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He could use heavy gloves, Nathan thought as he drove away. Or maybe a good snowmobile suit to keep him warm while he puttered around his place.
There were probably a hundred things the guy needed, and the chance to see his delight on Christmas Eve was something Nathan wouldn’t miss for the world.
Even if it meant facing Sara one more time.
* * * *
NATHAN PACED HIS OFFICE the next evening, then dropped into his desk chair and swiveled around to turn on the radio. He’d put off his paperwork for the past two days. He’d get started, then just set it aside.
Before leaving the office, Ollie had given him one of her lectures on eating and sleeping well enough, and fussed over him like a worried grandmother until he’d been relieved to see her go. And now the office was far too quiet.
Leon’s brown-paper parcel caught his eye.
He’d brought it in last night and dropped it there before heading home to shower and change. The twine had loosened one side and the contents had slipped partway out. Yellowed pieces of paper. Newspaper clippings.
No wonder Leon had looked at him in confusion when Nathan had promised to open it on Christmas—this wasn’t a present, after all.
Transferring the package to his desk, he untied the remaining piece of twine, then opened it and began to read.
The last document, badly typed on a typewriter with a missing b key and numerous misspellings, was the one that made time stand still.
Leon had said, “It’s safe now. Not before.” But he hadn’t been worried about the temptation to peek at Christmas gifts. He’d been referring to a very real danger—one his father had probably feared for the past twenty-five years.
Earl had recorded countless observations of activities at the plant and had painstakingly written down what he’d seen the night of Frank Grover’s death. Clearly he’d wanted to see justice done but had been afraid to try.
And until Robert’s recent arrest, Leon had been afraid, too.
* * * *
AFTER A STOP at the local funeral home, Nathan found Clay Benson at home alone. The retired sheriff met him at the door with a friendly smile that faded as he got a closer look at Nathan’s expression.
“Come on in.” He coughed heavily. “Dora’s over at her sister’s place this evening baking Christmas cookies, but I think I can rustle up some coffee.”
“No. Thanks, anyway.”
“You mind?” Clay gestured toward his favorite recliner in the living room, where two oxygen tanks sat nearby and plastic tubing hung over the back of his chair. “Doc says I got a touch of pneumonia now, and that always makes my heart condition worse. The cigarettes caught up with me, after all.”
He settled his bulk awkwardly into the chair, then pulled on the tubing, positioned the nasal prongs and started the oxygen. “Makes me feel a little better when I have a bad day.”
“I think your day is going to get a bit worse.” Nathan reached into his pocket for the photocopy he’d made of the typewritten letter and handed it over.
Sweat beaded Clay’s forehead as he began to read. His hands trembled until he finally quit trying. “Hogwash.”
“Is it?”
Clay scowled. “Where’d you get a fool thing like that?”
“From Earl’s son.”
Clay laughed harshly, a sound that spasmed into a fit of coughing. “Now there’s a real good source of information. An alcoholic with dementia who’s dead and his dimwitted son. Who would ever believe it?” He shook his head. “I’m real disappointed in you, son.”
“I tried to track down a copy of the medical report,” Nathan added quietly. “But there wasn’t one. Apparently it was removed. Then I checked at the funeral home. They keep files going way back, and there was a description of Daniel’s condition in his file.”
“So?”
“Daniel was brought into the hospital DOA on the day of his arrest. Cause of death was listed as suicide while in his jail cell, but there was heavy bruising on his wrists and midsection—enough to rupture his liver and stop his heart. He was beaten to death, Clay. Probably while still cuffed. And then he was hung. I think the mortician was given a reason to keep quiet—and I think you might know why.”
Clay’s hands tightened on the document. “I...I wasn’t there when he died.”
