Clara's Legacy

By Sue Thornton

World renowned porcelain doll maker, Nita Olberding's life is turned upside down when Thane Tolliver appears on her doorstep.  Murder and mayhem lead them across the country to discover the truth about Nita's past. As Thane's own childhood memories of a little girl on a school playground come back to haunt him, will he be able to put his demons to rest in order to make a life with Nita?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9781590882290

Book preview

Prologue

Ayoung man leaned back in a rocking chair and propped his feet on the porch rail. He stared through the trees toward the snowcapped Cascade Mountains. The quiet of the hillside was broken when a deer dashed through the wooded area. He surveyed the property to try to discover what had disturbed the wildlife.

Thoughts tumbled through his mind and he wondered once again if he should leave the quiet sanctuary of his home and journey to the dry desolation of the Arizona desert. He wanted to see for himself the woman who inherited his grandmother’s family home and business. Would he be a traitor to his family if he were to send a warning that some of Clara Evanston’s family would be out for blood once they found out what the old woman had done and exactly how much she was worth?

A smile tugged at his lips. His grandmother, Clara, was a sneaky broad that he’d loved with every bone in his body. She accepted and nourished him until she took her final breath. A deep sadness replaced his earlier smile and he questioned the nagging notion that Grannie’s life was cut short by something other than nature.

The sun beat brightly, warming the earth and the air. It wouldn’t be much longer and spring would arrive on his mountain. The streets in the city were already lined with trees sporting the delicate, pink cherry blossoms that graced the air with their aroma. The colorful red, blue and yellow blooms of the primroses mingled with the white and pink blooms of the azaleas.

He reached into the pocket of his red flannel shirt and removed the slip of paper Avery Martin, Grannie’s attorney, handed him yesterday morning. The unmistakable loud roar of Justin’s sports car racing up the driveway and squealing to a stop interrupted his thoughts and he jammed the notepaper back into its safe haven.

The angry shout accompanying his cousin’s arrival grated on Thane Evanston’s nerves. The quiet peace of the day was gone in one short moment.

You knew about this, didn’t you? Justin sputtered as he strode around the side of the house. If I know you at all, you probably talked the old bat into changing her will. She didn’t have anything of value, except the house and land on Bainbridge Island, and you let her give it away.

Thane stared at the mottled face of his grossly overweight cousin. Short, blond spikes of hair stuck out from the thin ring around his pale pink scalp.

Why don’t you sit down and catch your breath, Justin. Then you can explain to me what you’re talking about. Thane didn’t move. He didn’t have any doubt Justin wouldn’t budge until he’d ranted and raved himself into an angina attack. Even after all these years, Thane didn’t have a clue how to prevent Justin from throwing a temper tantrum.

The man before him shoved a sheet of paper at Thane. You’re going to sit there and deny any knowledge about Grandmother’s will? I know you talked her into changing it and forced her to sign it, he bellowed.

Why would I do that? Thane asked. And how do you know anything about her will? She hasn’t even been buried yet, and the reading of the will isn’t until Friday.

A sneer of pure hatred settled on Justin’s face and revealed a row of straight, yellowed teeth. You think you’re the only one who can get women to spill their guts? I’m surprised you know anything the way you poke around like a turtle. You waste more time sitting on your ass, staring out at those hills, than you do working. You won’t get anywhere in this world at the rate you’re going. You won’t be worth two plugged nickels.

Thane’s feet thudded to the floor and he leaned forward. Just whose guts did you get to spill? Grandmother’s? Is that how you got the information?

Justin’s face drained of color and he took a step back. What the hell are you talking about? The old lady died in her sleep. A deep red stained his cheeks. I should have known you’d try to blame somebody for her dying. You and the crazy lady... always coming up with these wild mysteries. She coddled and spoiled you. And now, you can’t make it on your own.

Thane rose to his full six foot four inches and took a step toward Justin. Fear quickly replaced the ugly grin on Justin’s face and he scrambled toward the driveway. He slipped on the damp grass and fell to his knees.

One

The 747 jet landed with a thud and a screech of tires on the runway. Thane let out the breath he’d been holding and chastised himself for being such a coward. Twenty-three years was a long time to hold on to the fear of dying in an airplane. Not that the notion was unfounded. He’d survived one plane crash. His parents hadn’t been so lucky. That was when his father’s godmother, Clara Evanston, entered his life. Much to the horror of Clara’s daughter, Arielle, and Arielle’s husband, Clara adopted Thane and raised him as her grandson. Only Clara’s daughter, Elizabeth, understood Clara’s need to take care of her best friend’s grandson. Now, twenty-three years later, Thane had put to rest one of the last people he considered family.

After retrieving his duffle bag from the baggage carousel, he stepped out onto the sidewalk to be greeted by the intense heat of the Arizona sun. Cars whipped past one another in an attempt to leave the Phoenix airport. With a purposeful stride, he moved toward the car rental lot to pick up the sedan he’d requested. He fingered the atlas in his hand. The route he planned to take from Phoenix to Jerome was imbedded in his mind. Somewhere between Sedona and Jerome, he hoped to find Anita Olberding.

Avery had given Thane the address Grannie provided for the woman when she changed her will. Only Anita had yet to respond to Avery’s letters. With Thane gone and Anita unavailable, Avery refused to read the will. Besides, those were Grannie’s instructions.

Thane tossed his bag into the back seat of the car and slid behind the wheel. When the engine caught, it purred like a kitten. He slipped mirrored sunglasses on and tossed his straw cowboy hat onto the seat next to him.

Thane could feel the worry lines stretch across his forehead. Avery’s file clerk had given Justin just enough information about Grannie’s will to fuel the flame of jealousy and greed that consumed his large body. The tantrum last night proved to Thane that Justin was dangerous and needed to be watched. It would only be proper to warn Ms. Olberding of the possibility of harm. Thane didn’t harbor any doubt Justin would be out for revenge on the woman.

TRAFFIC WAS BACKED up and moving at forty miles an hour with people attempting to go home for the evening or to get away from the city for the weekend. Thane sighed with impatience. At least they were moving.

Two

Nita sat in the brocade upholstered sewing rocker that had belonged to Aunt Betsy. While she ran dental floss through the neck and arm casings of the doll’s body, she thought back to the woman who introduced her to the world of dolls. If it hadn’t been for her, Nita wasn’t sure how she would have survived the horrors that still haunted her nights and crept quietly through her days.

Aunty Betsy decided shortly after Nita came to live with the Olberding family that she was going to take a doll making class. A smile crossed Nita’s face. She was certain Betsy fed her little bits and pieces of information just to get Nita’s curiosity begging for more. It didn’t really make any difference now; whatever Betsy had done, it worked. Timid thirteen-year-old Nita had asked if she could ride along, only to watch, of course.

That first night of doll class, something came over Nita. Never before had she seen so many beautiful creatures created out of bits of clay and fabric. The women’s hands that shook with age could take a fragile piece of greenware and turn it into a work of art. The class members were no longer old but young with excitement, and love, for the ‘babies’ they were making.

It didn’t take long before Betsy had Nita’s adoptive parents talked into letting Nita attend classes. Betsy promised to cover Nita’s expenses. She also promised Nita would get her chores and schoolwork done. Nita understood if her grades slipped and her work wasn’t completed, there wouldn’t be any more classes.

The roar of a car engine broke Nita from her thoughts. Mom and Dad were away on a much-needed vacation. After Mom’s diagnosis of breast cancer, Dad decided it was time to let Pedro Echeverria do his job as foreman of the orange grove. Pedro’s sons were an enormous help in the fields, while Maria and Anna helped Nita in the house. Mom’s final chemo treatment was six months earlier, and she’d finally been given a clean bill of health.

Reluctantly, Nita put down her work and made her way from the top floor of the turret.

The smooth purr of the vehicle didn’t sound like any of the trucks or equipment they used around the premises.

It was unusual for visitors to pop in unannounced, but then, Miguel was back from Boston for a visit. Maybe one of his many lady friends discovered her old flame had returned.

Anna and Maria had gone into town leaving Nita to catch up on her work. She hummed a silly tune as she bounded down the stairs to the front door. The doll business was booming and she had more orders than she could ever have imagined. Along with her work around the orange groves, gardens, and house, staying busy left no time to remember.

A man stood on the front porch looking out toward the grove. When she opened the screen door, he turned and removed the cowboy hat that topped his ruggedly handsome body.

May I help you? she asked.

A slow smile settled onto his face and he casually twirled the white straw hat in his hands. I’m looking for Anita Olberding. I’m afraid I took a wrong turn back there, so I’m not even sure I’m in the right place.

Tight tension settled in the muscles running across Nita’s shoulders. I’m Nita Olberding, she admitted warily. Her gaze flickered toward the trees, hoping Pedro or one of the other workers would be around somewhere close.

A startled look flickered across the man’s face. Oh, I was under the impression Ms. Olberding was an older woman.

I’m afraid I have to plead ignorance, Mister...

With a deliberate slowness Nita associated with confidence, he held out his hand. "Thane Tolliver, Ms. Olberding. I spoke with you on the phone the other day regarding an interview with The Doll Creator Magazine."

Nita felt the color drain from her face. Lightheaded, she grasped the door handle tightly. I told you I don’t do interviews.

Thane held up his hand. I’m here because my publisher told me to be here, Ms. Olberding.

Seldom did Nita allow anger to surface, but she rarely backed down from anything she believed. I said no interviews, Mr. Tolliver and I mean it. Now I would appreciate it if you would leave. I’ve got work to do.

Thane remained firmly where he stood. I must be in the wrong place. I know when I visited with Clara Evanston she couldn’t say enough good things about Anita Olberding. He stared down at his cowboy boots. Must be why she’s an older woman. Gracious, kind, knows her ins and outs of the business, extremely talented. I’ll just...

You talked to Clara about me? Nita gasped. Why would you do such a thing? She slipped her fingers into the pocket of the lightweight vest she wore and fingered the scissors tucked carefully inside there.

I’ve always been fascinated with the work people do with their hands. I had the opportunity to watch Clara at work one day at a doll show I took my grandmother to. I had this brilliant idea to combine two of the best-known doll makers in an article. I guess I need to contact Clara and get her to talk to me again, because either you aren’t the Anita Olberding she told me about, or...

Nita tensed and her grip tightened around the handle of the shears. Or what, Mr. Tolliver? she finally managed to speak.

He ran his long fingers through his hair. He stared past her and seemed to be formulating his thoughts. The longer he took, the more nervous she became.

Mr. Tolliver, I really do hate to intrude, but I’ve got work to do and I’m wasting the air conditioning standing here with the door open.

He reminded her of the tortoises moving along the highway when they went to Jekyll Island, Georgia last summer. So slow, yet never faltering in their steady pace forward. At the time, she wondered how they ever reached their destination. Or in Tolliver’s case, how he ever made a decision.

Just when she was ready to close the door, he spoke. I really need your help, Ms. Olberding. He shuffled his feet. I’m in a bind here. Since I’m a freelance writer, this job depends on your interview. If I don’t turn something in by Saturday, I’m out of a paycheck. And Clara, well, she was on her way on an extended vacation.

Nita peered through narrowed eyes. To a small village in Wales. She said she needed to make peace with the past and she wasn’t sure when she would be back.

A startled look filled his face. What do you think she meant—to make peace with her past?

His question and the look on his face took Nita by surprise. I think you should talk to Clara about that. Now if you’ll excuse me.

Thane reached out and grabbed the door before she could close it. I’ll make a deal with you. Fill in the blanks for me—questions I would ask Clara. I won’t mention your name. Please, Ms. Olberding, I need this job.

The barely perceptible pleading in his voice tugged at her heart. It wasn’t all that long ago when the same sound could be heard in hers. She glanced toward the orange grove. One of the trucks was parked nearby, so someone would be within hearing distance if she needed help.

By the look in his eyes, it was as if Thane Tolliver knew when she made up her mind to talk to him. He eased the door open and stepped inside the cool foyer. His gaze wandered around the entrance. It isn’t very often you find a large Victorian House in the middle of Arizona.

Nita closed the lead paned door behind her. My father built the house for my mother as a wedding gift. A lot of the wood and trimmings came from her childhood home when they demolished it to build a parking lot.

Thane nodded in agreement. I like it. He ran his hand across the gleaming wood of the balustrade. Excellent workmanship. They don’t build houses like this anymore.

Thank you, my father would be pleased to hear those words. He did the work himself. Nita smiled. My mother teases him about their long engagement, because he refused help from anyone but Pedro.

Who’s Pedro? Thane asked, his fingertips lightly tracing the carved pattern in the wood.

My dad’s best friend and the foreman of the grove, Nita replied. Mr. Tolliver, I don’t know what I can tell you that Clara hasn’t told you already. And anyone who knows Clara would know that it wasn’t her speaking to you. We both design dolls, but we do things differently in the way we work.

What do you mean? Thane removed a small tape recorder from a pocket of his sports jacket. Do you mind if I record this?

Nita sighed. She didn’t understand why she opened the door to him, or why she was inclined to speak to him. Rarely did she speak to anyone in person, unless she knew them. Maybe that was why people tended to believe she was a snob, instead of the shy, scared person she really was.

She motioned for him to follow her to the light, airy kitchen. Once she seated him and placed a glass of limeade in front of him, she was ready to answer his question. Still unsure of her wording, she took a long sip of the iced drink. Clara’s dolls are a way of bringing back someone she loved and lost.

Thane shook his head. I’m not sure I understand.

Nita picked at a thread of the tablecloth. I don’t know the whole story, Mr. Tolliver, and I’m not sure I would tell you even if I did. Clara’s daughter and granddaughter died when the child was quite young. Clara recreates their faces in her dolls. This way she never really lets them go. She’s found over the years this was a way to deal with her grief.

Thane sat back against the wood chair. It was her way to heal the wounds, he stated, his voice filled with wonder. I’ve heard of art being used as a form of therapy. His look turned thoughtful Clara didn’t seem unhappy or depressed when I visited with her.

Clara, I think, came to terms with her losses over the years, but she missed her daughter and the child terribly. But then, I have never known Clara to be unhappy, she has a way of looking at the bright side of life. After I got to know her, Clara would sit for hours and regale me with stories of the little girl. It got so I thought I knew the family.

Thane’s voce was soft and his words drawled out like thick maple syrup. Was her daughter an only child?

Oh no, Nita laughed. Elizabeth was the youngest by several years, I believe. Clara had five children of her own, then adopted her godson’s child when his parents died.

She leaned onto her elbows. I’m surprised Clara didn’t tell you these things when you interviewed her. She isn’t usually quite this secretive. And she tends to talk about her family a lot, she’s very proud of them.

Thane’s cheeks brightened under his olive complexion and he scratched a spot on his cheek before glancing at her. Well, umm. I’m really not a very good journalist, Ms. Olberding. I tend to ask the wrong questions. Or go way off into left field. I was concentrating so hard on Clara and her dolls, I didn’t ask any personal information.

The front screen door slammed and Nita jumped in her seat.

Nita, a child screamed out her name.

Terror filled the young voice and Nita pushed back her chair, leaving it to tip onto the floor as she ran from the room. She immediately sensed Thane’s presence behind her.

A young boy around the age of twelve leaned against the balustrade post. Blood covered his gray tee shirt. Nita, help, please.

For a split second, Nita froze in place. The sight of the blood covered clothing and red smeared across the child’s face, took her back to a place and time she couldn’t remember clearly. Thane pushed past her and rushed to the child’s side.

Where are you hurt? he asked, his hands swiftly moving across the child’s body.

Please help Papa, he’s hurt bad, the child’s voice broke with tears.

Nita’s gaze flew toward the door, Hurt? Where? How?

Thane stood and grabbed the boy’s hand. It doesn’t make any difference right now, Nita. We need to get to him and call for help. It looks as if he’s lost a lot of blood. Son, show us where he’s at. He glanced over at Nita. If you’ve got a first aid kit available, grab it.

Numb with shock, she nodded before running toward the linen closet. Thane and Tony were gone by the time she returned to the foyer. She raced out the door and caught up with them as they entered the orange grove.

Over here, Tony called and dragged Thane toward a tree. Tony’s grandfather, Pedro, lay on the ground in a pool of his blood, a chainsaw lying close by him.

Thane reached Pedro before Nita did. He leaned over the quiet body and felt for a pulse.

His head dropped toward his chest and he slowly looked up at Nita and Tony. He gave a slight shake of his head and rose to his feet.

Horrified, Nita moved forward. Thane rushed toward her and grabbed her arms before she could get to Pedro’s side. Nita, don’t. He’s gone. We need to call for help now. That’s all we can do.

How... what happened? she cried.

I don’t know. Maybe Tony can give us an answer, but I don’t know for sure, Thane replied. He removed a cell phone from a leather holder at his waist and dialed nine-one-one.

NITA SQUIRMED ON THE hard wooden chair and stared around the room at the bleak surroundings and dreary pictures hanging on the walls. Thane was still in the interrogation room talking with the detectives who responded to the call for help from the first officer on the scene. Tony and his father, Christopher, were placed in another room to talk with two other detectives.

She glanced at the large black-rimmed clock on the wall once again. A sigh escaped at the slight movement of the minute hand. Only five minutes had passed since the last time she’d checked. What could possibly take them two hours to ask?

The paramedics thought the chainsaw Pedro was using had slipped, cutting the main artery in his leg. He’d bled to death before Tony could bring help. As Nita rose and paced the small area, the number one question kept rolling around in her head. How did someone who’d used a chainsaw for forty years let the equipment slip enough to kill him?

Tall, dark and handsome, Miguel Echeverria sank on to the chair next to her. His warm hand encased hers. Hey Nita, how are you holding up?

Tears filled her eyes. "I should be asking you that question, Miguel. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what could have happened. Pedro’s been doing this work for