to say, too. Gary Dodge would have told him. She said it anyway.
“What you have to remember,” she began, “is that my great-great-great-grandfather Earl Bates and his brother, Samuel, were two of the men killed by that vigilante posse. It’s well-known they received no trial and there was no hard evidence against them. They may have been innocent—they certainly deserved better justice than hysterical murderers taking the law into their own hands. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try to keep you guys from glorifying their killers.”
“We have no desire to glorify anyone or anything,” Frankie said, and for the first time, his voice reflected irritation. She knew that both Frankie and Gary Dodge had worked on this project for over a year. It was important to them. Seeing Frankie’s less polished side made dealing with him both easier and more difficult for her: easier because his feelings were involved and who better than she knew how that could warp a person’s judgment? Harder, because she could feel his enthusiasm and that made him a little irresistible.
“Maybe not,” she protested, “but it’s not too difficult to imagine that’s exactly what will happen. I’m the last of my family. For decades, Samuel and Earl have just been footnotes no one really cared about. Your project has the potential to change that.”
“And perhaps give meaning to their deaths,” Frankie said suddenly as though he’d just thought of this angle. They were both silent as his meal was delivered. It looked delicious, but Kate didn’t think she could have eaten it even if she could afford to buy it.
Frankie ignored his plate. He sat forward. “You’ve brought up some interesting facts. I’ll make sure they’re addressed.”
Now you’re just being glib, she thought as she shook her head. “No,” she said. “The truth is I have an appointment to meet with your backers very soon. If they don’t walk away, I’ll keep talking until somebody listens.”
Frankie stared at her for a minute. It was obvious his mind was racing. She could almost picture him running along a hall, throwing open door after door, looking for the right response that would get her to change her mind. She’d expected this from him—she’d been warned that he was formidable when thwarted.
“Okay, here’s the thing, Kate,” he said at last. “You’re young and smart and articulate and maybe worse, from our point of view, you’re very pretty. Social media will love you. You may not have a lot of legal ground to stand on when it comes to stopping us, but you could do damage with negative publicity. More than that, though, our backers are a cautious lot. They’re going to come to the same conclusions I have when they meet you and I’m afraid they’ll get cold feet. This matters too much to me to risk that. What can I do or say to change your mind?”
“Nothing,” she insisted.
“There has to be something.”
“No,” she said. “There doesn’t. I tried to warn you.”
He took a breath. “Please, can’t you just be reasonable?”
“You’re calling me unreasonable?”
His jaw tightened. “You’ve brought up interesting points, I admit that, but they can be dealt with fairly. We work with a dedicated researcher, a historian, who checks all our facts. We aren’t interested in rewriting history. Can you say the same?”
She put down her fork. This guy was conceited or was that her guilty conscience making excuses for her own motivation? She picked up her tea glass and took a sip, giving herself a chance to calm down, check her watch and take a deep breath. “I understand that making this documentary is important to you,” she said. “You grew up with this story, you live close to where it all happened—it’s intimate to you in a way it isn’t for me. This is all I can do to honor the memories of the men who died without the opportunity to defend themselves.”
“Believe it or not, I have empathy for the men who were hung. It was a gruesome way to die. Can’t you find it in your heart to trust me with their story?”
“I sense you mean well,” she said carefully, “but I don’t know what the rest of your family is like and according to Mr. Dodge, they play a big part in this thing.”
He steepled his fingers and gazed at her. “I have an idea,” he said at last.
“What is it?”
“Come to Idaho. Meet my father and brothers, and Grace, my stepmother. You’ll love her, everyone does.”
“Your father,” she said slowly. “What kind of man is he?”
Frankie appeared surprised by her question. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked it.
“A decent man,” he said. “A man who puts his family first.”
“Family first,” she mumbled. “Over everything?”
“What do you mean?”
“Over his land, for instance? Over money?”
Frankie’s brow wrinkled. “I’m sorry, Kate. I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, and straightened her shoulders, figuratively if not literally. “How many brothers do you have?”
“Three. All older.” He sat back. “None of us have a secret agenda of any kind. We just want the past recorded in a fair and honest way. This story has always fascinated me. Come meet everyone. Come get to know the countryside where this happened, walk the dead streets of a once vibrant town, get a feel for the folks who lived and loved there, understand their struggles and that includes your own relatives. In other words, come back to Idaho with me.”
“Now?” she said. “Just like that?”
“Yes.”
She stared at him. Would this be easier if he wasn’t so good-looking? Maybe.
“As a matter of fact,” he added, as though sweetening the deal, “on my way home I’m stopping to meet with one of the descendants I told you about. You’re welcome to come along and meet him, too.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Just to get a feel for our approach. The man I’m talking to is the great-great-grandson of a guy named Matthew Dalton. Dalton was a lawyer in Green Ridge. He married a woman named Mary two days after the robbery and they left town the day after that. Accounts hint it was all very sudden. Maybe he was the fourth man, who knows? Hopefully we’ll learn something that can help us piece together the truth. Will you give me a chance, say a week or so to try to awaken a little curiosity in you?”
“I don’t know,” she said softly.
“If it’s your job—”
“I... I work at home,” she said quickly. “There are arrangements that would have to be made, of course, but it’s not that. My car is kind of on its last legs...”
“You can ride with me.”
“It’s not the getting there that worries me,” she said. “I just don’t know how comfortable I’d feel on your turf.”
“Well,
