Chapter Thirteen #2
On the last exhale, she opens her eyes and grabs a newspaper from the box.
She reads about the search for an elementary school principal and the new parking guidelines for the local swimming hole.
She pores over photos from the Fourth of July parade and town-wide picnic.
The opinion page is filled with commentaries debating the merits of letting a Dunkin’ Donuts franchise open in Hamilton, but the only crime she reads about is an article on page two of the last issue in July.
A farm on the outskirts of town experienced a theft of equipment from its barn, when someone stole two saddles and several tools from an unlocked tack room.
This was the fourth such burglary in the area since March, and the police requested assistance from anyone who had relevant information to help break the case.
Diana checks her watch; she’s been at the Star offices for thirty minutes. She’ll have to read faster if she’s going to be on time to meet Chris.
She puts the July issues aside and turns to August, her fingers stained black from the newsprint.
The first two weeks of the month are uneventful, filled with advertisements for back-to-school shopping, a reminder to contact Town Hall about broken water meters, and early predictions about the prospects of Hamilton High’s football team.
The August 19, 1982, edition is different. On the top left corner of the page, printed above the fold to emphasize its must-read status, is a stark headline: Barn Fire Kills One; Two Others Seriously Injured.
Diana’s hands tremble so violently the newspaper shifts across the table, almost falling to the floor. She grabs the corner and pulls back the paper, her eyes locked on the story under the headline.
An unidentified body has been found in the barn of Grace and William O’Connor, the article begins, discovered by investigators after Hamilton’s volunteer fire department put out a fire in the early hours of August 14.
At this time, authorities are unable to say who the person was, if they had anything to do with the fire, or how the fire began.
A film covers Diana’s eyes, obscuring her vision. She blinks to clear them and turns to page three for the continued story. There she learns that the O’Connors both suffered life-threatening injuries and were taken to the hospital. Two horses also died in the blaze, and the barn was destroyed.
The last paragraph of the story ties the O’Connors to an earlier Hamilton Star story. In July, the O’Connors were burglarized. Several items went missing from their barn. That case, along with other area thefts, remains unsolved.
Large color photos of the barn, before and after the fire, fill the inside spread, along with profiles of the O’Connors.
Grace and William were active in the community: William was a member of the vestry at the Episcopal Church, taught history at the high school, and sold the apples they grew on their land at the farmers market.
With her sister, Grace ran a camp for disabled children on the farm, and her apple pie won second place in the 1981 Hamilton Autumn Festival.
Diana takes out her phone and snaps photos of the articles in case she needs to reference this news later. The next issue continues the front-page coverage of the fire and identifies the body as Carson Roy, a Hamilton High School graduate. The O’Connors, the Star reported, remain in the hospital.
Tom was eighteen that summer, home in Hamilton until his departure for college in August. The timing works. This fire could be part of Tom’s secret.
“Keep going, Diana,” she whispers, the words catching in her throat.
Throughout September, the paper reported how the town came together to help dispose of the timber and ash remaining on the O’Connors’ property after the fire, how the townspeople raised money for William and Grace’s medical care, and how Carson was buried in the town cemetery, next to his father and grandparents. His mother was his only survivor.
William O’Connor Dead, reads the front-page headline in an early-October issue.
Lifelong Hamilton Resident Was History Teacher and Farmer.
The article reports William never regained consciousness after the August fire, spending his last weeks in a medically induced coma.
An infection overwhelmed his damaged body, and major organ failure followed. The doctors were unable to save him.
The newspaper includes a statement from the police chief.
He explained that Carson Roy was responsible for the blaze.
A search of his home uncovered items stolen from the O’Connors and others.
“Mr. Roy was found under a collapsed beam. He was killed by that impact and by smoke inhalation,” the chief said.
“Our theory is that he returned to the barn on August 14 to commit another crime and inadvertently started the fire that led to his and William O’Connor’s deaths. This case is closed.”
Diana is flooded with relief. This fire had nothing to do with Tom. Carson Roy was responsible, not Tom. She’ll have to keep looking.
An update on Grace’s condition is included in the same article. “She’s getting better, though she has a long journey ahead of her,” her sister Irene said. “We appreciate the continued prayers for her recovery.”
The stories about the O’Connors dwindle by December, though there is a sweet story about a community effort to shovel their driveway that winter.
Kara calls to Diana from her desk. “Find what you’re looking for?”
“Not sure. Can I look at 1983, too?”
“Of course, help yourself. Leave all those boxes on the table when you’re done—I’ll clean up later.”
Once the 1983 boxes are on the table in front of her, Diana reads quickly, eager for more news, ideally a report of some other crime.
The newspapers from January through May of that year are clear of any details that could explain Tom’s letter.
There’s nothing out of the ordinary, nothing criminal beyond speeding tickets handed out by the Hamilton police and shoplifting reports from the local supermarket.
It was a stretch anyway; Tom was away at college at that time, far from Hamilton, Vermont.
There’s no more news about Carson Roy either.
She does find an article about the O’Connors in June of that year, when the school committee announced a scholarship in William’s memory for a deserving Hamilton High graduate.
She reads through July, in case any news from June, when Tom was still eighteen, was reported later, but there’s nothing of note.
As Diana snaps a photo of William O’Connor’s obituary, Kara shuffles into the room, tugging a cardigan over her wool sweater. Diana hastily drops her phone into her pocket. She hasn’t asked if taking photos is acceptable and doesn’t want to strain Kara’s good-natured assistance.
“It’s cold in here all the time,” Kara says.
“I ask to increase the temperature, and the publisher says there’s no money in the budget.
” She chuckles in a way that sounds like her opinion of the publisher is not high.
“What do you have there?” She leans over the table. “Oh, William O’Connor. What a loss.”
“You knew him?”
“We both taught at the high school. Home economics was my subject. William was the history teacher all the kids loved. I’m friendly with Grace through the Women’s Club here in town.”
“She still lives in Hamilton?” Kara stands so close Diana can smell her cloying perfume and another scent, one that clouds her nostrils. Mothballs, Diana thinks, taking a discreet sniff.
“Yes, though she no longer runs her land as a farm. No more horses either. Not since William died.” Kara puts on her glasses to read the article, the beaded string swinging. “He was such a good man. That Carson Roy caused heartache for so many people.”
For a moment, too quick to hold on to, Diana thinks Kara is talking about Tom, the past morphing right in front of her into an alternate reality. Woozy, she grips the edge of the table and squeezes so hard the blood leaves her fingers, while Kara chatters away next to her.
“Carson was an only child, and his dad left town before he was born,” Kara says. “His mother died a few years after him. It was icy out, and she drove into a tree. The police ruled it accidental, but I’m not sure everyone believed that.”
William O’Connor, Carson Roy, his mother, Tom: all dead.
Diana remembers Jonathan’s phone call during Duncan’s basketball game, when he told her he hadn’t been able to find evidence that Tom had been arrested. He never took responsibility for what he did, Jonathan said. Therefore, there wouldn’t be any arrest records.
Which means there probably wouldn’t be any news stories either.
Has this visit to the Star been a waste of time?
Kara dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief from her cardigan pocket. “It was a difficult time for the whole town. William was a special person.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” Diana says automatically.
Kara waves at Diana, as if erasing the apology from the air.
She smooths her hands over her generous belly and changes the subject.
“Tell me, did you like the graduation coverage? The senior profiles are a very popular feature with our subscribers.” When Diana looks at her blankly, Kara gestures to the box of May and June 1982 Star editions.
“The story about your husband’s high school graduation? ”
Diana forgot about that box. She opens it now and flips through the issues until she comes to the June 17 paper, which features an in-depth profile of the senior class and their graduation ceremony.
On the front page is a full-color shot of the graduates standing on the high school football field.
She scans for Tom and finds him on the edge of the crowd.
Dressed in jeans with his sandy hair cut in a shaggy mop, he’s laughing, his head angled to the side.
His right hand clasps the upper arm of a dark-haired teenager. Chris.
“There’s my niece. She lives down in Norwich.
Has twin boys.” Kara points to a blurry girl in the front row.
“There’s Carson Roy.” Kara’s finger, the nail painted a pale pink, rests on a boy in the back row.
He is turned away from the camera, his arms spread out as if he’s planning to jump from the frame.
“They were in the same high school class?” Diana says, not realizing she’s spoken the words out loud.
“Your Tom and Carson Roy? Why, yes, they were.”
Diana opens the paper to the profiles of the ninety-one graduating seniors. She finds Tom on page three. His senior portrait, which she’s never seen before, is printed in the top, left corner. Underneath, reminding Diana too much of Duncan’s interview of Tom from the time capsule, is his profile:
Name: Thomas (Tom, Tommy, TM) Morgan
Favorite Subject: English
Favorite Memory: Lunch with Chris it sounds like your husband and Carson were friends.”
People died. It’s all my fault.
Panicked, her pulse racing, Diana shoots up from the chair, nearly knocking into Kara. An overpowering urge to leave this place possesses her.
“I’m done.” She grabs her purse and makes for the door. “Thanks for your help.”
“You need anything else, please come back, dear.”
Diana pushes through the front door as Kara climbs on the first rung of the ladder, a box balanced in her hand.
The air in Diana’s car is so cold that her breath fogs up the windows. Some essential piece of information is outside of her grasp, and as she waits for the heat to come on, a What Have I Learned? list begins. She gives in to it, more than ever needing the comfort of old habits.
Tom did something terrible when he was eighteen.
He knew the O’Connors.
He was friends with Carson Roy in high school.
Carson died as a result of that fire. William, too.
Grace was seriously injured.
The O’Connors were important to Tom, enough for them to be listed in his senior profile, and yet he never told me about them.
Diana yanks off her scarf, perspiration pooling at the back of her neck. It’s freezing, a New England cold that settles into her bones, but Diana is burning up, her body fighting dual impulses: to find out more and to flee.
“I’m not giving up,” she says, more severely than she needs to, as if reprimanding herself for even a hint of indecision. She checks her watch; it’s time to meet Chris. She turns on her blinker and merges onto the road, leaving the Star behind.