Dabbing at her eyes, Charlotte came into the room. Olivia walked from her desk and placed her arm around Charlotte’s shoulders. “Sit down, Mom,” she advised gently.
Charlotte complied.
“What is it?”
Blowing her nose, Charlotte took a moment to compose herself. “I need your help.” She sniffled, hating the tears that streaked her face, yet unable to keep them at bay. This emotion was difficult to explain, considering how many of her friends she’d buried.
“Does this have to do with Tom Harding?” Olivia asked, taking her own seat.
Charlotte nodded and wiped her eyes again.
“You miss him, don’t you?”
“I do, but, Olivia, it’s more than just missing him. I feel I was a sorry disappointment to Tom. We’d gotten to be such good friends. I know you probably don’t think that’s possible, with him not being able to speak….”
“I don’t have a single doubt that you meant a great deal to one another.”
“There was nothing romantic between us.” Charlotte wanted that understood. The one and only love of her life was Clyde Jefferson, the dear man who’d been her husband.
“You were friends,” Olivia said. “Good friends.”
“I’m sure that’s what Tom believed, but I fear I failed him. I got so involved with my work on the newspaper that I let myself get distracted.” What distressed her most was thinking of Tom waiting to see her, waiting and waiting, and her being so caught up with her fifteen seconds of fame that she hadn’t bothered to visit him at their usual time…or any other. She’d been too full of her own importance to spare him a couple of hours. And now it was too late.
“Mom, I’m sure Tom understood,” Olivia said with such compassion, Charlotte had to resist the urge to openly weep.
“I hope he did.” She wadded the linen handkerchief in her hand. “There wasn’t even a burial service. I never had a chance to say goodbye….”
“You said you needed my help?” Olivia reminded her.
For a moment, Charlotte had almost forgotten. “Oh yes, the key.”
“That’s right,” Olivia said, sitting straighter in her chair. “Tom gave you a key, didn’t he?”
“It’s to a storage unit. I want you to go there with me, if you would.”
Olivia hesitated. She took her role as a duly elected judge far too seriously, in Charlotte’s opinion. She could see that her daughter was weighing the possibility of any conflict of interest. “Is it nearby?”
“Yes, right here in Cedar Cove. Apparently he’s had it for some time.” This had surprised her, since he was transferred to the convalescent center from Seattle. The poor man must’ve had some connection with the area, some reason for choosing Cedar Cove.
“When would you like to go?”
“Can you do it now?”
Olivia closed the files on her desk. “That should work out fine. Do you want me to drive or should we meet there?”
Charlotte wanted Olivia to drive. As emotional as she was about Tom, she wanted the company. Besides, she was finding it difficult to turn and look behind her when using Reverse. Lately she’d been parking in spaces that didn’t require backing up. Looking over her shoulder caused cramping in her neck. If she mentioned it to Olivia, however, her daughter might suggest it was time to stop driving and Charlotte couldn’t give up her independence.
Olivia drove out on the highway, along the waterfront. The storage unit was off Butterfield Road on the way into Belfair, across from the drive-in theater.
“Do we need to check in?” Olivia asked, stopping in front of the office.
“I don’t know,” Charlotte said. It didn’t look as though anyone was there. “I have the key and the receipt.”
“Then we’ll go directly to the unit.” Olivia pulled forward until they located the number written on the receipt.
“This must be it.” Charlotte climbed out of the car, taking her time. She didn’t move as quickly as she once did, nor did she move as gracefully as she would have liked. It was especially difficult getting in and out of cars.
Olivia was waiting for her. The unit looked much bigger than Charlotte had anticipated. Olivia took the key from her and inserted it in the lock. The door swung upward. Inside the darkened space was one large trunk surrounded by assorted furniture. A sofa and chair, a saddle and what seemed to be a painting of some sort, covered by a blanket.
The painting interested Olivia and she lifted the blanket. Charlotte glanced at it; when she saw that it was a movie poster of a 1940s cowboy film, she quickly dismissed it.
Then, almost against her will, her gaze swung back to the poster. The man, on a rearing stallion with lightning flashing in the background, looked vaguely familiar. He should, she realized when she read the name. Tom Houston was “The Yodeling Cowboy,” one of the most popular of the trick riders and cowboy film stars of the era. Many a schoolgirl afternoon had been spent in the theater, watching the wild horseman dash across the screen.
“Tom Houston.” Olivia read the name aloud. “Have you ever heard of him?”
“Of course. You mean to say you haven’t?”
“Sorry, Mom,” Olivia said and released the blanket. It floated down over the poster.
That old movie poster must be worth something these days. It was a collector’s item, no doubt.
“Shall we open the trunk?” Olivia asked.
“Just a minute.” A thought struck Charlotte and she returned her attention to the poster. Throwing back the blanket, she took a second look. When she did, her knees started to shake.
“Mom!” Olivia was at her side instantly. “What is it?”
Sitting on the edge of the old trunk, Charlotte pointed with one hand at the poster while the other covered her mouth. “This can’t be.”
“What?”
“That’s Tom Harding!”
“Who? The man in the poster?”
Was her daughter dense? “Tom Harding is…was Tom Houston.”
“Really?”
Olivia clearly didn’t appreciate the significance of her discovery. Charlotte took a deep breath. “Tom Houston was as popular as Roy Rogers and Dale Evans. He was as well-known as Gene Autry in his time. Oh my, I can’t believe my own eyes.”
“He could be a relative of your Tom,” Olivia suggested.
“No, it’s him…Oh my, he really was Tom Houston! You used to watch his television show when you were a little girl,” Charlotte informed her. “Don’t you remember? On Saturday mornings…Tom had his own television series for a couple of years in the nineteen-fifties, and then he faded from the scene.”
“Tom Houston,” Olivia repeated softly as though tugging at childhood memories. She shook her head and then it seemed to come to her all at once. “Tom Houston,” she cried. “That Tom Houston?”
Charlotte saw that Olivia was truly excited now. A moment later, though, she frowned. “Oh, Mom, this has to be some kind of joke.”
“No, that’s Tom. Oh, he was decades older when I met him, but it’s the same man, I’m convinced of that.”
“Should we open the trunk?” Olivia asked obviously a little hesitant.
“Yes.” Charlotte was adamant about that now. “I’m hoping we’ll find some evidence of family.”
“I thought you said Tom didn’t have any family.”
“That the state knows of,” Charlotte corrected. “Which doesn’t mean there isn’t any.” Everyone had family.
Olivia had a bit of trouble undoing the lock, but the struggle was worth it once they were able to pry open the trunk. Inside was a virtual treasure trove of memorabilia.
“Oh, my,” Charlotte whispered, staring at the contents. The first thing she noticed was Tom Houston’s signature white outfit. The good guys always wore white, and Tom was very definitely a good guy. His guns were there, too, along with a number of old television scripts that appeared to be originals. She also saw World War II medals, and remembered that he’d served in the military.
“This stuff must be worth a fortune,” Olivia said in awe.
Filled with purpose, Charlotte straightened. “This is why he wanted me to have the key.”
Olivia glanced at her as if she didn’t know what to say. “He never gave you a hint about who he was, did he?”
“Not even one. He obviously didn’t want me to know while he was alive.” Charlotte was beginning to understand. Tom must have sensed that he could trust her. He must have realized she would do whatever was necessary to get these things—this legacy—to the people who were entitled to it. She might have let him down earlier, but by heaven, she wouldn’t again.
“Mom.” Olivia apparently recognized this look.
“He’s entrusted me with his most precious items for a reason.”
Olivia frowned. “And what’s that?”
Charlotte frowned back. “I’m going to track down his people and—”
“What people? Even if he’s got family, where are they? Why was he a ward of the state?”
“I don’t know. But Janet told me Tom was transferred to Cedar Cove at his own request—it was his original choice. My guess is he’s got family in the area.”
“If that’s the case, then why didn’t Tom contact them himself?”
“I don’t know,” Charlotte said again.
“My point exactly.”
Charlotte didn’t see it that way. “He trusted me,” she said stubbornly. “Tom wanted me to make sure all of this is properly distributed.”
“Mother—”
“Furthermore,” she continued, cutting Olivia off, “he knew he could count on me.” That, as far as she was concerned, said it all.
From this point forward, Charlotte was a woman on a mission. She’d figured out how to make up to Tom for neglecting him the last few weeks of his life. As a woman of honor, she swore she’d do everything within her power to find Tom Houston’s family. She wouldn’t give up, nor would she rest until his legacy was passed to those who had the right to own it.
On her way home from the library, Grace collected the day’s mail. That used to be Dan’s task because he generally arrived at the house before she did.
It was three weeks to the day since his disappearance. Three hellish weeks, in which she’d been confronted by all the unanswered questions, by doubts and guilt and mounting frustration.
The little everyday things distressed her. Taking out the garbage, bringing in the mail, fixing the leaky faucet in the bathroom. All the things Dan used to do. Her fear and resentment intensified with each task.
At first Dan’s employer refused to believe he’d simply walked away from his life. Grace could hardly believe it herself, but all the evidence pointed toward the likelihood of exactly that. Dan was gone. No one had come up with any reason for it, any hows or whys. Grace had questioned Bob Bilderback, Dan’s boss at the tree service, at least five times, certain that he had some clue—even if he didn’t immediately recognize its significance. Bob was as bewildered as Grace.
