How long had the horror continued there? A murder, conveniently covered up by a natural disaster, a handicapped child raised in secret; no wonder Ed Dahlgren committed suicide. Eve’s rages had been a problem since I knew her in high school—that was evident. Was that abusive behavior learned from her father or something else? Who knows, now? Another question: how and why did Eve’s involvement with Bob Martz start? Too much time had passed on that one. She was accustomed to keeping many mysteries, and the murder of a married man was just one more.

  That same rage apparently burned in sister Julia. Forced by Eve’s own controlling anger and financial puppetry to stay behind, watching over her mother and nephew, would be more than galling. No wonder she snapped.

  The mysteries of Jimmy Lyle and Bob Martz’s long-forgotten deaths were now solved. The horror of three more deaths—Eve, Andy and Julia, by her own hand—all came at the expense of keeping family secrets, making certain that no one outside their doors knew of any imperfections.

  There was one more death I still had questions about. Betty’s reaction to the picture of the young man found dead in the creek.

  “Do you think the Dahlgren family had any connection to our other unsolved murder?” I asked. “I told you how Betty reacted to the photo we showed her. That and what she said: ‘Eve never did like that boy.’”

  Gary shrugged. “She’s been moved to an Alzheimer’s unit by a family member, her sister I think. Those few things she told Charisma on her way out of the woods were the last coherent things anyone got out of her. The DNA profile we asked for from the state came through, but it had no matches in any of the federal or state databases. We may never know the truth about that one.”

  I sighed. “Well, we tried.”

  “I guess. What’s going on with the house where they lived?”

  “The historical society that supports activities at Canal Lock Park expressed interest in purchasing the ruins of the home and surrounding land, hoping to rebuild it and use it as a local museum,” I said. “Marcus had the story in this morning’s paper.”

  Gary nodded. “Do you hear anything from Charisma? That was the damnedest thing. Who would have thought a reporter of that caliber would have chosen Jubilant Falls?”

  I shook my head. “I know I didn’t believe it when she told me. I’d bought it all along that she was widowed as a result of a car accident.”

  “You never were very good about normal people and their relationships.”

  “Yeah, rub it in.” I shook my head. Tonight, Duncan and I would be babysitting Gwennie Kinnon as Graham and our daughter went out again. It was their second date this week.

  “But nothing from Charisma, huh?”

  “I haven’t heard a word, but then I didn’t expect to. Most of the time, when reporters move on, they are gone for good. I just hope she can come back to be the national reporter she used to be.”

  Gary nodded again. “So do you have anyone in mind for her position?”

  “Not yet. I’m still working my way through a stack of résumés. I’ve heard from every new college graduate and has-been in three counties. I just have to decide who looks like the best candidate. Then the interviews begin.” I rolled my eyes in mock disgust.

  The grinding stopped suddenly. The city worker stood, removed his safety glasses and brushed the dust from the now-flat surface. The rectangle looked odd in the middle of list of tornado victims.

  Pat shot a couple more photos.

  “I think I got what I wanted,” he said. “I’m going to head back to the paper.”

  “I think I need to get back to my office, too,” Gary said. “See you later?”

  “Sure,” I said, waving as both men walked off in separate directions.

  Once I was sure they were gone, I stepped closer and ran my finger across the now-smooth surface.

  The touch of the cold stone beneath my fingers told me Jimmy Lyle wouldn’t be waking me up anymore at night. Memories might return of that awful day the tornado struck, but I knew now when they did, I could have no fear.

  “Rest in peace, Jimmy Lyle,” I whispered. “I hope you can now rest in peace.”

  I lit a cigarette and walked back to the newspaper.

  Acknowledgements

  As always, my thanks go to that supportive team of professionals, friends and family who make this journey possible.

  For Mary McFarland and Doug Savage, who aren’t afraid to tell me when I write crap and who guide me, sometimes gently, sometimes not, toward a better book.

  For Paul Schaffer, copy editor extraordinaire, who treated my comma deficiencies, misspellings and odd sentence constructions like the grammar professional he is.

  For Greg, Scott and Becky who believe in me.

  But most of all, this book is for all the journalists who live every day with the horrors they’ve seen and their efforts to make us all more aware.

  About the author

  Debra Gaskill is an award-winning journalist with more than 20 years experience in newspapers in Ohio. She has an associate’s degree in liberal arts from Thomas Nelson Community College in Hampton, Va., a bachelor’s degree in English and journalism from Wittenberg University and a master of fine arts degree in creative writing from Antioch University.

  She and her husband Greg, a retired Air Force lieutenant colonel, reside in Enon, where they raise llamas and alpacas on their farm. They have two adult children and two grandchildren.

  She is the author of four other Jubilant Falls novels, The Major’s Wife, Barn Burner, Lethal Little Lies and Murder on the Lunatic Fringe.

  Connect with Debra on her website at www.debragaskillnovels.com or on her blog, http://debragaskill.wordpress.com. You can also connect with her on Twitter at @Debra Gaskill.

  If you liked Death of a High Maintenance Blonde, please leave a review on Amazon.com or the website where you purchased the book. Your support is greatly appreciated!

 

 

  Debra Gaskill, Death of A High Maintenance Blonde (Jubilant Falls Series Book 5)

 

 

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