Or was he one of her followers as Nate had suggested? If so, he would have expected this could happen when she announced her plans to do the genealogy DNA. If that proved to be the case, he’d had a heads up and certainly could have carefully planned whatever action he chose to take rather than simply reacting to the unexpected announcement.

  “The task force is getting antsy,” he admitted.

  “So, there is a task force?” She hadn’t been briefed on the plan of action for this operation or in what manner it would be executed. The release of information was dictated by a “need to know.” Just because she was the center of attention at the moment didn’t mean she had a need to know.

  “Yes.” As he spoke, he cracked the eggs one by one, releasing them into a bowl and then tossing the shells. “The Bureau has worked with various local law enforcement agencies over the years. The primary points of contact from each agency remain in contact. They share whatever updated information is available which, as you know, until now has been very little.” He reached for the whisk. “The connection to you is the biggest break in three decades.” He poured the eggs he’d stirred into the pan.

  “Speaking of breaks,” she said, moving on, “during my few hours of restless sleep I dreamed of the treehouse my mother recruited a neighbor to build when I was a kid. I had a secret treasure box where I kept the things that meant something in particular to me at the time. The first thought that popped into my head when I woke up was that I should look there, but I can’t imagine my mother ever climbing up into that treehouse.” Lara shrugged. “She was too terrified of heights.”

  “Some fears are stronger than others,” Nate offered. “I’m betting your mother’s concern for you far outweighed any other fears she had.”

  The thought was an ache in Lara’s chest. “I hadn’t looked at it that way.”

  “It’s definitely worth a look.” Nate chopped the veggies and turkey. “After breakfast, we should check it out.” He dumped the chopped goodies onto the pan atop the eggs, then reached for the cheese.

  “Toast?” she suggested. It wasn’t until she smelled those chopped peppers and green onions that she realized how hungry she was.

  “Why not?” He turned the eggs, sandwiching the cheese and veggies inside. “We’ll need those extra carbs for tree climbing.”

  Summerfield Drive, 9:30 a.m.

  The treehouse looked far smaller than Lara remembered. The ladder still appeared study enough. This had been her favorite tree. Even now she loved big, old trees. The parks in Manhattan were the city’s saving grace, in her opinion.

  “I can climb up there if you prefer,” Nate offered, mistaking her hesitation for uncertainty.

  She shot him a skeptical look. “What? And let you see my secret hiding place? No way.”

  He grinned. “We can’t have that.”

  “Here we go.” Lara reached for a rung and started her climb upward. It wasn’t that far. Her mother would never have allowed the treehouse to be very far off the ground. About eight feet to the platform that served as the floor.

  But to a kid, it had seemed as high as the sky. She could only imagine the courage it took for her mother to make this climb if she chose this as a hiding place.

  When Lara pulled herself inside the treehouse, she stood, careful to keep her head down. The roof wasn’t quite high enough for her to stand fully upright. The small wood table and chairs still sat in the middle of the space. She smiled and picked up a raggedy old stuffed dog. Her mother had been allergic to dogs, so this was the closest thing she’d had to a pet.

  “I wondered what happened to you.” She placed the dog on the table and surveyed the poster she had made of treehouse rules. She smiled, traced the printed words faded with time and the elements. In the far corner, she dropped down on her knees and grabbed the small handle in the floor. She pulled the one foot by one foot square of wood floor upward, revealing the hidey hole Mr. Matthews had added without her even having to ask. He’d insisted that every kid should have a secret place.

  The treasure box was still there. It was actually an old Christmas tin. The sort filled with cookies and sold during the holidays. As a nine-year-old, she had deemed the square tin to be the perfect spot for tucking away little secret keepsakes. She pulled the lid from the box and right there on top was a package she hadn’t seen before.

  Her heart stumbled. She set the tin and its other contents aside. Carefully, she opened the plastic bag and reached inside. The book shaped object was wrapped in a soft white cotton cloth. She unfolded the cloth and there it was…the journal.

  Red, just like Wynwood had said.

  Lara opened it and her mother’s handwriting filled the pages. Page one was dated December first, twenty-nine years ago. She had questions and concerns regarding Devin Wynwood.

  The breath trapped in Lara’s lungs.

  Mom, why didn’t you ever tell me about this?

  This was the part that puzzled Lara the most. Hurt the most. She and her mother had always shared everything. Talked about everything. It didn’t make sense that she would keep all this—something so incredibly important—from her.

  Whatever Mary Franklin’s reasons, she had allowed a lie to be the foundation of their lives.

  “Any luck up there?”

  Lara blinked away the painful thoughts. “I’ll be right down.”

  She placed the journal on the floor next to her and checked the treasure box to ensure there was nothing else inside from her mom. A letter of explanation would have been nice. Nothing but the marbles and the little bracelet she’d put there at eleven. A folded note from a boy who waxed on about how pretty Lara was. She rolled her eyes and placed the lid back on the tin box. She tucked the box into the hidey hole once more and closed the trap door. Holding tightly to the journal, she climbed down to where Nate waited.

  “You found it.”

  She nodded. “Page one starts a few weeks after my third birthday. Mother intended to go see Devin Wynwood. She had questions.”

  Lara’s heart started to pound with the new surge of emotions. Wynwood had apparently told the truth when he said her mother had visited him.

  Nate nodded. “There could be pieces in there that help put this puzzle together.”

  Lara certainly hoped so.

  “Agent Prater called while you were up there. Lex Jones checked out. He hasn’t missed work. He has a new baby and his wife confirmed he has been home every night after work for the past few weeks.”

  Lara couldn’t help feeling vindicated. “I told you it wouldn’t be one of my followers.”

  He gave a nod of acknowledgment. “Better safe than sorry.”

  She couldn’t argue with the deduction.

  “We should take this by the lab, and have it checked for prints.”

  Lara wanted to argue because she was dying to start reading, but she knew he was right.

  Better safe than sorry.

  Marcia Drive, 2:30 p.m.

  The forensic tech had done what she could to lift prints without damaging the pages of the journal. Ultimately, only one set of prints besides Lara’s was found. Had to be her mother’s. As soon as she had the journal back in her possession, she’d started reading. A few scarce pages in, she had known she had to speak with Devin Wynwood again.

  She and Nate had headed for West Nashville immediately.

  “His car is here,” Nate said, drawing her attention from the red cover with its embossed image of an antique key.

  They were parked in front of Wynwood’s house. She hadn’t even realized they’d stopped.

  “My mother came to him more times than he said.” Lara closed the journal that suddenly felt like a part of her she’d been missing without even knowing it existed.

  “Let’s see what the man has to say considering this new evidence.”

  As they walked along the sidewalk, a thought occurred to Lara. “Do you think he has looked for the journal before? Maybe found a way into Mom’s house and had a look around? If there’s something in those pages that incriminates him, he would want to find it first. On the other hand, if he’d already been through the house, why ask me if I found it?”

  Unless he’d been watching her and knew she’d done what he could not without risk—turned her mother’s house upside down looking for anything about her father.

  And what about the letters? The letters from her father that her mother had kept all this time were nowhere to be found. Could Wynwood have taken those?

  “Let’s ask him.” Nate knocked on the door.

  Several knocks later, Wynwood hadn’t answered. If he was in there, he had no desire for company. According to the surveillance detail, he hadn’t left the house. Either way, he wasn’t taking visitors.

  Giving up wasn’t something Lara was in the habit of doing, but the journal was calling to her. If she couldn’t interrogate Wynwood, she could read.

  One way or the other, she would have the truth.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Miller’s Bend Road, 8:30 p.m.

  The temperature had dropped significantly tonight. Nate scanned the sky. Crystal clear again which signaled it would only get colder. The stars reminded him how different life was in a small community. No city lights to obscure the beauty of a night sky. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d noticed the stars in D.C.

  He hefted the armload of firewood and headed back into the cottage. For the last several hours he’d given Lara as much space as possible. He was fairly certain she’d read through her mother’s journal at least twice. He’d heated up a can of chili and taken a bowl along with crackers into her office. The last time he’d passed the door the chili still sat on her desk untouched. Lara remained in the window seat, her back to the view that had lured her to this place.

  Nate had decided to start a fire in the stone fireplace that took up most of one wall in the living room. Then he intended to break out the wine and attempt to lure her into conversation. He needed to know what was in that journal and, more importantly, what she was feeling. The pages in that journal were proof that her mother had not been completely honest with her. Had harbored this painful lie for three decades.

  The emotional impact was no doubt enormous. He wanted to help…somehow.

  Patience was the best he could provide for now.

  After stacking the firewood the way he remembered his grandfather doing, he used smaller pieces of kindling to get the flames going. During his childhood he had actually spent more time on the farm in Maryland with his grandparents than he had in Baltimore with his parents. Not that he was complaining. His parents were both involved in law enforcement and sometimes their work was exceedingly dangerous. Conversely, his grandparents had been retired and more than happy for the company. Nate hadn’t really understood back then, but he did now. Until he’d moved into Public Affairs, he’d pretty much decided that he wouldn’t have children. Not as long as he put himself in the line of fire. Worse, work sometimes followed him home and not in his briefcase. In the end it hadn’t mattered. His wife had moved on. In truth, he couldn’t blame her.

  The flames seared into the stack of wood; the crackling sound drew him back to the present. He hadn’t thought about a long-term relationship, much less children, in ages. He glanced toward the hall that led to the bedrooms and Lara’s office. He would be lying if he didn’t admit that he’d often thought of how the two of them might manage a relationship. Now that he was here, with her, the idea had been nudging at him even harder.

  He liked Lara. A lot. She was caring and determined. Generous and extremely intelligent. And beautiful, he admitted.

  He stood, dusted his palms together. Maybe wine wasn’t such a good idea after all. He was feeling oddly sentimental this evening. Watching Lara struggle with the doubts and questions related to her life, had him scrutinizing his own.

  Had he made the right decisions? Would he have regrets going forward?

  “Thanks for the chili.”

  He turned toward the sound of her voice. Her wooly sock-clad feet had kept her steps silent allowing her to catch him off guard.

  “I’m sure it’s cold now.” He glanced at the bowl she held. “Would you like me to warm it up?”

  She stared at the bowl then shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m really not hungry.”

  The journal tucked under one arm, she carried the bowl to the sink and left it there. When she crossed to the sofa and sank onto it, he understood she was ready to talk about what she’d read.

  “I was considering opening a bottle of wine.”

  “I’m sorry.” She pushed to her feet once more, leaving the journal on the sofa. “I should be the one offering you wine. You’re my guest and I’ve been totally ignoring you.”

  Before he could argue, she’d hurried to the kitchen area and grabbed a couple of stemmed glasses. She placed both on the counter and moved on to the fridge. He’d noticed she kept a couple of bottles of white stored there. White, red, he wasn’t picky. He joined her at the counter, watched while she poured a generous serving in each glass. She passed one to him and picked up the other.

  “To finding the truth.” She held up her glass.

  “Not always an easy thing, but typically a good thing.” He tapped her glass with his own. When they’d each savored a nice long swallow, he asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “But I need to.” She held his gaze with her own. “My mother was afraid. For herself and for me.”

  He’d suspected as much. “Let’s sit.”

  She ducked her head in agreement and headed for the sofa. He grabbed the bottle and brought it along. Once they were settled, her on the sofa, him in the chair that stood across the coffee table from her, he set the bottle down and suggested, “Start at the beginning.”

  “A few months after Wynwood brought her the gift, Mother noticed the date the same way you did.”

  Nate said, “I’m not surprised. Mary was a perceptive woman.”

  He’d never met Lara’s mother or even spoken to her, but he knew this from all the things Lara had told him over the years. Besides, he had the example of the daughter the woman had raised. Enough said.

  “She was.” Lara gulped another swallow of wine. Glanced at the journal, before shifting her focus back to him. “She mentioned thinking that she’d made a mistake not opening the casket before the funeral. She says the soldier who brought her the news urged her not to open it. He explained that the body was badly burned and in no condition for viewing.”

  “Was this soldier Devin Wynwood?”

  “She was so upset, she couldn’t remember. She wrote that when he delivered the gift he seemed familiar, but his hair was different, and she just couldn’t be certain. I’m sure she was so shocked by the news about her husband’s death, the details of the man delivering that news likely didn’t sink in.” Lara shrugged. “It was more than two years after her husband’s funeral before she saw Wynwood. If he and the man who’d escorted the body were one and the same, she couldn’t recall.”

  Nate could see how she might not remember. “Attempting to determine who brought her the news and oversaw the transport of the body might be impossible after all these years. Particularly in light of the fire that destroyed so many records.”

  “I figured.” She drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly.

  “The good news,” Nate offered, “is that your mother was questioning the decision she’d made not to open the casket. That alone should tell you she had no idea her husband’s body wasn’t inside.”

  “Agreed.” Lara drank deeply once more.

  “I should get you something to eat. Cheese, crackers?” If she didn’t eat, the wine would take a heavy toll.

  She shook her head. “I’m good.” She placed her glass next to the bottle and settled deeper into the sofa. “The Christmas card she received from Wynwood prompted her to start the journal. It wasn’t long until she realized that she had to visit him and ask questions. The idea that something was wrong just wouldn’t let go. She couldn’t help wondering if her husband was really dead. If the body she’d buried was actually his. Though she couldn’t imagine exactly what the circumstances were, she instinctively understood that something was wrong. Wynwood provided answers but none that felt right to her. He told her stories about his time in the military with my father, but Mom didn’t feel like the actions he described were those of the husband she had known.”

  “Did she call Wynwood on it?”

  “No. She was very careful how she approached him. I think she was afraid of him. She had a friend—the man who built the treehouse. I suppose he was more just a neighbor than a friend. Since he was a retired insurance investigator, Mother thought maybe he could help. By the time she got around to asking him, I was almost four. He promised to do some digging for her. But then he died.”

  Nate felt his eyebrows rise upward. “Died how?”

  “Car accident. A single car accident.”

  “This made Mary even more suspicious,” Nate guessed. It certainly made him suspicious and he had none of the details.

  “Yes.” Lara chewed her lower lip for a moment. “This was the turning point where she understood that Wynwood was a very, very bad man and that she should fear for our safety. After the accident, Wynwood dropped by a couple of times unannounced. He brought me presents, though I don’t remember either occasion she mentioned. By then she was really getting nervous. More than once throughout the journal she spoke of feeling as if someone was watching her…watching us. Finally, one weekend she allowed Mrs. May to take me to Knoxville with her to visit her sister. This I remember. I was close to six, I think. Mom had never let me stay the night anywhere. While Mrs. May and I were gone, Mom went to see Wynwood. They met for lunch at a restaurant in downtown Nashville. Lots of people around.”

  “Smart lady.” Nate sipped his wine and waited for Lara to go on.