After Ethan and Nicole left, Jack turned off the ringer on his desk phone. Voice mail could pick up for the afternoon.
Jack recognized some of the names on Nicole’s list. He’d been passing time crawling around in the old files for months now. Though he didn’t recall anything noteworthy in the folders he’d flipped through so far, Jack printed the list Nicole had e-mailed from her iPad and labeled three columns so he could track which files he found, which names were missing, and whether there were any documents that matched Nicole’s specification: wills, birth and death certificates, transfers of property. He was sure that at some point in the history of the law practice, the files were in alphabetical order. But the files Nicole asked about were old and, through the decades, were moved further and further out of the way of active work. Jack had discerned little order to the way they were stored other than where they seemed to fit the available space in a box or drawer.
Nicole’s list included nearly forty names. So far Jack had uncovered twenty-three folders. One held the incorporation documents for a business that no longer existed, and a handful of others were straightforward real estate purchases of homes that most likely had changed owners several times since. These Jack set aside.
The rest were thicker folders reflecting clients who must have used the services of Morris and Morris, and their predecessor, on a regular basis. Two of these Jack recognized as ancestors of clients he had inherited with the practice. He read both files carefully, along with several more. Jack expected to find wills, and he did, but nothing more complicated than spouses leaving their worldly goods to each other, and no worldly goods out of the ordinary.
The piles on his desk grew as Jack sorted files and made check marks on the printed list. Before he was finished he would double-check the names for whom he found no files.
Jack reached for another tattered file, this collection of documents in an expanding file with a narrow cord wrapped around a clasp to fasten it closed. When Jack touched the cord, it crumbled in his hands. Lacking sufficient clear space on the surface of the desk to lay out the elements of the file, Jack carried the brittle case to the space he called the conference room even though so far he hadn’t held a conference within its walls. The table and six musty chairs were relics of Morris and Morris. When it came to the least public space of the suite, Jack had lost the budget war for remodeling dollars to his wife’s agenda for the new powder room. He slid the papers out of the expanding jacket. Even as dated as they were, he could quickly recognize the types of documents and sorted them swiftly.
And then one seemed to stick to his fingers. Jack scanned the first page then flipped to the next one. And the next.
This could be it.
Jack pried off the old blue legal backing paper and carried the pages to his desk, where the printer on his credenza also functioned as a scanner. He certainly wasn’t going to give Nicole Sandquist the original. The scanner rattled into service, and Jack began placing the fragile pages on the glass one at a time until he had an electronic version of the entire document.
Next he picked up the phone and dialed his home number.
“Gianna,” Jack said when his wife answered, “I think it’s better if you don’t wait dinner for me.”
“Jack, you might as well come home at least long enough to eat.”
He steeled himself against her protests. “I had a walk-in client this afternoon with a time-sensitive matter. I’ll make a sandwich later.”
“How late will you be?”
Jack fingered the thick document. “I’m not sure.”
“All right. Brooke is right here. She wants to talk to you.”
Jack glanced at the photograph of his three children that sat on his desk. The faces of Colin and Eva were obscured by the corner of a stack of folders, but Brooke’s face smiled out at him from under the clutter.
“Hi, Dad.”
Brooke’s lilting voice cheered him even on the phone.
“Hi, sweetheart. Sorry I’ll miss dinner.”
“Just don’t forget about tomorrow.”
Jack mentally rustled through recent domestic conversations to find the one that related to tomorrow and his youngest child.
“The puppy trainer,” he said.
“Right. I have to go right after school, and you promised to take me.”
“I remember.”
“And I need to practice face painting before Saturday. Can I practice on you?”
Jack was glad Brooke wasn’t there to see his face grimace at the thought of little balloons or ponies adorning his cheeks.
“It’s washable, right?”
“Don’t be silly, Dad. Of course it’s washable. It’s not a tattoo.”
“Well, then, maybe one little practice spot.”
They said good-bye, and Jack reached behind him and extracted a fresh yellow legal pad from the credenza and took a new pen from a drawer. He printed the scanned document—he wouldn’t mark up the original—and leaned back in his leather chair.
Before Jack finished the first paragraph, he was making notes.
By the end of the first page, he saw through the legalese to the relevant details.
By the top of the third page, Jack knew this wasn’t a routine old will that had been executed long ago and lost its relevance. Otherwise Nicole Sandquist wouldn’t be looking for it.
6:31 p.m.
Ethan rubbed the back of Nicole’s neck. “You’ve been hunched over that laptop for two hours.”
“There must be something here.” Nicole rubbed one eye and continued clicking keys. “Dani had a lot of gall telling us Quinn’s in St. Louis and choosing that moment to decide she wasn’t going to snoop anymore.”
“We’re lucky she did that much.”
Nicole closed her eyes for a moment, giving herself over to the sensation of Ethan’s hands digging into her shoulders. He used to do this when they studied together. Nicole always offered to reciprocate, but she doubted her small hands could approach the results Ethan’s widespread fingers accomplished. His thumbs pressed into the muscles running out of the sides of her neck and down into her back. Increasing pressure told her that he’d discovered the resistance points in her tensed back.
Ethan was right about Dani’s general attitude toward gleaning information from Quinn’s computer, but Nicole remained aggravated. One bank transaction had him paying for gas at a St. Louis station, so he must have rented a car. If Dani had been willing to find his credit card account, they might have tracked down where the car came from. In a second debit transaction, Quinn paid for a meal at a St. Louis location of a national chain restaurant. Judging from the amount, he hadn’t eaten alone.
“His wallet could have been stolen,” Ethan said.
“I’d be more likely to think that if Quinn weren’t missing.” Nicole’s gut told her Quinn and his cards were together—even if it was against his will. A stolen card would have been used more recklessly and widely than two transactions in five days.
Nicole had already telephoned all the major St. Louis hotels and ascertained he hadn’t registered at any of them—at least not under the name Ted Quinn. She’d even tried giving a physical description to the desk clerks, but it was too generic. Quinn had no visible distinguishing marks, no limp, no twitch, nothing that would set him apart from hundreds of people who walked through a hotel lobby in the course of a day.
But why only two transactions in five days? The rest must be on Quinn’s credit card.
“We have to go to St. Louis.” Nicole wriggled out from under Ethan’s mesmerizing touch. It was only two hours away. She knew the city. She’d be able to track Quinn—or his cards—starting with the gas station and restaurant.
“Or,” Ethan said, “it might be more logical to go to Cooper Elliott.”
“Don’t you think he would already be looking at Quinn’s accounts?”
“He’d have to have a warrant or something, wouldn’t he?” Ethan asked.
Probably. Nicole wasn’t an
attorney, but since Quinn had gone missing the same night his car was found wrecked—and he hadn’t been driving—there might be enough suspicion of foul play to persuade a judge in Birch Bend. Maybe Cooper had held back information from Nicole—even from Sylvia. If the mayor knew Quinn was in St. Louis, would she have withheld that information even from Lauren?
“How can we find out if Cooper knows about this?” Nicole reached for her crutches. She had to stand up and stretch her spine.
“Tell him what you know,” Ethan said. “Basic exchange of information.”
“You’re adorable,” she said, “but it’s too late for that.” They’d have to start with explaining how they got into Quinn’s house, the decision to take the computer, Lauren’s knowledge, Dani’s reluctant complicity. But if they went to St. Louis themselves and found Quinn, no one would care how they accomplished it.
“You see the orthopedist tomorrow,” Ethan pointed out.
Nicole rolled her eyes. “That can be rescheduled. And we have orthopedists in St. Louis, you know. Find some paper. I’ll leave Lauren a note.”
Ethan cleared his throat. “Nicole, I’m not going to drive you to St. Louis.”
Her heart jolted from its rhythm. “I can’t drive myself. It’s my right ankle that’s broken.”
“Let’s sit down.” He gestured toward the sofa.
“Don’t waste my time, Ethan.”
“Please, Nicole. You make me nervous trying to pace with crutches.”
She brandished one crutch at him. “Fine. But keep this short.”
They settled next to each other on the sofa. Ethan took one of Nicole’s hands.
“I think Quinn wants to be in St. Louis,” he said.
She stared into his wide, earnest brown eyes. “Quinn has never been to St. Louis in his life. Why would he suddenly decide to pick up and take the trip?”
“That’s a legitimate question, and I don’t know the answer.” Ethan lifted her fingers and kissed Nicole’s knuckles. “But he used his debit card for normal kinds of activities that people do, whether at home or on vacation.”
“What’s your point?” Nicole’s brain said she should pull her hand out of Ethan’s grasp, but she didn’t. His touch, his nearness, his chocolate eyes inches from her face—Nicole was lucky her tongue could still form sounds against her teeth.
“If he didn’t want anyone to know he was in St. Louis, would he use a debit card?”
“Everybody needs to use money. He didn’t plan this escape, after all. He didn’t have a roll of cash in his tux the night he disappeared.”
“Or,” Ethan said, squeezing her fingers, “if someone took him against his will, wouldn’t they make sure he didn’t use his card?”
“That’s it!” Nicole did snatch her hand back from Ethan now. “It’s a signal, a call for help, a way of telling us where he is.”
“I don’t think so.” Ethan gripped both of Nicole’s crutches and moved them out of her reach. “Besides, those charges were three days ago now. He could be anywhere.”
“All the more reason to see his credit card account.” Nicole eyed her crutches, dismayed that Ethan had maneuvered her away from both the rolling desk chair and the crutches and trapped her, immobile, on the sofa.
“Then you’re going to have to take your chances with Cooper,” Ethan said.
She wasn’t ready to do that.
He slipped a hand under her hair at the side of her face and stroked her earlobe with one thumb. “I can’t take you to St. Louis.”
Nicole didn’t expect the sting of tears in her eyes. “We have to find him.”
“I think we have reason to feel encouraged. He’s not lying in a ditch. He just decided he had somewhere to go.”
“But what if he doesn’t come back? What if I never get to tell him how much he means to me?”
Ethan leaned his forehead against hers. “I understand how you feel. I’ve been gone from Hidden Falls for the same ten years you have, and I never so much as sent him a Christmas card.”
Nicole swallowed hard but didn’t move. If anyone could know what she was feeling right now, it was Ethan.
“Let’s not create any more regret,” Ethan said. “Not about Quinn, not about each other.”
“If I stop looking for him,” Nicole said, “I’ll regret that.”
“If you don’t let yourself be grateful for him, even if you can’t tell him, you’ll regret that.”
Her chest rose in a sharp spasm. “But I am grateful.”
“We both let a lot of opportunities pass us by.” Ethan moved his hand to the back of her neck. “These last few days have reminded me of that.”
His breath blew warm against her cheek, and Nicole’s breathing grew shallow.
“What if we don’t get another chance with Quinn?” Her hushed voice cracked.
“His disappearance may have given us another chance with each other,” Ethan said, “and I think Quinn would want us to take it.”
All day long, Ethan was right with one observation after another. And he was right about this. If Quinn hadn’t disappeared on Saturday night, she would have gone back to St. Louis and Ethan would have gone back to Columbus. They would have had no reason to see each other except across the banquet hall, and she would have spent her visit to Hidden Falls reminding herself that she got over Ethan Jordan a long time ago.
But Quinn had disappeared.
And Nicole hadn’t gotten over Ethan Jordan, it turned out.
He closed the remaining inches between their faces, pulling her mouth against the eagerness of his. He tasted as he always had, and Nicole savored the familiarity and all that it stirred in her. She had never been sure what a second chance might feel like—or if she would take it. No matter what happened with Quinn, Nicole was grateful for this moment.
Nicole broke the kiss and gasped for a breath that would fill her lungs. She was letting emotion overwhelm her. One kiss didn’t change what had happened between them ten years ago or the reasons for it.
“The photo,” she said.
Ethan said nothing while he continued looking into her eyes.
Nicole leaned away, and his hand slid down her neck and off her shoulder. “The photo is the reason Quinn wanted you to come to Hidden Falls. He has something to tell you about it. He would want you to know what that is.”
Ethan picked up the picture from the coffee table in front of them.
“You do see the resemblance, don’t you?” Nicole asked.
Ethan nodded.
“If you won’t take me to St. Louis, then I have a request for another destination—a local one. It won’t take very long.”
“We should ice your ankle.”
“Forget about my ankle. It’ll still be broken when we get back.”
7:03 p.m.
Lauren followed her aunt up the narrow stairs to the attic.
“I should have thought about these clothes when you were here on Sunday night,” Sylvia said. “I’m glad you brought it up. Quinn and I talked about it, but that was ages ago.”
It hadn’t occurred to Lauren to include vintage clothing in the silent auction until she found Quinn’s brief note about some clothing Sylvia had—a note Lauren avoided mentioning directly. Considering how she came into possession of Quinn’s notes, she watched her words carefully, even with her aunt. Lauren vaguely remembered the fancy gowns and dresses her Nana had worn when Lauren was little, though she suspected at least some of her memory came from photographs from long before Lauren was born showing Emma in satin skirts shaped by underlying crinoline layers, and velvet bodices and matching gloves.
At the top of the dim stairs, to Lauren’s relief, her aunt found a light switch.
“I don’t know what condition the dresses are in,” Sylvia said. “I haven’t looked at them in years. I don’t even remember why they ended up in my possession.”
“Are you sure you don’t want them now?” Sylvia asked. “Vintage seems popular these days.”
“They wou
ld never fit me. Besides, I don’t have the kind of class that Nana has.” The extended family still repeated Emma’s favorite advice. A classic dress never goes out of style. Don’t skimp on a good investment.
Sylvia opened a tissue-lined box, and they took turns lifting garments and releasing into the air the scent of the cardboard storage.
“Don’t feel obliged to take all of them—or any of them.” Sylvia smoothed a hand across blue satin. “It was only an idle thought at the time.”
Lauren found the dresses stunning. She wouldn’t take them all, though. They would fetch a better price if there weren’t too many. Three, or perhaps only two, would drive up bidding. If they did another auction the following year, Lauren would gladly revisit her aunt’s attic.
“We should have brought a bag up.” Lauren hesitated to set the dresses down among the rough edges of the attic flooring.
“I think there are some empty boxes over there.”
Sylvia pointed, and Lauren scooted about ten feet to the right where an old shelving unit held boxes, some full and some empty. On the top shelf was a wooden box, about ten inches by ten inches, and perhaps four inches deep.
“What’s this?” Lauren picked up the box.
“I haven’t seen that in years, either.”
“It’s beautiful.” Lauren picked up the box and trailed her fingers along its carved lines. She started to lift the lid.
“Don’t open that!”
The edge in Sylvia’s tone startled Lauren. “I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry,” Sylvia said. “It’s just that the box doesn’t belong to me.”
“But it’s in your attic.”
“Quinn gave it to me nearly twenty years ago,” Sylvia said. “He said it was for safekeeping and asked me not to look in it.”
“So you never have?” The box’s lid was hinged on one side, but Lauren saw no latch. Anyone could open it.
“No, I never have. Quinn and I trust each other.”
“You’ve never been curious?” Lauren put the wooden box back on the shelf and checked several cardboard cubes until she found one that was empty. She shoved it along the floor to the dress pile.
“It doesn’t matter if I was curious,” Sylvia said. “Quinn asked me not to look in it … unless …”
Hidden Falls Page 34