Chapter 11 Present
I was here because of him.
My thoughts were already spiraling—maybe it was the heat, or maybe it was everything I was about to dig through.
I knew I needed to do something. Move. Take a step. Run. Anything.
I’d been standing by my car too long. In a town like Shay, that was enough to raise suspicion. I half expected a deputy to roll up and ask what business I had loitering outside the Ledger.
As I approached the newspaper building, it looked smaller than I remembered—worn down by time, and not nearly as grand as it once felt. There was something comforting about that. Less intimidating, somehow.
I walked to the door and pulled on the handle. The scent of stale newspapers and ink curled around my nose like it had been waiting for me.
Behind the front desk sat a smiling receptionist, ready to welcome what must’ve looked like a familiar stranger. She had one of those vaguely familiar faces—like someone I’d passed in the hallway a hundred times. It took only a second to place her.
Saddie Andrews. Cheerleader. Drama club. She always wore a red ribbon in her hair and had a laugh that carried through the entire cafeteria.
She gave me a quick once-over, trying to place me too.
I finally broke the silence. “Hey, my name is—”
She cut in with a smile and a thick Southern accent. “Bri Thompson. I remember you from school, but you probably don’t remember me. I’m—”
“Saddie Andrews,” I finished for her.
“Yes!” she beamed, her drawl growing stronger. “I’m surprised you remember me. You haven’t been back since…”
Her voice faded, her smile weakened, creating a weighty silence. I could see it in her eyes—she realized she was veering into uncomfortable territory.
“Yeah,” I said quickly, steering the moment elsewhere.
“Just here for a quick visit. I’m actually writing a piece on the town of Shay and needed to gather some information.”
I forced a smile. “And what better place to get what I need than right here in Shay’s very own—” I caught myself — “information hub.”
Saddie laughed lightly. “You almost said gossip mill, didn’t you?”
I gave an obvious grin and shrugged. “Oops.”
We both laughed, and just like that, the tension started to ease.
“I was hoping I could look through the archives,” I said. “Find some old articles that might give me a little insight.”
Her spirits lifted, and it was evident Saddie was happy to be useful. “Of course! We’ve still got everything—paper copies, files, whatever you need.” She stood and motioned for me to follow. “C’mon, I’ll show you where everything is. What exactly are you lookin’ for?”
I hesitated, just for a second. “Just... general town history. Events from the sixties, maybe early seventies.”
She gave me a curious look but didn’t press. “Well, you’re in luck. That’s the good stuff. The paper was at its nosiest back then.”
Giving a small, nervous laugh, I followed her deeper into the building.
We passed a maze of desks—phones ringing, typewriters clicking—though most people were too busy to notice me. The scent of burnt coffee drifted out from the break room as we moved past it, and then finally, we reached the archive room tucked all the way at the back.
The door was heavy, and it took a strong nudge from Saddie’s shoulder to get it open.
“Sorry about the mess,” she said with a dramatic eye-roll. “They really need to get this room organized.” Then, with a smirk, she added, “And by they, I mean not me.”
We both laughed—the kind of laugh that felt easy.
Before she turned to leave, she gave a quick nod and said, “Spend as much time as you need. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
…
I was overwhelmed by the size of the archive room—stacks of file folders and old newspapers spilled across shelves and clustered along the floor in barely organized chaos.
I stood there for a moment, unsure where to even begin. My eyes skimmed the rows, scanning for anything that might stand out. And then—like a snake ready to strike—I saw it.
A filing cabinet, its drawer labeled in neat, faded ink: Articles—’65.
My breath caught in my chest.
I knew what I could find there. Or maybe what I should find. But I wasn’t ready. Not yet.
Instead, I shifted my gaze and kept moving, eyes landing on a drawer marked ’63. That felt... safer. For now.
I tugged on the handle. Unlike the archive room door, this one opened with ease. I began thumbing through the folders, deciding it was best to start from the top.
The early months of ’63 were quiet—at least on paper. But when I reached the summer files, everything changed.
There it was. The article about the night Katie Newsome died.
I hesitated, my fingers resting on the edge of the paper. Molly had once told me the story, but—something in me needed more.
So I let my curiosity get the best of me.
Memorial Day Tragedy
By Otis Smith | The Lakeview Ledger
May 27, 1963
The annual Newsome Memorial Day gathering, typically a time of remembrance and celebration for the town of Shay, ended in heartbreak early Monday morning when Katie Newsome, wife of County Commissioner Phil Newsome, was found dead in the lake behind their Bay Street residence.
According to Sheriff Frank Graham, Mrs. Newsome may have had one too many drinks and is believed to have gone for a swim sometime during the celebration. “It appears she swam too far out and was unable to return,” said Sheriff Graham. “We have no reason to suspect foul play.”
Commissioner Newsome told authorities he became concerned in the early morning hours when he realized his wife was not in bed. After a brief search of the property, he discovered her body floating near the edge of the family’s private dock.
Sources at the scene noted that Mrs. Newsome was still wearing her party dress, and one shoe remained on her foot when she was found — while the other was recovered several feet away from the shoreline.
Despite his efforts to revive her, she was pronounced dead at the scene.
An autopsy subsequently revealed accidental drowning as the cause of death. The Sheriff’s Office has closed the case and stated that no further investigation is necessary.
Commissioner Newsome, speaking briefly with reporters outside his residence, said:
“Katie was the light of our home and the heart of our family. Earlier in the evening, she’d mentioned not feeling well, and when I didn’t see her around later on, I assumed she had gone to bed. It wasn’t until the party ended and I went upstairs that I realized she wasn’t in the room.
I went looking for her... and found her down by the water. If only I had realized sooner.”
The Commissioner paused, appearing to choke up before adding, “Her loss is immeasurable.”
The Newsome family has asked for privacy as they grieve. A private service is expected later this week.
Katie Newsome is remembered by many in Shay as a devoted mother, gracious hostess, and cherished friend. Her presence in the community will be deeply missed.
I didn’t know how to handle what I’d just read. My thoughts hadn’t even begun to settle when my eyes caught the article directly behind the one about Katie Newsome’s death.
That’s when everything shifted.
It was the next piece—the one tucked just beneath the tragedy—that pushed me past a line I hadn’t realized I was standing on.
Commissioner Newsome Attends Ribbon Cutting at New Boat Ramp
By O. Smith | The Lakeview Ledger
May 30, 1963
Just three days after the sudden passing of his wife, County Commissioner Phil Newsome made a public appearance Wednesday morning at the official ribbon cutting for Shay’s new public boat ramp on Sander’s Lake.
With other council members and Shay Parks Department staff beside him, Commissioner Newsome gave a brief speech highlighting the importance of wider community access to the lake. “This ramp is an investment in Shay’s future,” he said. “Our town deserves spaces that bring people together.”
Newsome did not take questions following the event but offered a polite smile for photographs as he shook hands with local officials. Observers described the commissioner as composed, though notably somber.
Despite the recent tragedy, town leaders praised his commitment to community service.
They have planned the boat ramp since late last year, and they expect to open it to the public by the end of June.
I found myself holding both articles against my chest, as if the paper itself might steady the storm inside me. A knot had formed in my stomach—my breathing became heavy.
I glanced back and forth between the two articles—the one announcing Katie Newsome’s tragic death, and the one just days later showing Phil Newsome, polished and composed, standing at the edge of Sander’s Lake with a ribbon in one hand and a smile on his face.
Katie had drowned in that lake.
His wife had died in that water.
And now he was there again, smiling for the camera, shaking hands like nothing had happened.
He’d said in the statement that she wasn’t feeling well. That he assumed she had gone to bed. That he didn’t realize she was missing until the party ended.
But the sheriff claimed she went for a swim during the celebration.
And then there was the detail I couldn’t shake—Katie still wearing her party dress, one shoe on, the other found several feet from the shoreline.
None of it sat right.
Was he just trying to hold himself together? Be the public figure the town needed? Maybe.
But something about it all felt...off.
A woman dies, and within seventy-two hours, her husband is back at the lake—ribbon in hand, cameras flashing.
I folded the paper carefully, but my hands trembled.
This wasn’t grief. Not the kind I remembered. Not the kind that breaks you open and makes you disappear for a while.
Something about it wasn’t right. And maybe it was nothing.
But deep down, I felt it—
This was the beginning of something bigger. The image of the boat ramp burned into my mind…