“Yes.”

  On the way to the diner, Gracie looked in her rearview mirror. The detective was following in a glistening white pickup truck that would make the majority of the men in Milton County green with jealousy. Gracie and Mayleah pulled into parking spaces next to each other. The jubilant members of the team had taken possession of a group of tables and pulled them close together. The carhops wore in-line skates, and a young man glided past Gracie and Mayleah as they entered the restaurant.

  “This place should be in a movie,” Mayleah said.

  “It was,” Gracie responded. “A film crew came here a year ago and spent a week.”

  Laura was standing nearby and overheard Gracie’s comment. “I was an extra in the movie,” she said. “It’s about a girl who worked at a diner and fell in love with a rich guy who looked down on her. She taught him how to skate. It wasn’t that great, but it was fun seeing a place I know.”

  “Were you in some scenes?” Mayleah asked.

  “For like a nanosecond.”

  Gracie and Mayleah walked up to the counter to order. There weren’t a lot of healthy options on the menu.

  “What do you recommend?” Mayleah asked.

  “If you don’t want something fried, the grilled chicken sandwich is good.”

  They each ordered the chicken sandwich. Gracie added a side of thin and crispy onion rings that were her favorite. The detective included coleslaw.

  Gracie led the way to the area where the girls were gathered. There were a few parents off to the side. Gracie introduced Mayleah to the group and told them where she worked. They sat at a table with Heidi, Laura, and a couple of other girls. The teammates were buzzing about the game.

  “I don’t think I could get a hit off their pitcher if I faced her ten times,” one of the girls said.

  “She had an awesome screwball,” Heidi responded. “It cut away from me at the last second. I chased it a couple of times.”

  Gracie smiled and took a drink of water from a large paper cup.

  Laura turned to Mayleah. “Coach Blaylock was the best pitcher who’s ever played in Milton County,” she said.

  “There have been a lot of good pitchers,” Gracie said. “Vanessa Morgan had a great fastball with a lot of movement on it.”

  A cashier called their number and Gracie left to get the food. When she returned, several more girls had moved their chairs so they could be closer to Mayleah.

  “I also played lacrosse,” Mayleah was saying. “It was popular among Native American tribes in the East. The Cherokee word for it means ‘little war.’ Hundreds of men would play at once.”

  “Hundreds?”

  “Yes, it was fierce. Broken bones and other serious injuries happened all the time.”

  “Do you speak the Cherokee language?” Heidi asked.

  Mayleah rattled off a string of words.

  “What did that mean?” Heidi asked.

  “I said how much I enjoyed watching your game and that you are brave and courageous girls because you stood at the plate and tried to hit a ball thrown so fast in your direction.”

  “I love the sound of your language,” Heidi said. “Do you have a Cherokee name?”

  “My father named me Ahyoka, which means ‘she brought happiness.’”

  “That’s beautiful,” several girls said at once.

  Gracie and Mayleah moved over to a table for two to eat their food.

  “Does anyone call you Ahyoka now?” Gracie asked.

  “Only my grandmother. Mayleah is my legal name. My maiden name was Fairweather. We’re part of the Long Hair Clan. I thought about going back to Fairweather when I left Oklahoma, but I’ve used Harkness for so long that I left it alone.”

  Gracie knew very little about the Cherokee people. When she heard the word “clan,” she thought about Scotland. Gracie gave Mayleah a few onion rings.

  “These are good,” the detective said after she sampled one.

  “I try to eat healthy, but I can’t resist these every so often.”

  “Have you lived in Clarksburg your whole life?” Mayleah asked.

  “Since day one.”

  “Tell me about your family.”

  While they ate, Gracie gave a summary. Mayleah was a good listener, a characteristic that probably served her well as a detective. Gracie found herself saying more than she normally would have.

  “What about Mr. Smith, the lawyer?” Mayleah asked. “He came by the sheriff’s department the other day to discuss a case. What’s his background?”

  The question startled Gracie. “Buddy Smith?”

  “Yes.”

  “Uh, he grew up here too. We were classmates in school, and he came back to Milton County after law school. He has a couple of sisters who are married but don’t live here.”

  “Is Buddy his real name?”

  “No, it’s Blair, but he’s always gone by Buddy. His mother lives in a beautiful old home on Franklin Street. It’s the one with the porch across the front and a yard full of flowers.”

  “I’ve driven down Franklin Street but don’t remember specific places,” Mayleah said.

  “I rent a house owned by the Smith family,” Gracie continued. “They own a lot of real estate.”

  “Is he married with children?”

  “Buddy never married,” Gracie replied slowly.

  She was about to mention Amber and Elise but didn’t. It didn’t feel right to reveal such personal information about Buddy to someone she’d just met. Heidi and another girl returned and began asking questions about being a detective. When it was time to leave, Gracie gathered the team together in the back corner of the restaurant.

  “Tonight was a huge first step,” she said. “You beat a team of all-stars. Show up for practice tomorrow ready to get better. Our next opponent is from Newton County. Those of you who played varsity this past season remember what they did to us in the regional semifinals. A lot of the same girls will be on the summer league squad.”

  “How about that tall pitcher?” Heidi asked. “I hope she was a senior and graduated.”

  “I haven’t seen their roster. But their program is like ours. They’re always training younger players to step up and play.”

  The girls gathered in a circle, put their hands together, and yelled, “Team!”

  Other customers in the grill clapped and cheered.

  “Thanks again for inviting me,” Mayleah said as the meeting broke up. “It was fun. I’ll try to make it to another game soon.”

  “And you’d be welcome to come to practice if you want. The girls really like you.”

  Ten

  The following day kept Buddy busy at the office, but in the back of his mind, he continued to think about the remaining boxes in his mother’s basement. After a quick stop at home, he drove to Franklin Street and resumed his seat on the bottom step.

  One of the boxes contained nothing but copies of correspondence his father considered important enough to save. There were threatening letters to Rascal from tenants and copies of the replies from either Rascal or Norman Kaufman, the lawyer Rascal used before Buddy passed the bar exam. Now deceased, Norman remained infamous in the bar for the length of his correspondence, pleadings, and any other type of legal document. If one paragraph would cover a topic, Norman used three. It was an effective way to justify his bill. If a tenant had to be evicted, Norman would prepare a long complaint that laid out the downward spiral of a relationship that began beautifully and descended into bitter betrayal by the tenant. Buddy went through five boxes without finding anything pertinent to his search.

  Off to one side was a plastic container different from the other boxes. Curious, Buddy brought it over to the place where he was sitting and lifted the lid. It was filled with small notebooks. Opening one, he saw his mother’s small, neat handwriting. At first he thought it was a diary but quickly realized it was a collection of her thoughts intermingled with short prayers. Flipping through the pages he saw familiar names, including his own. Interestingly, his mother often wrote “Blair,” not “Buddy.”

  “Buddy!” his mother called out from the top of the stairs. “Find anything?”

  “No, I’ll be up in a minute.”

  He brought the box of notebooks with him. His mother took a plate of food from the microwave and placed it on the kitchen table beside a glass of tea. There was a large piece of baked chicken with rice and gravy and a bowl of okra and tomatoes. She seemed brighter and less sad.

  “This should be better than a sandwich,” she said. “Leftovers from the McMillians. I’ll enjoy watching you eat it more than if I ate it myself.”

  Buddy’s stomach growled. “Thanks,” he said, then pointed to the box near his feet. “I didn’t find anything else about Amber or Elise, but I came across this. It contains your notebooks.”

  Beatrice lifted the lid of the container. “Oh, I have bunches of those. It started years ago as an assignment for a Sunday school class, and I never stopped.”

  “I hope it was okay that I read a few pages from a couple of them.”

  “Sure. I don’t have any secrets.”

  Buddy took a bite of food. The contrast between his mother and his father couldn’t have been starker. Beatrice joined him at the table with a glass of tea.

  “I noticed that you called me Blair. Usually only people who don’t really know me call me that. It was different seeing it in your handwriting. It made me feel”—Buddy paused and met his mother’s gaze—“special, if that makes sense.”

  Beatrice smiled. “It does. Because that’s the name I gave you. I’m fine calling you Buddy since that’s what your daddy liked, but in my heart you’ve always been Blair.”

  “What else did you write about me?”

  “Lots of stuff. You’ll probably be bored, but you’re welcome to take the journals home with you. If nothing else, they’ll bring back memories, some good, some bad.”

  “Bad?”

  “A little bit. I’ve always tried to keep things positive since I don’t think God spends much time worrying, so I pray solutions, not problems.” Beatrice ran her fingers through her hair. “The past twenty-four hours have sure put that to the test.”

  “Yes. Do you still do this?”

  “Every night.”

  * * *

  At home, Buddy took the box of notebooks onto the back porch. He had a favorite chair that was both a rocker and a recliner. Propping up his feet, he grabbed a random journal and began to thumb through it. The language was so typical of his mother that it made him smile. She included details from life, concerns about problems, and notes of thankfulness. The pages opened a window to parts of her soul that he didn’t know existed. He’d always considered his mother to be a decent judge of people, but the insights she had about folks in Milton County whom he now knew were striking. Her prayers were concise and direct, her thanksgiving specific. Going to the bottom of the box, he found one of the earliest notebooks. The pages were yellowed with age. It was from his high school years when he was in the ninth or tenth grade. Turning to a page toward the middle, he found an entry asking the Lord to help Buddy and Gracie Blaylock do a good job with their presentation in class. He vaguely remembered the class but not a joint project. The next line caught his attention: “Gracie is a sweet girl with a pure heart. Bless her with a lifetime of joy and happiness.”

  Buddy took the book from the box and placed it on a table near the front door so he wouldn’t forget it in the morning.

  * * *

  It was 8:30 a.m., and Buddy was hungry. He’d stopped by the jail to see a client and left home before eating breakfast. When he passed the courthouse, he saw Gracie Blaylock getting out of her car. The journal was on the passenger seat beside him. He dialed her number and watched as she stopped and took her phone from her purse.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “This is Buddy Smith. Have you had breakfast?”

  “Not really. I drank some coffee and ate a cup of yogurt.”

  “Unless you’re too busy, I wondered if we could meet for breakfast at the Crossroads before you start your day.”

  “I guess a few minutes won’t make a difference.”

  “Great. See you there.”

  Gracie returned her cell phone to her purse. While eating her yogurt, she’d enjoyed looking at the purple irises Beatrice Smith had given her and, as requested, she’d prayed for Buddy. She was startled when he called. He’d never invited her to breakfast, or lunch or dinner.

  Breakfast was a busy time at the restaurant. There was an initial rush of construction workers and laborers who wanted a hearty meal before beginning a long day in the hot sun. Most of them would be gone by now, replaced by the second shift of professionals. Buddy was sitting at the same table for two where they’d recently had lunch. He held up his coffee cup in greeting, and she walked over to him.

  “I reserved our table,” Buddy said with a smile when she sat down across from him. “Thanks for coming on such short notice.”

  Their waitress appeared. Gracie had already had her morning quota of coffee and ordered orange juice. The middle-aged woman topped off Buddy’s cup and took their orders.

  “Don’t you drink coffee?” Buddy asked.

  “One and a half cups at the house is my limit. Otherwise, it would be hard for me to sit still at my desk.”

  “It’s two for me, but I’m making an exception today. I came across something last night at Mom’s house and wanted to show it to you.”

  A faded notebook lay on the table beside Buddy. He opened it to a page marked with a slip of paper and pushed it across the table.

  Gracie read the words Beatrice wrote about her. “That is so sweet,” she said.

  “Do you remember the biology project she mentions?”

  “Yes, it had to do with Mendel’s law of genetics. We used pieces of colored candy to show how it worked. You did most of the work on the paper and gave the presentation in class because I was so shy.”

  “You remember that?”

  “Women have good memories,” Gracie said with a smile. “Where did you find this?”

  “Digging through records in my mother’s basement while trying to find more information about Amber and Elise.”

  “It’s precious that she’s letting you read this.”

  Buddy sipped his coffee. “Can this be a confidential conversation?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  “I told you the other day that my father maintained contact with Amber after she left town. There was more to it than that. He paid her a lot of money from the time Elise was born until shortly before he died. My mother and I didn’t know anything about it until recently.”

  Gracie started to interrupt but didn’t want to get Millie Graham in trouble.

  “What I didn’t anticipate was the level of pain this was going to cause my mom,” he said. “It hurt her deeply, worse than anything I’ve seen in my life.”

  Buddy stopped. Gracie waited for him to continue. Suddenly, she realized Buddy was struggling with his emotions. The waitress returned with their food and placed it in front of them. Neither of them moved. Tears welled up in Gracie’s eyes. She grabbed a thin napkin from a dispenser in the middle of the table and wiped them away.

  “I’m sorry,” Buddy said. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  “It’s okay. Let’s just sit here without saying anything for a minute.”

  Gracie turned sideways in her chair. She was afraid that if she looked directly at Buddy’s face, she’d burst into tears. Beatrice Smith must be struggling with a tremendous sense of betrayal and shattered trust. Several people Gracie knew were dining at the restaurant, and they caught her eye and waved. She waved back. When she looked again at Buddy, he, too, seemed more under control.

  “Doing a little campaigning?” he asked with a slight smile on his face.

  “Always,” she managed. “And there’s nothing wrong with caring about your mother. Beatrice is one of the most gracious ladies I’ve ever met. I stopped to talk with her for a few minutes the other day, and she sent me home with a beautiful cluster of purple flowers.”

  Buddy nodded. “That’s her. But finding out about the money my father secretly gave Amber has been tough. And I didn’t realize until recently that my mother has been grieving this whole time about not seeing Elise.”

  Gracie barely breathed as Buddy told about the photo album Beatrice put together and her longing for her first grandchild at Christmas and on birthdays. It was heart-wrenching. Gracie’s food remained untouched.

  “She kept all this completely bottled up inside,” Buddy continued. “And now my father is gone so they can’t try to work it out. Anyway, when I saw you getting out of your car at the courthouse, I wanted to show you the entry in her journal. I didn’t know I was going to dump all this other stuff on you.”

  Their waitress returned. “Honey, is there something wrong with your food?” she asked Gracie. “I can send it back and get you something else if you want.”

  “No, I’m sure it’s fine,” Gracie answered. “I’m a slow eater.”

  The waitress gave her an odd look and left.

  Buddy chuckled. “That was creative, but it’s my fault that you haven’t eaten.”

  “What you’re talking about is so much more important than food.”

  “I appreciate you feeling that way.”

  “And I’ll be praying for her.”

  An idea flashed through Gracie’s mind. “And you could pray too. It would be extra special if you did it with her.”

  “That’s not an area of expertise for me,” Buddy said doubtfully. “It might give her a heart attack.”

  “No, it would affect her heart in a good way.”

  * * *

  Buddy and Millie arrived at the office at the same time. Jennifer’s older-model car was already in the small parking area.

  “Does Jennifer have a key to the office?” Buddy asked Millie.

  “Yes, I gave her one yesterday. I assumed it would be okay with you.”