âYeah, it happens. But donât you think by now someone would have found out? I mean, Iâve had blood drawn tons of times during medical exams. Donât you think someone would have questioned my blood type if it didnât match my parents? Nothing got past my mother. She was so good at keeping records. Nothing like me.â She closed her eyes, then whispered, âNothing like me.â
Sighing, she glanced down at the report. âThis test doesnât show blood type.â
âMaybe you have the same blood type as one of your parents. Lots of people share the same blood type.â He shrugged. âOkay, so you werenât switched at birth. Maybe you were adopted.â
âIf I was adopted, why didnât they tell me? They never kept anything from me.â
âPeople do that. They were from a different generation. A different place. You knew they werenât originally from Vancouver. Maybe they were waiting to tell you.â
She chuckled wryly. âMy whole life?â
He shrugged.
Tammie stared at the envelope and sniffed. âThey just didnât want me to find out, Bill.â
âDonât go there again, Tam. I beg you. It wonât bring your parents back.â
Her shoulders sagged. âWhy donât you believe me about this? I knew my parents. If I so much as had a hangnail, they took me to the doctorâs office. If they really didnât know I wasnât their biological daughter, they would have found out. I donât think this was a mistake, Bill,â she said, trying to keep her pain out of her voice. âThey knew. They just chose not to tell me. The question is, why?”
The sting was so sharp, it was like losing them all over again. The one thing sheâd learned since her parentsâ deaths was that life couldnât go on unless you picked yourself up and put your best foot forward. The first step was admitting the truth of what was in that file.
âMaybe they were afraid you would reject them. It doesnât have to be something sinister.â
âI loved my parents. I would never reject them no matter what this file has to say.â She lifted the paper, then let it slide to the far side of her desk.
Bill came around to her side. âYou canât ask them about it now. Just let it go.â
Tammie swiped another tear and stared up at his pleading eyes. âYou of all people know I canât do that. They were the most open, honest people I knew. It doesnât make sense that they would have kept this from me.â
She looked at Bill and, through tear-filled eyes, said the things she couldnât put into words.
Bill sighed. âYouâre not returning to the college next year, are you?â
Her bottom lip wobbled. âYou know Iâve always suspected their deaths werenât an accident. A diesel boat doesnât explode when taking on fuel unless something ignites it. Even a faulty wire would have caused only a small fire, giving them plenty of time to get off the boat. I saw the explosion from the parking lot, Bill. The boat went up like an atomic bomb. Even the fire investigator said they should have had time to escape, and yet the boat was engulfed almost immediately.
âThings just donât add up. They were acting so weird, insisting I go away with them before school was over. I would have been on that boat, too, if I hadnât been so late getting there. I need to know the truth. But I honestly have no idea where to start.â
*
âYou should start here.â
Dylan peered over the side of the flatbed truck. Mrs. Burdett stood at the side of the road, giving him instructions on how to retie the ropes that were supposed to keep her priceless antiques in place. This not being the first time heâd been given a lesson from the elderly woman, heâd actually thought of passing by her when he saw her truck pulled over to the side of the road.
But guilt crept up his spine, reminding him he was not only a cop, but a Marine, as well. Or at least he used to be. And at one time, heâd even been a Boy Scout. That still meant extending help to little old ladies in need, even when he was practically being forced out of town against his will.
âNah, you need more support on this end.â
He wrapped the thin, almost clothesline-like rope around the solid sideboard snug up against the back of the truck. Even as he did it, he knew the rope was going to snap again.
âWho packed the truck for you, Mrs. Burdett?â he called down.
âTrudie,â she said, reminding him of her request that he call her by her first name. Tipping her frayed straw hat up so that she could meet his gaze, she harrumphed.
His look was apologetic. âOkay, Trudie.â
âHad to do it myself. That lazy good-for-nothing grandson of mine took off this morning after promising heâd help me load the truck. Probably down at Handies again with his lazy-boned girlfriend. Seems all they do these days is play pool and text on their cell phones, the two of them. I told him I had to get these pieces down to Jacksonâs. They have to be photographed for the catalogs before the end of the day, or Iâll miss my spot during the auction. And Iâve held that spot going on thirty-three years now.â
âWell, Iâd hate for you to lose your spot. But weâre going to need something a little stronger than what you have here to secure these pieces, or youâll lose the entire truckload down Main Street before you even make it to Jacksonâs.â Dylan jumped down from the truck and stood directly in front of the elderly woman. She was no more able to haul this furniture onto a truck by herself than a five-year old. He had a feeling he wasnât the first Boy Scout to have helped her out today.
âYou shouldnât be moving furniture anymore. You donât want to break your hip again, do you?â
She straightened her spine. âWhoâs been telling you such things? Betcha itâs that new waitress down at the diner. Sheâs from out of town and she canât keep her mouth shut for breathing. Thereâs nothing wrong with my bones, son. I got my new hip two years ago, and Iâm as good as I was the day I started the Auction Acres.â
Dylan winked. âCourse you are. And just as pretty, too.â Her quick grin twisted into a forced frown, but Dylan knew sheâd been flattered by the compliment, even as transparent as it was.
âDonât you go sweet-talking this woman. If you were this slick with the young ones youâd be married off by now, not chasing down that brother of yours.â
Dylan winced at the mention of Cash, but he let it pass. Heâd already grilled Trudie once about his brother, and it had been clear she didnât have a clue who he was talking about. No one in this town did even though it was clear Cash had spent a good amount of time investigating something here. The one person he knew would recognize Cash was Serena Davco, a local woman who seemed as mysterious as the legend around the house she lived in. But she was the one person Dylan hadnât been able to see.
âNext time, you might want to think of calling some professionals to help out, if Maynard is too busy,â he said, changing the subject âAll it would have taken is one more pothole and youâd have lost the whole load in the middle of the road instead of just that chair.â
He pointed to the side of the road, where what was left of a wooden chair sat broken and splintered. âDoesnât bode well for business.â
âNo, it does not. Iâll be sure to tell Maynard that bit of news.â She harrumphed again, this time with a little additional steam. âNot that itâll do an ounce of good for the half ounce of sense he has in his head these days.â
Trudie was still grumbling about her kin as she climbed into the truck, pulled out onto the road and sped off, the engine coughing black fumes that mixed with the kicked-up dirt. Laughing, Dylan strode back to his Jeep and swung the door open. Before he could climb in, a red subcompact car with rental plates rolled to a stop in front of him.<
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Dylan did a double take; he couldnât believe his eyes. He glanced up at the big olâ sky and smiled. Maybe he wouldnât be leaving town just yet after all.
Heat seared his cheeks as the woman behind the wheel of the car rolled down her window. Reaching into his Jeep, he grabbed the picture heâd found in his brotherâs apartment and stared at it for a brief moment. Then he glanced back at the woman just to make sure. He really didnât need the extra look. Heâd memorized the face in the picture over the two months since Cash had gone AWOL. This was the woman. Serena Davco. Since the photo had been taken, her hair had been cut in a straight style that fell around her cheeks, but the color was the same, as were the dark blue eyes.
The womanâs smile was pleasant as she cocked her head to one side. âHi. I was hoping you could help me out. Iâm looking for a hotel in town that might have some vacancies. Do you know of any? Every place Iâve tried is full.â
Anger surged through him but he held it back. Dylan tossed the picture onto the driverâs seat and strode into the middle of the road. Heâd been knocking on Serena Davcoâs door for weeks, and heâd had the housekeeper slam the door in his face each time. For weeks Serena been giving him the runaround and now she seemed content to play with him out in the middle of the road as if she didnât even know who he was. There was no way he was letting her get away with not talking to him now.
âWell, itâs about time you showed your face, lady.â
She blinked. âI beg your pardon?â
âItâs about time you do. Youâre the only one in town who knows who Cash Montgomery is and Iâm not letting you out of my sight until you tell me where the hell he is!â
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