Chapter 11 #2
The tension that had dissipated came back with roaring force. Jamie clasped the wood arms of the chair. “Maybe.”
Dad sat back in his chair. “Anything going on between the two of you? I got a vibe when she was over for dinner, and I notice you’ve been busier than normal lately. Mom’s offered to bring you dinner once or twice, and you said you were busy.”
Jamie didn’t see a point in not telling him. “Um, yeah, we’re kind of seeing each other. Nothing formal, just hanging out when she’s in town.” Suddenly, he thought of a reason not to tell him—Mom. Duh. He was an idiot. “Can you not tell Mom, though?”
Dad blinked at him and chuckled. “So it’s not okay for her to ask you to keep secrets, but you can ask me?”
“Ouch.” Jamie shook his head. “Why do I feel like I’m about to get detention?”
Dad laughed louder. “We don’t give detention anymore. But I could make an exception.” He was kidding. Right?
“I assume you’re kidding. You can tell Mom. I just don’t want any pressure.”
Dad held up his hand with a tilt of his head. “Say no more. I know your mother better than anyone. I will make sure she knows it’s casual .”
“Thanks.” There was perhaps a little more to it than that. “I’m thinking she doesn’t like Crystal very much either.”
“Why, because of how Crystal sprang the KKK connection?” Dad exhaled. “That was rough, but Mom’s not a grudge holder.” Were they talking about the same person? Mom still occasionally mentioned the girl who’d declined Jamie’s invitation to prom. And not in pleasant terms.
Dad seemed to think better of that comment and added, “She’s not a consistent grudge holder—she’ll always find fault with people who hurt her children, and less so with people who hurt her. When you’re a parent, you’ll understand.”
And there was another person who assumed he’d have children. What did other people know about him that he didn’t?
“I just don’t want Crystal to feel uncomfortable.”
“Got it.” Dad gave a firm nod. “I’ve got your back, son. Always.”
Jamie knew that.
A short while later, he parked in the garage at the lofts and went into the lobby. He stopped short at seeing Crystal sitting on the sofa, a bag of groceries at her feet.
“Well, this is a nice surprise,” he said, going to offer her a hand up.
She batted her lashes at him as she put her fingers in his. “Always such a gentleman.”
He snagged the bag of groceries and walked with her to the elevator, their hands still joined. “What’s for dinner?”
She pushed the Up button. “Pasta primavera with chicken, and some fresh sourdough from Barley and Bran.”
“Mmm. Sounds great.” The elevator doors opened, and they stepped inside. Once again, she hit the button.
“How was your day?” she asked.
“Good.”
“Mine too. Great, actually. I’ll tell you about it when we get upstairs.”
“Excellent.” He leaned over and kissed her, his lips teasing hers until the elevator chimed its arrival at his floor.
When he let her into the loft, he belatedly realized his kitchen was a bigger disaster than normal. He’d been looking for something that morning, and consequently, it looked as if the usual clutter had cloned itself.
He winced inwardly, expecting her to make a comment, but she simply started organizing everything without saying a word.
He stood there for a moment, at a loss. Then he sprang into action and set the groceries on the counter so he could help her declutter. “Thanks for your help.”
She grabbed a sanitizing wipe from the canister and tossed him a smile. “Happy to. I actually like cleaning the kitchen. And doing laundry. Weird, I know. But I draw the line at vacuuming.” She shuddered. “I hate vacuuming.”
Jamie snorted. “Surprisingly, I enjoy vacuuming.”
She whipped her head around to look at him as he began to unbag the groceries. “Seriously?’
“Crazy, I know.” Also convenient if they were to ever, you know, cohabitate.
Geez, where had that thought come from?
He pulled out the cooking implements she would need, and she went to work chopping vegetables. “You want a beer or wine? Or I could make gin fizzes.”
“Ooh, a gin fizz, please.”
“You got it.” He fetched the liquor he needed and glasses.
“So I met with Darryl again today, and he had some really great information to share.” She stopped chopping for a moment. “Hey, can you boil some water for the pasta?”
“Oh, sure.” He paused in making drinks to take care of that.
“Back to Darryl,” she said. “He found a story in a tiny newspaper in upstate New York written in 1918 from a bunch of Dorinda’s letters.”
“Wait, the Dorinda?”
“Yep.” She looked over at him, smiling.
He grinned, thrilled for her. “That’s fantastic. I know how much her story means to you. What did you learn?”
“That she came from a poor family, and she and her brother ventured out here for better fortunes. Unfortunately, her brother died.” She focused on chopping a yellow pepper. “But then, I guess that’s what happened to Dorinda too.” She shook her head with an exhalation. “Way to buzzkill the story, Crystal.”
He finished making the drinks and handed one to her. “Not a buzzkill. I’m still excited to hear about it.”
She took the glass with a half smile. “Thanks.”
He clinked his drink against hers. “To Dorinda.”
Her gaze softened, and her smile widened. “To Dorinda,” she murmured. “Thank you.”
Jamie sipped his gin fizz as an unsettling feeling began to uncurl in his gut. He had information that would be useful to her, and he wanted to share it.
“Back to the story,” she continued, effectively cutting off his train of thought—at least for now. “So Dorinda arrives here and marries Hiram Olsen, and they build Bird’s Nest Ranch. He dies—wow, this really is a sad story—and she turns the ranch into a boardinghouse.”
“No kidding?”
“Yeah, but it didn’t work out.” She slid the peppers from the cutting board into a bowl, then moved on to the mushrooms, going to the sink to wash them.
“Let me wash. You talk and cut.” He brought the rest of the veggies over and set to work.
She stood beside him while he finished the mushrooms. “Somewhere along the line, the boardinghouse became a brothel—the specifics of that aren’t discussed. I’d love to get my hands on the actual letters from Dorinda. Can you imagine how much I’d be able to glean from her own writings?”
He handed her the mushrooms, his gaze meeting hers. He loved her passion for this project. “I can.”
She went back to the cutting board, and he started washing broccoli. “This next part is a bit uncomfortable with regard to your family—sorry. After the brothel was opened, the mayor threatened her several times.”
“I wish I could say I was surprised, but the evidence would support otherwise.” It was past time to tell her what he knew. He finished with the broccoli and set it in a colander before turning off the sink. He grabbed a towel to dry his hands and turned to face her at the island.
“I need to tell you something.”
She didn’t stop slicing. “What?”
He moved to her side. “Stop for a second.”
She laid the knife down and pivoted toward him. “What’s the matter?”
“That day that I went to my mom’s to go through the Stowe memorabilia—we found something. She asked me not to say anything until we had more information.”
He watched her jaw work as she swallowed. “What did you find?”
“A couple of letters. One was from Turner Stowe to his mother. Turner was the youngest of Redmond’s sons and not involved in the KKK. Thankfully, he’s the one I look like.” He offered a meek smile.
“Really? There are pictures?”
He nodded. “Mom plans to turn them over to Kelsey.”
“I see.” She sounded…disappointed. Or something. “I’d love to see them.”
He touched her arm, cupping her elbow. “Hey, she planned to give them to Kelsey because of the exhibit. It’s not like she was trying to circumvent you.”
“I get it.”
He wasn’t convinced but decided to continue. “Turner’s letter was from 1923 and mentioned some interesting things. First, Hoyt had died and Turner said he never meant for it to happen.”
“Actually, I think I know about that part,” Crystal said. “Maybe I didn’t tell you. Sometimes I forget who knows what about this tangled story. Darryl found a couple of articles about an altercation involving a KKK group. The leader was stabbed to death, but the killer wasn’t identified or found.”
Jamie leaned his hip against the counter. “Wow. Turner said he never meant to cause harm, only to enforce justice. He said Hoyt and their father, Redmond, weren’t good men. Do you think Turner killed him?”
Crystal’s eyes widened briefly. “Anything’s possible with this crazy story, don’t you think?”
“I’m beginning to, yes. Turner’s letter also outright said they’d murdered a woman out of hate and intolerance.”
Crystal lifted her hand to her mouth. “So they meant to kill Dorinda. Why?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. But here’s what I do know: Turner married a woman of color. There’s another letter from his aunt—her name was Clara—to his mother, Lavinia. She said she’d received the things Lavinia had sent but hadn’t destroyed them yet.”
Crystal gasped. “What things?”
“She didn’t say, but there were a lot of blank pages in the photo albums. I think those photos might’ve been part of what she’d sent.”
“KKK pictures, maybe?”
“Maybe. Clara also said it was good Lavinia was going to visit Turner and his family. She said it didn’t matter what color Lavinia’s grandchildren were, that they carried her blood and that’s all that mattered.”
Crystal blinked, her expression sad. “They sound like a family torn apart. I imagine that was hard for your mother—all of it, really.”
Her care for his mother touched him. “I’ll tell her you said that. She thinks this is all private family stuff, but she also understands it’s historically important.” He thought she understood that.
“I can see why she didn’t want to share this.” She looked up at him. “But I’m glad you did.”
“I feel like a jerk for not telling you sooner. But she asked me not to. She wanted to find out more information about Turner. I’m trying to do a little research on my own.” The edge of his mouth tipped up in a half smile. “I think you inspired me.”
Her eyes sparkled. “That is so sweet.” She stood on her toes and kissed him, but it was all too brief. “The water’s boiling.” She went to dump the pasta in.
“I want you to know that when my mom asked me to keep this hush-hush, she included everyone, not just you.”
Crystal came back to the cutting board and finished up with the broccoli. “Everyone?”
“Yep, including my brothers. I talked to my dad today, and he said I should tell them. So I’ll talk to them at work in the morning. I figured they could tell Kelsey and Brooke.”
“That’s a great plan. Very thoughtful of you.” She threw him an admiring glance before cutting open the package of chicken.
Jamie’s chest felt as though it might burst. That had gone so much better than he’d anticipated. What had he expected? That she’d be angry? Maybe. And she had a right to be. But no, she’d been understanding and supportive.
“Can you start a pan for the veggies? They won’t take long, then I’ll cook the chicken in the same pan and we can toss everything together.”
“Sounds great.” He pulled a pan out and heated up a little lemon olive oil. “You must be teeming with ideas. Have you been writing?”
She brought the bowl of vegetables over and dumped them in the pan. She gave him a shy look. “Yeah. It’s been…fun.”
“That’s great.” He pulled a wooden spoon from the drawer.
“Thanks. Hey, do you mind tending the veggies while I slice up the chicken?”
“No problem.”
She smiled at him, her eyes glowing and heating him up in the process. He supposed it could be the burner under the pan, but he knew it was her. Nights like tonight made a future with her seem more than possible. They made it seem necessary. He wanted to hold on to every moment with her.
“And thanks for your support with everything,” she said. “It means a lot to me.”
He leaned back from the stove and kissed her, his lips claiming hers briefly. “ You mean a lot to me.”
Later, after dinner, he showed her just how very much. With help from the whipped cream he’d found in her grocery bag.