Page 46 of Skin Game
Eagan flashed a brief smile. “What did you want to run by me?”
“Here’s the thing. I have reason to believe my mother’s family name was Pritchard. Karne is something she came up with aftershe… disassociated herself from them. That’s my working theory. Do you want steamed milk?”
“If you’re offering.”
“Done.” He grabbed the milk out of the fridge and poured a small amount into the stainless pitcher he’d purchased just for this purpose.
“It’s been a week, that’s for sure. Juliet, for lack of a name, showed up first thing Monday morning with her claim that I was her sperm donor. That is not true. Also on Monday, I received a letter alerting me to belongings my mother had had in storage.” He decided to skip past the Randy W. experience. He couldn’t bring himself to believe it was connected to the rest of the craziness. “On Tuesday, Casey and I drove to Seattle to collect said belongings.”
He nodded his chin in the direction of Alfred and the tattered boxes. “That’s what we brought back.”
Eagan looked over at the collection. “Anything interesting? Aside from the obvious.”
“There’s a Westfort High School yearbook from 1978. That’s where I found out that Pritchard is the name my mother went by before Karne. Eli Rizzi was in there too. They were both juniors that year.”
He poured espresso into a boring white mug, followed by steaming hot milk, and pushed it across the counter. “So, I’m just an innocent man trying to figure this all out.” That earned him a splutter. “My mother left behind a mystery, one she clearly wanted me to solve, but not until after her death. Which makes me think that whatever led to her name change was not good. Perhaps not legal.”
Eagan had her fingers wrapped around the mug as if she was hoarding its warmth. She took a sip and hummed appreciatively, nodding for him to continue.
“To that end, I’ve been poking around in the online archives this morning in search of some answers. Pritchard isn’t anunusual name, but I was hoping I may see something about Heidi—or rather, Holly, which was her name in the yearbook. One thing that did jump out though was a newspaper story about a robbery.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Last day of July in 1978. The 201 Gallery was robbed, and several paintings were stolen. I don’t know how many, the article didn’t say. There was an employee whose name was Carla Pritchard.”
“Okay.”
“Anyway, I’ve searched for that name and found nothing. Obviously, Heidi or Holly was what, sixteen at the time? She wasn’t working in a gallery, but maybe this Carla person was related. Maybe Carla was her mother, sister, or aunt. That’s as far as I’ve gotten. Have you ever heard about this? Is this theft a regional urban legend?”
Eagan looked thoughtful, her brows drawing together. But she shook her head. “Nope. Mind, I wasn’t even a gleam in my parents’ eyes in 1978.”
“Yeah, I wasn’t for a couple of years yet, either. But the fact remains that Heidi Karne aka Holly Pritchard is not pictured in any Westfort Puffin yearbooks after 1978. From what Elton has told me, and I have no reason to think he hasn’t told me everything, Heidi simply showed up one spring needing money. She proved herself to him, so he hired her.”
Gabe paused and chugged down about half of his espresso. He was starting to feel the effects of his early morning.
“She didn’t tell Elton much about herself, and he didn’t ask. Fast forward a bit, and Heidi, uh, makes a poor decision, and whoops, I’m on the way. Elton says he knew what was up and that he’d figured out who my father was.” He shook his head. “That’s a whole other kettle of fish. Next thing he knew, she was gone from Heartstone, and he never saw or heard from her again. Then I showed up a couple of months ago. Yay, me.”
“That’s quite a lot to unpack.” Eagan set her empty mug back down on the counter.
“You’re telling me. So.” He sighed the word. “You’ve never heard about this gallery robbery?”
Gabe would have been tempted to dismiss the robbery if he didn’t have that decades-old memory of his mother removing artwork from a wall and sliding it into the trunk of their car.
“No, but I can ask around. There are a few old-timers who come into the station and shoot the breeze—I’m thinking of starting a coffee and donut fund for them. And don’t forget that Althea’s been there since the dawn of time too. Seriously, I don’t know what I’m going to do when she finally retires. The institutional knowledge that woman has stored in her head is irreplaceable.”
“Off to Westfort again, I guess. No rest for the wicked.” The way things were going, Gabe wasn’t sure he had time to wait for the old-timers to show up for free donuts. And why weren’t they supporting Eagan for sheriff if she was making sure they got their sugar and caffeine fixes?
“Thank you for the coffee. We’ll be in touch if we find anything out about the victim, and if someone takes another shot at you, call us immediately.” Eagan set her empty cup down on the counter.
“Fine.” Which, of course, meantmaybe.
Eagan shot him a glare worthy of Ranger Man as they both walked to the door.
“Yes,” Gabe huffed. “I will call the station if some asshole decides to take another shot at me.”
Satisfied with his reply, Eagan pushed outside, but the infernal wind grabbed the door handle out of her grip and tried to slam it back on her. Being young and nimble, she avoided being squashed.
“Sorry about that!” she yelled over her shoulder.