’t want to overstress him.”

Susannah nodded. “I’ll do my best not to.”

Mrs. Dalton hesitated, as if gauging how much to trust her. Then she said, “Greg’s sitting out back, enjoying the sunshine. If you’d care to join him, I’ll bring us all something cool to drink.”