Rearranging the Truth

By Valerie R. Drees

Tori knows something that Brian doesn't--a family secret revealed by Brian's Aunt Lily in Dublin, Ireland--only to her. A deception so coldly calculated and criminally complete, it has remained hidden for decades as a carefully arranged truth. Tori is determined to unearth the whole story. She takes the opportunity of a business trip to Los Angeles to drive up the coast to Santa Barbara, and there, to investigate the accident that tragically took the lives of two Sage family members in 1962. What Tori finds--yet another well-hidden deception--will rip through the fabric of the family once it becomes known. Yet, if she seeks to "poke the sleeping bear," the Sage family's patriarch, how can she see him punished for what he has done without hurting other family members? As Tori begins her quest to rearrange the truth, she worries that pulling the threads she has worked loose could unravel all of the long-buried secrets in the Sage family.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Aug 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9781645757832

Valerie R. Drees

Valerie R. Drees worked for many years in the corporate sphere, buying interior design materials for a bank in Glendale, California. She shifted careers in her mid-30s, becoming a teacher of World History and Geography to exceptional high school girls in Pasadena, California. Upon her relocation to Virginia Beach, Virginia, she continued her teaching career at a community college, offering courses in European History, as well as English as a second language. Until a few years ago, her writing record was tied to her work as a history instructor, including several non-fiction articles for a historical journal, and a local (Virginia Beach) police department history chapbook. Valerie left teaching to write her first novel, The Burden of Truth, a suspense/mystery/thriller published in May 2018 (Austin Macauley, New York). She now devotes herself full time to writing.

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About the Author

Valerie R. Drees worked for many years in the corporate sphere, buying interior design materials for a bank in Glendale, California. She shifted careers in her mid-30s, becoming a teacher of World History and Geography to exceptional high school girls in Pasadena, California. Upon her relocation to Virginia Beach, Virginia, she continued her teaching career at a community college, offering courses in European History, as well as English as a second language. Until a few years ago, her writing record was tied to her work as a history instructor, including several non-fiction articles for a historical journal, and a local (Virginia Beach) police department history chapbook. Valerie left teaching to write her first novel, The Burden of Truth, a suspense/mystery/thriller published in May 2018 (Austin Macauley, New York). She now devotes herself full time to writing.

Dedication

This book is dedicated with much love to my husband, Clayton J. Drees, who is tireless in his support of my endeavors.

Copyright Information ©

Valerie R. Drees (2020)

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

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

Cover art by Jean Anderson

Ordering Information:

Quantity sales: special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

Drees, Valerie R.

Rearranging the Truth

ISBN 9781645757825 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781645757818 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781645757832 (ePub e-book)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020909281

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published (2020)

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 28th Floor

New York, NY 10005

U.S.A

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Acknowledgment

I wish to thank the early readers of the manuscript, those dedicated folks who offered suggestions and painstakingly caught my goofs: M. Jean Anderson (who also provided the artwork for the cover), Denie Brand, Deb Pfirrmann, and Nancy Topping.

Grateful acknowledgement also goes to the following for granting permission for me to use quotes from previously published material:

Harper Collins Publishers UK, on behalf of Robert Wilson, author, for the quote used from his A Small Death in Lisbon, copyright 1999.

Greene & Heaton Ltd., on behalf of the copyright estate of P. D. James, from Devices and Desires, by P. D. James, 1989.

The Players

Main Characters

Tori (Victoria) Daniels, nee Sommer: co-owner of The Dust Jacket Bookshop & Café in Williamsburg, VA, lives above the shop, born 1958 in Los Angeles, former interior designer, a novelist, divorced.

Brian (O’Neil) Sage: co-owner of the bookshop (above) with Tori, lives above the shop, born 1953 in Santa Barbara, but raised from age nine in Winchester, England, English Professor at the College of William and Mary in Williamsburg, VA, earned Ph.D. at UCLA, UCSB undergrad, poet and playwright.

Lily O’Neil Donnelly and Laurel O’Neil Sage: twin sisters from the Dalkey area of Dublin, born 1928, Ireland; Lily is Brian and his brother Patrick’s aunt; Laurel is Brian and Patrick’s mother; Lily owns Donnelly Books and Prints in Dalkey, lives above the shop, her late husband was Declan Donnelly and her son is Michael Donnelly (spoiler alert).

Carlton Sage: father of Patrick and Brian Sage (spoiler alert), born 1928 in Winchester, England, son of Claire and Carson(deceased) Sage, co-owner of Sage Publishers, first wife was Laurel O’Neil, second wife is an Australian called Pamela Wade Campbell.

Claire Sage: mother of Carlton, grandmother of Patrick and Brian (spoiler alert), born 1899 in Winchester, England, co-owner of Sage Publishers.

Patrick Sage: son of Carlton and Laurel Sage, grandson of Claire and Carson Sage, older brother of Brian Sage, born 1948 in NYC.

John Sommer: deceased father of Tori Daniels, UCLA English professor, poet & playwright, mentor of Brian Sage (spoiler alert).

Michael & Fiona Donnelly (and baby daughter Laurel Donnelly): he is the son of Lily and Declan (deceased) Donnelly (spoiler alert), and is training to be a lawyer in Dublin, Ireland; she is his wife and works in her mother-in-law Lily Donnelly’s bookshop, along with shop assistant Moira.

William (Will) Crosley: a longtime family friend of, and lawyer for, the Sommers, sometime UCLA Law professor, practicing attorney in Los Angeles, born 1925 in Los Angeles; his secretary is Beverly (Bev) Wilder.

Ian Lehrer: English professor at University of Kent, Canterbury, England, friend and former UCLA colleague of John Sommer, friend of Brian Sage and Tori Daniels, son of Charlotte and Kurt (deceased) Lehrer, father of Kyle Lehrer, husband of Cynthia (Cindy).

Timothy Parker Irwin: fellow UCLA Ph.D. program alum and friend of Brian Sage, English professor at Queens University in Charlotte, NC.

Secondary Characters

Lana Marks Carter and her husband Kevin Carter: she is Patrick’s private nurse at the Devereux Residential Facility in Santa Barbara; he is a retired Santa Barbara police officer.

In Australia: Carlton’s second wife and Brian’s step-mother is Pamela Wade Campbell Sage; her daughter Priscilla Campbell Larsen co-owns and runs (with her mother) her late father’s (Cameron Campbell) mining enterprise and is married to Sigismund (Sig) Larsen, who manages Sage Publishers’ Australian headquarters; they have two children (son Cameron, daughter Campbell).

In the Dust Jacket Bookshop & Café, the shop co-owned by Brian Sage and Tori Daniels: Margaret is the shop’s manager; Robyn manages the café (is married to Air Force pilot Drew), Jake works on the book side, while Sally and Alison (Ali) work on the café side, Octavius Zachariah Lester (aka ‘Les’ or ‘OZ’) works on both sides; Frances Casper (Frankie) is the shop’s baker.

NOTE: any other characters mentioned in the story come up only in passing to facilitate the action or give background.

1

She watched from the window as the aircraft descended through white puffball cloud cover, then circled. Ah, there it is, she thought, as the spider-shaped restaurant came into view at Los Angeles International Airport. Tori had not been back to her beginnings in L.A. for just over six years. It seemed unchanged: lots of traffic around the airport, dry-looking shrubs along the freeway. Another drought year, she supposed. It was light-jacket-cool and very sunny. Not as smoggy as she remembered, but then it was November, one of the prettier times of the year. Yes, the San Gabriel Mountains were postcard-perfect this morning.

In her rented Ford Escort on the 405 Freeway, Tori Daniels drove toward the Valley, to Studio City and her 9:30 appointment with the film production team. It had been beastly to be boarding a plane at Dulles in DC at 6:10 a.m., but with the 3-hour time difference, and even despite the well over 5-hour air journey, she would be right on time. Sunset-Coastal Films was interested in turning her novel, Gathering Clouds, into something visual. She had no idea what to expect really, or how long the meeting would take, or even why they wanted a face-to-face. Her agent, ‘marvelous Marvin,’ as her best friend and business partner Brian Sage had nicknamed him, was no help. All he’d said was, It’s all good, Hon. Go, see ’em, and make nice. So, she’d be nice and see what developed. But that wasn’t really why she was here.

Since the late summer, Tori had been unsettled. The undercurrent of tension she felt was, at least in part, her own doing. She hated being the keeper of secrets. This was a doozie too, and she was keeping it from Brian who had absolutely every right to know. But it was not her secret, so not hers to tell. It was Lily’s. Brian had been doing so well since they’d returned in mid-August from their visits to England and Ireland. He had been writing away in every spare moment when he wasn’t teaching his classes at the College of William and Mary, or helping his students in the production of a campus play. No, the very large ‘sleeping dog’ would have to ‘lie,’ for the foreseeable future.

Brian and Tori were both looking forward to Thanksgiving and the first-ever visit of Brian’s Irish Aunt Lily O’Neil Donnelly to their combination bookstore and home in Williamsburg, Virginia. Lily also ran a bookstore in the Dalkey area of greater Dublin. She’d just become a grandma for the first time last month, so there was no question of an extended holiday visit this year; she’d certainly not miss grandbaby Laurel’s first Christmas. Her son Michael and daughter-in-law Fiona would never forgive Grandma Lily’s absence at such an occasion. They were a tightly knit little family, living across the street from each other. Togetherness was everything. Brian and Tori were family too, but their Irish kin had only rediscovered them this past summer. All the new understandings would take time to work themselves out. Still, that was one burden lifted, as one secret was revealed: Brian and Tori were, in fact, half-siblings. Perhaps the rest of the story could be drawn from Lily over an excellent and very traditional American Thanksgiving celebration. No more secrets, at least among the three of them, would indeed be something for which Tori could be hugely thankful.

Ah, there was her exit, and the office building was just down the block with ample parking too. How nice, she thought. Tori pasted on the smile she really didn’t feel and ascended to the 4th floor. She checked her shoulder length almond brown hair in the elevator’s mirrored walls, tucking stray strands behind her ears, and straightened her glasses across the bridge of her nose. Then she quickly swiped on a bit of lip gloss. Good enough, she thought to herself. Stepping from the elevator, she spied a circular reception station staffed by a carefully made-up mannequin-like woman of about her own age, thirty-something, she figured. Yes, the team was expecting her, would she take a seat for a moment and someone would be down to meet her in just a few minutes. Hmm…team? Tori mumbled as she seated herself in the nearest chair. I’ll be out-numbered. Is that their strategy? Okay. Well, I’m ready; come get me, she thought.

Less than an hour later, the meeting was over, the contract signed, and Tori was on her way again. Now, for the real purpose of this trip, at least in her own mind: she was driving to Santa Barbara. She’d given herself less than three days here in California, and booked a room in that city; it had once been Brian’s home, at least until age nine, when an accident changed his life forever. Tori also planned to meet with her late father’s lawyer William Crosley, whose office was in Century City, before she returned to Virginia from LAX on Friday. She would set up that meeting as soon as she could get to the phone in her hotel room.

In the wake of Brian’s Aunt Lily’s revelations to her last summer, Tori had quietly convinced herself over the last couple of months that the car crash had been no accident. Though it had now been over twenty-seven years ago, Tori was determined to research what she was increasingly certain was an unpunished crime that had cost two people, and an unborn child, their lives. As soon as she had more information, she hoped Mr. Crosley could advise her about what to do next.

Tori had been to Santa Barbara many times, both with her father and then later with Brian. Her brother (though she didn’t know that back then) appreciated her company, as a buffer and distraction, whenever he was invited into the presence of the man he grew up calling his father, Carlton Sage, and his stepmother Pamela, Carlton’s second wife. Actually, they were never who Brian went to visit. Really, he only wanted to see his grandmother, Claire, whenever she visited from England. Thus, Brian usually scheduled his visits to coincide with hers, which were only once or twice a year. Carlton didn’t care for Brian and the feeling had always been mutual, even before Brian’s mother, Laurel (Carlton’s late first wife), confessed to him that Carlton wasn’t his biological father. She swore her young son to secrecy, having only told him in the hope that Brian wouldn’t be so hurt by Carlton’s constant cruel barbs and unfair comparisons to his older brother Patrick. Patrick was the light of Carlton’s life: a perfect son. Of course, the secret was made the more satisfying because Carlton had no idea he was not Brian’s father as well.

Turning the car radio on, Tori stumbled into a station’s three in a row commercial free set of this year’s best hits so far, part of a top 100 for 1989 playlist. First up was Cher’s, If I could Turn Back Time, and Tori gave her a hand by joining in on the refrain. Next came Tom Petty’s, I Won’t Back Down. The set finished with the melodic The End of the Innocence, sung by Don Henley. Hmm…you know, if I were superstitious, I’d think there’s some kind of a message coming at me here, Tori told the radio as she turned it off. Well, I’m here now and I’m gonna do this thing. So no, I won’t back down, and innocence is…um overrated, she told herself. Tori let those thoughts float away as she focused on making the transition from the 405 to the 101 Freeway. She began to enjoy the scenery, almost on autopilot, as she cruised along the coastline near Carpinteria, then Montecito, reaching Santa Barbara. She exited on Mission, passing the historic Mission Santa Barbara, crossing over Foothill Road, and continuing on to Mission Canyon, where the Sages lived. Tori fervently hoped that no one was home now, in the early afternoon. As she crested the steep hill toward their even steeper driveway, and though the house wasn’t visible from the street, what greeted her view was a ‘for sale’ sign.

Huh, she said to herself, as she idled for a moment, deciding what to do. I don’t think Brian knows about this.

She nosed the car cautiously up the long steep curve of the driveway. No signs of life as she exited her car. She rang the bell, just to be sure. No, no one here. The shades and drapes were all closed. A realtor’s lock box was on the door handle.

Hmm. I guess they mean it, she said to herself, as she got back into the car.

From the house, Tori drove to Carlton Sage’s office on Foothill, near San Marcos Pass, at the edge of town. There, she had another surprise: Sage Publishers’ property was surrounded by a tall padlocked chain-link fence upon which was posted a very large sign advertising that the whole complex was for sale by the same realty company as the one on the sign at the Sage’s house.

Curious-er and curious-er, Tori said to herself.

Check-in at the Best Western Hotel on State Street went smoothly; despite her early arrival (it was only going on to 1:00) her room was ready. She dialed William Crosley’s number from the bedside phone. He was not there at the moment, but was expected back from court by about 4:00. Tori told the woman who’d answered: who she was, that she was only going to be in California until Friday afternoon, that it was urgent that she see Mr. Crosley in person before she had to leave, and – for good measure – that he was an old friend of her family. Could she please meet with him on Friday late-morning? The woman told her that her boss’ schedule was already full, but she’d leave that message for him; would she leave a number where he could reach her? Tori gave her the hotel number, but said she had to go out, that Mr. Crosley should leave her a message as soon as he possibly could. Frustrated by not being able to tie-down this aspect of her plan, Tori silently prayed that this was not the inauspicious beginning she feared might plague her enterprise. What to do next? she wondered.

Tori decided a trip to the historic Spanish style public library building, off the corner of Anacapa at Anapamu, was her best bet to find out both the details of the accident all those years ago, as well as what had happened to Sage Publishers. The friendly and extremely helpful reference librarian was a font of much-needed wisdom. No, Sage Publishers had not gone out of business; they did still have a satellite office somewhere just off of State Street, on Carrillo, or so she thought. The entire manufacturing operation though had been moved to Australia – to Melbourne, if she remembered correctly – several months ago; sometime last summer, as she recalled. It was awful, she said, because so many local people were laid off. The librarian then led Tori to back copies of the Santa Barbara News-Press, all on microfilm reels, for articles about the June 1962 accident that took the lives of Carlton Sage’s pregnant wife, Laurel, and son, Patrick.

There were tragic accounts of the devastated family and pictures of the remaining Sages at the funeral for their loved ones. Perhaps more useful to Tori though was the account given by a fireman, called Sean Murphy, who had been summoned to the crash site. He was quoted as being baffled by the blaze. Apparently, his unit had been called out to handle what had been described as a small brush fire in the hills above town. Upon arrival, he had been shocked to find that instead of landscape, a small green convertible was ablaze, engulfed, he had called it; very little else had been in flames. In an environment often fraught with fire danger, his department had acted very quickly to minimize the risk of whole neighborhoods set alight. He was asked by the reporter if he had thought the car had had a mechanical problem that might have sparked the fire. He’d said, at this point that would surely have to be investigated. He had mentioned, almost as an aside, that he was surprised there were no skid marks on the pavement, since the position of the vehicle suggested that the car had taken the downhill curve at a high rate of speed and rolled at least once, maybe twice.

The article went on to interview a police officer, Kevin Carter, who had been first on the scene. He had said that it was lucky it was just the car and not the whole hillside that burned, but of course, that it had been a pretty horrible way for the lady inside to die. When he was asked about the lack of skid marks, Officer Carter had theorized that often in cases like this, alcohol or even drugs are a factor, and that it would have to be investigated more fully.

Hmm, Tori said to herself, as she searched for more articles that would detail the investigation that must have followed. There were none. She asked the librarian for any additional suggestions or help she could offer. The best of these was to visit the records office, to see the cause of death on the official death certificates for Laurel and Patrick Sage.

It was nearly 3:45 and, while the records office would likely be open another hour or so, Tori feared she’d miss William Crosley’s call. She returned to her hotel room, stopping en route only to grab a sandwich ‘to go’ from the deli in the same block. It had been a long time since her airline breakfast of powdered scrambled eggs and a cold bagel. Sure enough, Crosley had called and left a message; yes, he’d make time to see her before she had to leave on Friday. He left her his home number and asked her to try him there, after 6:00, to confirm. Tori munched her BLT as she considered the next part of her plan. She preferred a face-to-face with Crosley, and would endeavor to set that up for 11:30 on Friday morning. At least she could tell him one thing over the phone that she’d promised to, given that he’d helped her last summer: she had confirmed that Brian was her father John Sommer’s son; her half-brother.

* * *

The next morning, Thursday, Tori visited the Registrar’s Office on Camino del Remedio, as well as the County Clerk’s office on Anacapa Street. She was able to see, and get a copy of, a microfilm of Laurel Sage’s death certificate. There was no mention of alcohol, or drugs for that matter, in the accompanying medical examiner’s report, but Tori did confirm what she already knew: the deceased was pregnant. No matter how hard she tried, or how many people in the offices of officialdom she consulted, Tori could find no death certificate for 14-year-old Patrick Sage. He most definitely had been in the car, according to all the articles she had read. He was buried after the combined funeral, according to those accounts, alongside his mother. This last fact Tori confirmed by visiting the cemetery and finding the side-by-side headstones.

Feeling very dissatisfied by the whole research process thus far, Tori decided to dig deeper. She went in search of Sean Murphy and Kevin Carter, which proved far easier than she had imagined.

At the first firehouse she encountered, Tori met a very obliging fireman who explained that Murphy was now a captain, and in a firehouse about 10 minutes’ drive away. The station was easy to find on West Carrillo Street, and when she asked for Captain Murphy, a tall, very lean, gray-haired man emerged from a rear office. Tori judged him to be about fifty, or perhaps he’d simply spent too much time in the sun. She introduced herself as a distant member of the family, which was only marginally true, since she was Brian’s half-sister and not actually related to his brother Patrick, or to his mother. She explained her mission: to find out more about the accident.

I always wondered if someone would look into it. Never sat right with me. But it was all so long ago, that I guessed there was no one left to care. It was plain to me Old Man Sage didn’t. For him, it was all about the boy, Sean Murphy said as he invited her into his office.

After half an hour of conversation, it emerged that the car was such a total loss, so badly burned, they couldn’t determine what had started it, or at least not for sure – though theories abounded at the time – or how the driver had so lost all control, as to roll it multiple times. They’d settled on the explanation that excessive speed at the downhill curve was responsible, but why Mrs. Sage was going so fast around such a steep curve, well, I guess we can’t know. I mean, it’s not like she didn’t drive that way all the time from her house; well, every time she came into town anyway. Seemed odd to me then and still does now, her being pregnant and with her son in the car too, Captain Murphy said.

What did you mean that Carlton Sage didn’t seem to care? Tori asked.

Well, look, I was new and very young. It was my first actual call, in fact. Up till that crash, I’d been doing inspections, you know, just lots of routine stuff. To see a lady burned to a crisp – oh, sorry, he paused as he saw Tori wince.

No, please, I need to know as much as you can tell me, she said.

I delivered the accident report to Mr. Sage after our initial investigation which, as I said, didn’t amount to much since the damage was so bad. He didn’t even look at it. Just put it on top of the stack of papers on his desk. It was the day before the funeral, so I guess he had a lot on his mind. But I stood there for a minute, you know, waiting to see if he’d read it and, you know, say anything. He just asked, ‘Was there anything else?’ I said no, and he said, ‘Then please show yourself out.’ I don’t know what I was expecting. I mean, we don’t usually hand deliver stuff like that, but he was a big shot around here; lots of folks worked at his company. It wasn’t that I expected him to thank me, or anything, but he seemed, well, disinterested. Honestly, afterward and for a long time, I just figured he was in some kind of shock. I mentioned it to a colleague when I got back to the station that morning, and he said it was probably because the boy had just died too. You see, he was thrown clear which is why he wasn’t burned up too. No seat belts in those days. But he hit the rocks on the roadside really hard, lingered at Cottage Hospital a couple days, and died in time to be buried with his mom. I didn’t know that till after I’d been to the house that day, Captain Murphy said.

Did you think at the time that something mechanical could have caused the accident? I mean, like brake failure? Tori asked.

Well, sure, that could have happened. It’s just that we couldn’t prove it, no evidence left because of the intensity of the fire. Really, it was the fire itself that bugged me. A car doesn’t always burst into flames because it’s rolled, even a couple of times – not like in the movies. Look, I don’t want to stir the pot, so to speak, Sage used to be a big deal around here, but since he stiffed so many people by shutting down his operation and moving it overseas, well… Captain Murphy hesitated before going on. You should talk to Kevin Carter. He’s retired now, but he lives only a few miles from here. He was a cop and first on the scene. He didn’t like it either. We talked about it then, and later compared results of our investigations, but there just wasn’t anything really definite to point to. It’s just that we, neither of us, understood why a pregnant lady, with her son in the car, driving on a stretch of road so familiar to her would have such a bad accident there, that’s all. It just didn’t sit right. Never has, he said.

Now, I’ll tell you what’s bugging me, Captain, Tori said. I can’t find a death certificate for Patrick Sage, though it was easy to find his mother’s. He has a headstone; I’ve seen it. But no record that he actually died.

Murphy looked perplexed and uncomfortable, as he said, That’s weird. Let me call Carter for you. I think you should talk to him. Maybe he knows what’s with the missing certificate.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Tori was pulling into one of two designated spots for condo number 12 at the complex on Pueblo where Kevin Carter, now retired, lived. The mid-seventy-something stooped gentleman who greeted her at the door, maneuvering his walker with skill, was something of a surprise. His body might be betraying his age, but not his sharp, bright blue eyes or his quick mind. The first thing he wanted to know was why, after all this time, Tori was interested – who was she exactly?

Tori decided not to be too circumspect with this shrewd old cop. She told Carter that she was the half-sister, business partner, and roommate of the late Patrick Sage’s younger brother Brian. She was careful not to let on which of Brian’s parents had ‘strayed.’ She explained that these revelations on her actual relationship to the family had only occurred this past summer, which is why the time gap was so large. Tori had become interested in the accident after talking to Lily, Brian’s aunt, who lived in Ireland and was the sister of his late mother. Aunt Lily had always suspected it was no accident. Tori finished by telling Carter that Brian had no idea she was here, right now, researching what Lily had told her this past summer, but that she intended to tell him everything once she got home to Virginia. Further, she explained that she was shocked to find that Carlton Sage had put the family home on the market, that he’d closed down the Company’s Santa Barbara operation, and put that property up for sale as well. Since Brian, who lived with her in Virginia, and his grandmother, who lived in England were both major beneficiaries of the Company’s profits, and neither of them knew about these actions, Tori wanted to get to the bottom of what was going on. Both now – and then, at the time of the accident – and report it all to them, as well as to Aunt Lily in Ireland.

Carter seated himself carefully, sinking down deeply, ensconced in his black naugahyde barcalounger. He bade Tori sit as well. He cleared his throat, took a sip of whatever was in his silvertone cup on the side table, and said, Let me tell you a story, Young Lady. It’s one that should’ve been told a long time ago. I can tell it now because that bastard, meaning no disrespect to his mother, screwed this town and lots of people who worked for Sage Publishers. He put my daughter and son-in-law out of work practically overnight. No warning at all. They nearly lost their house, thanks to that asswipe, Carlton Sage. And would have, if I hadn’t put a little by for a rainy day. My daughter’s since found work, but my son-in-law is still patching together odd jobs. Twenty years he gave that Company. Too young to collect his pension. No way to know if that’ll even be there when the time comes. Ah, but you don’t wanna hear about my worries.

I will listen to everything you want to tell me, Mr. Carter. I appreciate your willingness to talk to me very much, Tori said, and added, And you can’t call Carlton any worse names than Brian and I have called him over the years. I feel like he’s pulled a ‘fast one’ here by so suddenly selling up without even having a Company meeting about it. He also never showed up – or even called – at the special 90th birthday gathering we hosted for his mother, Claire, in England this past August, Tori said.

Carter smiled, took a deep breath, letting it out on a long sigh, then launched into his story. "Nothing about that guy surprises me anymore, though I admit all those years ago, everything he did made me uncomfortable. Look, nothing about that so-called accident was ever proved, could ever be proven, is my guess. It was such a mess – the car, I mean. I didn’t like it any more than Murphy. Should have been skid marks. Whole thing stunk to high heaven. Thought so at the time too. Murphy said just now on the phone that you went to the cemetery. Honey, you can’t find a death certificate for Patrick Sage because he ain’t dead, though his Old Man sure treated him like he was, what with that pretend burial. Felt real bad for the little brother, Brian you said his name is, holding his grandmother’s hand, standing there, crying at the graveside, thinking big brother Patrick was gone. And the grandmother, in all the way from England, and she’d just lost her husband earlier that year too. Sage didn’t care, standing there in his expensive suit, all stone-faced as usual. He was leaving the country right away; didn’t come back for a whole lotta years either, and then with a new wife in tow."

Wait – back up a bit, Tori said. What? You’re telling me Patrick is still alive, even now? Where is he? We know nothing about this! She was stunned.

Well, now, you wouldn’t. It was all hush-hush at the time, Carter said. Sage didn’t want anyone to know Patrick was in a coma; that he’d decided to turn off all the machines. Let him die. Then Sage left the country – went to Australia – right away, maybe early the next day, after the funeral. Guess his going had been all planned for months. And he wasn’t gonna let the accident mess up his big important plans, no sir. There was no gathering with grub back at the house, or any of the usual rituals. He also left no forwarding address; just had the mail sent to the Company here in town. We hadn’t even completely finished our investigation, though Murphy’s part of it was done. Sage just couldn’t change his damn plans no matter what. I went to the house after the funeral, actually late the next day – all closed up. That alone ticked me off.

So, what happened to Patrick? You said he is alive. Trust me, none of us know about that, Tori said.

"He was thrown from the car, along with his mother’s handbag, before the car rolled and burned. That’s how we were able to