“Is Emily up?” Dory asked.
“No. She doesn’t work until later.”
Madison closed the top of the coffee maker and hit the START button, wondering if Dory knew anything about her father’s pocket watch. Like how in the hell something that was missing for about twenty years had suddenly turned up in Emily’s drawer.
“Dory . . . do you remember that pocket watch that Dad always carried around?”
“Of course.” She tilted her head, sympathy in her eyes. “Have you been thinking about your father?”
“Sometimes. I remember how upset Mom was about its disappearance.”
A wistful expression crossed her aunt’s face. “She was crushed, the poor thing. I think it was the one thing that she truly missed of your father’s. It would have been a good keepsake.”
“It never turned up?”
Confusion wrinkled the soft skin of Dory’s forehead. “Not that I know of. I think I’d remember that.”
The conversation wasn’t revealing the information Madison wanted.
“It was horrible what was done to your father, leaving you girls with nothing. Even he didn’t deserve that.”
Even he?
“You think so?” Madison asked casually, watching the coffee start to stream into the pot.
“Oh yes. Even with the kind of man he was, that sort of cruelty shouldn’t happen to anyone.”
Chills lifted the hair on Madison’s forearms. No one had ever spoken of her father in those terms.
“What did people say?”
Dory yawned again. “Is the coffee almost done?”
“It’s barely started. Give it a few minutes. You were going to tell me what people said about Dad.”
“Oh, you know. Just talk. It meant nothing.” She gazed longingly at the coffee maker.
Has Dory never made coffee?
“I know people used to spread rumors.” Madison knew nothing of the sort, but she hoped it would fuel the chatty moment Dory had started.
“Oh yes. People are cruel. Your poor mother. We all begged her not to marry him.”
Madison’s head spun. Again. She’d never heard such talk.
“Poor Mom. How did she handle it?”
Dory waved a dismissive hand. “Like she handled everything. She did whatever the hell she wanted. Look what it got her.”
Is Dory drunk? Madison subtly leaned toward her aunt and sniffed the air. Nothing.
“I’m so sorry, dear. It was very unfair to you children. Tara most of all.”
What was unfair?
Madison didn’t want Dory to stop but knew the conversation was treading on thin ice. Either Madison would hear something she did not want to hear, or Dory would lose her train of thought and the moment would be over. “Why do you think it was the worst for Tara?”
“Well, she was older. People viewed and treated her as an adult.” She shook her head sadly. “She was still a child. It was so wrong.”
“It was wrong.” Madison had no idea what she’d just agreed with.
“It was the money, you know. Everything was always about the money.” Dory sighed. “But that had been gone for years. No one knew. Even today they still believe we’re rich.” She opened a cupboard and frowned. “Oh, my cows. Are there any Pop-Tarts left? The cinnamon ones are perfect with coffee.”
Madison was lost, and she suspected Dory was too. She automatically opened the adjoining cupboard and handed Dory the Pop-Tarts box. “People like to gossip about the Barton money?” Madison already knew this was true. She’d heard the gossip all her life.
“Among other things, but it was your father they loved to gossip about the most.”
She wanted to scream in frustration at the rambling. Dory struggled with the shiny foil package. Madison took it, ripped it open, and handed her a pastry. “They were wrong about him.”
“Oh, no. The rumors were spot-on.” Dory bit a corner of the frosted Pop-Tart and closed her eyes in satisfaction. “He married your mother because he thought we were rich. Up to the day he died, he thought we were still hiding money from him and was bitter about it.”
Madison’s energy drained out of her limbs in a rush. Her father had been loving and fun, not like this person Dory was describing. Is Dory telling the truth? Some conversations with her were like this. A scattered bunch of memories tied up in knots.
A memory surfaced.
Six-year-old Madison couldn’t pull her gaze from the beautiful doll in the glass case. She, Emily, and their father had stopped at a neighbor’s garage sale. As her dad looked through the tools, she stared at the doll, ignoring the books and videos that Emily was trying to show her.
“These are only a quarter each,” Emily said. “Dad won’t have a problem with that.” She noticed Madison’s fascination. “Ohhh. She’s beautiful.” Emily walked around the table to check the back of the glass case. “Seventy-five dollars!”
Madison knew that was bad.
“That’s a collector’s item,” said the owner as he approached. “Not a toy. But you like it, don’t you?” he asked Madison.
Madison could only nod.
“Well, let’s get your dad over here.” The owner spotted her father. “Hey, Lincoln. Your little girl found something she likes.”
Her father walked over, holding a hammer and saw, his smile wide for his girls. Madison crossed her fingers. He looked at the back of the glass case, and his smile faded. He eyed the owner. “Is that a joke?”
“Nope. She’s actually worth more than that.”
“Sorry, hon,” her father said. “Find a new book, okay?”
Disappointment crushed her.
“Aw, come on, Lincoln. Everybody knows you’ve got Barton money.”
Madison stumbled backward at the instant fury in her father’s eyes as he turned to the owner. Emily saw it and grabbed Madison’s hand, yanking her toward the driveway. She’d left the books and videos. “Let’s wait out here,” Emily said in a cheery voice.
Something was wrong.
Her father came out seconds later, no tools in hand, his smile back. “Nothing today, eh?” He took Madison’s other hand, and the three of them walked to his car.
She must have imagined the anger in his eyes.
Madison stared at the coffee maker.
Had Emily been protecting her from her father’s anger?
“I think there’s enough for a cup.” Dory greedily eyed the pot.
“Only if you like your coffee super strong and bitter.”
“In that case, I’ll wait. But please hurry up.”
Is she talking to me or the pot?
“The rumors were that Dad married Mom for money?” Madison tried to steer her aunt back on track.
“That and those horrible things.”
“What horrible things?” Madison’s voice cracked.
“Those people.” Dory’s voice lowered. “Those awful people.”
“Was Chet Carlson one of those people?” Madison’s hate for her father’s killer burned anew in her gut.
“Of course not.” Dory was adamant.
“Who, then?” She forced the words out. Why would Dory defend Chet Carlson? The man sat in prison for her father’s death.