Chapter 25: Chapter 25

DAN

Lynn’s text pops up on my phone, telling me the courthouse was a dead end. As I set my phone down, it chimes again. Another message from Lynn, this time with a kissing emoji. I can’t help but smile. ~How did I get so lucky?~

I open my laptop and pull up the file on Frank Stallworth Jr. His criminal record is short but not clean. He’s been arrested a few times and even served some time.

I trace my finger down the list of charges—drunk and disorderly, property damage, resisting arrest. I note the date of the charges, exactly ten years after his parents’ death in 1975.

I continue scrolling and find that he made bail the next morning. A little further down, I find the name of the person who bailed him out. Justice Adams, my father.

I quickly type in Frank Jr.’s last known address into my phone and head out.

***

I reach a point where the paved road ends and a dirt road begins. I glance at the GPS, which shows my destination a couple of miles ahead.

I arrive at the address, an old, dilapidated property with signs scattered all over.

~No Trespassing—~I shoot first, then ask questions later.

~Beware of the Dogs~—if they don’t bite, my gun will.

~Proud sponsor of the NRA.~

The front gate is rusted off its hinges, weeds growing through it. I start up the driveway, spotting a single wide mobile home with a figure sitting on the front porch.

I park my car next to an old Ford pickup truck. The man on the porch is sitting in a rocking chair, a cooler next to him, a shotgun on his lap, and another leaning behind him.

I step out of my car slowly, badge in hand.

“I’m Detective Adams. Can I ask you a few questions?”

“You’re Justice’s boy, aren’t you?” he asks.

“Yes, sir. Are you Frank Jr.?”

“I am,” he says, tapping the shotgun on his lap. “Don’t worry, I ran out of shells a long time ago. Come on up.”

I climb the six steps to his porch. He extends his hand, and I shake it.

“Grab that chair over there,” he says, pointing. I do as he says and take a seat next to him. “Want a beer? Wait, you’re on duty?”

“Actually, I’m not. I’m here on my own time, looking into the old oak tree that killed your parents and put a kid in a coma,” I say, extending my hand.

He hands me a Miller Lite. “Bottled beer tastes better than cans any day,” he says.

“Can’t argue with that,” I reply.

“How’s your father doing?” he asks, rocking in his chair.

“Some days are better than others. Alzheimer’s is a cruel disease. One day he remembers everything, the next, I’m a stranger.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, son. Your father was a good man. He was there for me and my sister for a while. He promised he’d find out what really happened to my parents.”

“Did my father say they were murdered?”

“He didn’t outright say it was murder. But he knew he’d stir up trouble if he called it a murder-suicide,” he says, taking a sip of his beer.

“A young man hit that same tree earlier this week, forty-seven years after your parents.

“The state police labeled it attempted suicide and wanted to close the case. So, I took it upon myself to investigate, without my captain’s approval.”

“Let me guess, Captain Parsons?” he asks. I nod. “He was an arrogant jerk.”

“Still is,” I say.

“When my parents died, it really messed up my little sister. She blamed herself for their going out that day. It wasn’t her fault, but she couldn’t let it go.

“Then, in November of ’83, she hung herself in the living room. It was from the ceiling fan. Your father was the one who called and told me.

“The strange thing was, the ceiling fan was fifteen feet off the floor. She was six feet tall, and there was no ladder or chair under her when they found her.” He finishes his beer and tosses the bottle into the yard.

“I’m sorry to hear about your sister. Can I ask you another question?” He nods as he grabs another beer. “Why did you sell the publication company?”

“We had no choice.”

“What do you mean you had no choice?”

“Someone came to our house and told us we had to sell. They said no one would work with us after what happened to our parents.

“So we were forced to sell our parents’ pride and joy, or face the consequences.”

I pull out my phone. “Is this the man who threatened you back in 1975?”

He looks at my phone, pulling his glasses down to see better. “No, that’s Robert Fesser, the guy we sold it to,” Frank says.

“Why only fifty thousand?” I ask.

“No one else wanted it. Whoever threatened us must have warned everyone else not to buy from us.

“So, when Robert came along, oblivious to what was happening, he offered fifty thousand, and we took it,” he says, finishing another beer.

“After the state and county took their cut from the sale, we barely had enough left to bury my parents. We were left with nothing.”

“I know it’s been over forty-seven years, but could you describe the man who threatened you?” I ask.

“I could probably pick him out of a lineup right now. His face is still etched in my mind. He had thick bushy eyebrows, a slender face, and eyes as black as coal. He was probably in his early twenties back in ’75.”

I jot down everything Frank tells me. “Why did my father stop coming around?”

“After my sister died and there were no leads, he stopped visiting. But he came back on the tenth anniversary of my parents’ death.

“That night, I drank way too much and ended up in jail. Your dad came to my rescue the next morning. He was like a guardian angel to my sister and me. We didn’t have any family, so he became ours.”

“It’s comforting to know he was there for you. I just wish he’d shared this part of his life with me. It makes sense now why he was hardly ever home when I was growing up.”

Frank looks at me, his eyes serious. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“It’s about the house, isn’t it?”

I don’t say anything, just nod in response. “The kid who crashed into that tree had come from the house that day,” I reveal.

Frank’s face lights up. “I knew it! My sister always said the house was involved somehow,” he exclaims, raising his beer towards the sky. “You were right, Sara.”

I drain the last of my beer and get to my feet. I shake Frank’s hand, promising to keep him updated on the case. He thanks me, and I head off.

Leaving his property behind, I drive back to the bookstore. I need to share my discoveries with Lynn.