Her gaze bumped into Nate’s. “She might remember something during those first few months and years after his death. It’s worth a shot.”

  Nate nodded his understanding.

  For the umpteenth time she felt immensely grateful for his presence.

  A hello echoed in Lara’s ear. “Mrs. May.” Relief trickled inside her. “This is Lara, Mary’s daughter.”

  After listening to how happy she was to hear from Lara and the latest news in the older lady’s life, Lara asked the question burning in her throat. “Mrs. May, I realize it’s getting late but I really need to speak with you in person. Would you mind if I came over for a bit?”

  The exuberant response was what Lara had hoped for. She assured the lady she would be right there and ended the call.

  “She won’t mind you bringing a friend?” Nate was already reaching for his coat.

  “I’m certain she won’t.” Lara grabbed her own and for the first time in more than twenty-four hours felt as if she might make some headway in solving some aspect of this unsettling mystery.

  Nesbitt Lane, 8:45 p.m.

  “Mrs. May, I really appreciate you being so gracious about this unexpected visit.”

  The older woman waved a hand. “Anytime you need me, all you have to do is call or show up at my door. I considered Mary one of my dearest friends.” She made a face. “I’m completely flabbergasted by what I read in the Sunday paper. What on earth does all this mean?” She glanced at Nate before settling her gaze back on Lara. “Is that mess the reason your friend from the FBI is here?”

  Lara nodded. “It is.”

  “Lara and I have been friends for quite a while,” Nate interjected. “It’s important to me to be here for her.”

  Mrs. May smiled. “That’s very kind of you.”

  “Did you ever meet my father?” Lara was confident the answer was no, but she needed to be sure. Childhood memories were rarely completely reliable.

  “I didn’t, no. Your mother spoke so often of him that I felt as if I knew him.” She smiled. “She was so happy when she learned she was pregnant. It was difficult without him, but she managed.”

  “After she was notified of his death, do you recall any out of the ordinary events or anything she said that may have seemed odd at the time?”

  The older woman’s face shifted to sadness. “She was devastated. I remember that very clearly. It was a tremendously difficult time for her.”

  “But no strangers visited? Called? Maybe sent packages?” Lara had decided that if the bird statue came after his death, someone else had to have delivered it.

  Unless her father did, and her mother knew all along that he wasn’t dead.

  Again, Lara considered if that was the reason her mother never remarried.

  The idea made Lara feel ill.

  Not possible. Not possible.

  “No one that I recall.” Her brow lined as if in deep concentration. “Now there was that one fellow who visited her out of the blue. Oh my gosh, I’d forgotten about that. I’ll have to say his visit was certainly a bit odd. But Mary was so happy about it, I didn’t want to burst her bubble, so to speak.”

  Anticipation speared through Lara. She and Nate shared a look. “This was before or after the funeral?”

  “Oh, a long time after. Maybe a year or so.” She paused, frowned some more. “No, I’m wrong. It was about two years later. You were already walking and talking up a storm. It was just odd, that’s all. This fellow just appeared out of the blue one day and knocked on her door.”

  “Do you recall his name or why he visited my mother?”

  “Let me think on the name for a bit, but I vividly recall that he brought her a present from your father. I found that part a bit strange but Mary seemed so pleased.”

  Shock bounced through Lara. “What sort of present?”

  “As unexpected as it was, I have to admit it was like one of those romantic movies where the hero dies but then all isn’t lost because someone comes along with an important message or gift that changes everything.”

  Lara nodded, unable to speak for fear of slowing the lady’s momentum.

  “There was a package your father had intended to mail to Mary but he was killed before he could. This man, one of his unit buddies, he claimed, found it among his things and intended to mail it but then he got captured. He said it was nearly two years before he escaped and got back home. The package was among the belongings the Army had sent to his family. I think he even mentioned having been presumed dead. I wish I could remember his name.” She inhaled a big breath, let it go. “Anyway, he showed up at your mother’s door with the package and she was so tickled. It was the first time I’d seen her so happy since the day you were born.”

  “What was in the package?” Lara knew but she needed confirmation.

  “It was that bird statue she loved so much,” May explained. “She always said it was the one gift besides you that her husband gave her.”

  That she did.

  “Anything you can remember about the man,” Nate said, “would be very useful.”

  Mrs. May pursed her lips for a moment. “He was from Nashville. I think she said he was in security or something.” She hummed as she took a moment more to try and recall the long-ago memories. “His name was Winn or Winter. Something like that.” She shook her head. “I just can’t recall for sure.”

  “Did she mention what he looked like?” It had been thirty-years. Lara wasn’t sure how useful that information would be but pondering the memories might shake something helpful loose.

  “She said he was a real tall man. Dark, dark hair and kind of grayish eyes. I remember this because his eyes bothered her. She said they were like a foggy sea. Kind of eerie.” She made a tiny gasp.

  Lara hoped the gasp meant she had recalled the man’s name.

  “I remember around Christmas that same year your mother mentioned he’d sent her a card. She hadn’t expected to ever hear from him again and suddenly there was a card in the mail.” She pressed Lara with her gaze. “She didn’t seem so happy about hearing from him again. But you know your momma always kept her Christmas cards. I’ll bet she’s got hundreds tucked away with her Christmas decorations. The one he sent must be there.”

  A flash of memory from Lara’s childhood confirmed her words. “You’re right. She packed them in old shoe boxes.” Lara stood. “Thank you so much, Mrs. May. This could be very helpful.”

  Nate rose to stand next to Lara. “Please call if you think of anything else Lara’s mother might have said about Patrick Franklin or his friend from Nashville.”

  The older lady nodded but made no move to stand. When they first arrived, she’d mentioned needing hip surgery and not being able to get around very well. Her gait as she had shown them into her home had suggested moving about was painful.

  “Of course.” She shook her head. “How can your daddy be this terrible killer if he’s dead?”

  Lara mustered a smile. “I wish I could answer that question for you, Mrs. May. Hopefully, we’ll know soon.”

  May shook her head. “There has to be some mistake. Mary was madly in love with that man. She wouldn’t have been in love with a killer. Besides, he’s dead. She buried him right here in Briarville.”

  Except, Lara now knew for a certainty Patrick Franklin wasn’t in that casket.

  Outside the May home, she and Nate loaded into his rental.

  “We’re headed to your mother’s home?” he asked as he started the engine.

  “Yes.”

  Neither Nate nor Lara spoke as they drove through the darkness. She felt confident his mind was right where hers was. If they could find the name and address of the man who had delivered the gift from Patrick Franklin—and if he was still alive—maybe they would find some answers.

  It was the one lead they had. But there was one too many if’s in the equation.

  Summerfield Drive, 10:00 p.m.

  Opening the front door to total silence reminded Lara of all those times she’d sneaked into the house after curfew as a teenager. Though it had been through the back door generally. Her mother would pretend to be asleep, allowing Lara to sneak up the stairs and into bed. Seconds later her bedroom light would come on and her mother would be standing at the door demanding an explanation.

  Mary Franklin never missed a thing.

  How on earth had she missed the fact that her husband may have been a killer and that he hadn’t been in that casket? Why had she not requested the casket be opened for one final look at the man she loved? To confirm for her heart’s sake that he was truly gone? Then again, her mother had never been the evidence-based fanatic Lara was. She’d been more the emotional, go with her feelings sort of person.

  “I don’t remember seeing holiday decorations in any of the closets or in the garage,” Nate pointed out. “Is there a chance she threw them out?”

  “The attic.” Lara shouldered out of her coat and hung it on the newel post before starting up the stairs. “Before I was big enough and after I left for college, she had a local handyman get the decorations down after Thanksgiving each year. He would return early in January and put them away again. Mother was terrified of heights. She never so much as stood on a ladder or a piece of furniture.”

  Lara reached for the string that hung from the pull-down ladder access to the attic. “She fell from the hayloft when she was a kid. Her back was broken. It was a miracle she wasn’t paralyzed. She talked about being stuck in bed for weeks waiting for the injury to heal.”

  “That would keep anyone away from high places,” Nate agreed.

  With the legs of the ladder braced on the floor, Lara prepared to climb up. “You don’t have to come up. It’s dusty up there.”

  “I want to come.”

  She nodded and headed up the creaking ladder. She’d climbed up here plenty of times as a kid. Not just to retrieve the decorations but because she loved pilfering through the stored stuff. Junk mostly. Old clothes and knickknacks. Some of her mother’s childhood toys.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Lara said as she flipped the switch for the light and stepped onto the rustic wooden boards that had been used to floor the attic. The roof pitch being so high allowed for standing upright. Layers of dust covered the old boxes and toys.

  “Looks just like my parents’ attic did,” Nate pointed out as he joined her.

  Lara surveyed the boxes, spotted the holiday ones. “Over there.”

  As if her mother had only put them there yesterday, the shoe boxes sat in neat stacks next to the larger boxes marked Christmas. All were tied with yarn and sporting a layer of dust. On the top of each her mother had written the time frame for the contents. Ignoring the dust, Lara knelt next to the boxes and moved them aside, one by one, until she found the one that included the first years after her birth. She untied the yarn and placed the lid on the floor.

  Cards tucked neatly into their envelopes filled the shoebox. Scanning the postmarks as she moved through the bundles, she located the ones from the first and second Christmases after she was born.

  The envelopes were yellowed on the edges. The stamps a range of holiday symbols. She studied the names of the senders, return addresses and postmarks of each until she came to what might be the one. Wynwood. Devin Wynwood. The postmark was Nashville.

  “This could be the one.” She placed the other cards back in the box.

  Nate removed latex gloves from his jacket pocket. “Just in case there are any prints or any usable DNA.”

  Lara hadn’t thought of that. There could be DNA on the seal of the envelope. Prints on the envelope as well as the card. She was totally off her game. She knew the steps as well as any detective.

  “I’m glad you came prepared.” She smiled although her heart was thumping.

  “Always.” He smiled back at her and warmth spread through her.

  He really was a good friend.

  He withdrew the card. There was a snow-covered house on the front. Colorful lights and greenery adorned the outside. Typical holiday greeting. Inside was a simple seasonal message. The sender, Devin Wynwood, had written: Hope you and your baby girl are well. If you need anything don’t hesitate to call.

  “Too bad he didn’t jot down his number too.”

  Nate turned over the envelope. “We have his name and address—at least a former address. It’s a good starting point.”

  “You need a bag for that?”

  One side of his mouth lifted in a grin. “An evidence bag is one thing I don’t carry in my pocket.”

  “We’ll find something in the kitchen.” She nodded to the ladder. “You go first since you’re carrying the evidence. I’ll turn off the light and follow.”

  Lara dusted off her knees as Nate climbed down the ladder. She moved down onto the second rung and reached back to flip the light switch. Once the ladder was pushed back up into place, her gaze landed on her mother’s room at the end of the hall. Guilt for having turned the contents of the house upside down assailed her.

  Whoever—whatever—her father was, her mother couldn’t possibly be guilty in this. Though emotions had Lara waffling on the idea, she would never believe her mother was aware of his true identity.

  Lara would have loved to qualify the thought with an “if her father was a serial killer,” but she couldn’t.

  DNA didn’t lie.

  Downstairs Nate had located a plastic storage bag and placed the evidence inside.

  “Do you know when the forensic team is coming?” Lara surveyed the kitchen cabinets which now sat empty, their contents piled on the counters.

  “Tomorrow,” he confirmed.

  “You’ll turn the Christmas card over to them?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Let’s get back to my place and see if we can find out who this guy is.” Her fingers were itching to get to her keyboard.

  “I’ll make some calls while you search the web.”

  Mentally apologizing to her mother yet again, Lara made sure all the lights were off before they left. Her surveillance detail waited at the curb in his vehicle. When Nate pulled out of the driveway and onto the street, the detail followed.

  “You don’t remember meeting any male friends of your mother’s?”

  Lara had been mulling over the same thought. “Not that I recall. We went to Nashville, obviously. Shopping and to a specialist once for Mother’s allergies. But she never mentioned anyone and I can’t recall a specific memory of meeting anyone. But we could have when I was really young and I might not remember.”

  “If this Patrick Franklin and the Butcher are one in the same,” Nate began, “we have to assume he knew about you. His delivery guy obviously did.”

  “Right.”

  “If he’s been watching you, he may be one of your followers.”

  She’d considered that possibility as well. Clearly, she and Nate were treading down the same analytical path.

  “If he is, maybe he’ll be easier to draw out.” She paused as he turned into her long driveway. “His curiosity—if triggered—could get the better of him. He might show up for a chat.”

  After he parked, Nate looked at her for a long moment before shutting off the engine. “As long as it doesn’t get the better of you.”

  They sat in the darkness for a moment before going inside. The air was fraught with tension and unspoken concerns.

  She was the first to move. Nate followed, then progressed ahead before she reached the door. When he was satisfied it was safe for her to go inside, Lara went straight to her computer and started working on locating Devin Wynwood using the address from the envelope.

  He could be dead.

  If he was alive, he may have moved. He could be in a long-term care facility unable to communicate much less recall the past.

  One by one she went through the results of her search. She focused on ones closer to her mom’s age.

  The list seemed endless.

  Nate joined her, a glass of wine in hand. “I thought you might need this.”

  “Yes,” she cried, drawing out the single syllable. She accepted the glass and indulged in a long sip. She moaned. “What about you? I have beer if you prefer.”

  “I’m good with coffee. Just had a cup.”

  “I thought I smelled coffee.” But she’d been so focused on her search she’d only vaguely been aware.

  He went back to the kitchen for his coffee and she sipped the wine as she scrolled through her search results.

  Devin Wynwood.

  And there he was. Sixty-five. To her surprise the address remained the same. His telephone was not listed. Disappointing.

  Nate sat down in the chair next to her desk, steaming mug in hand. “I’m guessing by your loopy smile that you found him.”

  “Looks like.” She nodded to the screen. The one image that appeared in the results was of a gray-haired man with craggy facial features and a nose that had survived numerous close encounters with fists.

  Nate leaned forward. “He’s a PI.”

  “And security consultant,” Lara pointed out. “Fits with what Mrs. May told us.”

  Nate grunted an agreement.

  She sent the image and the listed information, scarce though it was, to the printer. “We have to talk to him.” He could be the single link to Patrick Franklin.

  “I agree.”

  She turned to her friend. “I mean you and me. Before we turn this over to your colleagues. I need to talk to him. I need to know who the hell my mother buried.”

  “The woman in that casket may have been his first victim.”

  Lara stared directly into Nate’s eyes. “All the more reason I need everything I can find on this ghost who is apparently my father and a ruthless killer.”

  Chapter Eight

  Monday, November 30, 11:30 a.m.

  Nate drove while Lara responded to comments and questions on her blog. She’d worked until after midnight to construct a new post since she’d been outed as the biological daughter of the Butcher. Nate had kept the wine flowing. It was the one thing he could do, besides walk the floors.