Black Cat Weekly #79

Chapter 5-3

“I can’t find any trace of Roger after 1975. If Roger argued with Morgan, could the argument have become violent?”

Ellen looked away. “Morgan wasn’t a violent man.”

“Was Roger?” I asked. “Men who flout social rules the way Roger did typically don’t think rules apply to them. Confronting them may be dangerous.”

“Roger had a temper. He expected everyone to dance to his schedule. Seeing what you found, he probably needed everything to run like clockwork to balance all those wives.”

“You suspect Roger is dead, don’t you?”

Ellen sat silently for so long that I began to wonder if she’d answer. Then she said, “Morgan left a letter with our wills. It’s not to be opened until after my death.”

“Will you let me read it? If it has nothing to do with Roger Silversmith, you won’t have to know what it says.”

“And if it does?”

“I’ll have to take it to the police.”

Ellen’s face crumpled and her head drooped. Suddenly she looked as fragile as her sister.

I moved to kneel in front of her and covered one of her hands with mine. “Please, ma’am. Several of Roger’s wives are still alive. And he had many children. One of his daughters hired me to find out what happened. They deserve answers. They are victims, just like Jessica and her kids.”

She clasped my hand, and I helped her rise from the wingback chair.

Ellen left the room and returned carrying a fireproof lockbox. She handed me the box and a key. “I don’t want to see the letter.”

The doorbell rang. Ellen went to answer it as I returned to the white couch with the box.

A clean-shaven man with a receding hairline above thick glasses entered the house. “Mama, what is this about Aunt Jessica and a private detective?”

I rose. “That’s me. Maya Laster. I’m investigating the disappearance of your aunt’s husband.”

He stared at me before his eyes traveled to the lock box on the couch. “What are you doing with the lock box? Why are you here?”

Ellen said, “Calm down, Greg. She’s going to read Dad’s letter.”

“No! No one reads Dad’s letter. He insisted, and I promised as executor of your wills.” Greg strode toward me and took the box and the key.

Ellen’s voice came swift and sharp. “Greg, stop. Your Uncle Roger had nine wives and I don’t know how many children. One of his daughters hired Ms. Laster to find out why her father vanished. That woman deserves the truth.”

Greg’s head swung toward me. “Nine wives? He had multiple other families? That’s why he never stayed home more than a few days?”

“Yes,” I said. “Even if you take that letter now, I’m going to have to report its existence to the police. They are reviewing your uncle’s case.”

Greg inserted the key in the box and opened it. He plucked a letter from inside and placed the box on the couch. “In that case, I’m reading this letter.” He looked at his mother. “If it needs to be destroyed, I’ll take care of it.” Greg slid his finger under the envelope flap and unsealed the letter. Pulling out a sheet of paper, he read hastily before looking at his mother. “Mama, we should destroy this.”

“I can’t believe your father would murder Roger.” Her voice shook, and she sank into her wingback chair with her hands over her face.

Greg stepped to her side. “He didn’t. It was an accident.”

Ellen’s head came up. “Then the truth must come out.”

I said, “If you destroy the letter, the police will think it was murder.”

Greg’s fist closed on the sheet of paper, and he stared at the ceiling with anguish in his eyes. “Uncle Roger bragged about having other families when Dad confronted him. When Dad criticized him, he got angry. They fought, and Uncle Roger fell.” Greg handed me the crumpled paper.

The sheet of stationary was covered in closely spaced handwriting. Skimming down, I read to the end and spoke softly to Ellen, “I’m so sorry, Ellen, but the police will need to dig up your basement.”

We called the police, and a sense of satisfaction settled over me. I’d found the truth for Betty. I spent the rest of the day and part of Friday awaiting the completion of the excavation in the basement.

The following Monday, I met with Betty Pride in my office and explained what happened to her father over a bowl of wrapped chocolate kisses.

“The police recovered skeletal remains from the Currant’s basement. Morgan Currant’s hand-written confession states that the death was an accident. Your father met Morgan in Morgan’s garage. When Morgan confronted him about his bigamy, your father became angry, and they fought. Your father tripped over a lawn mower when Morgan pushed him, and he fell backward. The base of his skull landed on a pickax leaning against the wall, killing him instantly. The medical examiner will have to do an autopsy, but the detective in charge confirmed that the skull they found had a wound consistent with the injury described in Morgan’s letter.”

“Nine wives and three names.” She looked at me in amazement. “How is that even possible?”

“Before the proliferation of computers, cross-checking information was harder. And before 1974, anyone could request a social security number by filling out an application. No proof of identity was required. Your father simply requested social security numbers under fake names and used those at different jobs. He may have forged birth certificates, too.”

“And no one suspected anything until he married someone obliquely related to one of his other wives.” Betty bit her lip. “I’m glad Mom never knew but knowing what happened to Dad is a weight off my mind.”

“The Oklahoma City Police will be reaching out to the surviving widows and children to inform them. You have more half-siblings, if you want to meet them.” I studied her profile. “Your half-sister Lorraine resembles you.”

“Does she want to meet me?” Betty asked. Her jawline tensed, prepared for rejection.

“Yes. Lorraine and her two siblings would like to meet you. The Johnson half-sibling, Raymond, is still processing the information. You’ll have to give him time.”

The tension melted from Betty’s face. “That’s wonderful, Ms. Laster.”

I couldn’t give Betty her father, but I could give her the truth. Family connections were icing on the cake. I’d become a genetic genealogist to connect people, but finally realized that another part of the job mattered more. Connecting people gave me a warm glow of pleasure but finding facts and truth for my clients was an achievement that gave me long-term satisfaction. The truth would stand no matter how people responded to it.

N. M. Cedeño writes mystery and crime fiction short stories and novels. She is a member of the Short Mystery Fiction Society and Sisters in Crime: Heart of Texas Chapter. Her stories have appeared in anthologies and in magazines, including Analog: Science Fiction and Fact, After Dinner Conversation: Philosophy and Ethics Short Stories, Black Cat Weekly, and Black Cat Mystery Magazine. Cedeño blogs with other Heart of Texas mystery writers at InkStainedWretches.home.blog. For more information please visit nmcedeno.com.