In Sheep's Clothing (23 page)

“Holy cow,” she said. “On my side?”

“No, my mom's.”

“Unbelievable.”

“Yeah, and from the looks of this file, Roberta was trying to do that with Konrad Nagel. Which wouldn't have been too hard. He only had two children and neither one of them had a whole lot of children, either. My ancestor that I was talking about had fourteen children. And his fourteen children all had, like, eight to fourteen children each.”

“Men may have fought the battles,” Aunt Sissy said. “But women carried the weight of the world.”

“Yeah,” I said.

She pulled up to the lake and showed her parking pass so that she wouldn't have to pay for the May Fest all over again. I got out, taking the file and the charts with me. I nearly tripped over a big rock because I was too busy reading the file. I flipped and flipped pages until I came to a page that made my heart stop.

“She knew about Emelie Bloomquist.”

“What? Who?”

“Roberta knew all the answers we were looking for from the moment we walked in that building,” I said. We walked some more. “She has a family group chart in here for Emelie Bloomquist Schwartz. Parents are listed as Anna Bloomquist and Isaac Nagel.”

Aunt Sissy stopped and shielded her eyes from the sun. “That bitch. You're kidding?”

“No, I'm not.”

“How could she have known? The only record of Emelie is a death record that states her father is unknown. Remember? In the church records?”

We walked some more. “She must have come across either a Bible record, or those court records, or something we haven't had access to. Private family papers, most likely,” I said.

“So she knew everything?”

“I'm not saying she knew Anna died in a fire and the whole bit. Heck, she may not have even realized any of that. Just somewhere in her research, she came upon records indicating that Isaac had a daughter. Here, let me look. There's a place on this chart to cite your sources.”

We had made it to the lake, and Aunt Sissy scanned the bleachers for Rudy and Colin. She found them, and up on the bleachers we went. When I sat down next to Rudy, he laid his hand on my leg and squeezed it. “Hey, sweetie,” I said. It was just one of those exchanges that happen so casually but really mean a great deal.

I continued reading. “Here. Emelie Bloomquist's birth source is … Bible records of Sven Bloomquist, guardianship records—of course, I hadn't thought of that.”

“What do you mean?”

“More than likely, Sven had legal guardianship of Emelie for a while and then gave over legal guardianship to whoever had her all those years, or something along those lines. Um … and here we go, court records. Bingo. Most likely that's the court records ordering her ancestor Isabelle Lansdowne to give over half of the land. That's most likely how Roberta found out about Emelie in the first place, and then the guardianship and family Bible records backed it up. I still don't know what kind of proof was offered to the judge for him to make the decision in the first place. Must have been something signed by Isaac himself.”

“You really think so?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Anyway, she's got family group charts documenting Emelie's descendants all the way to—”

“Excuse me, ladies,” a voice said. “Gentleman.”

I looked up, and it was Mayor Hujinak. “Oh, Mayor Tom. How are you?” Aunt Sissy said.

“Very good,” he said. “Mrs. O'Shea, I wanted to tell you that since our conversation the other day, all I have done is think about the old home place.”

“Oh,” I said. “Really?”

“Yeah, and I can't stop thinking about the ghost,” he said, and curled his fingers in the quote signs.

“Oh, sorry,” I said.

“No, no, don't be sorry,” he said. “It brought back a lot of other memories, too. Things I hadn't thought of in years. But, hey, Sissy, I was wondering if you'd do me a favor.”

“Sure, Mayor Tom, what is it?”

“If I come out to your house, would you give me a tour? I haven't seen the place in years and I'd like to see it again. Maybe take a picture to put next to the one I have of it taken back in the forties.”

“Well, sure, Tom. That'd be just fine. Come on out any time.”

“Great,” he said. “Well, you all enjoy the races.”

“Oh, we have been,” Rudy said. “This has been awesome.”

“Glad you're having fun. See you later,” he said. He tipped his hat and then he disappeared into the throng of spectators.

Aunt Sissy leaned into me. “Now what were you saying about charts all the way up to … what? Who? When? Come on, tell me.”

“All the way up to Kimberly Canton.”

“What do you mean?” Aunt Sissy asked. Her brow furrowed in confusion.

“Kimberly Canton is not the descendant of Isabelle Lansdowne the same as Roberta. She is the descendant of little Emelie Bloomquist.”

Aunt Sissy's expression fell all the way to her knees. “You're joking.”

“No.”

“But then…”

“That sort of explains why—if she's aware of her heritage—that she thinks the lake belongs to her.”

“Why?”

“What on God's green earth are you guys talking about?” Colin asked.

“Shhhh,” Aunt Sissy spat out.

“Shut up!” I snapped.

“Rudy, man, you are a saint,” Colin said.

“Guaranteed a place in heaven next to God Almighty, just for having been married to her,” Rudy said and smiled. Then he flinched, waiting for me to hit him, but I was too distracted to bother.

I met Aunt Sissy's gaze. “Because think about it. Isaac was to inherit most of the land. Isabelle was only to get two hundred acres. Isaac was to get, like, five hundred and something. If Isaac hadn't been murdered, then Kimberly Canton's family would have inherited a whole heck of a lot more land than they did. When the judge ordered that Isabelle give Emelie half, Emelie got, like, three hundred seventy something acres, instead of five hundred fifty something.”

“Oh, I get it. Do you think Kimberly knows this?”

I nodded my head.

“Why do you think that?”

“Because she was in the historical society's office that day. Neither she nor Roberta spoke the entire time I was there, and then finally she just left. I didn't think much of it then, except how beautiful she was, but now … it makes me think that she and Roberta have been in contact. I think Kimberly Canton knows exactly who she is and exactly what her legacy should have been.”

“Wow,” Aunt Sissy said. “You think her motivation couldn't be just plain old greed?”

“Oh, I don't doubt that.”

“So that means she and Brian Bloomquist were cousins,” she said.

I riffled through the charts and then calculated in my head Brian's descent from Sven. “Yeah, about third or fourth cousins.” I thought for a moment. “Too bad I couldn't see the land records for the lake this year. You know, who owns what this year,” I said.

“Why?”

“I'd be really interested to know just how much Ms. Canton owns,” I said.

“Could you guys shut up?” Colin asked. “The next race is about to start.”

“I know somebody who could probably tell you how much she owns,” Aunt Sissy said.

“Who?”

She nodded in the direction of the lake. “Kimberly Canton.”

I smiled at Aunt Sissy. A thick warmth spread through my chest. “I like the way you think, Aunt Sissy. I like the way you think.”

Twenty-four

Of course, now that Aunt Sissy had actually suggested that I go up and talk to Kimberly Canton, I hadn't a clue as to how to begin the conversation. What was I supposed to do, ask how the monopolizing business was coming along? Or I know, how about, “Lovely lake, I hear you're going to own most of it soon?”

Nevertheless, I handed Aunt Sissy the charts, scooted down the bleachers past Rudy and Colin to the end, and jumped off. Then I headed down toward the lake, where Ms. Canton was standing in her sublime dotted swiss dress watching the races.

“Ms. Canton?” I said.

She turned to me, wearing sunglasses that probably cost as much as I paid for my entire summer wardrobe. “Yes,” she said in a tone of voice that indicated I was about to be patronized. Like the teacher with playground duty and me with muddy pants and knots in my hair.

I cleared my throat. “Lovely day,” I said. “I, uh, I have something you might like to have.”

She smirked. What could I possibly have that she would be the least bit interested in? “Unless it does zero to sixty in a second or is measured in carats, honey, I'm not interested.”

“Well, nice to know you can still judge some books by their covers,” I said.

She pulled her sunglasses down and actually took the time to look at me. “Do I know you?” Her voice was missing that familiar Minnesota accent. The thick vowels were softened and the singsong lilt was gone. I imagined she had spent years working the accent out of her speech.

“We sort of met the other day in the historical society. With Roberta.”

A flicker of something danced behind those gorgeous luminous eyes, but I wasn't sure what it was. But just the mention of Roberta's name had triggered it. She pulled a cigarette case out of nowhere and put a long, thin cigarette in her mouth. She lit it, puffed, and blew the smoke right in my face. “Mind if I smoke?”

“Why should I care if you cough up a lung?”

“You certainly are charming,” she said. “Your husband give you that shiner?”

“No,” I said. “Business associate.”

She studied me a moment. “Well, what is it? What would I want that you have?”

“A diary.”

“Don't waste my time. I came here to see the races.” She turned and all but dismissed me without so much as a wave of her hand. Just the turn of her body said all that needed to be said.

“Written by Anna Bloomquist around 1858, 1859.”

She said nothing.

“You seem to take a great interest in Olin, Minnesota. I thought you might like to have it. Since it belonged to your ancestor,” I said. I really didn't want Kimberly to have the diary, but if it would help get to the bottom of everything, I would do it.

She flicked her ashes. “And what do you want in return for this?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Well, okay, some information.”

She raised an eyebrow toward me. “It's just a diary, Ms.…?”

“O'Shea. A pretty interesting diary.”

“What would you like to know?”

“Who owns most of the land on this lake other than you?” I asked. She would either answer me or tell me to hit the road. It was the moment of truth. I held my breath.

She smiled at me. One of those smiles that should be accompanied by maniacal laughter. I waited for it, but it never came. “Why would you care?”

“Just answer the question. It's a matter of public record.”

“If it's a matter of public record, then why don't you go and find out for yourself?” she asked.

I hate it when people ask questions that I was stupid enough to open the door for. “Don't have the time. I need to know now. Today.”

She turned back to the lake. The boat with the green-and-white flag pulled into the lead, and the crowd went wild.

“Come on, it's not going to cost you anything to tell me, and you get a diary in return. An heirloom.”

“My weakness,” she said. She took a deep breath and told me her story without taking her eyes off the boats. “Imagine being put in a foster home when you're six years old. Imagine being raised by a stranger who drank too much and his wife who cried too much. Imagine busting your ass to get through high school and college and then one day finding out that there's this nice little gem of a lake to the north that should have been yours. Biologically, I was the only child of a compulsive gambler, who had been the only child of a man who owned two hundred and three acres of pristine land on this lake. My father lost everything he had, including me, and then his property went up on the auction block to settle his debts. I decided one day to come back to Olin and find out just who I was.”

“And?”

“And I discovered this woman named Emelie Bloomquist Schwartz, my ancestor, who had been victimized much as I had been. All of her inheritance had gone to her aunt. But she fought back. She took her case to court and was given a great deal of what would have been hers in the first place. I wanted to be just like her. I wanted my father's land back. And once I got my father's land back, I wanted Emelie's land. And then I decided why not have it all? It's not like anybody here really understands what the lake means. It's not like anybody here really appreciates the lake.”

“So who owns the rest?”

“You know who, or you wouldn't be asking me. Roberta Flagg owns it. She became incensed when she realized who I was and that I owned half the lake. She began buying up everything she could get her hands on.”

“How can she afford that?”

She shrugged. “Hell if I know. I think her husband had some savings. They sold some acreage they had out in the county somewhere. They've taken out loans. The hell of it is, she keeps it quiet. Somehow she's managed to buy a lot of it with nobody even knowing. I own four hundred and seventy-nine acres. She owns two hundred and ten. The remaining acreage is just small lots here and there owned by individuals.”

“And she's never going to sell it to you, is she?”

“Nope,” she said. “She'll never sell it. Because she's on some holier-than-thou quest to somehow restore the glory of Konrad Nagel's empire. She's nuttier than a fruitcake.”

And Kimberly Canton ran a close second.

“So, now that Brian Bloomquist is dead, you'll be able to outbid her for his property, right?”

She laughed. “Funny how I'm considered the she-wolf around here when Roberta has been more conniving than I've ever been. Me? I walked right in and told the whole town that I wanted to own the whole lake. I went right up to the owners, offered them cold hard cash, and that was that. Not Roberta. Most of the town isn't even aware that she owns a major part of the lake. And so far as Brian Bloomquist's land is concerned, I'll never get it.”