by Diane Burke
He knew from the sudden pallor in her face that his words had hit home.
Anger seeped out of her body like a deflated balloon. She stared at him as confusion, fear and then something else—determination—flashed through her eyes. “Well, why are we standing out here? We have work to do. Come inside. Have some breakfast. The sooner we get started the better.”
Cain stood in the kitchen doorway and took another look around the cottage. She must have worked all night. No one would ever know this place had been ransacked less than twenty-four hours ago. Yesterday, he’d helped her clean up the bulk of the mess but had still left her in a sea of clutter, pictures askew, broken frames. Not anymore.
He ended up in the living room and marveled at the warm and welcoming ambiance. The blue-and-green plaid sofa with its overstuffed pillows held center stage in the middle of the room and faced the fireplace. Two solid chairs, one green, one blue, rested on either side. Pictures had been rehung. Plants rearranged. Even the broken window, temporarily repaired with cardboard and duct tape, now sported a bright yellow patch of cloth to hide the repair.
“Would you like another cup?” Sophie stood next to him, the coffeepot in her hand. She smiled at how quickly he’d cleaned his plate but didn’t comment.
“No, but thanks.” He gestured to his empty plate. “When you said breakfast I thought maybe cereal or a bagel. Those eggs, bacon and home fries beat both my mom’s and Holly’s in a heartbeat.”
A blush of pleasure tinged her face and he had to stifle the urge to reach out and trace his finger over the flush on her cheeks. She kept creeping under his skin—and he would keep pushing her out. Period.
“Breakfast is—was—is—Dad’s favorite meal of the day.” A cloud of sadness drifted over her face. Without another word, she turned and carried the coffeepot back to the counter.
Cain followed and placed his plate and cup in the sink.
“You’re limping.” Her gaze caught his and challenged him. “Worse today than yesterday.”
He found it almost impossible to look away from the empathy and concern he saw in those beautiful green eyes. Not emerald, which could be sharp and cold. No, Sophie’s eyes reminded him of a sea-green tropical ocean. Promising fun. Refreshment for the body and spirit. Yet, filled with hidden coves and secret treasures.
Snap out of it. What’s the matter with you? Who cares what color her eyes are or what secrets they hide? Is that keeping it professional?
He drew a deep breath and stared down at his leg. “Between our skid across Main Street and a night cramped in the passenger well of my car, my leg’s taken a beating. But it’ll be fine.”
“Can I get you something for the pain?”
“No, but thanks.”
She chewed her lower lip and a worried expression flash across her face. Even with all her misgivings about him, she still had the sweetest heart, worrying about his leg, not knowing whether to push the issue of pain meds or let it drop. Sweet. Thoughtful. Caring.
Okay, enough. Cain closed his eyes. Dear Lord, You’ve put this young woman in my path. Please let me guide and protect her. Chase away the human flaws and weaknesses that burden me. Don’t let me ever forget what happened with Lucy, Lord. Let me never, ever forget.
“Cain?”
He opened his eyes.
“Are you okay?” Small frown lines spread across her forehead and peaked right between her eyes.
“I’m sorry. I was just saying a quick morning prayer. I think we’re going to need all the help we can get with this case.” He clasped her elbow and steered her back toward the kitchen table. “Let’s get to work.”
When they were seated, Sophie asked, “So what’s the first step? Are you going to do a title search on this house and prove it’s mine?”
Her eagerness and anticipation brought a smile to his face. “No.” Cain leaned back in his seat. “We’ll let the sheriff save us the time and trouble on that one.” She’d never make it as a detective. Ninety-five percent of his job was to hurry up and wait. Sometimes the tedium became downright boring. No, Sophie couldn’t tolerate sitting still for any length of time, let alone being cooped in a car on a stakeout or behind a desk doing mountains of paperwork.
“I’m hoping the sheriff spends his time finding out that this house belongs to my mother before he turns his attention to locating my dad.” Her voice grew soft, almost inaudible. “If he finds out Dad’s missing—or worse, that his identity isn’t what it should be—he just might think I don’t have a right to be here. He wouldn’t throw me out of my own home, would he?” She chewed on a fingernail and made an obvious effort not to squirm in her seat while she waited for Cain to reply.
“Don’t worry about it, Sophie. If the sheriff asks you to leave, I’m sure it will be temporary until we get the answers to some of these questions. My parents have a five-bedroom home right off Main Street. The place stands empty most of the time, now that Holly and I have a place of our own. I’m certain they’d love to have you. You’ve met my dad. He’s the town pharmacist. Mom owns the hair and nail salon right next door.”
Move into town? Live with strangers?
Sophie’s blood drained to her toes. Her legs trembled. She knew if she tried to stand she’d land flat on the ground in a hurry.
She didn’t want to move into town. She certainly didn’t want to move in with strangers. There was a world of difference between being friendly when you sold a piece of art to a person and actually sharing the same roof. She knew her social skills were good. She could discuss current events and carry on lively conversations with the best of them. But making friends—sharing personal thoughts and feelings—letting people get close—she’d never had the opportunity to do that before and the thought terrified her.
“Do you think that will happen?” Sophie’s voice was a mere whisper. “Do you think the sheriff will throw me out of my home?”
Her eyes shone with terror. Her paleness made Cain wonder if she was about to be sick.
He reached across the table and clasped her hand. “It’ll be okay, Sophie. No matter what happens, I promise it will be okay.”
Sophie nodded. She cleared her throat, seemed to gather her resolve again and asked, “So we’re letting the sheriff do the research on the title. What’s our next move?”
Our next move, indeed. Cain didn’t have one.
The Charlottesville police department had already done a thorough investigation into Anthony Clarkston and the road was a dead end. The man didn’t exist. His identification papers were as phony as Sophie’s. Cain was a good investigator. But he had no idea how to locate a man who was smart enough not to leave a paper trail. He hesitated to make the next statement but knew he must.
“We start searching each state morgue for unidentified male bodies.”
She paled more, if that were possible, and simply nodded. “Good. I need to know—either way. Not knowing is torture. Can I help? I can make telephone calls or look things up on the internet or send emails. Whatever clerical stuff you need, I’m your gal.”
Sophie Joy Clarkston climbed another rung on his admiration ladder.
“Have you looked through all your belongings?” Cain asked. “There must be something I can follow up on.”
Sophie’s eyes widened and she flapped her hands in excitement. “I almost forgot. Wait here.”
She dashed from the room and returned almost before he noticed she’d left. “Look.” She shook a photograph in front of his face. “I found this tucked away in my mother’s Bible when I was cleaning up last night.”
He took the faded, badly wrinkled photo from her hand and stared down at the aged image. The picture had been taken at a distance so the women’s facial features weren’t distinct. He studied the photo and could instantly see they were probably in their late teens. They stood, grinning ear to ear, in their bathing suits, their arms strewn across each other’s shoulders.
He glanced up. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s so exciting about this picture?�
��
“Don’t you see?” Sophie grabbed a chair and scooted up beside him. She tapped the picture. “That’s my mother. I recognize her from a photo my dad always carried in his wallet.”
Cain’s eyes followed the direction her finger pointed. He was immediately drawn to the woman standing in the middle of the photo. She was beautiful. The same long ebony hair. The same physical build. The same warm, friendly smile. And even though it wasn’t a good quality picture he instinctively knew that those large, expressive eyes were sea-foam green.
“She’s beautiful,” Cain said.
“Duh, of course she is, silly.” Sophie playfully elbowed him in the ribs. “But that’s not why I wanted you to see this. She pointed her index finger to the background. “Look, that’s this house. See. Recognize the front porch?”
Sophie sat back and grinned at him, apparently very pleased with herself.
“Don’t you see? This picture proves this house belongs to my family. Besides, there are other people in the picture. Maybe they still live around here and can tell us something more about my mother.”
Cain knew this photograph would not substantiate her claim to this property but preferred not to disappoint her. The sheriff would do that soon enough. Instead, he asked Sophie if she had a magnifying glass. He’d been raised in Promise. Even though he hadn’t been born when this picture was taken, he knew almost everyone still in town. Maybe he’d be able to study the facial features and connect it with someone at church or someone he’d seen coming into Holly’s Diner.
Sophie scampered into the living room and slid her hand down the flat side of a desk. Within seconds a hidden drawer popped out from the bottom.
Cain jumped up, quickly crossed the room and peered inside. He saw a magnifying lens and a stamp collection album inside. “I don’t understand.” Cain continued to stare at the drawer.
Sophie tilted her head to the side, a quizzical expression on her face. “Dad collected stamps. Is that important?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. But that’s immaterial at the moment.”
Cain squatted down, mindful of the sharp jab of pain in his leg but doing his best to ignore it. He pushed the drawer back into place. The etchings on the wood hid the drawer and made it appear like nothing more than decorative embellishment.
“I’ve never seen anything quite like this. I would never have known a drawer was here.” He admiringly ran his hand along the wood.
Sophie’s shoulders puffed up with pride. “Dad made this desk. He put a hidden compartment in every single piece of wood he carved. It was like his signature. He developed quite a reputation on the craft circuit for that skill.”
Every piece he carved. Cain straightened and took a second look around the cottage. Maybe that’s why someone had broken into the house. Maybe they knew about the secret compartments. Obviously the thief had been searching for something. What if he hadn’t found it? What if it was still hidden in one of the many pieces of hand-carved wood in the home? Cain felt his first inkling of hope since Sophie had walked into his office. At least now they had a place to start. A bread crumb to follow.
“Have you checked all the hiding places?” Cain couldn’t curb his enthusiasm.
Sophie’s eyes widened and then she grinned. “I will now.”
Slowly, piece by piece, Sophie opened the hidden compartments on each carved piece within the home. Cain watched in fascination as picture frames slid apart, sofa legs sprang drawers and boxes revealed false bottoms. The carvings were all pieces of art. The hidden additions to the etchings were simply amazing. Unfortunately, nothing sinister or helpful showed up in any of the pieces.
Cain snapped his fingers. “What about the jewelry box?”
“Jewelry box? I don’t own a jewelry box.”
“The box. The one we found on the floor. The one you said was a gift from your dad.” Cain’s voice rose with excitement. He gently clasped her arms. “If your dad tried to hide a secret or a message for you, wouldn’t he put it in that box?”
Sophie’s eyes lit up. She nodded and hurried into her bedroom. When she returned, the way she cradled the object against her body and stroked the intricate carvings on the lid revealed her emotional attachment to this particular piece. She gently placed it on the kitchen table.
“It’s not a jewelry box,” she said. “It’s a treasure chest.” Her smile lit up her face. “Dad made it for me when I was a toddler.”
He studied the carvings. It was a tiny replica of this house with toys scattered around the yard. Dolls. A ball. Even a tire swing. “It’s beautiful, Sophie.”
“I used to keep all sorts of things in here. Different shaped rocks. Especially smooth, shiny ones. Once I even kept a live frog until my dad found out and made me let it go.” She threw her head back with laughter. “You should have seen his face when the frog jumped out. He chased it all over the cabin before he caught and released it.” Suddenly, she sobered. “I miss him so much.”
Cain paused, allowing her a moment with her memories before he said, “Show me. Where’s the hidden compartment on this chest?” He held his breath in anticipation. Could it really be this easy? All the answers hidden right here in a child’s treasure chest?
Sophie smiled. Slowly, she traced a finger along the top of the box, pushed down on the tire swing and a drawer ejected from the lid like a knife from a switchblade. Inside on a velvet-lining rested a cameo.
“I guess it’s a jewelry box after all,” Sophie said. “That cameo belonged to my mother. I’ve had it since I was a baby. Almost forgot it was there.” She withdrew the locket, holding it in her hand and running her thumb along its surface.
Cain picked up the box. Surprised by its weight, he turned it upside down. Ran his hand inside the hidden drawer. Nothing. No clues. No secret notes or letters. Nothing.
He tried to hide his disappointment. He’d been certain if Sophie’s dad had wanted to hide something that would lend a clue to his disappearance, it would have been in the box he knew his daughter cherished.
Cain didn’t know what surprised him more, realizing his gut instincts weren’t as sharp as they had been when he was on the force, or the surge of anger he felt toward Sophie’s dad for leaving her in a world of unanswered questions and hurt.
“Is there anything else?” He asked through gritted teeth. “Anywhere we haven’t already looked?”
Sophie gently placed her mother’s locket back in the chest and pushed in the compartment lid. “Sorry, Cain. I’ve shown you everything.”
Cain’s heart clenched when he looked into her eyes and saw the deep sadness residing there. He wanted to help her. He wanted to see her eyes sparkle with laughter, not cloud with tears. But how? Please, Lord, where do I go from here?
“Think, Sophie. If your dad wanted to hide something that he didn’t want you or anyone else to see, where would he put it?”
Sophie absently tapped her foot. Her eyes lit up and she grinned. “His tool box. No one, not even me, was ever allowed near his tools. I brought them with me when I came to Promise. The box is in the shed.”
They both hurried across the porch and out to the shed in the backyard. The wooden box, large and cumbersome, took a bit of effort to lift to the table. Cain was amazed that petite, fragile Sophie had been able to do it previously. But then again, Cain was learning quickly that Sophie’s tiny size might give her the appearance of fragility but nothing could be further from the truth. She had a backbone made of steel.
Sophie ran her hand across the lid. She hesitated before opening the secret panel, almost as if she wouldn’t be able to face the disappointment if it was empty. She popped the lid, looked inside and grinned. But then her expression twisted with pain and confusion.
Cain came around the side of the box, eased Sophie away and looked inside. There were a dozen packets bound with rubber bands. Maybe two dozen. A picture of Sophie’s father stared back from each packet. Cain unwrapped the top one and spread the contents on the table. Driver’s license.
Social security card. ATM card. A couple of credit cards. All in the name of Arthur Green. But the picture IDs beared the likeness of Sophie’s father.
Then he opened a second packet bearing the missing man’s likeness. Driver’s license. Social security card. ATM card. All in the name of Jonathan Burke.
Third packet. Albert Covington.
Fourth packet. Anthony Trafficante.
Cain could barely stand the look of embarrassment and pain in Sophie’s eyes.
“I don’t understand.” Her words were a mere whisper. She studied the identifying information. “It looks like my dad had a packet for each state on our craft circuit. Everyone on the circuit called him Woody, sort of a nickname because of his craft. I’d have had no way of knowing he had identification in different names.” As the impact of this information hit her, she dropped the packet she was holding into the box. Her eyes welled with tears. “Excuse me.” She turned and hurried into the house.
Cain gave her a few minutes and then followed her. He rapped lightly and leaned against the doorjamb. “Are you okay?”
Sophie paced back and forth. In her left hand she held a small wad of clay. He watched as she squeezed and turned and squeezed the material in a punishing grasp. She offered a tremulous smile and waved her right hand in the air. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be? My dad didn’t have just one fake identity. He had a dozen of them. But, hey, if you’re going to tell one lie, why not a dozen—or a hundred—or a million more?” Her cheeks flamed.
Cain hurried to her side. “Sophie.” She continued to pace. When she swooped past him a second time he grasped her arm. “Stop.”
She looked at him, her eyes haunted, lost.
“I can’t imagine how hard this must be,” Cain said. “To be forced to question everything you thought you knew about your dad and have him missing on top of it all.”
She hitched a breath.
“But you’re not alone. I’m going to help you. Holly will help you. Even the sheriff will help us run down some leads. So hang tough. You’ve been doing great and I am proud of you.”