by Kathi Daley
“Yeah, okay. I’ll look for an opportunity to ask her.”
The storm had arrived with full force by the time Tony and I made our way from the computer room up to the living area of the house. We enjoyed a very closely matched game of Alien Wars before deciding to turn in for the night. I’d only been sleeping for a few hours when a loud crash outside my bedroom window woke me. Wrapping a blanket around my T-shirt-clad body, I made my way out to the living room, where I found Tony tossing another log on the fire.
“Power’s out,” he informed me. “I have a generator if we need it.”
I sat down on the sofa, keeping the blanket wrapped tightly around my body. “It’s nice sitting here by the fire. I don’t think we need lights. Did you hear that crash?”
“I think a tree branch may have fallen onto my shed. I bet I’ll have damage to deal with when the storm passes. Where are the kittens?”
Tilly had jumped up onto the sofa and laid her head in my lap. “Still curled up under the covers in the guest room. They’ll probably come out when they figure out I’m not coming back right away.” I flinched as the wind created another loud crash. “I hope your shed isn’t completely destroyed by the time the storm is over.” I glanced out the window. All I could see was a sheet of white as the blizzard raged.
“I’ll deal with the damage later.”
“It feels like the house is going to blow over when the gusts hit it,” I commented.
“I wouldn’t worry about it. The house is sturdy, and we have lots of wood to keep it warm.”
Tony sat down next to me. I put my head on his shoulder. It was kind of nice to curl up by the fire while snow blanketed the house.
“Do you think it was all a lie?” I asked after several minutes of silence.
“What do you mean?” Tony put his arm around my shoulders, cradling my body against his.
“I’ve been thinking about my dad. I guess up to now, I’ve been operating under the assumption that even though my dad lied about his death and has been living another life since, whatever happened to cause him to leave occurred at the time of his disappearance. I believed it was that occurrence that changed the trajectory of his life. But with this new information—that he might have had another name and traveled to Norway even before marrying my mother—has me wondering if his whole life was a lie. Was he ever the man I thought he was?”
“I wish I had the answers you need.”
I stared into the flames in the fireplace. “I remember when I was four or five. My dad decided he wanted to spend more time at home, so he found a job doing a day run that allowed him to return to the family every night. He didn’t make as much money, so he went back to long-haul trucking after only a couple of years, but during those years he was home, I can remember him not only joking around with my brother during dinner but reading me stories when he put me to bed. It was the best time of my childhood.”
“Just because the man you knew as Grant Thomas may have been living another life doesn’t mean he didn’t love you.”
I snuggled into Tony’s warmth. “I know. At least I think I know. Dad was gone a lot when I was growing up, but there were a lot of awesome times as well. I remember him as a man who worked hard to take care of his family, and although he was away a lot, he was really there for us when he was home. Looking back, I have to wonder if my mom suspected there was more to Dad’s absences than met the eye.”
“You don’t know for certain your dad wasn’t doing exactly what he said he was doing,” Tony reminded me. “All we really know is that unless he has a double who looks exactly like him, he didn’t die fourteen years ago, and he may have been in Norway before marrying your mom and starting a family. Keep in mind, a lot of people visit Norway. It’s a beautiful country and a popular vacation spot.”
“Maybe, but not everyone has a second identity.” I yawned as I let the warmth of the fire combined with the warmth of Tony’s body lull me toward sleep. “If the man on the bridge is my father, I don’t understand why he specifically said he hadn’t been to Europe. Why would he lie about something like that? It’s not like anyone would care whether he’d visited Europe as a young man. It seems like such a ridiculous thing to keep secret.”
“Grant Thomas didn’t visit Europe. At least not as far as we know. Jared Collins visited Europe. If Jared Collins and Grant Thomas are the same man, chances are the former had something to hide. Perhaps it had something to do with his time in Europe, so he lied about having ever been there.”
“Maybe. I hate the idea that my dad may have been someone other than who he said he was, living some sort of a secret life.”
Tony tightened his hand around mine. “I know. And I’m sorry.”
“Don’t you think it’s odd that you looked for evidence Dad hadn’t died in the accident we were told about for more than a decade before you found the first photo a couple of months ago, and then have found two more photos in the past week?”
Tony leaned his head against mine. “It’s not really all that surprising. For one thing, the software I’m using now is much more advanced than anything I had before. And the more photos we find, the more information the program has to use as a guideline. I imagine new photos of your father will start coming in at much closer intervals.” Tony paused, then added, “I do have to ask again, though, if you’re sure you want me to keep looking. You have fond memories of your dad. Maybe you should hang on to those and move on with your life.”
I yawned. “I can’t move on. I have to know.”
Chapter 9
Sunday, February 11
I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew, I was lying on the sofa with Tilly and both kittens tucked in close to me. I slowly sat up and glanced out the window. It was still overcast, but the snow had stopped. I pulled the blanket more closely around my shoulders, taking a minute to fully wake. I didn’t see or hear Tony, but I could hear the snowblower in the drive. I unfolded my body and stood up. The fire had warmed the room, but the floor was still cold, so I went to the room I’d briefly used and grabbed the clothes I’d worn the day before. After dressing and brushing my teeth, I headed into the kitchen, where a pot of coffee waited. Apparently, the power had come back on during the night.
I looked out the window and saw Tony was almost done with the drive, so I opened the refrigerator, checking for something to make for breakfast. Deciding on scrambled eggs and bacon, I started our meal before looking for phone messages. There was one from the attorney who had the key to the Honeycutt house, letting me know I could pick it up anytime it was convenient. He’d left his phone number so I could make arrangements. I also had a text from Bree, saying she and Coby had gone to dinner the previous evening and stumbled on a clue to the whereabouts of the woman who’d made the blanket Daisy was holding in the photo. I texted Bree back to tell her I was making breakfast but would call her in a little while.
By the time the bacon was done, I could hear Tony stomping the snow off his boots. I poured the eggs in a pan just as he wandered in from the mudroom in his stocking feet.
“Something smells good,” he said.
“Bacon. I figured I’d make breakfast while you did the drive. It looks like we got at least a couple of feet.”
“I’d estimate three. The driveway is clear, but we’ll need to wait for the plow to come by to do the road.” Tony crossed the room and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Did you hear back from the man with the key?”
“I did. He left a number. I’ll call him after breakfast.” I mentioned Bree’s text as well. “I know we planned to just chill today, but if the road is plowed in time, would you mind driving me into Kalispell to pick up the key? I’d love to get a look at the attic in case Edith kept the journals Vern told me about.”
Tony shrugged. “Whatever you want to do is fine with me.”
As it turned out, the plow came by while we were eating. I called the attorney, who was okay with meeting us at his office at noon. I took the dogs out for a qui
ck walk while Tony showered and dressed, and then we drove to my cabin so I could clean up as well. We’d left the animals at Tony’s because I’d have to come back to pick up my Jeep anyway. We headed back to White Eagle with the key in hand and the Honeycutt place, where Coby and Bree were meeting us.
“It feels sort of weird to be walking around in the home of a woman who’s no longer with us,” I said after we entered through the front door.
“Had you ever been here when Edith Honeycutt was alive?” Coby asked.
“No, never. I always imagined it would be beautiful inside.” I looked around at the artwork on the walls and the antique furniture that was covered with dust but still quite amazing. “I wonder why the new owner hasn’t done anything with the place. The art alone must be worth a fortune.”
“He might not need the money and just hasn’t taken the time to deal with his inheritance,” Bree offered.
I glanced at the open stairway. “It sounded like the keepsakes and journals would be stored in the attic. Let’s head up.”
Tony took my hand and led me up the stairs, Coby and Bree following behind. The attic was at the top of another stairway from the second story of the house. It occurred to me that the door to the attic could be locked, but Tony turned the handle and it opened easily. There was a window inside, but the shutters over it were closed, blocking out the light. I found a switch on the wall for the overhead light, but the electricity had been turned off. I used the flashlight on my phone to make my way around the room while I opened the shutters to let some light in.
“There’s a lot of stuff in here,” Bree said.
“It’ll be hard to find what we’re looking for, especially because we aren’t sure where it might have been stored,” I agreed.
“Maybe we should just start opening boxes,” Coby suggested. “I’d think any box that contains photos or books could be helpful.”
I walked to the back of the room, where there were boxes stacked almost to the ceiling. Bree followed. I stood on tiptoe to take down the first box. I set it on the floor and opened the lid. “Looks like dishes.”
“This one has dishes as well,” Bree said from her position next to me.
I opened the next box in the pile to find old linens. “While we’re looking, tell me about the clue you brought up in your text.”
“Coby and I ran into Sue Wade last night,” Bree said, mentioning the owner of Sue’s Sewing Nook. “She said Gilda Swan, who owned The Cat’s Meow, moved to Missoula. I guess they stayed in touch because Sue had Gilda’s phone number. I called Gilda this morning and asked about the blanket Daisy was holding in the photo. She said she gave it to her as a gift.”
I set the box I’d been going through to my left and took the next one from the pile. “Did she know anything more about her?”
“Gilda said Daisy wore a bracelet she recognized as being associated with a private school her cousin attended in Boston. She asked her about it, and Daisy said she hadn’t gone there, but she grew up in Boston and the bracelet was a gift from a friend who went there. I know that isn’t a lot to go on, but it’s something.”
“It could help us narrow our search.”
I looked across the room to where Tony and Coby were looking through boxes in the front of the attic. “Any luck?” I asked.
“Not so far,” Coby said, setting the box he was looking though aside. “It’s going to take hours to go through all this.”
“Oh, hey,” Bree screeched from behind me. “I think I found something.”
I turned around to look at the box, which held small leather journals, each neatly labeled and dated. “Look for one dated 1984 or thereabouts,” I said.
Bree picked up the first journal, opened it, looked at the first page, then set it aside. She continued to do so until she had worked her way through half the box. “I found 1982 and 1985, but no ’83 or ’84.”
“Keep looking,” I urged. “Maybe they’re out of order.”
By the time Bree had gone through the entire box she’d determined 1983 and 1984 weren’t with the others.
“Maybe if Daisy was running from someone, Edith hid or disposed of the journals to ensure they didn’t fall into the wrong hands,” I suggested.
“It’d think she’d only do that if she had reason to believe someone would come looking for them,” Coby said.
Tony stood in the center of the room and slowly looked around. His eyes settled on a trunk in the corner of the room. He headed in that direction only to find it was locked. After a few minutes of going through nearby boxes, he found a small carpenter’s file, which he used to open the trunk. Inside were items of value: jewelry, household items made of silver, and the journals from 1983 and 1984.
Tony handed the journals to Coby, who opened the first one and began to thumb through it. After a moment he began to read aloud. “‘I knew the moment I saw the girl on the ferry that she needed my help. Not only did she appear to be traveling alone, but the cautious look in her eyes as she studied everyone aboard led me to believe she had grown accustomed to watching her back.’”
“What ferry?” I asked.
Coby looked back down at the book. “It doesn’t say. There aren’t any ferries around here, so I guess we’ll have to assume Edith met Daisy while she was traveling.”
“That makes sense. What else does it say?”
Coby looked back down at the journal. He flipped through the next few pages and then said, “A few days later, Edith writes that the girl has agreed to stay with her until her baby is born but has refused to reveal her name. Edith indicates it doesn’t matter to her, and she decides to refer to her as Daisy.”
“I assumed Edith knew Daisy’s real identity, but it sounds like she didn’t,” I said.
“That is the way it sounds,” Coby agreed. “Edith doesn’t say a lot about the girl at all. Most of the passages that follow have to do with the hot weather, her garden, and her plans to travel to Europe the following winter. She does mention that Daisy seems to be retreating into herself more and more each day as the birth of her child nears. She’s worried about her and wonders who Daisy might be running from and how she can help.”
“Maybe we should bring the journals with us,” I said. “We can read thorough them carefully, then return them when we’re done.”
The others agreed that taking our time with the journals was a good idea. The only other thing I found of any interest was a sketchbook with pencil drawings. There were a lot from different settings, but at least some of them appeared to have been of the house. I had no reason to believe Daisy had even been staying in White Eagle when the drawings were made, but my instinct told me to take a closer look at the sketchbook, so I took it with us as well.
We left the house and stopped at a nearby pub for a beer and orders of chicken wings and nachos. It was Sunday afternoon, so it was crowded, but we managed to find a table near the fireplace. There was a ski competition on the television over the bar, which reminded me that I needed to find some time to head up to the slopes, especially now that we had all this fresh snow. Coby had brought the journal in with him and was reading to us while we waited for our food.
“Here’s a passage where Edith refers to the baby’s father,” Coby said. “‘Daisy seems to be terrified of the father of her child. It makes me wonder who he is and how they came to be a couple. Daisy isn’t going to keep her child. I suspect that’s to cut all ties between the baby and his father.’” Coby set the journal aside when the wings and nachos were delivered.
“If Edith is correct, and Daisy planned to hide any link between her baby and herself, I wonder why she left the photo,” Bree mused.
I picked up a wing but paused before taking a bite. “That’s a really good question. Hiding her baby from someone who’d potentially come looking for him seems to explain why she left the baby at a church anonymously and didn’t pursue traditional adoption. She didn’t want there to be a trail leading back to her. But the inclusion of the photo does seem counteri
ntuitive if that was her goal.”
“What if my mother wasn’t the one who left me at the church?” Coby asked. “What if she left me with Edith, who promised to make sure I ended up with a good family?”
“And it was Edith who left the photo as some sort of link back to White Eagle,” I finished.
“Do you think my mother is still alive?”
No one answered, probably because none of us had any idea. Daisy was a young woman when Coby was born, so agewise, she could easily still be alive, but if she’d been involved with bad people, they could very well have wanted her dead.
After a bit, I asked Bree about her secret admirer. We were in a noisy bar, after all, and talk of the possible violent death of Coby’s mother seemed incongruent with the mood of the room.
“I received a necklace yesterday. All the gifts have been delivered to the store, and it’s closed today and tomorrow. Valentine’s Day is on Wednesday, so I imagine that may be it.”
“And you still have no idea who sent the gifts?” I asked.
“I don’t, and trust me, I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time trying to figure it out. If you think about it, the field of possible suspects is limited because the gift giver seems to know me well. Not only was the book one of my favorites but the necklace has my birthstone.”
“Maybe it’s an ex who’s looking for a second chance,” Coby suggested.
Bree frowned. “It could be an ex, but most of the men I’ve been involved with weren’t thoughtful enough to send me gifts when we were dating.”
“It’s not all that hard to find someone’s birthday or their favorite book,” Tony commented. “That information is probably all over your social media accounts.”
Bree leaned back and looked at Tony. “That’s true. The gift giver could be someone I’ve never even met.”
“Okay, how did an incredibly sweet gesture suddenly turn into something creepy?” I asked.
“I’m not saying it’s creepy,” Tony countered. “I do think Bree should be careful, though. If the gift giver suggests you meet in person at any point, I’d be very cautious about agreeing unless you find out exactly who you’re dealing with.”