“We carry them in our library. You should check them out and see for yourself.”
The library. Of course. Why hadn’t I thought of that? “I think I will. Thanks.”
“Other than that, I know he moved here about twenty years ago from Colorado. He’s been the same way he is now ever since I’ve known him—closed off, and a little too friendly with his liquor.”
“And his leg? Do you know what happened to him?” I ask, thinking back to the steel I’ve glimpsed multiple times now.
“Ah, yes. His leg. Some kind of car accident, I believe. It happened before he moved here.”
I frown. Going through any accident like that is traumatic enough, but to have no one you love to lean on afterward? To have no support to get you through the inevitable rough times? Poor Mr. Blackwood. “No kids? Siblings? Any visitors at all?”
She shakes her head, a sad expression washing over her elegant features. “I wish I could say yes. For years when he’d first arrived, many of the locals tried involving him in activities, clubs . . . anything, really. But he wasn’t having any of it. Always said he was busy working on his research. That was a little while before his latest book was ever published, though, and I really thought he’d become more available after that. As far as I know, he has no plans on publishing anything else, so I can’t imagine that he’s still spending all his time cooped up in his house over some research.”
I almost snort aloud. The man rarely does anythingbutresearch.
“Well, I’m afraid that’s all I know,” she continues. “As I’m sure you’ve come to notice, he doesn’t make many appearances in town.”
I chuckle, trying to picture Mr. Blackwood standing in the middle of the winter festival as happy families surround him, his flask in one hand and the bird in the other. “Yeah, I have.”
A moment of silence passes between us, my chest becoming heavy as I realize I truly might not be able to do much for this man. Lydia’s gentle voice eventually interrupts my thoughts. “You know, it’s been awhile since I’ve really tried reaching out to the gentleman. In fact, I’ve hardly spoken to him at all lately.” She glances down briefly in guilt, pressing her lips together. “I can see how much you care about him, Lou. I’d be happy to try speaking to him again, to see if maybe—”
“Oh, no. Please.” Now it’s my turn to look away, to feel the guilt rise. “I shouldn’t even be butting into his life like this. He wouldn’t appreciate it. And I’m sure he wouldn’t want anyone feeling sorry for him either, so I should . . . I should probably go.” I stand, the metal chair scraping against the sidewalk as I do. “Thanks so much for taking the time to talk to me, Mrs. Birch. Really, it was so nice to meet you.”
She smiles as she rises from her seat. “It was no trouble, honey. Hopefully I’ll get to see more of you soon.”
“Yeah, definitely.” I’m about to give her an awkward wave when she reaches her arms around me in a tight embrace. It reminds me of the way Claire hugged me after putting up the New Year banner, and I instantly lean into it. Everyone could use a good hug in their life.
Just as I turn to walk away, I hear Lydia’s voice behind me.
“Hey, Lou?”
“Yes?”
“The Hawkins family.”
My eyebrows pucker together. “Sorry?”
“The Hawkins Family,” she repeats, taking a step toward me. “They used to live here a while back. Ended in tragedy, I’m afraid. But I know that Mr. Blackwood had some sort of connection with them. Not sure if it helps, but it’s the only other thing I know about him.”
Chapter 32
Ihead backto the inn, deciding to save the trip to the library for another day since I start work in less than an hour and still have to get ready. Should be more than enough time to squeeze in an internet search on the Hawkins family, though.
Claire’s on the phone when I step inside. She catches my eye and grins wide. I give her a fake applaud as I pass by that says,Yeah, yeah. You got me,and she snickers.
Once in my room, I get comfortable on the bed and retrieve my phone, immediately starting a Google search. I don’t even have to scroll through the search engine results, because right there at the top of the page reads: “Hawkins Family of Three, Burned to Death in Their Own Home.”
My stomach twists at the words, eyes squeezing shut before I force myself to continue reading. There’s a picture of the house—or what’s left of it, but it’s the wild flames that take over the image, swirling between dark clouds of smoke. I squint, focusing on the background scenery, and notice that the property is on some kind of small farm.
Ashwick, KS—Single father and two sons pronounced dead following a house fire apparently sparked by gasoline and a match.
About 2:30 p.m. on Tuesday, July 6, 1958, Kansas State Police troopers responded to a medical call at 2139 Deer Lane. As they neared the scene, they spotted smoke coming from the house, said Chief of Police Wayne Mulligan—
My fingers tighten around the phone as I carefully reread that last name.Mulligan. I know that name. I know it, because it was Grams’s last name. Tallulah Mulligan. The Chief of Police, though? My mind immediately begins forming assumption after assumption, and I have to give my head a little shake.Don’t get ahead of yourself. Mulligan is a fairly common last name, right? Still, I store the piece of information away for later.
I redirect my attention back to the article in front of me.
Firefighters arrived and battled the blaze. Once it was controlled, responders entered the structure, which was left mostly in ruins. They found resident and father of two Sherman Hawkins lying on the living room floor.
