Free Like Never Before by Melissa Tagg Page B

her while they talked. Was he really that upset she’d invited everyone else along tonight?
    The next few minutes passed in a blur of clinking silverware and satisfied eating. Until Ledge looked up from his plate. “I think it’s a good idea, Amelia.”
    The burly older man, bald with ebony skin and kind eyes, rarely spoke up. The most noise he ever made was with the press. But his simple statement was enough to quiet the rest of the crew.
    â€œYou do?”
    He nodded, then looked around the table and seemed to prompt everyone else into doing the same. Even Mae.
    Except Owen, who lowered his fork and finally looked at Amelia. “Yeah, but what’s going to actually fill this thing besides ads?”
    â€œStories about the paper’s history. Old photos, maybe even some old articles.”
    â€œNo actual news?” Skepticism clouded his tone.
    â€œOh, there’s going to be news.” She leaned forward, fingers lacing around her glass. Her favorite part, this. “I’m finally going to solve the Kendall Wilkins mystery.”
    She’d expected a few oohs , maybe some ahhs . Not the blank expressions that stared back at her.
    â€œThe town loner?” This from Abby. “Didn’t he die?”
    â€œHe was more than a town loner. Half the buildings in town wouldn’t have been built without him. He lived to be 101. He saw more world history than most of us have read about in textbooks.”
    He was Maple Valley’s most famous citizen. Businessman, philanthropist, collector. He’d lived through the Great Depression, fought in World War II, and made millions after the war, which he then poured back into this community. In the seventies, he’d donated his mansion to the city. Now it housed the public library.
    And perhaps the most interesting of all his stories—he’d beenin Paris in 1927, stood on Le Bourget field as Charles Lindbergh made his historic landing. Even had a black-and-white photo of himself standing next to the record-setting aviator and the Spirit of St. Louis .
    Logan had said to write a story she was passionate about. Well, she’d wanted to write Kendall Wilkins’s story for years.
    â€œHe might’ve been an interesting guy, but no one ever knew him.” Kat forked her grilled asparagus. “Believe me, I grew up here. The man was a legend, but not necessarily a well-liked one. For all his philanthropy, he never came to a single town event. Never got involved. And then he pranked the whole town when he died. I’m not sure putting his face on the cover of a special issue will do us any favors.”
    â€œBut that’s just it. I don’t think he meant to prank anyone.”
    It was town lore these days, the story of Kendall Wilkins’s will. Five years ago when he’d died, he’d left the contents of a safe-deposit box to the city of Maple Valley. The town made a big deal of it, gathered a crowd to open the box . . . only to find it empty. Everyone assumed it was the elaborate hoax of a hermit.
    But they didn’t know the Kendal Wilkins she’d known. Oh, she’d never met him in person, but she had . . . well, she definitely had insider knowledge.
    â€œI think there was supposed to be something in that box. I’m going to figure out what it was and what happened to it. And that, my friends, will be our front-page story.”
    She could sense the skepticism threading through the group, but they were either too hungry or too nice to voice it.
    Except for Owen, who pushed back from the table—abrupt, annoyed—and stood. “I’m . . . not hungry.” He swiped his coat from the back of his chair and tromped away from the table.
    The rest of the group looked as confused as she felt. “Owen,” she called after him, the wallop of the closing door punctuating his exit.
    She followed him outside, shrugging into her jacket as she stepped into