A small townâŚa prominent familyâŚa secret. Only two people know the truth, and their silence will have murderous consequences.
Anna Goddard has spent a lifetime being the Good Daughter. Polished and primped into sleek, blond perfection, Anna learned from an early age that being a Goddard meant presenting a flawless façade to the world. But all that changes when Anna stumbles upon a private correspondence that leaves her reeling. With the help of Michael Donovan, a shy but charming local historian, Anna embarks on a journey to find the one thing her family has always denied: The Truth.
Propelled by her mission to protect those she loves, the young woman experiences a tantalizing taste of freedom. But in the process of unearthing the past, Anna and her family will expose a new threat so dangerous it could ruin them all.
A small townâŚa prominent familyâŚa secret. Only two people know the truth, and their silence will have murderous consequences.
Anna Goddard has spent a lifetime being the Good Daughter. Polished and primped into sleek, blond perfection, Anna learned from an early age that being a Goddard meant presenting a flawless façade to the world. But all that changes when Anna stumbles upon a private correspondence that leaves her reeling. With the help of Michael Donovan, a shy but charming local historian, Anna embarks on a journey to find the one thing her family has always denied: The Truth.
Propelled by her mission to protect those she loves, the young woman experiences a tantalizing taste of freedom. But in the process of unearthing the past, Anna and her family will expose a new threat so dangerous it could ruin them all.
A thunderous bang shocked Michael Donovan from his light doze. Heart thudding in his chest, he scanned the area and spotted a large brown tome, open face up on the floor. The darn thing must have been sloppily placed on its shelf. He picked it upânineteenth-century courthouses, many of them still in use. He was fond of sharing such tidbits of information with anyone interested. Not many were these days.
The library of the Blake County Historical Society was otherwise utterly silent. There had been no visitors that day, or the day before, or the day before that. The small museum on the lower level occasionally still received visitors, but scarcely anyone ever made it up to the archives and library department.
Michael glanced at the clock on the wall: twenty minutes before closing timeâfinally! On his timeworn desk, a book he had been reading to pass the time, something about the unsung heroes of World War II, lobbied for his attention. He put it in the top drawer. In another instant, he would have turned off the lights, but he heard the distinctive sound of the door chime announcing that someone had come in.
He turned around to see a blond woman in her mid-twenties, very attractive, with green, catlike eyes, and a captivating aura of sophistication and grace.
The woman stood by the door with the weightless poise of a magical creature whose feet barely touched the ground. She wore a faint and apologetic smile. âIâm sorry to come in at such a late hour. I can see that youâre about to close for the day. I could come back tomorrow.â Her voice was soft and velvety, yet also rich and powerful.
Thrown into a daze, Michael barely recovered before it got awkward. âOh no, itâs fine. Itâs great to finally have a guest here today. Iâm Michael Donovan, director of the archives and library.â He immediately hated the way he dropped his absurd, inflated title on her like that. âHow may I be of assistance?â he added with a slight nod.
âYouâre very kind, Michael. My name is Anna Goddard. My grandfather was Charles Goddard. He passed away about three years ago. You may have known him, as he was prominent in our town as a businessman and philanthropist.â
Name dropping within two minutesâmust be a new record! Michael sounded the spoiled-rich-girl alert. âCharles Goddard, yes, I met him once at one of our galas years ago, though only briefly. Iâm sorry to hear that heâs no longer with us. Your grandfather was a generous contributor to this institution.â He could vomit right now. How he had despised that conceited old man!
âYes, thank you for yourâŚthoughtful words. He did care a great deal about protecting our heritage. Actually, that is what brings me here. You see, I believe my grandfather donated a small collection of family photographs, deeming them of interest to local historians. I understand a few were from the inauguration ceremony of the St. Maryâs School in the 1960s and some from the schoolâs basketball championship in 1984.â
Anna stepped closer to him. âMy father played on that championship team, and he has never stopped talking about it.â She smiled roguishly. âSo, anyway, I would very much like to see some of those pictures, if you really have the time to help me find them. Itâs just a matter of curiosity, really,â she added graciously, as if she felt the need to explain herself. Her charm was undeniable.
âIt will be my pleasure. If you donât mind my asking, is your father Rick Goddard, the football coach?â Michael had never really met the guy but had heard he was an arrogant jerk. Like father, like son.
âActually, thatâs my uncle. He doesnât coach anymore, though. Havenât seen him in a long while, not since he remarried and moved to California. My father is Victor Goddard. I canât imagine that youâd know him.â
She paused briefly and seemed to inspect her new acquaintance, in the subtlest manner, as if collecting her thoughts. âHeâs in the real estate business, just as my grandfather was, but heâs not as well known, gregarious, or interested in cultural and philanthropic endeavors.â Her tone held a slight hint of contempt for her father.
âI see. Well, why donât we go ahead and look up those photos for you?â
âIf it wonât take too long, of course. I donât want to keep you hostage hereâyou probably have plans, somewhere you have to get to.â
âNowhere I must get to in a hurry,â Michael said. âSo time is on our side.â
âIs it ever?â She flashed a cute little smirk.
âWhat, time? No, I guess it never is. Youâre right about that.â He couldnât agree more.
He sat in front of a tarnished, clunky desktop computer, probably over ten years old, and started typing search queries. âA lot of these pictures have been digitized and kept in our online repository. Some of the older ones we havenât got to yet, and we keep them in hard-copy collections or even in boxes in the backroom.â
Anna scanned her surroundings inquisitively. âSo youâre the boss here then?â
âBoss? Well, Iâd say Iâm more like the sheriff of a ghost town. Thereâs nobody to order around here, not that I would want that anyway. Here, I found something.â He beckoned to her to come over and take a look.
Anna came around and stood behind him. Her movements were smooth and delicate. Was she being deliberately provocative? Nah, it was probably all in his head.
The computer slowed to a crawl, but Michael was in no hurry. âThese pictures are from St. Maryâs inauguration ceremony in 1963. It says right here that they were donated by your grandfather. I take it that you went to St. Maryâs?â
âYes, I did. There wasnât much of a choice, with my grandfather being one of the schoolâs original board members. My father went there; so did my brother. If I didnât want my kids to go to St. Maryâs, Iâd probably have to get away from here.â
âOh, you have kids?â Michael blurted out, feeling embarrassed before the words had even come out. He turned slowly toward Anna and faced her.
Her face took on a curious expression, like she was studying him. âNo, no, I mean in the future, if and when I have kids of my own.â She paused, the corners of her mouth beginning to curve slightly up. âI donât even have a boyfriend.â
âRight, rightâŚIâm sorry.â Michael promptly ended his intrusion trying hard not to blush, his heart racing in his chest, warm all over.
âItâs quite all right.â
Moving back to the task at hand, he sensed her close proximity behind him, leaning down over his shoulder so that he could see her delicate face and long neck out of the corner of his eye. A few golden strands of hair brushed on his shoulder and neck, and he could smell her perfume, with sweet notes of jasmine and vanillaâhis mind drifted for a moment, intoxicated, feeling an irrepressible pull toward her.
âHere, could you open this one?â she asked, pointing to a thumbnail on the computer screen, rushing Michael back to his body.
He opened the low-quality picture. Five men and two women were standing in front of the St. Maryâs school building, with its original facade. Two of the people, Michael could recognizeâFather Patrick Thompson, a young priest at the time, who had retired a few years back; and Robert Mason, the townâs mayor back then, who went on to become a representative in Congress.
Anna pointed to a tall, heavy built man in the middle of the lineup. He was wearing a gray suit and tie with a matching hat. âThis here is my grandfather.â
Michael would have never recognized Charles Goddard in that photograph. He had met him as an old man, and time had certainly not been kind to him.
âIâm probably older now than your grandfather was in this picture.â He faced Anna and got lost in those stunning eyes of hers only inches away.
âWell, letâs see.â She sat up on the corner of his desk. âThis was 1963, so he must have been, um,ââshe thought about it for a moment, making a cute thinking face while she did the mathââabout thirty years old. Yes, thatâs about right. And how old are you?â She casually blurted out the question, then laughed, rolling her eyes. âThatâs so inappropriate. You donât have to answer that.â
âOh, I donât mind. I just turned thirty-three last week, actually.â Certainly not something he felt like celebrating. An empty, dimly lit station in transit to the next depressing milestone; sprinting to middle age while not having accomplished one damn thing he really cared about. Time only marches forward, his mother used to sayâa precious gem meant as encouragement to seize the day that now seemed brutal and merciless.
âWell, happy birthday, then. You look younger. Like twenty-nine, Iâd say. The thirties are the new twenties anyway, right?â
âWouldnât that make you a teenager?â Michael joked.
âBut, Mr. Donovan, I havenât even told you my age,â Anna teased.
âAnd Iâm not going to ask, but you look young.â
âThatâs kind of you, and so very gracious. But Iâm not too young.â
âToo young for what?â Michaelâs pulse revved with excitement.
âI just mean that I have lived, that I am not some naive, immature girl.â
âFair enough.â He chuckled to mask his jitters. âIâm still not going to ask your age.â
âWell, I wonât tell you then. Iâll keep it a mystery for a little longer.â
âI love a good mystery.â Michael could high-five himself right now.
Anna squinted her eyes slightly and fixed them on him with a mischievous spark, then jumped off the desk, and turned her attention back to the computer screen. âItâs getting late. Letâs see if thereâs anything else worth looking at here.â
Rushing things with women had not worked well for Michael before. No sense in risking coming on too strong.
He opened up a few more pictures from the schoolâs inauguration ceremonyâthey all showed the same people. None elicited a reaction from Anna.
What was she really after? Was this trip down memory lane solely curiosity as she said? She didnât seem very curious anymore. Perhaps, these were not the pictures she had hoped to find. They were, admittedly, rather boring.
âWould you like to see more recent ones?â Michael asked. âEarlier, you mentioned St. Maryâs basketball championship in 1984; you know, the one your father wonât stop talking about? I bet those would be more interesting. Should we search for them?â
âSounds like a good idea.â Anna glanced at the clock on the wall and stepped back around the desk. âBut itâs already twenty minutes past closing time. I should go.â
âOh, donât worry about the time. Itâs really no trouble.â
âWell, the thing is, Iâm free tomorrow.â She ran a finger through the back edge of his desk. âSo, how about I come back around eleven in the morning and we look at them then, if youâre not too busy?â
Ah, his luck hadnât run out just yet. Au contraire, my dear comrade! The prospect of seeing her again was an unexpected treat.
Michael rose to his feet. âYes, that will be perfect. I could look up those pictures before you come. With a bit of luck, weâll find your dad doing a slam dunk or something.â
âYes, wouldnât that be something?â
âIt would sure make a great gift for him.â
âYes. Well, itâs a date, then. Itâs been a pleasure meeting you.â
A date, she said. Michael struggled to restrain the wayward little muscles in his face which desperately wanted to broadcast his elation. âThe pleasure has been all mine. Until tomorrow then.â
As Anna stepped out, she peeked back at Michael before she went downstairs toward the exit. Michael stayed a few minutes longer, daydreaming about tomorrow.
When he left the building, the sun was setting, and the clouds over the horizon were alight with hues of red, orange, and yellow, a spectacular sight that he might have ignored many times before, as one does when staring at the ground; but on this day, he had come out gazing up at the sky. Michael opened up his carâs convertible top, put on some classic rock, and drove away under a perfect summer night.
So Anna stumbles upon a secret. A text between her father Victor and aunt Marlene. She has an inkling of the awful truth but she needs proof. She heads to the library. There she meets Michael Donovan. He is the local historian and he knows what she needs. They search the archives. Finding a high school photo of her dad and a lady draped around him kissing his neck. Not her mother. Her aunt Marlene. The deep dive down the rabbit hole begins. Anna is used to being perfect but she must make some imperfect moves to unearth the truth. She must find cousin Diane, daughter of Aunt Marlene.
Diane has disappeared without a forwarding address. She is holding a grudge against her mother because she divorces her beloved Dad. Enjoying her new life not looking back.
The mystery starts to unravel when Anna calls her brother Frank. They are close. They did not have a good childhood. Victor made the children feel like a burden. Father and son have a troubled past. He is determined to help find the truth. Anna contacts Michael for help tracing Diane. He is successful and passes on the information. A family gathering is planned at their parents' home. With a man like Victor Goddard, things go sour.
The Goddards are a realistic family story gone bad. O.J. Lovaz writes a wonderful female character. I appreciate the effort in fleshing out her psyche. Somehow I found myself thinking about our similarities. I understood her triggers and the underlying rage. I totally get it. It was a great escape for me living vicariously through her. The book has a touch of romance too. Because when Anna and Michael first meet there is an immediate attraction. It didn't feel forced. As for the mystery of the murder, I won't spoil it. You must read it for yourself. Silent Pretty Things is worth a read.