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Gladys took the phone in hands that were gnarled and age-spotted. They trembled a little. The shell was going, she liked to say, but her mind wasalmostas sharp as ever. He adored her. He'd miss her when he left.
He'd make a point to bring the love of his life down to visit her occasionally. Zoey would probably like that. So would Gladys, for that matter. The woman liked to talk.
That was why she worked here at the station at eighty-eight, he suspected. So she’d have people to talk to. And why not? He loved talking to her. Everybody did. Even Peachster kept Gladys company on her two days a week in the station.
"Oh my. That's most definitely Andrew's mama there. Francisca. Francisca Sofia, but I don’t remember the last name. Andreas used to call her that, so softly.Francisca Sofia.Her cheeks would turn red, and those eyes would just soften. So, so in love. Warms my heart to remember. Hard to forget, those two. I didn’t agree to marry a man until he looked at me just like that one day. She always looked so stunning. Even in her eighties. She was twelve years older than I was—to the day. We shared a birthday and I’ve always remembered that. When I was a child, she’d bring me a small piece of her cake and the two of us would eat it together. Our secret. Always had a spark in those eyes of hers.” She stared at the photo for a moment. “She’d be one hundred now.”
Murdoch took his phone back. “That was found in a box of Zoey, the former sheriff, in her mother’s things. This…is Zoey here.” He showed her the photo he had taken of his girl recently. When he’d been teasing her. He was keeping it. She was smiling, happy. Those Zoey eyes were sparkling. Zoey Sofia—who looked like…Francisca Sofia Coleson.
“Well. Now. That explains a few things, doesn’t it? I’ve always thought she looked familiar, that girl. But I never could remember why. That was a studio portrait of Francisca, taken right before they wed. When she was still working for a studio out of Mexico City, right before she met Andreas. Andrew got her eyes. Passed them down to all eight of those girls of his. Both he and his Maria had deep dark-brown eyes, if I recall correctly. Not a blue-eyed baby among them. That always gave me a bit of a giggle. Elspeth, Andrew's grandmama, she and her Iagan, they were as redheaded and blue-eyed as a pair could be. But Andreas married a lady from Mexico City. Their Andrew had her hair and eyes. Then Andrew married his Maria. It’s no wonder their daughters were all brown-eyed little darlings. Andrew was born when I was four or five or there abouts. I used to mind him, when his mama and daddy were busy with that hospital they were trying so hard to keep going. Andrew married his Maria when she was all of twenty. Their elder girls were born about a year later. Twins.”
She sipped from the bottle of peach tea. Neil kept some in the fridge just for her. “Those two girls were as pretty as their mama, but after she died when they were around ten, eleven, or so, they turned so sour. Mean and hateful. Demanding and spoiled. Andrew’s doing, I’m afraid. After he lost Maria he coddled them a bit too much. Gave them everything they wanted. I warned my daughters to stay away from them for a while there. They were good friends with Angie, one of the younger Coleson girls at the time. Those twins took off forty-something years ago, and most of the town said good riddance with them. Don’t know what ever happened to them. No one was interested in finding out either.”
Well, wasn’t that interesting? Some missing Colesons out there. Colesons with Zoey’s eyes. And Francisca Sofia Coleson, who looked just like Zoey Sofia Daviess.Interesting.
"Did they ever discovered who killed Dr. Coleson's wife?"
"Rumors, nothing more. Some said it was one of her own children, knocked her down the stairs. But no child did what I saw was done to her." She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears for a moment. “I worked as a nurse there, at the hospital, you see. And when she was hurtthat way,little Angie, no more than eight, came running for help for her mama in the middle of that stormy night. Brave little thing, Angela Coleson. Nothing to be done, though. We saw that when we stepped inside. Maria’s neck, broken in the fall. Some say one of the girls saw the whole thing, but no girl ever said what it was she knew. Some said Andrew did it himself. Or his daddy, back from one of his trips to Africa.”
“Did you believe that?” Murdoch asked. He’d heard it all before. What people would do to each other.
“Hogwash. Andrew's daddy had been dead himself a good ten years by then—killed in Africa and sent home for burying. Andrew...he never would have hurt his Maria. Never saw a bruise on her, one of those girls, the new wife, or the younger set of girls. Not even once. Andrew Coleson loved his family until the day he died." She shook her head again, memories on her lined face. "Tragedy, that night, too. That family had far too many loses for one family to bear. Some say the Colesons had ghosts, and I believe it. Demons, maybe. So many died early on. That heart condition. Iagan and Elspeth lost three boys to it of their four. Iagan had lost two brothers and a sister, I believe.”
“The condition has come up in our search once or twice.”
“I heard tell that right here in Garrity is where the condition first happened, it was that rare. It drove them, though. The ones who were left. To find the answers. They’ve saved thousands of children’s lives. Yet no one really remembers. Well, I do. Andrew died a hero, trying to get that sweet little wife of his out of the car before it caught fire. Someone drove them off the road. Just over the Barratt County line. She took a hard knock to the head; the impact was on her side. Andrew went around the car, was lifting her out—and another car struck them both. Killed them on impact. I’ll never forget that funeral. Not that one."
Murdoch flinched. "I met two of their daughters, I think. Bonita and Heather."
"One of Maria's girls, and one of Kemberly's girls, I believe. Hard to keep them straight, you know. A Coleson girl—looks like a Coleson girl. A lot of them look like their grandmama Maria, but some look like Francisca, no denying that. Tall, thin, dark-eyed, dark-haired, and that pale skin they got from Andrew's grandparents, thereabouts. I've not seen them since their daddy's funeral twenty years ago. But they were a pretty lot. Expect they still are." Gladys shot him a look as she straightened the paper clips and Post-it notes on the desk. "So, is your girl a Coleson or not?”
"What makes you think she’s my girl?"
"I saw her a few times. This was back when I was in the rehab center there in Value, though. Old knees decided to go out together. I got a pair of new ones, make me feel sixty-five again. I spent almost a year there, recuperating. Of course, I could have left earlier, but there was this Pete Chonchras there. I stayed there until Pete passed on—and Neil made me move back home.” She narrowed a look at him. "Francisca was the kind of lady you never forgot, Murdoch Michael. Most ladylike little thing I have ever seen. Like a princess of old. You’d know it, if you saw it up close and personal."
Like Bonita Coleson perhaps—or the sweetheart First Lady of Texas? Murdoch knew he was on the right track. He’d come to the end of the rabbit holes eventually. He couldfeelit.
"She's looking into her birth family. A woman named Denise Daviess is listed on her birth certificate. Did you ever meet her?"
She waited for a moment. Then shook her head. "Never knew a Daviess around here, not that I can recall. But you mark my words: that lady of yours, she's a Coleson. Maybe not alegalone, but a biological one. I'd bet my savings on that."
"Thanks, Gladys. You saved my bacon again. I'm going to go do some digging. I hear Coleson Hollow calling my name."
“Watch out for the ghosts, young man. They have a way of catching our souls, don’t you know.”
“Yeah, so I’ve learned. Make old stodgy Neilie boy buy you lunch, Gladys. You are my favorite lady in the county.”
“For now. Go get your girl, young man. We are only young once, don’t you know.”
“I am starting to realize that. And my lady is meeting me here when she can. We are on a quest.”
“I hope she finds her answers. And her family. Family and friends—they are really what matters most.”
58
Oakley just stood there.It had to be grandfather or Vaughn or the mean lady.
Oakley was going to be in so much trouble. She couldn’t run.
