Death in Reel Time (4 page)

“A film?” Olivia asked.

“Yeah, back during the thirties and forties, movie companies would go to small towns and film people going about their regular business. You know, like buying stuff in the hardware store, working in tobacco barns, or filling up their cars at the gas station. Or kids eating ice cream cones, riding bikes, or playing with their dogs. Everyday-life stuff. Then they'd splice it all together and give it a two-week run at the local movie house, charging a nickel to come see it. I've studied probably a hundred of these old films. It's where I got the idea for my homage to Morningside. The one from Crawford was made in the early forties. I could burn you a copy if you'd like.”

“I'd love to see it,” Olivia said. “Maybe I'll see people I know.”

“I'll make two copies,” Tony said, nodding to Esme and me. “Now I'm off to the art co-op to film your friend Coco throwing pottery.” He hesitated. “Man, I hope she meant on
the wheel and not at me.” He gave us a grin before hustling out the door.

“He's too cute by half,” Esme muttered.

We heard him exchange hellos with someone on the front porch and a moment later Daniel came in, carrying a bag that smelled like lunch. “Did I miss the party?” he asked.

“Just about,” Beth said, “but we can give you a quick recap.”

“I can't stay long. I'm meeting a client at a commercial space on River Road. He's only in town for the day and wants to see the place. Building's butt-ugly and an eyesore to the community. I'm embarrassed to be representing anybody who'd buy it, but what are ya gonna do? Us poor slubs gotta make a living, right?”

“You're a successful attorney, Daniel. I hardly think you qualify as a poor slub,” Beth said.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, drawing up a chair. “Can I eat while we talk? I'll share.”

“Sure, honey,” Olivia said. “But I don't like you eating junk. Let me fix you something.”

“Mom, it's not junk. It's an all-organic veggie wrap with goat cheese and fresh herbs. Friend of mine has a food truck that serves up all farm-direct, healthful stuff.”

“Esme and I ate before we came over,” I said, taking in the aroma. “I'm regretting that now. You'll have to tell me where I can flag down this truck.”

“Um-hm,” Esme said, reaching over to steal a nibble that broke off as he cut the wrap into medallions. “This fella can come park his rig right in our driveway. And while we're on the subject of food,” she said, reaching over to grab a napkin
from Daniel's bag, “you all need to know that once we start the scrapbooks there will be a strict no-food-or-drink policy in here. Everybody got that?” She looked around the table, swiping at her fingers.

“Aye, aye, captain,” Daniel said, snapping a salute.

Esme smiled, but I knew she was dead serious. Once the scrapbooking started, pity the poor fool who tried to bring so much as a cup of coffee into the room, even if it was Olivia, the client, in her own house.

We worked for another hour, interviewing Olivia in more depth to mine tidbits of information she might not have known she possessed. We asked about school affiliations, churches, family friends, houses, automobiles, and community events. Sometimes Olivia seemed startled when a memory would pop up in response to our prompts.

After a while we could see her energy flagging, and when Daniel gathered up his food wrappers we took that as our cue to wind it up for the day. Just then Beth's cell phone rang and she snatched it off the table as if expecting an urgent call.

“Of course I remembered,” she said, heading into the kitchen for privacy. “Yes, I'll be there soon,” we heard her say, her voice placating. After she left the room her words were muffled but the tension in her voice was clear.

Olivia gave a worried glance toward the kitchen and Daniel balled up his lunch trash into a ball so tight I thought the wrappers might molecularly bond. Esme and I busied ourselves with packing up our things and pretended not to notice.

Beth came back in a moment later. “Mom, let me make you a snack before you go up to rest. I need to go do a quick errand in about an hour.”

“Is it something I can do for you on my way back to the office?” Daniel asked.

“No, thanks, Daniel. I told Blaine I'd take his car in for servicing. I have a list of things I need to talk to the mechanic about. I'll have to do it.”

“Or maybe Blaine could take in his own car,” Daniel said.

“Oh, Daniel, don't start,” Beth said, giving Esme and me a tight smile.

“How will you get home?” Daniel persisted. “You're not going to sit there and wait the rest of the afternoon.”

“No, no,” Beth said. “I'll put my bike on the rack and ride it home. I wanted to get in a ride today anyway. This gives me a good excuse to do it.”

Daniel glanced his mother's way and pinched off whatever he wanted to say. “Sounds good,” he said. “You're inspiring me. Maybe I'll go for a run after work.” He shot the ball of wrapper toward the wastebasket and fist-pumped when he hit the target. “I'll see you later, Mom,” he said, leaning down to busk her on the cheek. “See, this is what happens when you bring in the pros.” He tilted his head toward Esme and me and smiled, but his eyes kept flicking back to his sister.

After Daniel left, Esme and I looked through the boxes again, deciding which to take with us this trip.

“Sophreena, would you and Esme stay for coffee?” Beth asked.

I was absorbed in the contents of the box and opened my mouth to decline, but Esme nudged me and I looked up. Beth had her back to her mother and the look on her face was almost pleading. Clearly she had an agenda.

“Love to,” I said, “if it's not too much trouble.”

We had a nice chat over coffee and some truly superior banana bread—Daniel's talents again, we were told. We even managed to work in a few more questions for Olivia while we were at it. When she went up to rest Beth checked to make sure her mother was out of earshot before she turned back to us.

“Thanks for staying,” she said, her voice low. “I wanted the chance to talk to you. I can't imagine what you must think of us.”

“We're not thinking anything, Beth,” I lied.

“Then there's something wrong with your tension receptors, Sophreena,” she said with a rueful laugh. “Listen, you know us. It's not always like this. This has been a hard year. We had a horrible scare with Mom's health. Blaine didn't like the idea of me taking the year off, so that's created problems. Then there's an issue with Daniel. He's decided he hates being a lawyer. All that school and all that work, and now he hates it. He's discovered this real passion for food. He wants to open a restaurant. He's trying to get backers and he asked Blaine and me to come in on it. Blaine flatly refused, so there are some hard feelings on that score.”

“Well,” I said, “since you're being so frank here, do you mind me asking what that little kerfuffle with Peyton yesterday was all about?”

Beth puckered her lips. “I know it's no secret in this town that the Branch family is practically at war. Sterling and Madeline are wonderful parents and they are not about to turn their backs on their only daughter. They've not only allowed Madison to come back home to live, but they've welcomed her as a prodigal daughter. She's Blaine's sister
and he loves her, in his own way. But he thinks she's taking advantage. She hurt her parents very badly with the way she left and he can't forgive her for it. But Sterling and Madeline have forgiven her and they're doing everything they can to help get her back on her feet. I mean, that's what loving parents do, right? But Blaine is dead set against them giving her a penny, or even taking her in. Peyton sides with Madison and their parents and I'm caught in the middle.”

“Not a good place to be,” Esme said.

“You have no idea,” Beth said softly. “Anyway, Mom doesn't know much about any of this and we're trying our best to keep stressful things away from her. But you're going to be around us a lot as we're working together on this project and I didn't want you to think we're this dysfunctional all the time.”

“Family matters,” Esme said.

“Pardon?” Beth said.

“Family matters can be complicated,” Esme said with a sigh.

“Oh, I thought you were reminding me of how
much
family matters,” Beth said, the wan smile back again.

“That, too,” Esme said, patting her knee.

T
HE TEMPTATION TO BLOW OFF
genealogy work for the afternoon was strong. Leaves needed raking, books needed reading, bikes needed riding. But Esme and I both wanted to give Olivia all the time we could before we left for the Wilmington job, so we pushed on.

Sometimes our clients want only a bare-bones pedigree chart with names, dates, and maybe the occupations of their ancestors and their country of origin. Or they want a coat of arms they can hang on the wall in the den. Those are easy-peasy jobs we can knock out in a day or two. Olivia's project wasn't one of those.

She was looking for a deeper, richer family narrative. She wanted the story of her people. And for that you have to dig and shuffle through a lot of stuff. Often clients get completely overwhelmed by the task of taming all the photos, heirlooms, and other artifacts a family accumulates over generations into some kind of logical order so that patterns and identities start to emerge. That's where I come in.

I get to strut my stuff on these jobs since I absolutely rock when it comes to organizing, at least in my professional persona. In my personal life, not so much. Hence the need for frequent safaris into the deepest reaches of the house, hunting for my keys or a mislaid hairbrush or iPod.

But sorting clients' family artifacts is something Esme and I have down to a system. I was going through the boxes, examining each item for dates, placing each into a protective sleeve and then snapping it into a three-ring binder in its proper chronological position. Simultaneously, I was constructing an index database that included a description of each item and the noted or estimated date, so we could build on the information in a methodical, cumulative progression.

For amateurs the impulse is to start looking through things and get drawn into the contents of a letter or ponder over the identity of someone in a photo, only to suddenly realize an hour has passed and there's been no progress in organizing. With our method there's no sidetracking.

Theoretically.

The boxes we'd brought home from Olivia's on this trip included two containing Olivia's maternal grandparents' belongings and one with Celestine's personal diaries from the year Olivia's parents were married. I worked through the books trying hard to record the dates without succumbing to reading the actual text.

I failed.

Once I caught the word
bride
I was hopeless against the compunction to read on. I figured if I was going astray I should take Esme along with me, so I read the passage aloud to her:

Diary of Celestine Duffy Hargett

September 7, 1941

We met Johnny's new bride, Irene, today. Johnny calls her Renny and she says she'd like us to call her that, too. She is a beautiful child. And that is what she is; she is a child. So is Johnny for that matter. I wonder if she knows what she has got herself into. Johnny is my husband's only brother, and I love him, I truly do. But I can't make out what kind of husband he'll turn out to be. I expect not a very good one. I blame his mama since she doted on him right much and allowed him to skate by on near 'bout everything. Now he's grown tall, but not so much grown up. Maybe it's 'cause he's such a good-looking boy, but he has a very high opinion of himself and is bad to get aggrieved and pout or act out when he doesn't get his way about every little thing. I fear there will be some rough road ahead for these two young ones.

And doesn't that all make me sound like an old granny woman? I'm not but five years older than Johnny myself, but I dare say I've a better head on my shoulders in the first place and I've done a whole lot of growing up since me and Riley married, nearly six years ago now. Seems hard to believe it's been that long, and yet again hard to believe it's ONLY been that long. Seems to me I've always been with Riley Hargett. If not here in this place then somewhere up there in heaven where our souls got matched up long ages ago.

Renny is a t-nincy thing. Puts me in mind of a little sparrow. And seems like she's got the sweetest disposition
you could imagine. Right off she hugged my neck and told me how glad she was we were to be sisters since she never had a sister. I never had one either so I told her I was just as glad as her. And I am.

I'll own up to some unfair judgment on my part. I was half expecting she'd be snooty. She is a town girl and her parents are both educated people who've traveled to lots of far-off places. I've heard they are none too happy about their daughter running off and marrying the likes of Johnny Hargett, who even his family that loves him will allow is a wild boy with not much prospects. Her folks were missionaries in China, which is where Renny was born, and they wanted her to go to college and become a learned lady, which will surely not happen now. This must be a heartbreak to them as Renny is their only child, at least their only one left with them in this world. I hear they once had a son, but he died when he was real little. I believe I recollect hearing it was of some disease he got from wherever foreign place they were serving as missionaries at the time. I imagine that would be the hardest thing a person could be called on to endure. I consider myself a faithful woman and I try to live a good example every day of my life but I don't know if I could ever answer the call to spread the Word if it meant putting my child in danger. If I had a child, I mean. Riley and me have long ago accepted that being mama and papa is not in the cards for us. Now that is a true heartbreak.