“Then I’ll get out of the way.” Jillian withdrew and closed her office door. In her chair, she expelled a long breath. The day had taken a decided turn. For an hour or so, noises from the kitchen—including the occasional tidbit of an aria—indicated a companionable culinary flurry. Against the backdrop, Jillian focused her efforts on polishing the family tree for the woman she’d met at the genealogy conference. She’d been so hungry to know everything and get the facts right before sharing them with her wider family. Attendees at genealogy conferences were, of course. Most people Jillian met were at least a little curious about her work and offered a story or two from their own families.
And then there was Min. If she knew something, she didn’t want anyone else to know it.
Jillian shook away the thought, which had already gotten her in so much trouble, and abruptly realized the men must have left the house. All was quiet.
Her phone rang, jarring her thought. It was the special collections archivist from the Denver Public Library.
“I have the trial transcript boxes for you,” she said when Jillian answered. “I can keep them for seven days unless you need to make other arrangements to visit on a date later than that.”
“That’s not necessary,” Jillian said. “I’ll come tomorrow.”
“I’ll warn you, there’s quite a bit to read. It looks like both the prosecution and defense presented complex cases, and I see no evidence that it has been digitized, obviously, or I would have offered that to you sooner.”
“Thanks for the heads-up,” Jillian said. “I’ll aim to get there early in the day.”
It was one thing to close up Lynnelle’s trunk in the living room, wipe clean her whiteboard, and pull down oversize sheets hanging in her office. It was something else altogether to turn away the chance to read the trial transcript.
If it was irrelevant and had nothing to do with Lynnelle Bendeure, she would let it all go.
If it was not nothing, it might unlock everything. Drew might still want to know, even if Min did not.
Before she went to bed, she gave Nolan a brief summary of what she might—or might not—find at the library. The next morning, by the time she gathered her things and was ready to leave for Denver, Nolan and Drew were in full bakery mode. Puff pastry dough took hours to make between mixing and kneading and relaxing the dough and chilling before anything could be rolled out. In between these cycles, the day’s schedule called for Irish brown bread, which Nolan could make in his sleep, and the fillings for the pastries. Drew had revamped the dessert plan according to his specialties, and as long as it matched the menu listing of “fruited and cream dessert tray,” whatever they made was sure to go over well. Between the two of them, their phones were loaded with operatic playlists they could blast through the kitchen speakers at full volume with Jillian out of the house.
Drew dusted flour off his hands. “Mind if I walk you out?”
The suggestion surprised her, but she welcomed it. Her stomach quivered as they went out the back door.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, “about the other day. You trusted me, and I let my own stuff get in the way of helping you the way I should have.”
Drew reached out and touched her elbow. “No. That’s not why I wanted to walk you out.”
Jillian paused her steps. Those eyes. Jillian looked down at her key fob and jiggled it.
“I’m the one who gave you the log-in information to my DNA results because I wanted to be sure what was true,” Drew said, “and then when you asked questions to get to the whole truth, I got bent out of shape and said something snappy and mean. I sounded like my aunt Min, and I don’t want to be like that. Ever.”
Jillian raised her eyes. “You came back to help my dad. That’s what’s important.”
“He’s not the only reason I came back.” The dimple was creeping across his cheek.
Jillian moistened her lips and swallowed. “He’s not the only one who’s glad you did.”
Drew nodded. “Good. Glad we got that cleared up. I don’t know what’s eating Min, but I don’t want it to eat me. It’s a busy week. I promised to help your dad. But I want to understand your theory, whatever it is.”
She nodded. “I promise to tell you. But my dad’s right. I should wait until it’s solid. I may know a lot more after today.”
“Will you be gone all day?”
“I’m not sure. You never know with genealogy research. Libraries can be rabbit holes, so I might be.” She wouldn’t tell him what she was researching. Not in this moment of fresh mercy blossoming between them.
They resumed walking toward the detached garage, and she entered a code to raise the door.
“Maybe I’ll still be here when you get home,” Drew said.
“That would be nice.”
He stood in the driveway and waved at her as she backed out. She wouldn’t lie to him, but she wouldn’t speculate again without facts. She’d never done that with a client before. Technically Drew wasn’t a client, but that was no excuse for cutting corners.
Jillian reached the library just as it opened, and within fifteen minutes she was settled at a table with her boxes of trial transcripts. The trial lasted eight days, and most days court was in session at least six hours. There was no way she could read deeply and get through everything in one day, even if she remained in Denver until the library closed in the evening. But if she rushed, she might miss the details that mattered most. Even if she simply asked for copies of everything regardless of the cost, it would take hours of someone’s time to handle the volume of old documents. Almost certainly she would be told she must return on another day or wait for the copies to arrive in the mail.
Jillian laid the individual documents out to glean some system. In a transcript, chronology was the primary organizer, but if she could discern which portions were routine court procedures, which were witness testimony, and which were summary arguments, perhaps she could prioritize her entry points into the wealth of data before her.
An hour ticked by. And another. And another. Jillian scanned some sections and read closely in others. She filled page after page of her narrow-ruled yellow legal pad with notes and questions for which to seek answers as she continued to read. Separately, she made a careful list of pages she would want copies of before she left that day. In the early afternoon, she took a short break to grab a fast sandwich but did not stay away a minute longer than necessary. The transcript entranced her, tedious as it was to wade through.
In the late afternoon, she took another short break to refresh herself and send Nolan a text to let him know not to expect her until later in the evening. She would be sorry to miss Drew, but when she saw him again, it would be worth it.
It was all there—information to support her theory.
Pinkerton’s role.
Why Lynnelle Bendeure disappeared.
Who the Kyps were.
Who Ela was.
How Ela Kyp ended up on the ranch where Drew Lawson lived now.
Jillian laid her pencil on her pad and stretched her neck in both directions. She hadn’t read every single word, but she had what she needed, and she could ask for copies of some portions she didn’t get to. But she couldn’t wait until the last minute if she wanted to take them with her that evening. She pushed her chair back and took her list to the librarian on duty for the evening. By the time she had what she needed, announcements came over the public-address system warning patrons the library was about to close.
She made the thirty-minute drive home and entered the familiar terrain of Canyon Mines, altered slightly with evidence of a successful first day of the Legacy Jubilee. A cleanup crew stabbed trash with their pointed tools and collected the remains of the day into large black trash bags. A foursome straightened chairs around the bandstand, and lights flicked off in shops and restaurants that had stayed open later than usual. Tomorrow the town would do it all again but probably for even larger Friday crowds as the weekend commenced.
Jillian
pulled the car in the garage and went in the house through the back door. The kitchen was dark. In fact, the whole house was. It wasn’t so late that Nolan would have gone to bed—especially without a text message or a note on the kitchen counter. And his truck was in the garage.
But no one was home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Just to be sure, Jillian went upstairs to check Nolan’s bedroom. The door was open, and the room was dark. Again.
She pulled out her phone and opened a text message. HOME NOW. WHERE ARE YOU?
The reply came quickly. OUT WITH DREW. NICE FELLOW! DON’T WAIT UP.
Out with Drew? Out where? It was nearly ten o’clock. Beyond a couple of bars, which were not Nolan’s favorite form of recreation, Canyon Mines didn’t offer much to do past ten o’clock on a weeknight. Even the Legacy Jubilee festivities she’d passed coming back into town appeared to be dissipating for the evening, though there might still be something going on indoors.
Jillian was too tired to rummage around for a schedule and speculate further. Instead, she crossed the hall to her own room and dumped her bag, with a full pad of notes and a thick stack of photocopies, in a chair in the corner. Her stomach growled. It would have been smart to stop for some real food before coming all the way home. There wouldn’t be much in either refrigerator that wasn’t dedicated to Saturday night’s meal. A few minutes later, after placating her stomach juices with crackers and peanut butter, she brushed her teeth and went to bed.
When her alarm sounded in the morning, Jillian’s first thought was that she’d never heard her father come in. But as soon as she opened her bedroom door, she smelled coffee. It would be unadulterated black, of course, the only way he ever drank it. She’d set him straight by filling her mug with a creamy vanilla-cinnamon blend and waving it under his nose. Raking fingers through unbrushed hair, Jillian headed downstairs in the flannel bottoms and T-shirt she slept in.
Nolan was dressed in jeans and a light pullover. Rather than on a stool with his breakfast, where Jillian had expected to find him, Nolan was lining up large empty food storage containers on the breakfast bar.
“Dad, it’s barely six thirty.”
He glanced at her. “Is it that late already?”
Jillian rubbed one eye. “How long have you been up?”
“I’m not sure. I woke up early, so I just got up and got started.”
“But you were out late.”
“I think I’m old enough that we can do away with my curfew.”
Jillian stuck her tongue out at him and punched the POWER button on her preferred coffee machine. “Have you eaten?”
“I’ll grab something later. Maybe from the Cage.”
Jillian opened the fridge. If there was any half-and-half in there, it was well hidden behind—she wasn’t sure what was in the assorted glass and aluminum baking dishes that seemed to have multiplied during the day she was gone yesterday. Coffee without cream. She could bear it when necessary, but she sure wouldn’t grin.
“What is all this?” Jillian gestured to the containers on the counter.
“Nia and Veronica are expecting me at the Inn this morning. Nia only has a couple of guests. Joelle is looking after their breakfast so Nia can help me start moving food over there. She will have made room for the desserts by now.” Nolan smacked his lips. “If Drew lived in town, Ben’s Bakery would have stiff competition.”
“Is Drew helping you take everything over?” Panic struck at the thought Drew might walk in the door while Jillian was a rumpled mass of bed head and flannel.
Nolan wagged that eyebrow that seemed to be its own creature. “You’re safe. He had to take care of a family situation, so I’m on my own for now.”
Jillian resisted taming her hair. “I wasn’t worried.”
“But he made enough pastry for the cabbage pies. I just have to roll it out.”
“Sounds delish,” Jillian said. That explained the big blob she didn’t recognize in the refrigerator. “I think I might have some good news for him.”
“And I’m sure he’ll want to hear it. We just have to get through tomorrow night.” Nolan pulled open a drawer and rattled the utensils. “If I take my good bread knife and my best whisk to the Inn today, am I going to miss them around here?”
“Probably not.” Jillian put her mug under the dispenser and pushed a couple of buttons. The machine hissed. “I found some great stuff at the library yesterday.”
“That’s terrific.” Nolan dropped several utensils into a rectangular bin and scanned the breakfast bar. “I guess I don’t need all these containers. I want to put the mushrooms in some of them to make sure they don’t get smashed before I even get a chance to stuff them.”
“Sounds smart.” Jillian sipped her coffee, giving up on the notion that Nolan would focus on details from the trial transcript right then. “Where did you and Drew go last night?”
“One of the bands Marilyn booked for the stage on Main Street announced they were doing an impromptu show at the high school later on. We thought it would be fun. The vocalists were terrific.”
“Opera?”
“Don’t be silly, Jilly. Smooth jazz.”
“Drew will be back for tomorrow, right?”
“I have every reason to believe so. Maybe later today. In the meantime, do you have time to help get some coolers over to Nia?”
“Of course.” If Jillian wanted a real breakfast, Nia’s leftovers or the Canary Cage were better options than her own kitchen. “Let me get showered and dressed.”
Publicly presentable twenty minutes later, Jillian grabbed the original dissertation on Italian immigration off the bookshelf in her office. If Veronica was supposed to be at Nia’s, this would be a good chance to return it.
In the daylight, Jillian saw that the number of coolers on the back porch had increased along with the mounds of food in the refrigerator. No doubt the fridge in the garage was stuffed to capacity as well. If it weren’t for the charm of the Inn at Hidden Run, a venue with a larger working kitchen would have made much more sense. Whether a church hall would have had the same draw as the historic Victorian home was doubtful, though, and both the third seating and squeezing in extra chairs at all three seatings had increased the mountains of food required.
And then, of course, there was Nolan’s elaborate menu. There was no working around that.
Jillian flipped up the lids of the new coolers, larger by far than the others, and saw they held some of the scrumptious results of yesterday’s labors. Her dad wasn’t kidding about the threat Drew could pose to a local bakery. Éclairs. Chocolate mousse domes. Raspberry bread pudding. Key lime tarts. Cheesecakes. Lemon cakes.
“Don’t get any ideas.” Nolan reached around her and latched the coolers closed. “You can choose what you want for tomorrow.”
“One of each, please.”
“If you do a good job with your speech and make your father proud. Now let’s get these things loaded in my truck.”
Taking care to keep everything level, they placed the dessert coolers in the truck, and Nolan rounded up the other containers and bags he’d organized of pans and supplies. At the Inn, they pulled around to the small rear parking area and unloaded directly into the kitchen, trying not to disturb the guests lingering over breakfast. Nia steered Nolan to the empty spaces she’d cleared in her side-by-side oversize refrigerators, and they discussed the logistics of the rest of the food. Kris Bryant had offered to keep the barley and wild rice casseroles in the large refrigerator at her ice cream shop if Nolan could get them over there once the coolers were freed up for another load. Stuffing mushrooms. Making the cabbage pies. Counting up pans for roasting the vegetables that just kept coming.
Jillian left them to it and wandered through the dining room, smiling at the guests and envying their breakfast, and into the hall looking for Veronica. She’d seen her car parked in the back. Several trunks lined the hall as if awaiting orders. Transforming the decor for the dinner must be underway in one r
oom or another.
She found Veronica in the library, which had already been rearranged to accommodate an intimate collection of ten diners on matching rented chairs. A crisp ivory cloth was neatly draped across the back of one of the champagne-colored chairs Jillian found so comfortable, awaiting the moment when it would be unfurled across the round table.
“Hey, you.” Veronica straightened a stack of small cases well suited to the size of the room.
“That looks nice,” Jillian said.
“It’s a start. We have a long way to go.”
“I would have been happy to help. You didn’t ask for my mother’s trunk.”
Veronica lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “It seemed a little sensitive, with everything that’s happened. Besides, I was able to round up quite a few things. Luke is bringing over more as soon as he’s sure someone shows up to open the Emporium.”
Jillian nodded. “Good. My dad had help, and then he didn’t, and then he did, and now he doesn’t for today, so I’m it. Otherwise I’d stay.”
“But he has Drew tomorrow, right?”
“You heard.”
“They were hanging out pretty late last night.”
“You were there?” Jillian asked.
“Lots of people were.” Veronica opened a case, considering the look if she left it that way. “People couldn’t get enough of hearing him sing!”
Jillian blinked twice. “My dad?”
“No, Drew! The band turned out to be people he used to know, and they threw together a late set that just kept going. Where were you?”
“Work,” Jillian said. “I went to Denver to use the library for some research.”
“Too bad. It was great to see that side of Drew. So relaxed, like he was really being himself.”
“Mmm.” Jillian reached under her arm for the manila envelope and extended it toward Veronica. “Here’s your dissertation. I made a copy, but I thought you should have the original back to decide what to do with it. Maybe a library or museum would be interested in it.”
When I Meet You Page 22