Susannah's Garden (Blossom Street #3)(79)

Susannah followed her into the kitchen, slid open the glass door and stepped onto the patio. Greg Dalton sat with his shoulders slumped forward and his hands on his lap, facing the creek. He appeared to be napping.

Susannah didn’t want to interfere with his rest, but when she reached for a chair, it made a slight scraping sound against the concrete. The old man’s eyes opened and he glared at her accusingly.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly.

“Who the hell are you?”

Susannah told him. His eyes widened when she mentioned Doug’s name.

“You remember my parents, don’t you?” she asked. “My dad was Judge Leary.”

“’Course I do.”

“And my brother? Doug died in a car accident many years ago.”

Mrs. Dalton came outside carrying a tray with three glasses of pink lemonade. Susannah stood, taking the tray from her and setting it on the table.

“Who was it you were asking about again?” Mr. Dalton demanded.

“Doug Leary,” his wife returned. “You remember Doug, Judge Leary’s boy?”

“I wish you people would stop repeating yourselves. Yes, I remember Doug. He died—what?—thirty-some years ago.”

Susannah caught Mrs. Dalton’s grimace. “Would you like some lemonade, Greg?”

Her husband shook his head and closed his eyes, apparently resuming his nap.

“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Dalton said, “but I was afraid this would happen. Greg naps much of the day. Perhaps I can help you.”

Susannah wished she hadn’t come. She should’ve left this alone. “I moved Mom into an assisted-living complex,” she explained, without discussing her mother’s problems. She briefly described what she’d unearthed that had led her to believe her brother might have been in some kind of legal trouble. Although it didn’t seem possible, she explained, she wanted to check it out to be sure—if she could. “As you’ve probably guessed, all of this comes as a shock.”

“That was so long ago,” Mrs. Dalton said uncertainly.

Susannah agreed. “You might remember I was in France that year. I’m hoping to find out what I can about Doug and another friend I knew in high school by the name of Jake Presley.”

Mrs. Dalton frowned sadly as she sat down next to Susannah. “I don’t remember much, but I do recall something about Doug. My goodness, my memory’s bad. It just isn’t what it used to be.”

“I understand,” Susannah said. “Any information you have would be appreciated.”

The old sheriff woke suddenly. “It was a crying shame,” he mumbled.

“You remember what happened, Greg?” his wife asked.

“Huh.” He scoffed at his wife. “I’m not likely to forget. Crying shame, that’s what it was. I tried to help, but there wasn’t a thing I could do. Those two young men stepped into a hornet’s nest of trouble.”

Susannah leaned closer, afraid any question she asked would break his train of thought.

“Doug wasn’t a bad boy. The other one, either. They got in over their heads and couldn’t get out. They were in the wrong game—hell, the wrong league—for a couple of small-town boys. One of the players was an undercover agent. The two of ’em were in Idaho at the time and managed to get away. Problem is, they ran back to Colville and in the process crossed state lines. Once they did that, it became a federal crime.”

Susannah wasn’t clear on all the legalities. “You mean the local authorities—”

“I mean,” Mr. Dalton said, cutting her off, “that they’d be tried in a federal court with federal prosecutors. George was upset, very upset, and we talked it over. There was nothing I could do—or him, either, for that matter.”

Susannah shifted toward him. “You remember all this?”

“Like it was yesterday,” the older man concurred. “Your brother made a foolish mistake. His friend, too. Trouble like this wasn’t just going to disappear. With the federal government involved, there wasn’t much chance he’d escape prosecution, despite his father being a judge.”

Greg Dalton stared into the distance. “I was the first one at the accident scene. He was already dead. Rammed into the tree. Smoke and steam coming from the engine. I pried open the driver’s door and the boy slumped out, into my arms.” The old man shook his head as if to say he didn’t want to talk about it anymore.

“Greg went to plenty of accident scenes over the years,” Mrs. Dalton said in a low voice. “But Doug was the son of a good friend. He phoned me. In all his years of working as sheriff, that was the only time I’ve seen my husband that distraught. He asked me to go and sit with Vivian while George identified the body.”

A lump formed in Susannah’s throat.

“I think it nearly killed George to bury his only son,” Mrs. Dalton added.

“I know,” Susannah whispered. She stared down at her drink. She hadn’t taken so much as a sip and doubted she could swallow if she did.

“Out of respect for George and his position in the community, my husband did what he could to keep the federal charges out of the paper. The entire matter was as hush-hush as possible. Only a few people were aware of it.”

“Do you know what happened to Jake Presley?”