River Running Backwards

By Susan Clayton-Goldner

If Detective Winston Radhauser knew how many skeletons visiting his dying uncle would unearth, he might have stayed in Ashland. But he might never have learned the truth about his past.

During a deathbed confession, Winston Radhauser learns his parents are still alive and his mother is in a psychiatric facility having confessed to the murder of his three-month-old sister. After her confession, his mother stopped talking and hasn’t uttered a word in forty-three years.

Torn between grief for his uncle and anger at the lies he’s been told, Radhauser sets out to discover the truth about his family. As he conducts his own investigation and uncovers more evidence, Radhauser realizes the police took the easy way out by blaming his mother. He is convinced she is innocent. During his investigation, he unveils one more dark secret. Will this one lead him to the person who murdered his three-month-old sister, and vindicate his mother?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tirgearr Publishing
• Release date: Nov 11, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005285180

Book preview

Chapter One

Friday, October 18, 2002

As he sat in his office completing the paperwork on a jewelry store robbery case, Detective Winston Radhauser looked up and found his wife, Gracie, in the doorway, a carry-on suitcase at her side.

She wore a pair of creased jeans, cowboy boots and a blue plaid western shirt, tucked in tight at the waist. Gracie’s mahogany hair was loose, the way he liked it best. Her visits to the Ashland Police Department were rare. Their almost three-year-old son, Jonathan, was balanced on her right hip. The expression on her face was one he’d seen before—the night she told him about her cancer.

Jonathan squirmed to get down. Daddy, the boy squealed. He wore a pair of denim bib overalls, a red-and-white striped shirt, and red canvas sneakers that once belonged to his sister. The dark curls they couldn’t bear to cut dangled over his collar.

What’s wrong? You didn’t have a doctor’s appointment today, did you? He wiped his clammy hands on his pant legs.

This isn’t about me. When Gracie set Jonathan on the floor, he raced toward Radhauser, clambered onto his lap and reached into his breast pocket for his badge.

Relieved, Radhauser ruffled Jonathan’s hair. Every time he looked at this boy, something caught fire inside his chest and soared. After Lucas died, he’d never expected to feel this fierce love again.

This is a sweet surprise. His gaze landed on the carry-on again, then lifted to her face. His concern ratcheted up a notch. You running away from home? Is that what this is about?

No, but I’m afraid you are. She gave him a sad smile that indented the dimples on her cheeks he could never resist, but didn’t light her dark eyes. Aunt Sarah called. Uncle Roger is under hospice care now, and he wants you there.

It’s only been a few months since they were here for Lizzie’s birthday, Radhauser’s chest tightened. He’d thought they’d get more time. Had the cancer moved that rapidly?

Gracie tilted her head. I know, honey, but with metastatic cancer, a lot can change in four months. His wife—always the nurse—always so clear on what was the right thing to do.

It’s not a great time for me to be away. I’ve got three open cases and a trial next week. It wasn’t the real reason he didn’t want to go. He’d already lost his parents, his first wife and their son. Uncle Roger was the only father Radhauser had ever known. He’d already said too many sad goodbyes.

Gracie cocked one eyebrow and looked him straight in the eyes. Is there ever a good time to die?

He swallowed. Maybe if I wait a few days, I can clean up some paperwork for the DA on that assault case, you know the one that put a guy in the ICU. I need to make sure McBride is up to speed to testify in my place.

Gracie’s gaze skittered away, and she stared at the whiteboard behind his desk. The way Aunt Sarah talked, your uncle Roger won’t be around in a few days. She told me he has something very important to tell you.

What?

She wouldn’t say. You know how ethical she’s always been. She wants you to hear it first. You’re the son he never had. He wants you there, holding his hand when he… Her gaze found his again and held. I know you, Wind, and if you don’t go I’m afraid you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.

Those words knocked him back a step, and an invisible hand squeezed his heart. When he spoke again, his voice was thick. He’s only seventy-three.

Gracie reached out and touched his arm. I can try to find a sitter for the kids, someone to take care of the horses and join you later if you want.

Radhauser should be used to this by now, the way his wife understood him. More than anyone, she realized how important Uncle Roger and Aunt Sarah were to him. Radhauser had been three years old when they took him in, gave him a stable home, and loved him as if he were their own son. Uncle Roger was best man at both Radhauser’s weddings. And his sons carried Roger’s middle name.

Pressing his lips to the top of Jonathan’s head, Radhauser breathed in the apple scent of his shampoo. His boy, only a few months younger than Radhauser had been when he came to live with his aunt and uncle. Thanks for the offer, love, but this is something I need to do alone.

I figured you’d say that. I made a reservation for you, Gracie said. Your plane leaves Medford at three-twenty-five. You have a two-hour layover in Portland. Then a non-stop to Phoenix. Tickets are waiting at the United Airlines counter.

He stood, slipped his ID and badge back into his breast pocket, tossed Jonathan into the air, then set the giggling boy on the floor. Radhauser grabbed his backpack from the credenza and slung one strap over his shoulder. Maybe Uncle Roger would tell some of his famous stories and Radhauser could get them on tape. I need to check with Captain Murphy and make sure it's okay.

She smiled. I knew you’d have to hurry to catch the plane. So I called him before I left, explained Roger was like a father to you. Murphy said you can take as much leave as you need. Better hurry, you’ll have to pick up the tickets and I don’t want you to miss your plane. Gracie gave him a kiss, and took Jonathan’s hand. I’m going to let this young man have a romp in Lithia Park, then pick up Lizzie from school.

Jonathan jumped up and down. Park. I go park.

Gracie picked him up. Give Daddy a big hug.

The little boy obeyed.

If you get a chance, call me when you get there, she said. I don’t care how late it is. Mother and son disappeared down the hall, leaving his suitcase in the doorway.

His wife had the magic touch with Murphy. The captain would never be that agreeable if one of his officers had made a request for leave with such short notice—even if it were a family emergency.

* * *

Sarah Radhauser pulled one of the dining room chairs close to Roger’s hospital bed and sat. Hospice had set everything up in the living room once he was too weak to climb the stairs to their bedroom. Oxygen tubing, IV lines and machines surrounded her husband of almost fifty years. He was slight and pale, his once-wide shoulders carved down to nothing by his weight loss. His skin was a yellowish-gray color and his once beautiful blue eyes had sunk deep into his skull. He slept most of the time now. Morphine had already begun its escort on his steady march toward the end.

Promise you won’t leave me, okay? Just promise you won’t die. The thought was so strong that for a moment she believed she’d said it out loud. She flattened his hair, mostly white tufts that stuck out from his scalp, and brushed it away from his age-spotted forehead. All those decades under the harsh Phoenix sun had blotched and creased his skin like the old saddle he’d used to round up their cattle. Without warning, she remembered a much younger man, when his face was smooth, his body lean and muscular. Roger Lucas Radhauser had once been so handsome that just looking at him had left her breathless.

At her touch, his eyes opened, and his face lit. She squeezed his hand lightly, then let it go. Wind will be here later tonight. Rest now so you’ll be strong and ready to talk to him.

I don’t know, Sarah. I… I keep wonderin’ if it’s the right thing to do. The boy has a good life up there in Oregon now. And he’s been through so much. There’s nothing he can do to help his mother. What if this lands him back in the—

She brushed his cheek with her fingertips, then rested her hand on his chest. He’s not a boy any longer, Roger. He’s strong, and he deserves to know the truth. We should have told him long before now.

Roger clamped his eyes shut, like a child attempting to make his nightmare go away.

After a few minutes, Sarah thought he’d gone back to sleep. She lifted her hand from his chest and stood. She’d given a lot of thought about the best way to tell Wind the truth.

Life had taught Sarah there were questions far too risky to avoid. Answers we need to know or our lives would forever be held hostage to the deceit. There was a good reason adopted children often left families who’d loved and nurtured them to search for the ones who’d given them away. It was easy to live without knowing the history of Greece or even your own country. But it was hard when you didn’t know your own life story.

What’s to gain after all these years? Roger’s voice was frayed and tired, not his voice anymore, and that small loss, the very sounds that made him her husband, seemed worse than losing all of him at once.

She returned to her chair and waited for him to open his eyes again.

When he did, she answered as best she could. If you bury them too deep, lies have a way of festering. They may stay underground for years, but eventually they rise and expose themselves. When they do, they’re stronger and more dangerous. Wind is a detective. What if he finds out some other way and we’re not around to help make sense of it for him?

A muffled sob escaped Roger’s throat and a tear rolled down his withered cheek.

She brushed it away with the back of her hand and shushed him.

He encircled her wrist with fingers too weak to squeeze. I want…I need you to do something else for me.

Anything, she said, slipping her hand into his. Just ask.

I need you to help me fix it.

She cocked her head and smiled. Fix what, sweetheart?

My brother and me. I should have fixed it myself a long time ago, and now… well… please, will you do that for me? Call James and tell him I’m dyin’. Ask him to come see me. Tell him it was my final wish that we be brothers again. And that he get to know his son. Roger’s voice was so raspy she could barely understand him. He gave her a searching look. Promise me.

She picked up the glass of iced water she kept filled on his bedside table and brought the straw to his lips. Drink, she said. We have to keep you hydrated.

Call James.

I promise I’ll try my best to make that happen. But you need to tell Wind the truth about everything we kept from him. Especially if James comes here.

I know. I just worry he’ll be angry and won’t forgive us.

He’s a father, Roger. He’ll understand we only wanted to protect him.

Is that really all we wanted, Sarah?

She realized this visit could be the last for Wind and Roger. What if he was right? What if Wind never wanted to see her again? She knew deep inside even if the worst-case scenario happened, telling Wind the truth was the right thing to do. But facing the rest of her life without the only child she’d ever nurtured was too heartrending to contemplate.

Everyone breaks, Sarah. And we all put ourselves back together the best we can.

Chapter Two

By the time Radhauser rented a car and drove to the yellow clapboard farmhouse on its wooded lot near Camelback Road, it was after nine. He took a deep breath, getting ready to face whatever this trip had in store for him.

Just like when he was in high school, Aunt Sarah had left the porch light on. He opened the screen door, walked across the painted concrete floor, then paused in front of the old metal glider where he’d sat with his girlfriend, Laura, after school. She’d worn a body lotion back then that smelled like ripe peaches. And even now, more than twenty-five years later, that smell always brought him back to this porch.

He pushed the glider lightly with the toe of his cowboy boot, wanting to see if it still made that awful squeaking sound. When it did, he laughed, then struck two soft taps on the door, hoping not to awaken Uncle Roger. The windows inside were dark except for the soft golden glow in a row of five glass squares across the top of the door into the kitchen.

Crickets sawed in the weeds and cicadas made their loud buzzing sounds from the line of Italian cypress trees he and Roger had planted across the back of the property. Radhauser stepped back and took a few minutes to soak in some of the sounds of his childhood.

Aunt Sarah dashed out the door and raced toward him with her arms flung wide. She always greeted him like he’d just been awarded the Nobel Peace prize, but tonight was different, even more intense. She threw her arms around him, nearly knocking him down. When he’d steadied himself, she kissed him on the cheek. You could have used the front door.

Old habits, he said.

Aunt Sarah was sixty-four years old, but her face was smooth and virtually wrinkle-free, her skin flawless and almost translucent. She wore a housedress printed with cornflower blue and yellow pansies and a white bib apron.

His aunt had always called herself a plain woman with a nose too big for her other features, a mouth a little too wide. But she had high cheekbones, thick, walnut-colored hair turned to gray now, and a slender body. Her amazing eyes would always make her beautiful to Radhauser. They were a rare shade of green, like new birch leaves in spring, and flecked with dark gold. When you looked into their light, you noticed nothing else.

Roger’s sleeping now, but the morphine should wear off soon. He’s been waiting for you.

They hurried through the kitchen and into the living room. It held the faint, sour smell of illness. Radhauser hung his Stetson and blazer on the coat rack, dropped his suitcase and backpack on the floor by the staircase, and looked around, not allowing his gaze to linger on the hospital bed. He’d have to face that reality soon enough.

Except for the sofa, now pushed against the back wall, they had removed most of the furniture—the old parlor transformed into a hospital room. Even the seat in the bay window where he used to read The Hardy Boys mysteries held stacks of medical supplies—gauze, disposable diapers, wipes, and extra oxygen tanks.

I’ve made you some soup and homemade bread, Aunt Sarah said. Soup’s about the only thing Roger can eat now. You remember how much he loves my vegetable beef. She waved a hand toward the stairwell. Run along and wash up and we’ll have a bite together before Roger wakes up.

Radhauser picked up his bags and climbed the wooden stairs, avoiding the creak in the third one from the top. On the landing, he remembered all the high school nights he’d tried to sneak in late, only to find Uncle Roger standing in his bedroom doorway tapping his watch with his index finger.

Shaking his head to clear the memory, Radhauser pushed open his old bedroom door. The hinges squeaked. He left his suitcase and backpack on the floor in front of the bed, then walked down the hall to the bathroom. After washing his hands, he splashed cold water on his face, dried both his face and hands with a towel and returned to the clean but dated kitchen. The imitation brick linoleum floor was swept and scrubbed, and the faint scent of cinnamon hung in the air, as if ingrained in the fabric of the red and white checked curtains that hung over the window.

After two steaming bowls of homemade vegetable soup, a half loaf of warm, yeasty bread and some small talk about Gracie and the kids, they took their places on either side of Uncle Roger’s bed and waited.

His uncle looked so small—a giant of a man whittled down to fit into this single bed with the sides pulled up like a child’s crib. He wore a pair of pale blue pajamas, the top stained with something that looked like tomato soup.

On the bedside table was a photograph of Aunt Sarah and Uncle Roger on their wedding day. Aunt Sarah looked so beautiful, wearing a lacy white dress and a wide smile that exuded joy. Uncle Roger had his gaze firmly planted on his bride. They were always crazy about each other. Radhauser had been fortunate to be raised by people who’d loved each other so deeply.

Memories gathered at the edge of Radhauser’s mind, waiting for him to invite them inside. He saw his uncle in the stands at his high school track meets, cheering so loud Radhauser could hear him over the sounds of all the other parents and fans. He remembered when he’d given the eulogy at the funeral of Radhauser’s first wife and son, then held him while he’d sobbed at the gravesite. The way he’d wept openly as he offered a toast at Radhauser’s wedding to Gracie.

Aunt Sarah met his gaze across the bed. What will we be without him? she whispered, as if reading his mind.

Without taking an instant to think, Radhauser said, Less. So much less than I’ve been with him.

Uncle Roger opened his eyes.

Aunt Sarah gave him a sip of water, then wiped his mouth with a tissue. There you are, sleepyhead. Look who’s come to see you.

Radhauser forced himself to smile at his uncle, hoping it appeared real.

Uncle Roger tried to smile back. Pain caused his blue eyes to water. It’s great to see you, son.

You too, Uncle Roger. How are you feeling?

Like a bullfighter about to give up his battle. This cancer has me by the horns and ain’t about to let me go.

This was the man who’d taught him to repair fences, rope and brand a calf, and to live with integrity. Uncle Roger had been everything Radhauser needed growing up. He swallowed, stung by the realization that without his uncle, no one would ever know him in quite the same, in-depth way. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.

When he opened them again, Aunt Sarah said, It’s time.

The soup and homemade bread formed a lump in Radhauser’s stomach.

Uncle Roger coughed hard. I… I don’t know... maybe…

She handed him another tissue.

He coughed again, spit bloody mucus into the tissue, then wadded it up and set it on top of his sheet.

Aunt Sarah put it in the wastebasket and returned her attention to Uncle Roger. She put her hand on his cheek. I can tell him if it's too much for you. Her voice held a softness Radhauser had never heard in it before.

The dough ball in Radhauser’s stomach got bigger. He didn’t understand what could be so important. His uncle was dying and nothing anyone said could change that. But if Aunt Sarah insisted he talk, Radhauser would listen, the way his uncle had always listened to him. He caught her gaze. Please don’t make him say something he doesn’t want to say.

The spring green of her eyes turned into winter. I don’t mean to sound harsh, but this isn’t about want any more. One of us needs to say it, Wind. And you need to hear it.

Uncle Roger seemed to fold beneath her words and sank back against his pillows. He sighed, a sound as thin as tissue paper, then shifted his gaze to Radhauser. She’s right, Wind. It’s my mess, and high time I cleaned it up. While I still got the chance.

Radhauser gave him a crisp salute. Okay then, I’m listening.

Do you know what a man thinks about when he’s dyin’?

Aunt Sarah reached for Uncle Roger’s hand.

Radhauser clasped his uncle’s bony knee. No. But I suspect you’re about to tell me.

All the things he should have done different. All his mistakes.

Not you, Uncle Roger. You don’t make mistakes. His uncle had been stubborn and steadfast in his expectations that Radhauser help on the ranch, that he earned decent grades in school, and hold himself accountable for his actions. But Roger was always soft-spoken, loving and fair. Radhauser lifted his hand and touched the side of his uncle’s face, felt the prickly white beard that needed shaving. His cheeks were wet with tears. And if you made a few mistakes over the years, I don’t need to hear about them. Just let me keep thinking you were perfect.

I’m a far cry from that, son.

Radhauser liked it when Uncle Roger called him son. It made him feel like he belonged to them, even though Aunt Sarah hadn’t given birth to him. I hope I’m half the father to my kids you’ve been to me.

I got some hard stuff I need to tell ya. And I know words of regret from a dyin’ man are like pennies dropped in a parking lot, ain’t worth the effort of bendin’ over to pick them up.

I’m here, Radhauser said. Your words mean a lot to me. You can tell me anything you need to.

I wasn’t always honest with you back when you was growin’ up. Truth is… He sucked in a breath. I done what I thought was best for you at the time… You was such a scared little fella... He stopped and drew in more air. Increase that oxygen a bit, would you, Sarah?

She turned the knob on the top of the tank and readjusted his nasal cannula. There you go. Does that feel better?

The look that passed between his aunt and uncle was so intimate, Radhauser almost felt like an intruder.

Uncle Roger nodded. We been keepin’ a secret… for over forty years… and it's long past time you knew the truth.

Radhauser looked at Uncle Roger, then at Aunt Sarah, then back at Uncle Roger. He couldn’t imagine what they were talking about.

Your parents didn’t die in that car crash we told you about back when you was three.

It took a moment for the sentence to register. Radhauser wanted to say, I love you, Uncle Roger, and whatever you told me or didn’t tell me, it’s okay. But the words clung to his throat and wouldn’t let go. The man he’d trusted more than anyone had lied to him for years. The silence that followed was so thick and gray, Radhauser half expected to taste ashes. Okay, he finally said. How did they die?

Uncle Roger met Radhauser’s gaze and held it. Truth is, son, they didn’t.

Radhauser’s thoughts stumbled around in a maze, turned right, turned left, made a U-turn and circled back. Confusion, happiness, sorrow, regret, anger—all these emotions and more churned inside him, a complicated stew that made his stomach ache and his muscles tense. I don’t understand. What are you saying? How about that trip to the Grand Canyon where you spread their ashes? The way we lit candles in that church in Sedona? Was that all a lie? As he stared back at his uncle, Radhauser thought about how easy it was for humans to make judgments when standing outside a situation. He needed to hear his uncle out before jumping to any conclusions.

I’m sayin’ your parents are still alive. And that trip to Flagstaff and Sedona was just to keep you from askin’ so many questions. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I shoulda done things different. But when I’m gone, don’t go blamin’ Sarah. She wanted to… to tell you… a long time ago. When Uncle Roger finally gave in to the pain that furrowed his brow and closed his eyes, Aunt Sarah pushed the release button on his morphine drip. They watched in the gray silence while Roger relaxed into a drug-induced sleep.

Radhauser addressed his aunt. If my parents are still alive, where have they been all my life?

We went more than a decade without hearing from your father. But apparently he joined AA, got sober, and has straightened up his life, Aunt Sarah whispered. He’s remarried and lives back east in New Castle, Delaware.

And my mother?

She’s still here in Phoenix, Aunt Sarah said.

His spine stiffened. I don’t understand. He looked across the bed at his aunt.

Tears ran down her cheeks. She released a ragged breath and turned her face away.

Radhauser fought to keep calm, his voice low. All those years. And she was right here. Why didn’t she ever visit me? What kind of parents run off and leave their three-year-old son for someone else to raise?

Aunt Sarah stood and walked around the foot of the bed to Radhauser’s side. She put her hand on his shoulder. Let’s finish this in the kitchen. Roger needs to rest now.

Not wanting Uncle Roger to know how upset he was, Radhauser followed her and they sat across from each other at the wooden table where the three of them had eaten supper together every night. The knot in his stomach expanded again.

Your mother was my best friend in school. I loved her like a sister. And I know she would never have left you if she… Aunt Sarah stopped, started again. I don’t think we can judge someone like her in a rational way.

His breath caught in his throat. What do you mean, someone like her? What’s wrong with her? And where is she now?

She’s sick. Mentally ill. And she’s in the Maricopa Secure Psychiatric Unit. They don’t call it the Hospital for the Criminally Insane any more. She’s been there since the time you came to live with us.

Radhauser realized how swiftly and completely denial can block the mind’s communication with the heart. For the first time in his life, anger surged toward Aunt Sarah and Uncle Roger, two people who’d offered him nothing but love—never raised their voices with him. But what is love and kindness without truth? Criminally insane? What did she do? And why didn’t you and Uncle Roger ever take me to see her?

There’s no easy way to say this, Wind.

Just spit it out. His voice was harsher than he intended.

Tension spread between them like spilled ink, staining everything.

He clenched his hands, fingernails biting into his palms like claws. For God’s sake, Aunt Sarah, just tell me what the hell she did.

Her gaze was steady, laser-like, and burned into him. She murdered your sister.

Chapter Three

Silence fell over the kitchen. For a few seconds, Radhauser couldn’t find his voice. He waited until the shock and sharpness of this news had softened into information he could handle. He needed more details—needed to know what the hell his aunt meant. What sister? You’re not making any sense. Wouldn’t I know if I had a sister?

Her name was Hope. She was three months old when she died. I’m not surprised you don’t remember her. Your mother’s reaction that morning probably traumatized you. She took a photograph from her apron pocket and handed it to him. And the truth is, your Uncle Roger and I… well… we encouraged you to forget. You were so young. We wanted to protect you. We wanted what was best for you.

"You mean what you thought was best for me. How about what was best for my mother?" Radhauser stared at the black-and-white photograph. A little boy with dark hair held an infant in his lap. The boy looked down at the baby with a closed-mouth smile and a sense of