The Crossroads

Two police officers delivered a moldy cardboard box to the Jennings residence that night around eight p.m.

Judy was sitting on the front porch, sipping a glass of wine. Zack was upstairs in his room, playing video games. Zipper was with him.

“What’s this?” Judy asked.

“The chief found this box buried in the back of a closet in the old building. Didn’t send it to the library with the other stuff because it appears to be personal items from when Mr. Jennings was sheriff. Sheriff Hargrove figured you folks might like to have it.”

Judy smiled. “Probably Grandpa’s old socks.”

“Probably.”

“So have you guys apprehended Mr. O’Claire yet?”

“No, ma’am. We would’ve brought this box over earlier, but we’ve been dealing with that situation.”

“I understand.”

“Well, we better roll.”

“Be safe.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

The two cops trooped down the steps and into their cruiser. Judy examined the box. The top was sealed with gummy duct tape. Water stains spread up from the cardboard bottom. She opened the flaps and was hit with the unmistakable scent of mildewing newsprint.

More clippings.

The box was crammed full of newspaper stories about the 1983 incident at Spratling Manor.

Judy did some quick math in her head. She figured the plumber was probably in his mid-twenties, so he must’ve been born right before Grandpa shot his parents. The boy had basically been orphaned when he was an infant and had probably been plotting his revenge all his life.

She read a yellowed headline: Bungled Blackmail Scheme at Spratling Manor. She skimmed the article. Apparently, Mary O’Claire’s son, Tommy, tried to extort money from Julius Spratling. Security guards called the police and Sheriff Jennings responded to the scene.

The perpetrators discharged their weapons, the article reported. The sheriff returned fire and killed both intruders.

Judy had that feeling again.

She called 911.

The operator patched her through to Sheriff Hargrove’s cell phone.

“I have a hunch about where O’Claire’s headed next.”

“Where?”

“Well, first he came after Zack, the only descendant of James Jennings currently in town.”

“Who do you think is next on his list?”

“The only living descendant of the man who called the police.”

“Gerda Spratling?”

“Exactly.”

“I’ll look into it. Thanks!”

Hargrove clicked off. Judy went back to the papers in the box.

More of the same.

Details about the extortion scheme but no indication of what the O’Claires had used to blackmail Mr. Spratling. Judy pulled the papers out of the box and stacked them on a side table. She looked back into the cardboard carton to make certain she had everything.

Sitting on the bottom, wedged in the seam between flaps, was a small key, the kind that usually opens a bank safe-deposit box.

She pried it out and made another phone call.

“Mrs. Emerson? Judy Jennings. I hope this isn’t a bad time.” Judy rotated the small key so she could read the inscription on its crown. “Do you know anyone at North Chester First Federal?”

She did.

Mr. Emerson, her husband, was the bank’s head of security.