Black Cat Weekly #79

Chapter 5-2

Lorraine’s skeptical expression remained. She said, “Well, Maw, let’s see what she has to say. Come in, Ms. Laster.”

Mrs. Silversmith directed me to a comfortable sitting room at the front of the house. “Can I offer you some iced tea? You sound parched.”

“No thank you, ma’am. Fluids won’t improve my voice. It always sounds rough.” I sat on a blue loveseat as Mrs. Silversmith lowered herself into a well-used, tan recliner. Lorraine remained standing with her arms crossed.

I explained the disappearance of George Pride before producing wedding photos showing the man with his wives Monica, Erica, Rita, and Tina from my file.

Mrs. Silversmith stared at the photos with a soft frown on her wrinkled lips. “Yes. This is Roger.”

“His wife, Tina Pride, reported him missing in 1975 when he didn’t return from a business trip. Tina Pride’s daughter Betty hired me to find out what happened to her father. I discovered that George Pride was an alias. Using genetic genealogy research, I found that George Pride was Roger Silversmith, but that he also went by the name Roger Johnson.” I laid out the research for them.

Lorraine uncrossed her arms and sank to her knees next to her mother. “Oh, Maw. I’m so sorry.”

Mrs. Silversmith’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “I suspected that Roger saw other women when he traveled, but I had no idea he would marry them.” Mrs. Silversmith read the list of marriages, then handed it to her daughter.

Lorraine examined the list. “His last wife was Angela Currant. I wonder if she’s related to Uncle Morgan?”

Her mother shook her head. “I don’t know. We’d have to ask Ellen.”

“Who’s Ellen?” I asked.

Mrs. Silversmith said, “Ellen is my sister. Her husband Morgan Currant died five years ago. I’ve never heard her mention anyone named Angela, but Morgan wasn’t close to his family.”

“Did Morgan Currant know your husband, Roger?”

“Yes. Ellen and Morgan always helped me when Roger was away. Their boy Greg was the same age as my son. Morgan couldn’t understand why a man with family would travel as much as Roger did. He never liked Roger.” She paused. “Or anyone else, except for Ellen and the kids. Morgan was antisocial.”

“The police report on your husband’s disappearance said that he ate dinner with your family before he vanished. Did anyone notice anything unusual in his behavior?”

“No. He regretted having to leave for work. Morgan suggested he call his boss and ask for a few days of vacation, but Roger said he couldn’t. He didn’t want to anger his client and lose the account.”

I left after getting Ellen Currant’s contact information and promising to update Jessica on the case. Then I drove back to Texas. Bypassing my office in Dallas, Waco was my next stop. The last wife, Angela Currant, lived there. She’d married Roger in June 1975 but hadn’t reported him missing.

The drive to Waco took longer than expected thanks to accidents on I-35, so I checked into a hotel for the night before visiting Angela Currant the next morning. She lived in an apartment not far from Baylor University.

Angela answered the door wearing black leggings matched with a thigh-length, wrap tunic that exposed tanned cleavage. She held a steaming cup of coffee in her French-manicured hand. A tall, graceful woman with curling, brown hair tumbling to her shoulders and a suspiciously unlined face and neck, Angela looked at least two decades younger than her seventy years. She greeted me with a question in her silver eyes. “Can I help you?”

I presented my identification. “I’m hoping you can help me solve a missing person case.”

Angela tilted her head looking at me. “Really? Who’s missing?”

“You knew him as Roger Johnson.”

“Honey, that’s a name I haven’t heard in ages. Come in and tell me what this is about.” She stepped back from the door and allowed me to enter. “Would you like some coffee? Join me in the kitchen.”

I passed through a chic sitting room and under an archway leading into a chrome-and-marble retro-modern kitchen.

Angela went to a cupboard for a mug. “Coffee? Sugar? Milk?”

“Black is fine.”

She poured coffee, and we sat at her candy-apple-red kitchen table.

“You look more like a teacher than a detective,” she said, surveying my jeans and wash-and-wear, conservatively cut blouse, “but your voice is more like Janis Joplin or Bonnie Tyler.”

“I was a teacher once, but I prefer investigations. I specialize in genetic genealogy.” I sipped my coffee, then got down to business. “When did you last see Roger Johnson?”

Angela squinted her eyes. “That would have been June 1975. I received the annulment papers in July. We were only married a few weeks, and I barely saw him during that time. He was always traveling for work.” She paused and gave me a wry look. “We married two months after we met, a real whirlwind romance. I should have known he might regret jumping into matrimony. But this is ancient history. I can’t imagine how it could affect anything today. When did he disappear?”

“July 1975.” I explained the research connecting George Pride to Roger Silversmith to Roger Johnson and showed her the wedding photos.

“Good Lord, you mean I was his ninth wife? And his name wasn’t even Johnson? Honey, this beats everything I could have imagined.” She fingered the photos. “But this is Roger.” She studied the list of marriages. “I guess I should be glad he requested an annulment.”

I asked, “Do you have copies of the paperwork for the annulment or any letters he wrote you? I would like to see those.”

“Give me a minute.” She pushed away from the table, stood, and left the kitchen.

I sipped coffee until Angela returned with papers in her hand.

She placed the papers on the table. “I have our wedding pictures, marriage license, marriage certificate, the letter from Roger asking for an annulment, and the annulment papers.”

The letter was typed and signed with initials. I picked up the marriage license and the annulment paperwork and compared the signatures. They didn’t match. “Angela, did you see Roger sign the marriage license?”

“Of course.”

“The signature on the license doesn’t match the one on the annulment.” I handed her the papers.

She stared at the signatures, looking back and forth from one to the other. “You’re right. Does that mean Roger didn’t send these papers? If he didn’t, who did?”

“Angela, are you related to someone named Morgan Currant? He was married to a woman named Ellen, and he died about five years ago.”

“That’s another blast from the past. Morgan was my cousin. He wasn’t the most social person. He barely interacted with anyone, even family. I did attend his wedding to Ellen. We weren’t good at keeping in touch. That was my fault as much as his. I was a free spirit in the 1970s, so I rarely saw Morgan that decade.”

“Did you see Morgan in 1975 after you married Roger?”

Angela looked at me blankly. “I don’t know. I could check my journals.” She left the room again and returned with a floral-covered book. “Here we go. 1975.” She opened the book and skimmed the pages. “I met Roger in April. We married in June.” Angela flipped through the pages, searching. “Here! I saw Morgan and Ellen at my sister Julianne’s wedding on July 4. Roger was away on business. We’d eloped so no one had met him. Everyone asked about him, so I showed them our wedding photo.”

“Both Morgan and Ellen saw the photo?” I asked.

“Yes. What do they have to do with this?”

“Ellen Currant is Jessica Silversmith’s sister.” I pointed to the list of marriages.

“Roger was married to Ellen’s sister? Ellen never said anything.” She put her manicured hand to her cheek, and I could see her processing the information. “Do you think Roger vanished because Morgan and Ellen discovered his game?”

“I don’t know, but Ellen might. I’m going to talk to her next. Please, do me a favor and don’t contact her.”

Angela tucked a brown curl behind her ears. “Honey, I want to know what happened. Call me when you find out.”

“I will.”

A few minutes later, I left Angela’s apartment. Heading north on I-35 back to Oklahoma and Ellen Currant’s address, I munched on chocolate-covered pretzels and pondered the possibility of murder. Could Ellen or her husband have killed Roger Silversmith? Could I be driving to meet a murderer? This case had taken an unexpected turn into territory far beyond my usual archival work.

Five hours later, I parked at a brick, ranch-style house on the outskirts of Oklahoma City. Sitting in my car, I called Detective Cruz, but she wasn’t available, so I left a message about what I’d discovered and where I was before I walked up to the door and rang the doorbell.

A stout woman with iron gray hair in a chignon answered. My notes indicated that she was older than her sister Jessica, but she looked healthier, with a rigid posture and a formidable expression. “What do you want?”

“Ellen Currant? Your sister Jessica gave me your address.” I produced my identification.

“Ms. Laster. Jessica mentioned you.” She looked at me critically, reminding me of the principal at my last teaching job: a stickler who demanded high standards from everyone.

“May I come in?” I asked.

“Yes. Jessica asked me to speak to you, but I don’t know anything,” Ellen said as she led me into a formal sitting room. The room looked rarely used, with pristine white couches and a Persian area carpet. She sat in a wingback chair and gestured for me to sit on the white couch. “Go on. Ask your questions.”

“I’m investigating the disappearance of George Pride. He vanished in 1975.” I extracted wedding photos from my file and handed them to Ellen. “Based on my research, I can prove that George Pride had nine wives and went by at least three names. His real name was Roger Silversmith, but he also used the alias Roger Johnson.”

Ellen glanced at the photos then returned them to me. “I knew he was rotten.”

“I’ve already spoken to Angela Currant.”

Ellen stared at me with pursed lips but didn’t comment.

“She said she showed you and your husband her wedding photo in July 1975, shortly before Roger disappeared. Did you or your husband confront Roger about his bigamy?”

Ellen folded her hands in her lap. “My late husband said he would handle it.”

“How did he handle it?”

“He spoke to Roger privately. Roger agreed to have his marriage to Angela annulled and to leave Jessica and never return. Jessica and the kids were better without him,” Ellen said in a decisive voice that brooked no disagreement.

I doubted her version of events but didn’t argue. “Tell me about your husband. What was he like?”

“My husband loved his family fiercely, but he wasn’t demonstrative and couldn’t make conversation at all. We helped Jessica raise her kids. Morgan would have done anything to protect those kids. He was horrified by what Roger had done.”