The Ring

By E.M Harris

Kimberly, Idaho is a small provincial town where life is calm and crime is rare. When construction workers uncover the body of a woman, the town is shocked.

Francy knows the identity of the woman but coming forward means facing a past she would rather forget. Does Francy have the courage to return to Kimberly and face her demons?

• Language: English
• Publisher: E.M Harris
• Release date: Mar 31, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476051994

E.M Harris

Emmeline Harris is a typical Idaho woman. A mother who has raised her children and now has time on her hands. In a conservative community, stories are told as a means of escape and writing is a natural progression. Emmeline likes mysteries and stories that incorporate Idaho life. She writes in the evening with a large white dog at her feet and a gray cat in her lap. Each story Emmeline tells takes place in a unique Idaho community. She hopes her readers will enjoy the stories and come and visit these communities.

Book preview

The Ring

by

E.M Harris

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidences are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2012, by L. Donnelly

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved.

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CHAPTER ONE

The apparition moved slowly, following the corrugated rows of the green field. Her shape was female and clothed in white. The white gown rippled in the breeze and her long pale hair obscured her face as she approached. Before her face could be seen, she was gone. In her place a gold object sparkled on the ground. Closer and closer, Francy walked until she could see the object clearly. It was a gold ring. She bent down, and as she reached for the ring, it turned into a writhing black snake.

Francy woke terrified. Her heart pounded in her chest as she struggled to catch her breath. Since losing the baby, her dreams had turned into strange nightmares. The doctor had told her to expect depression and uncontrollable emotions. But even after five months, her dreams were getting worse. In the daytime, she had herself under control. It was while asleep at night that the nightmares exploded into terrifying images of death, the lady in white and snakes.

She had made peace with the emotional trauma of the miscarriage. Accidents happen. No one was to blame for her mishap. Seven weeks of counseling had freed her mind, and she had been at peace until the dreams started. Francy had always been plagued with colorful dreams but these were horrifying.

Francy turned toward Brian who was sleeping quietly beside her. Who was this man who was her husband? She honestly did not know. After twelve years of marriage, he was still a mystery to her. He could tell her how much he loved and respected her, and then leave for three weeks on business with a female assistant who shared his hotel room. There had been evidence of other women. Francy had put those incidences out of her mind until reality erased her illusions. She had seen it all: love notes in his shaving kit, woman’s underwear in his suitcase, lipstick on his shirts, and the most telling---a venereal disease. Did she still love him? It was a question she could not answer.

Tomorrow, Brian would be leaving for a month in Sweden. That must be why she was having nightmares. She feared his leaving or maybe she secretly wished for him to leave permanently. One day she would have to face the truth of her marriage. But now, she needed Brian. He could be exceptionally strong, and she valued his strength even if she could not love him.

Sleep evaded her now, so instead of lying and thinking thoughts which were torture, Francy got out of bed, careful not to wake Brian. She picked up her bathrobe and went downstairs to take a shower. It was almost four. After showering, she read for a while. When reading no longer interested her, she began picking up newspapers in the family room.

Why did they still call it a family room? What an inappropriate name for a room that was never used by a family. Tears welled in her eyes. She had wanted a baby, and she had made so many plans. Was it unlucky to plan for a child before it was born? She had heard that superstition, but she forcefully put that thought out of her mind and returned to straightening the room.

When her arms were loaded with a week’s worth of papers, she sat on the edge of the couch and laid the papers one section at a time in a squared pile on the floor. Later, after tying them into a bundle, she would take the papers down to the recycling center.

As she placed a front-page section on the stack, a picture in the East End Chronicle caught her eye. Her mother had been sending the hometown newspaper to her. Most of the time, Francy read the paper hurriedly, because the events and names were foreign after seventeen years away from home. She picked up the paper and looked at the picture carefully. It was a photograph of a ring with a serpent design on the top. The headline read:

Serpent Ring Found on Body of Dead Woman

Excavators for Morris Construction found the remains of a human body. The grisly discovery was made Monday morning when digging began on the basement for the new Municipal Building on Center Street. The location was formerly the Reinholt Potato Warehouse and Packing Plant.

The county coroner has tentatively identified the skeleton as a woman, 20 to 40 years of age, who stood about 5 feet 7 inches tall and died approximately twenty years ago. A silver ring was found with the remains. The design on the ring appears to be a serpent, though part of the ring is broken. Anyone knowing information about the dead woman is asked to contact Robert Carter at the sheriff’s office.

The picture of the ring was quite distinctive and showed an ornate ring dark with tarnish. A memory returned to her; an image. She had a ring like the ring in the picture—an initial ring with a letter F. The serpent shape was actually a letter S which stood for Sharlotte. Sharlotte’s ring? A shriek left her mouth before she could compose herself. The remaining papers fell from her arms onto the floor. She sat back and tried to calm herself. Moments later, Brian was beside her pulling her toward him.

Francy, are you all right? Brian’s voice sounded sleepy but concerned.

I’m sorry I woke you. I picked up these papers and there was a spider in them. I guess it scared me. I am still so jittery. When you leave today, I’m going to get on a plane and go to Idaho. I’ve wanted to visit Mom and Sam. I don’t want to be by myself. Francy said while avoiding Brian’s eyes. She did not want to talk to him about Sharlotte until she had thought about the implications of the body under Reinholt’s Warehouse.

That’s a good idea. I’ll feel better if you were with your mother rather than here by yourself. Maybe you should just come with me. It would be a fast trip, but we could do some sightseeing. Brian said.

No, I don’t have the energy to go with you. Besides, I need to visit my family. Mom gets lonely. I’ll rest, and by the time you come home I’ll be a new woman.

I don’t want a new woman. I love the old one. Brian said pulling her to him and kissing her. Francy kissed him back, but she did not follow him back to bed. She had made a promise to herself that she would not be intimate with Brian until he demonstrated his faithfulness. Brian understood her reasons and knew the future of their marriage depended on his resolve to be a good husband.

Brian showered while Francy fixed breakfast. They ate quietly and afterwards, Brian packed. Francy concentrated on Brian, and tried to dismiss other thoughts from her mind. At six, they loaded the car and Francy drove Brian to the airport. They talked about the Sweden trip and what he hoped to buy. At the airport, Francy kissed Brian good-bye and began the drive home. Her mind was in torment.

Mercifully, the early morning traffic was light and the drive home took little concentration. She thought about the newspaper article. A week before, she had read the article, and it had meant nothing; but unconsciously the story must have stirred some forgotten memory. The blond woman in the dreams was beautiful Sharlotte, and she had been dead for seventeen years. . .

Francy had been sixteen when Sharlotte moved to Kimberly. A new student always caused excitement in the small rural school. It was a bright, warm April morning. Sharlotte walked through the front doors with her head held high and a wide smile on her face. She was a tall, slim girl with large blue eyes, wheat colored hair that flowed to her waist. She was wearing a short pink flowered dress and her long hair was pulled back and fastened with a pink silk flower. As Sharlotte walked down the hallway at Kimberly High all eyes were on her. The boys were attracted to her magnetic beauty, while the girls were curious and undeniably jealous. When Sharlotte realized what was happening, she put her head back and laughed. Then she retorted in a loud mocking voice, What are you looking at—me? All you curious people, my name is Sharlotte Wilms. I love chocolate, The Rolling Stones, and dancing. But right now I need to find Mr. Higgins’s English Class. Would somebody please help me?

With her feminine charms she enticed a dozen boys to help her. Mr. Higgins’s English class was never the same after Sharlotte was put on the role. When Sharlotte stepped through the door, all male eyes followed her. But the male who seemed the most infatuated was Mr. Higgins himself. From the first day Sharlotte walked into his class, Charles Higgins’s attention was on her and there it stayed. The classroom became an arena of verbal sparring, flirting, and sexual insinuating between Sharlotte and the often red-faced Mr. Higgins. In those verbal sexual games played by the pair, Sharlotte usually won thus reducing Mr. Higgins to nervous stammering. It was obvious that Sharlotte was more worldly wise than meek, proper Mr. Higgins.

For the students at Kimberly High, Mr. Higgins’s English class was a torturous experience. Charles Higgins had visions of himself as a college professor not a lowly high school teacher. His class was modeled after the college classes he had attended. For high school students his class was more than just difficult, it was impossible. Every Monday a writing topic was given, and every Friday the assignment was due. Francy and her classmates struggled with the assignments. Each week they turned in typed three page compositions and received mediocre grades.

Sharlotte was the first student in Higgins’s class to receive an A on a composition. Her paper was short and handwritten, but Mr. Higgins explained that its superior content and style warranted the exemplar grade. Every week the compositions were collected, and every Monday, Sharlotte’s was the only one to receive an A.

When Francy’s curiosity could contain itself no longer, she asked Sharlotte to go for a coke after school. They sat at a table in Mabel’s Cafe and Francy asked Sharlotte how she planned her weekly compositions so Higgins would give her A’s. Francy wanted to get better grades in English. Sharlotte certainly must know how to write.

Sharlotte looked at Francy, smiled and told her that she got A’s, because she was willing to give Higgins what he wanted: a little muff. Francy understood the slang expression but the implications were unclear to her. Sharlotte explained that every Friday, she hurriedly wrote a short composition, removed her underwear and went to class and sat in the front row. When Higgins collected her paper she also gave him something of a more intimate nature ---a view of her most private parts. Francy gasped; Sharlotte smiled and stood up. As Sharlotte left, she turned and told Francy that getting an A was just giving Higgins what he wanted, then she winked and walked out of the cafe.

The last week of school Mr. Higgins assigned an essay asking each student to explain their meaning of life. Francy labored over the assignment. She meticulously wrote, proofread, and typed her five-page essay. Sharlotte as usual turned in a two-page hand written paper. Francy was furious when the grades were given and Sharlotte received the only A. Before she could act on her anger, Mr. Higgins had picked up Sharlotte’s paper and started to read it aloud to the class. Within moments everyone knew why Sharlotte received A’s in Mr. Higgins’s class. Sharlotte was a mature, gifted writer. Francy also realized that Sharlotte possessed a ribald sense of humor.

They were friends from that moment on. Francy liked Sharlotte’s sense of fun, inventive humor and worldliness. Sharlotte liked Francy’s popularity. For Sharlotte popularity was paramount. Francy did not understand the depth of Sharlotte’s self-consciousness until she met Mr. and Mrs. Wilms. Mr. Wilms was a large crude man with huge callused hands who used language as rough as his hands. He worked as a hired hand to Wilson Reinholt who was the wealthiest man in the valley. Sharlotte’s family was poor. Wilson Reinholt paid minimum wages and worked his employees relentlessly. Mr. Wilms worked hard and drank hard. In the evenings he would often be drunk and passed out on the sofa. Mrs. Wilms would have been a beautiful woman since she shared the small features and Nordic beauty of her daughter, but age, hardship and apathy had marked her face with lines and left a thin, somber woman.

Sharlotte supplemented her family’s income by working in Ryan’s store three nights a week. She sewed her own clothes with expert precision, so much so, that no one could tell them from the fashionable apparel that came from the larger department stores in Boise and Salt Lake. Sharlotte made the best of her situation and won Francy’s respect and friendship.

How could Sharlotte be dead? Sharlotte had left town on that warm June evening. Francy had watched her pack and write a note to her Mother. Sharlotte was nervous and excited. She was leaving for Boise and meeting her mystery man there.

The mystery man. Sharlotte was secretive where he was concerned. Francy had been told that he was rich, married, and did not want his family to know about Sharlotte. But Sharlotte maintained that he loved her, and since they were going to have a baby, he would find a way to be with her. Francy said her good-byes and left. But she had not driven far, before curiosity overcame her. Instead of going home, Francy hid her car and walked to a sheltered area, where she could get a glimpse of the mystery man without being seen.

A thought entered Francy’s mind. The mystery man was Sharlotte’s lover. Could he have also been her killer? Was that possible? How had Sharlotte died? There had been no information in the newspaper.

Francy turned off the roadway onto the long lane leading to her house. She had to call her mother, her brother, and the travel agency. Francy wanted to visit her family and now she had another reason: Sharlotte’s death.

Francy parked the car in the front driveway and hurried inside. She picked up the phone to call her mother and put it down. There was a call she must make first. She hurried downstairs and retrieved the newspaper article. Robert Carter was in charge of the investigation.

She picked up the phone on the desk and called information for the telephone number of the Twin Falls County Sheriff’s Office. When a woman answered, she asked for Robert Carter. A moment later a man’s voice responded.

Hello, this is Robert Carter, how may I help you?

My name is Francine Koepetz. Before I was married it was Francine Warner. I am Samuel Warner’s daughter. I grew up in Kimberly, and I think I know the identity of the dead woman you found.

You do?

Her name was Sharlotte Wilms. She attended Kimberly High School in the early 90’s. The ring you found is an initial ring. I have one, too. My initial is F. Sharlotte’s was S. It isn’t a serpent on the ring. It is a letter S.

Charlotte? She spelled her name with an S?

Yes, Sharlotte with an S. I am going to be in Kimberly soon to visit my mother. I’ll talk to you when I get to Idaho.

One question. If she lived in Kimberly, why didn’t anyone report her missing?

Sharlotte told me that she was leaving town to be with the man she loved. She wrote a note to her mother saying the same thing. I knew she was pregnant, and I thought when I didn’t hear from her that things hadn’t worked out, and she wanted to forget about Kimberly.

Do you know who the man was? He may have been the one who killed her.

She was murdered?

Yes, we think so. Who was the man?

I never knew for sure. I’ll tell you everything I know when I see you.

I’ll be waiting.

Francy put the phone down and stared blankly at the wall. Never knew? That wasn’t true. She did know---his name was Peter Andrews—tall, blonde, captain of the football team, and president of the senior class. He was the first person in Kimberly to own a Corvette. Francy became infatuated with the image of Peter Andrews, but it was the real person inside that she fell in love with. Peter Andrews was the first man she had loved; the first one she had given herself to.

Peter was now a state senator. State senator---murderer? Within hours the past had come back and entwined itself into the present. Sharlotte had never left Kimberly. Francy would have to remember the night she had tried to forget for seventeen years. The torments and demons of the past would have to be exorcised, if she was to make sense out of Sharlotte’s death. Sharlotte should not be dead because she had been involved with the wrong man. If Peter Andrews killed her, then Peter Andrews should pay.

CHAPTER TWO

The plane ride from Portland to Boise was uncomfortable. Francy was uneasy and could think of nothing but the past, and Sharlotte. She took her silver ring out of her purse and looked at it. It was dark with tarnish and no longer fit her finger. The ring was a reminder of the summer at Yellowstone. . .

It was Sharlotte’s idea to work in Yellowstone. They had both turned seventeen. Though seventeen was a year younger than the eighteen years required by the Yellowstone Park Employment Service, Sharlotte found two jobs in nearby West Yellowstone. The Worten was a popular restaurant and the proprietor needed workers.

Francy accepted the job enthusiastically. Sharlotte could sell any idea. Adventure was the term Sharlotte used. Francy agreed because adventure sounded more fun than staying in Kimberly and baby-sitting for the Reinholt’s three spoiled children.

The summer working in West Yellowstone turned into an adventure of profitable fun. The salary at the restaurant was well below minimum wage but the tips were huge. They put half their money into saving accounts, and the rest they spent on anything they wanted.

Next door to the restaurant was The Silver Chief, a shop that sold silver jewelry. Sharlotte became friends with the silver smith who owned the shop. He made ornate silver initial pendants but when both of them asked for initial rings instead of necklaces, he willingly obliged. The rings were antiqued silver, with large initials and small flowers cut into the band. Sharlotte said they were friendship rings and she would think of Francy every time she wore her ring.

Friends! They were friends who shared every experience, every ambition, and every dream. Sharlotte wanted to escape the poverty she hated, and her ignorant, unfeeling parents. Sharlotte never talked about her father’s drinking, but her refusal to consume alcohol was almost fanatical. Sharlotte’s excuse was that she was Mormon and tried to live by her religion. Francy never asked Sharlotte why she never went to church. It was enough that she knew the real reason for Sharlotte’s aversion to alcohol.

As the plane prepared to land, Francy stirred from her daydreaming. She looked down at the Boise airport, which was larger and more modern than she remembered. It had been several years since Francy had seen the airport. The new buildings were red brick and spread out into long terminal pods that mimicked the airports of larger cities. When the plane landed and finally stopped moving, Francy picked up her purse and retrieved her belongings from the overhead compartment. She walked out of the plane and down the long corridor into the airport lobby. She did not hurry. There was a fearful foreboding that accompanied her return to Idaho. She took a deep breath to relax. Her nervousness was silly.

Baggage pickup was on the first floor. Francy walked down the stairway to the first floor and continued until she came to the baggage claim area. She stood in front of the round circling conveyor waiting for her luggage. When her blue case appeared, she walked over to the conveyor and removed it. She put the bag down, took hold of the handle, and pulled the bag behind her as she made her way to the baggage claim attendants. There were a dozen people in the line ahead of her. She found a place behind an elderly woman, and then she saw him. Peter Andrews was standing in line in front of her. Francy thought of moving out of line when someone behind her spoke.

Senator Andrews. Peter turned and nodded at the man who had spoken, and then he looked directly at her. Francy smiled.

Hello, Peter. I heard you’d become a state Senator. Congratulations! Francy said as casually as possible.

Hello, Francy. Peter Andrews acknowledged her and then began to talk to the man who had called his name.

Francy had not seen Peter Andrews for over fifteen years but she could read nervousness in his face. The smile was artificial and the skin around his mouth was pale. His eyes darted back and forth from the man to her. When he was finished with his conversation, he turned to Francy. His eyes met hers for a moment and his face showed strain.

Francy, are you in Idaho on business or pleasure? Peter asked.

To see my mother and Sam. How have you been? I heard you got married and have a little girl. Francy asked.

There have been a lot of changes in my life this last year. I would like to talk to you more but I have to rush to a meeting. Maybe we can get together another time? Peter replied, then turned, and walking stiffly he exited through the front doors.

"I make him nervous. Does he suspect why I’m