Annalise drummed her fingers on the desk.
“Annalise?” Christen’s expression of worry encouraged Annalise for a split moment before every fear rushed back. What would Christen say? It was the twenty-first century after all. Stuff like this happened all the time, and most unwed mothers were thrown baby showers like any married mother. So why did Annalise feel as if someone had pushed her back into 1907, to the front aisle of that revival meeting where she was to beg for her soul?
“I had a baby, Christen,” Annalise blurted. “Years ago. When I was eighteen. They took the only picture of her that I had.”
Silence.
The clock on the wall ticked loudly.
Hissing from the steamer in the coffee shop filtered through the door.
Christen remained still. Mum. This was not like her.
“Well? Say something.” At this point, Annalise would be all right with condemnation. This silence from Christen was awful.
Then the chair Christen sat in scraped backward against the floor as she rose with a flourish. Rounding the desk, Christen wrapped her arms around Annalise, both stunning her and knocking her glasses askew.
“Oh, love!” Christen crooned in Annalise’s hair. Part of Annalise wanted to melt in the instant forgiveness of her best friend. Another part wanted to bristle and stiffen. She didn’t deserve it. She’d bowed to her parents, to Garrett’s parents, and given up the baby. Her life was a measuring cup filled with all sorts of wrongs.
Christen pulled away and blinked rapidly behind her glasses. “Garrett’s the father, isn’t he?”
Christen was also smarter than people gave her credit for.
Annalise nodded.
“Oh. My. Gosh.”
Annalise held her breath.
“Does Brent know this?” Christen’s face shifted from utter disbelief to narrowed eyes. “He does, doesn’t he? He’s always known, hasn’t he?”
“He was Garrett’s best friend.”
“Was.” Christen returned to her seat and slumped back in the chair. “Gooooooot it. That’s why Brent was acting weird about Garrett moving back to town.” More silence. And then, “I’m sorry, Annalise.” Her voice leveled out, and her eyes softened. “I had no idea.”
“No one does.” Annalise reached for her cappuccino. “But now?” She eyed the table covered in stuff she’d taken from Eugene Hayes’s trailer. “I have to believe all this is tied together somehow. It’s too coincidental not to be.”
“Did you name her?” Christen’s question came out of nowhere and stole Annalise’s breath. She locked eyes with her best friend.
“Christen.”
“It’s okay, Annalise. You don’t have to tell me.”
Annalise swallowed the gargantuan lump in her throat.
Christen reached across the desk and laid her hand over Annalise’s.
Annalise stared at Christen’s hand. A gesture of friendship, of understanding. Not one of judgment or condemnation or of someone who’d walked a higher moral ground.
Annalise stared at Christen’s red fingernails and whispered, “I called her Gia.”
“Wow.” Christen squeezed her hand. “Does Garrett know?”
“I do now.” Garrett’s baritone filled the room.
Startled, Annalise jerked her head up to meet his eyes, haunted and hurt. But it was the sight of his sister beside him that made Annalise shrink back into her chair. Nicole glared at her. The kind of ice shooting from the blue eyes of an older sister who would fight to the death for her baby brother. She flipped straight, razor-cut bangs from her forehead. Her high cheekbones blushed as she locked gazes with Annalise.
“You named her?” Nicole’s chest rose and fell. “You never told us,” she accused.
Annalise glanced at Christen, who was staring at her fingernails as if they’d suddenly grown ears. She searched Garrett’s face, but only the muscle in his jaw twitched.
“I—” Why should she apologize? She was the one who’d given birth to Gia. She was the one who’d handed her away for the last time. She was the one who stared at Gia’s picture every day for the last twelve years and prayed to God that whoever had adopted her loved her and cared for her.
Instead of apologizing, Annalise squeezed her eyes shut for a long moment before opening them and giving Nicole a direct look in return. “After the baby was born, it was as if nothing had ever happened. Gia was my memory, not yours.”
“But she was our baby too,” Nicole blustered. A sheen was over her frosty gaze.
“She was never yours!” Annalise choked out. Because Gia had been given away. Because she had taken another name, one they didn’t know.
Annalise’s gaze drifted to Garrett. For a moment, it was as if they understood each other, perhaps for the first time ever. Gia could never have been theirs. She was meant for more than they could give. That alone was why Annalise had released her baby girl that day and swept the shattered pieces of her heart into a dusty corner. She was willing to meet her future alone, because in the end, her parents were right, even if their motives were only to save face. It was what was best. Regardless of Gossamer Grove, and reputation, and Garrett or the Greenwoods, it was what was best for Gia.
Chapter 16
The door to the newspaper office swung open, and in typical small-town atmosphere the tin bell that hung from a string announced her entry. Annalise greeted the man at the front desk. The desk itself had to be from the turn of the century, marred with scratches and pen marks but rich with history. News story after news story had passed across that desk, and the long, narrow building that housed them wafted with the stale breath of ghosts and stories lost in time.
“Annalise!” Tyler Darrow did everything at his paper. He ran the front desk, the editorial desk, and cleaned the bathrooms too, so it was told. He was savvy but also overconfident. He had, after all, printed the story of Eugene Hayes and her pictures. He tended to be biased and supported whatever Garrett’s sister Nicole wanted to push through as the mayor. Probably because he’d had a thing for Nicole since grade school. Too bad Nicole was in a long-term relationship with Brian Faucett, owner of a car dealership. Fitting. Politics and car sales.
Annalise welcomed any smidgen of humor. The last few days had been wretched. Distracted by the recent circumstances, she’d hardly slept, even after having an alarm system installed in her house. Her heart hurt—physically hurt—it seemed. The coffee shop was running fine, but the food pantry had been short-staffed, so she’d volunteered her time there in hopes of setting her brain to rights. A bit of reality shoved into her surreal life would maybe put things in perspective.
It didn’t.
So here she was.
“Tyler.” She was going to have to vet her words carefully. Tyler was, after all, always scouting out a story, and she was a walking Pulitzer Prize.
“What brings you in?” His blue eyes twinkled, and he pushed straight blond hair off his forehead. Very Nordic. Very cool.
“I wanted to find out what you may know about this obituary.” Annalise slid Harrison Greenwood’s old obit across the desk. She wondered if it had touched the same desk years before and passed through the hands of others who’d run the Daily Democrat. Regardless, she wasn’t sure she was glad it was in her possession now that Eugene Hayes’s belongings had been released to her from the department.
Tyler gave it a cursory glance, shook his head, and handed it back to her. “That’s old. I’m not up on Gossamer Grove history.” He gave her a crooked smile.
Annalise took the obituary back. “You don’t have records, old files, or maybe books of news stories from that era?”
Tyler tapped his index finger on the desktop. “You could check out the archives at the historical society. They have a lot of the old Democrat papers there. The library probably has them on microfiche.”
“I checked the library already. This was about all I could find on him.” She didn’t mention that the obituary at the library and online was worded significantly dif
ferent.
“Is that Harrison Greenwood in the obit related to Nicole?”
Of course he’d ask. Annalise slipped the obituary into the manila envelope and stifled a sigh. “Yes.”
“Where’d you get it?” Tyler asked, understanding dawning in his face. “Ahh! That’s the obit Eugene Hayes died with, isn’t it?”
Annalise knew she didn’t need to answer. Tyler had connected the dots just as she’d suspected he would. But she had to start somewhere, and the closer to the actual source the better. Now that she knew most of the papers were archived at the historical society, she wished she’d just stayed away altogether. There was no going back now, though, so she might as well dive in. Pulling out the revival meeting poster, she passed it to Tyler.
“Oh, yeah, so this and that obituary and your picture were all in his hand when he died?” Tyler fished.
Annalise bristled. “Those weren’t the exact details.”
Tyler sniffed. “Well, regardless, it’s creepy.” He read the poster before handing it back. “I vaguely remember hearing about the revival in 1907. Some of my relatives were saved in it or something. I dunno. But I do recall family tradition stating there were two of them.”
“Two?” Annalise pushed the poster back into the envelope.
“Yes, two revivalists. Twins.”
Annalise brightened. There was the picture of the two identical-looking men on the tandem bicycle she’d taken from Eugene’s house! But the poster didn’t list two preachers. She studied it for a moment. It didn’t list any names, just not-so-veiled threats of eternal hellfire. She blinked.
“Do you remember the names of the twin revivalists?”
Tyler drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, his eyes narrowing in thought. “Wow. You’re testing my memory. It’s not as if anyone cares anymore.”
“I care.”
Tyler smiled, a lopsided one that made him come across cockier than kind. “Sure. Anything to link to the Greenwoods and dig up dirt, eh?”
Annalise drew back. “Why would finding out the history on the revival have anything to do with the Greenwoods?” She tried to sound bewildered, but Tyler saw through it. It was obvious that if the revival were linked to the Greenwoods’ ancestor, which in turn was attached to her picture, something was amiss.
“Who knows. Maybe the preachers dug up some nasty scandal. Something you can use to undermine Nicole and get your way with that land and the homeless shelter.”
“I don’t play that way,” Annalise scowled. “That’s dirty.”
“You know that in Gossamer Grove the Greenwood name is gold. Mess with it and you get trouble in return.”
Oh, how she knew that already! Annalise glared at him as a renegade thought crossed her mind. She sidestepped his insinuations and tugged out the obituary again. “Does this look as though it was printed by the Daily Democrat?”
Tyler shrugged and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his dark-washed jeans. “Hard to tell. It doesn’t look like a paper clipping, though. I mean, there’s no header on it, and the print is larger. The paper isn’t consistent with newsprint.”
“Okay.” Annalise flipped an errant strand of wavy red hair from her eyes. “Do you think the newspaper may have printed the revival posters too?”
Tyler raised an eyebrow. “I honestly don’t know, Annalise. My family has owned this paper since the early 1900s, but I’m not an archivist. You’d be better off asking those questions at the historical society. Or go online to see what’s been documented in public records.”
“Are you saying there are no past records here at the paper?” Annalise had to ask one more time. She found it a bit hard to believe Tyler was that naïve about a paper that had been in his family for eons. Although it was Tyler. He was present day, present story, and all about featuring Nicole on the front page as often as he could.
“Maybe in the basement.” Tyler pursed his lips and wagged his eyebrows. It was obvious he wasn’t taking her all that seriously. “I haven’t been down there since I was ten. It’s a hoarder’s paradise.”
“Like Eugene’s trailer,” Annalise muttered. She raised her eyes to meet Tyler’s. For all his casual appearance, they sparked with curiosity and an intensity that made her wonder if Tyler was more interested in the answers to her questions than she was. “Did you by any chance know Eugene Hayes?”
His expression remained impassive. “Nope. But he must have had a penchant for you and your cause to help Gossamer Grove’s homeless. I mean, why else would he leave his trailer to you? But it’s not like you could build a decent shelter on only half an acre.”
Tyler’s keen gaze pierced her. Disconcerted, Annalise rammed the manila envelope into her bag. “How did you . . . ? I never told anyone—I just found out about that myself.”
“Word travels fast in Gossamer Grove.” Tyler’s eyes narrowed, and friendliness drained from his tone, replaced with suspicion. He rubbed his hand over his mouth. “You know this town. Always up for a juicy scandal. And it’s been quite some time since anything this interesting has happened around here.”
Annalise adjusted her purse on her shoulder, Harrison Greenwood’s obituary and the revival meeting poster safely tucked inside it. “I expect you’ll stick to reporting truth.”
Tyler gave her a disingenuous smile and shrugged. “You’re safe from the press, Annalise. You know I like you.”
His tone sent a chill up Annalise’s spine. The coolness in his eyes made it evident that he didn’t like her so much as he liked a good story. If he found one, Annalise had little doubt he’d spew it all over the newspaper’s front page.
Thunder rolled overhead with raindrops squeezing from overstuffed storm clouds as Annalise left the newspaper building. She hurried down the sidewalk, her heart palpitating with every step. Christen said once that God had a sense of humor. Annalise was beginning to believe that it was a jaded sense of humor. Her faith had become a shadow of what it once had been, as a child in Sunday school hearing the stories of Daniel in the lions’ den and David slaying Goliath. That stuff just didn’t happen anymore. Instead, it piled on and piled on. Her bandaged life had been a decoy all these years. Now that Garrett was home, she was bleeding again, and the brutality of recent events had left her emotionally battered.
Annalise fumbled in her purse for the key remote. Rain came harder now, and a clap of thunder jolted Annalise into a jog. Her hair hung in wet strands around her face as she came up on her car parked at an angle in front of the karate studio. She opened the driver’s door and hopped in, tossing her bag in the passenger seat.
Key in.
Engine on.
Reverse.
There was a weird thudding sound, and the car seemed to flop backward. Annalise braked and shifted it into park. A jagged flash of lightning cut across the sky and disappeared behind a stretch of two-story brick buildings constructed in the mid-1800s. The historic section of Gossamer Grove was fogged by the deluge.
Biting back a curse, Annalise wrestled with the door and sprung out, her feet landing in a puddle on the street. She peered around the door to see what might have obstructed the front tire. The flattened tire glared up at her as if irritated she hadn’t noticed when she’d hurried past it to get out of the rain.
“No. No, no, no.” Annalise spun and looked at the rear tire. Another flat. She splashed around the back end of the car to the passenger side, and the sadistic reality set in. The other two tires were both flat, one obviously slashed.
In midday.
She smeared her hair back from her forehead, plastering it against her head. Rain pelted her face and stuck to her eyelashes. The street was remarkably barren. Everyone had either gone home for lunch or taken refuge inside somewhere. Her only option was to wait out the storm in her car, calling Christen for a ride and then calling the police. This was vandalism, right on the heels of the breaking and entering.
Hurrying back to the driver’s door, Annalise got back in. She slammed the door shut, barring out
the rain, and released a pent-up growl. She reached for her bag to retrieve her phone. The bag had fallen to the floor. She paused. The manila folder had slipped out, and from it the revival flyer declaring the need for repentance from sin. The top portion of Harrison Greenwood’s photograph peeked out from beneath the yellowed flyer. His face and lifeless eyes stared back at her. In them she saw Garrett. The shape, the slant, and even the tilt of the man’s head.
It was as if the dead man were speaking to her from the grave.
Sins never stay buried.
They always rise from their crypt.
She didn’t need to be reminded of that—didn’t want to be reminded of it. Basic Christian faith stated that God forgave sins and forgot about them. So then why couldn’t everyone else? Or did she have something wrong and there was a catch to it all?
Leaning over, Annalise scooped up the manila envelope and stuffed its contents back inside it before getting her phone to contact the police. Eugene Hayes’s fascination with her and the long-dead Harrison Greenwood was linked by the implication that both she and Harrison had secret shames. Perhaps Eugene Hayes had one too. Regardless, the revival of 1907 hadn’t reformed or redeemed the town of Gossamer Grove, and even now someone seemed intent on making sure she knew her mistakes were no longer her own private disgrace.
Chapter 17
Libby
Aboot to her behind might have had less impact than the patronizing smile and raised brow of the police officer at the front desk of the station. With an offhanded wave, Libby was all but escorted from the building. The man’s hand palmed the door as he opened it for her, and she twisted in the darkness of the evening to stare up into his face with disbelief and not a little bit of panic.
“But you cannot dismiss this!” Libby insisted.
“We’ve already been over this, Miss Sheffield,” the officer said. “We’ll look into it, but please be advised, if this is something your father has any part in manufacturing for a story, he’d best be cautious or he’ll be facing charges of slander.”
The Reckoning at Gossamer Pond Page 11