Chapter 10
“Do you know why your father purchased the Traeger properties?”
Jennie brushed by the one who fit the stereotype of small-town newspaperman to a tee: round glasses perched on his nose, balding head with a wisp standing straight up in the middle like Alfalfa from The Little Rascals, and a skinny little neck she really wanted to wring.
“I’m trying to get some coffee.” Jennie elbowed her way to the coffee bar at the little shop that boasted fresh-brewed coffee in carafes and an admirable but sad attempt at making a good latte.
She’d tried one yesterday, tasted the watery milk and vague hint of espresso, and tossed it.
Today, Jennie was opting for a black coffee.
Columbian. Nothing fancy. Definitely not with a side of newspaper reporter.
“Do you think your father had anything to do with Allison Quincy’s murder?”
Jennie froze.
The entire six hundred square feet of the shop stilled.
All five coffee drinkers at tables stared at them.
The barista behind the counter made a pretense of studying her receipt book.
Jennie prayed for grace. No. Why should she have grace? Hadn’t she learned over the past thousands of dollars of therapy that setting boundaries was an important measure for self-protection?
“How dare you?” She allowed herself to grind out the words the reporter deserved.
He took a nervous little jump backward, but his eyes narrowed all the same. “You have to admit that your father purchasing the estate properties around the same time Allison went missing is a bit peculiar.”
It was new information to Jennie. All she knew was that her dad had bought the properties in another one of his sweeps to obtain historic sites that could potentially be monetized in the future.
If anyone studied her father’s business dealings, it was no secret the man had made a mint investing in property across the United States.
His attorney had told Jennie that Dad simply hadn’t gotten to dealing with Traeger Hall yet.
With quite a few properties with the Phillips name still awaiting a finalized business plan, Dad had died and left them all just sitting there.
Most of the properties had since been sold, though Mom hadn’t wanted to get rid of Traeger Hall.
Not after she read about its possible link to the art world.
But eight years ago?
Allison’s disappearance?
While Jennie wouldn’t put much past her father, murderous activity had not been on his list of sins.
The reporter’s eyes had turned shrewd. “Do you recall your father visiting Newton Creek around that time?”
Jennie turned her back to him and pumped coffee into a paper cup. “No comment.”
That made it worse.
“So you do agree the timing of the purchase of the properties from the township of Newton Creek and the disappearance of Allison Quincy appears to be more than mere coincidence?”
Jennie didn’t want creamer, but she poured some into her coffee anyway. That way she wouldn’t have to look at the newsy little worm next to her.
“I said no comment,” Jennie repeated.
“Do you think Allison might have uncovered something your father wanted kept secret? Everyone knows she believed there was treasure of some sort inside the Hall.”
“Mr. . . .” Jennie whirled, coffee spilling from her cup.
“McSwigen,” the reported provided.
“Mr. McSwigen, yes. My father didn’t have secrets to uncover.” Well. That wasn’t true. But it was when it came to Traeger Hall. “As for Allison Quincy, I don’t know a thing about her. I’m sorry for her family, for the grief they must be experiencing now that her body has been found, but I—”
“You found Allison’s body, correct?” Mr. McSwigen interrupted.
She should have remained true to her no-comment declaration. Now Mr. McSwigen stood directly in front of her, pinning her between himself and the coffee bar at her back.
“We know you did find her,” the reporter continued. “What can you tell me about the remains?”
“Nothing!” Jennie’s voice cracked. The man had no sense of decency.
“There was a necklace taken off the body, and—”
“Stop.” Jennie felt her rarely unearthed temper rising to the fore.
She’d learned from childhood to be compliant, not to upset the apple cart, to be a peacemaker.
That was what Mom had always done. Smooth things over so that Dad didn’t get too upset.
Don’t rock the boat. But this? Jennie could see the potential victimization of Allison’s family, of Zane Harris, and of his son, Milo.
There was no way she was going to play a part in that or allow someone to hurt an innocent child.
Mr. McSwigen’s eyes rounded at Jennie’s bold command.
She took a step toward the reporter, thankful she was taller than him.
“Your insensitivity toward the families involved is abhorrent.” Jennie didn’t bother to lower her voice.
The entire, intimate coffee shop had already heard every word and were still unabashedly listening.
“Allison Quincy has a son. A little boy. Show some respect.”
Jennie shoved her coffee cup into the newspaperman’s chest. The hot liquid slopped over the side, staining his shirt.
He instinctively took the cup she’d jabbed at him and held it away from himself like a hot iron.
He stared at Jennie as though she’d lost her senses.
She glared down at him and then swept the room with her eyes, meeting the stunned gazes that stared back at her.
“I don’t know what it is about Traeger Hall and why you all have put up with such nonsense for so long.
It’s a house for Pete’s sake. An old house with an old crime, and you all want to sensationalize it for, what, news?
” She shifted her anger back to McSwigen.
“Maybe I’ll just have the place bulldozed.
Then you and your nosy little paper can go back to your puny little desk and write about the cow tipping that took place at Farmer John’s on Friday night.
Leave Allison Quincy to rest in peace. Leave my father and my family alone.
And for all that is decent and right, don’t drag Allison’s child through a muddy investigation into some rumored treasure. ”
Jennie’s shoulder pushed against Mr. McSwigen’s as she marched from the coffee shop.
She waved her hand in the air as she walked.
“My father might have been rich, and he might not have splashed his business across your paper’s front page, but if you want to find your monster, look to Newton Creek.
Look at yourselves. I’m willing to bet you have so many of your own monsters, there’s no need to adopt mine. ”
The worst part about her verbal onslaught, Jennie realized with a sickening feeling as the coffee-shop door slammed behind her, was that she’d just handed McSwigen a juicy piece for his paper: Woman Goes Berserk in Coffee Shop, Assaults Reporter with Hot Coffee.
This was why her mom had always justified to Jennie why she’d never raised the roof to get out from under Dad’s thumb. When you tried to fight a monster, they always came back stronger. It was better to hide under the blankets.
She just didn’t want to hide anymore.
Mr. McSwigen had shown her that.