“I like it except that I wouldn’t say ‘under me.’ That’s demeaning.”

  Lauren moved the cursor across the screen, then typed, “At work I’m a boss who cares about the people working with me. I motivate through loyalty, not fear.”

  “Better,” Gracie said.

  “Some sites recommend putting in what you don’t like. I think it’s better to do that in person so you can explain things. Nobody likes a negative person. But it’s not bad to include a weakness so long as it doesn’t disqualify you in the eyes of the man you want to meet.”

  “You’re my sister. What are some of my weaknesses?”

  “Where do I begin?” Lauren rolled her eyes and looked upward toward the ceiling. “It’s hard to pick just one.”

  Gracie chuckled. “I can be too trusting,” she suggested. “That’s what happened with Barry. I should have seen the signs that he’d lost interest in me.”

  Lauren shook her head. “Barry didn’t lose interest in you; he lost his mind. That was his weakness, not yours.”

  The two women sat in silence.

  “Even though you’re an elected official who works at the courthouse, you would enjoy being a hermit six months out of the year,” Lauren said.

  “That’s not true.”

  “Yes, it is, and you know it.”

  “I can be shy. And I need alone time to recharge my batteries. Extroverts help keep me involved with people.”

  “All true. You’re way more self-aware than most of the people who were in my caseload when I worked at the mental health department.”

  Gracie began to type: “I can be shy and withdrawn. When I don’t like to be around other people, I need a man willing to coax me out of my shell.”

  “I love it,” Lauren said. “Along with everything else, you’re sending a clear message that you want a champion to ride in on a white horse, rescue you, and love you unconditionally.”

  “This isn’t realistic,” Gracie said.

  “Yes, it is,” Lauren replied emphatically. “Your champion is waiting in cyberspace, and we’re going to call him forth. Be optimistic. I selected the best shots from the photos you sent me.”

  Gracie was curious to see the pictures that made the cut. There was a head shot right after she’d had her hair trimmed and styled.

  “I never wear my hair like that. The girl at the shop is the only one who can give it that much body.”

  “It’s okay. She’ll do your hair on your wedding day.”

  The next picture was a candid shot of Gracie standing in front of the muscadine vines at her parents’ home. She was laughing.

  “I like that one,” Gracie said.

  “Me too. It’s what pops up on my phone when you call. Let’s delete the third one I picked out and include a photo with Opie since you mention him by name in the profile. Check your phone for a good one.”

  Gracie scrolled through the saved pictures. Opie turned up more than she’d expected. She found one with the terrier sticking his nose into a rose blossom.

  Gracie showed it to Lauren. “This fits with him exploring the world through his nose.”

  “It’s too feminine.”

  Gracie kept looking and opened one of Opie leaping into the air to catch a Frisbee. Gracie was standing in the background in a green-and-white dress. She showed it to Lauren.

  “That works,” her sister said. “When was that taken?”

  “One afternoon with Barry at the park on Montgomery Avenue. I was throwing the Frisbee and Barry was taking the pictures because—” Gracie stopped.

  “You were better at throwing the disk than he was,” Lauren provided, finishing the thought. “Hey, this photo is something good that came out of your relationship. Maybe it can help launch you into true happiness.”

  Gracie reviewed everything they’d decided to include on the website. “I don’t say anything about being a Christian,” she said.

  “Because it’s a Christian dating site. That’s assumed.”

  Gracie looked at the photos one last time. Except for her hair, the pictures weren’t an over-the-top portrayal of how she looked.

  “I hate that so much emphasis is based on physical appearance,” she said.

  “You have nothing to hide, and there’s nothing wrong with physical attraction as part of the process.”

  “That sounds like your degree talking.”

  “Experience. Post it and let the fireworks begin. You are going to get a lot of interest.”

  Gracie poised her index finger over the enter key, then withdrew it. She glanced at her sister. “I need to sleep on it.”

  She was surprised by her sister’s response.

  “No problem,” Lauren replied. “Falling in love is a big decision.”

  Seven

  Buddy lived in a house on Montford Street that he bought from his father a couple of years before Rascal’s death. The single-story white frame dwelling rambled across a flat lot with a large backyard. Custom-built for a school principal and his librarian wife, the house had built-in bookcases in several rooms and was one of the nicer residential rental properties Rascal owned. When Buddy first asked about purchasing it, his father quoted a sales price significantly above market value but quickly backed down when Beatrice protested. The house was only a couple of minutes away from Franklin Street, a factor that became more relevant sooner than anyone expected when Rascal suddenly died.

  The bookcases were filled with a mix of military history, novels by lawyers, and poetry books. When Buddy entertained guests, they didn’t spend much time inside the house but spilled out onto a large screened-in porch that ran along the rear of the house and a patio with large stone pavers. He liked to grill, and his steaks were famous among his friends and acquaintances. Most of the year, the porch was Buddy’s favorite room. That’s where he set up a comfortable chair and read or drew.

  After taking a shower, he ate a smoked turkey sandwich on the porch beneath a slowly turning fan. The rear of the house faced east, and as the sun set, the silhouette of the house became more and more elongated on the green grass. Eventually, the shadowy roofline reached the base of an ancient pin oak tree. Eating the final bite of his sandwich, Buddy phoned his mother.

  “How was your day?” she asked when she answered the phone.

  “Busy,” Buddy replied, giving his stock answer. “Would it be okay if I came over for a few minutes?”

  “Of course. What did you eat for supper?”

  “A turkey sandwich.”

  “I have a leftover piece of pot roast that I was about to put in the refrigerator, but I’ll keep it out if you want to eat it.”

  Buddy loved pot roast cooked all day in a slow cooker. Even though he’d eaten a sandwich, he could make room for more food.

  “I’m on my way,” he said.

  Beatrice was in the kitchen when he arrived. The envelope of checks was in the rear pocket of Buddy’s pants. In addition to the pot roast, there was a serving of mashed potatoes and creamed corn on the plate.

  “Why the big dinner?” he asked.

  “I didn’t cook any of it. Our supper club ate over at the Llewellyns’ house. They insisted I bring home a plate to eat tomorrow, but I’d rather give it to you.”

  Buddy took a bite. As expected, the pot roast was fork-tender but had a surprising kick to it. “This is spicy.”

  “Patsy cooked it with yellow peppers. It’s called Mississippi pot roast.”

  Beatrice filled two glasses with tea and sat at the table with him. “What do you want to talk about?” she asked.

  “I just came over to see you.”

  “That’s not the way you sounded on the phone. You have something on your mind.”

  Buddy’s heart started beating faster. He ate a bite of creamed corn.

  “I saw Gracie Blaylock today,” he said as a delaying tactic.

  “How’s she doing?”

  “Great.” Buddy ate another bite of pot roast. “She sent me a new case the other day involving a woman whose husband ran off with their three-year-old boy. I’m going to see what I can do to help.”

  “Do you think you can find him?”

  “I hope so. It will be tough.”

  Buddy continued to eat. Beatrice didn’t seem interested in holding up her end of the conversation.

  “Gracie told me about another situation,” he said.

  Beatrice listened with concern as he told her about Reagan Landry’s disappearance.

  “I remember the family,” Beatrice said. “I’ve seen Frances Mulhaven from time to time over the years, and I’d always ask how Reagan was doing. Frances knew Amber left town when her baby was a few days old.”

  Beatrice never referred to Elise by name. She always called her “Amber’s baby.”

  Buddy lowered his fork to his plate. “When Amber left, what conversations did you and Daddy have about it?” he asked.

  “Nothing you don’t know. If your father was upset about something, he dealt with it by crawling into a shell. I learned it was better to leave him there until he was ready to come out on his own terms.”

  “But when he eventually did come out, you must have talked. Now that he’s gone, what can you tell me now that you couldn’t then?”

  “You’re making him sound harsher than he was,” Beatrice replied with a pained expression on her face. “He loved you and cared a lot about what was going on, even if he didn’t know what to say or do about it.”

  Rascal may have hidden the truth. Buddy wouldn’t.

  “Oh, he did something,” Buddy replied, pushing his chair away from the table.

  He took the envelope from his pocket, found the first check, and placed it on the table in front of his mother.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “Look at the date and who endorsed it.”

  Beatrice picked up the copy of the check, stared at it for a second, and turned it over. Her eyes widened.

  “Why in the world would he write a check for $10,000 to Amber Melrose?”

  “I was hoping you might be able to tell me. There were thirteen other checks after that. One per year until shortly before he died.”

  Beatrice suddenly dropped the check as if it were on fire. A look of shock and bewilderment crossed her face.

  “You didn’t know anything about this, did you?” Buddy continued in a softer tone of voice.

  Beatrice stared down at the check. “No,” she managed. “Where did you find it?”

  “In a box at the bottom of the basement stairs. All of the other checks are also payable to ‘Bearer,’ which means anyone could deposit it in a bank. The endorsement on the other checks is illegible, but I’m sure he gave them to Amber.”

  “I can’t believe what—” Beatrice started, then stopped.

  “There’s more,” Buddy said.

  He told her about his visit to the bank and the conversation with Millie Graham.

  “Millie delivered one of the checks to Amber at the Southside Grill when Elise was around seven years old.”

  “She saw Elise?” Beatrice asked as tears flooded her eyes.

  It was the first time Buddy could remember his mother saying his daughter’s name.

  “Yes, and Millie says she looked a lot like me at that age.”

  Beatrice reached for a napkin from a holder on the table and wiped her eyes. “I don’t know what to say,” she said and slowly shook her head. “I was feeling blue the other day and went downstairs to read some of the sweet notes your father sent me over the years.”

  More tears coursed down Beatrice’s face. She caught her breath as the tears gave way to a sob. Getting up, she hurriedly left the kitchen. Buddy had never seen his mother break down like this, not even when his father died. He wondered if he’d made a mistake.

  Taking his plate to the sink, Buddy scraped the food into the disposal. When his mother returned, she’d stopped crying, but her eyes were still red. She had a photo album in her right hand.

  “I found some pictures you probably want to see,” she said, sitting down at the table with a tissue in her hand.

  It had been years since Buddy looked at family photos. His mother carefully organized events year by year. One of his sisters was older and one younger, with Buddy in the middle. When he was seven, his older sister was nine years old and his younger sister five. In a photo on the first page, Buddy was standing between the girls. They were all dressed in their Sunday-best clothes. It was Buddy’s skinny stage. He was wearing khaki shorts and a pale blue polo shirt. The girls were in frilly dresses.

  “Maddie looks a lot like you in that Easter Sunday picture,” Beatrice said, pointing to the younger sister. “Maybe that gives us an idea about Elise at that age.”

  Buddy peered closely at his little sister. They continued through the album. Every time he saw his face, Buddy tried to superimpose a female version onto his shoulders. They reached the end.

  “I hope it’s okay that I threw out the rest of my supper,” he said, leaning back in the chair. “I lost my appetite.”

  “That’s fine,” Beatrice replied with a dismissive gesture of her hand. “The pot roast was too spicy for me.”

  They sat in silence for a moment.

  “Would you like to look at the album when you were eighteen?” Beatrice asked.

  “Are there baby pictures of Elise in it?”

  “No, those are in a special little album. I always kept them separate in a book no one else knew about.”

  Buddy glanced at his mother in surprise. “Would you ever look at it?”

  “Every year on Elise’s birthday and sometimes at Christmas.”

  Displays of emotion were rare for Buddy. But the realization that his mother had traveled her own road of private pain touched him deeply. Tears appeared in his eyes. His mother reached out and laid her right hand on his.

  “Everybody tries to work through the difficult things in life in their own way,” she said. “Once I realized Elise was gone for good, I kept my thoughts and feelings to myself. Your father never wanted to talk about it. I guess I know one of the reasons why. He felt guilty for keeping what he knew about them a secret.”

  “You and I are in this together now,” Buddy said. “Let’s look at both albums.”

  * * *

  Gracie was in the twilight realm between sleep and wakefulness when her mother called early the following morning.

  “Is everything okay?” Gracie asked.

  “Yes,” her mother replied, then immediately followed with, “No. I didn’t want to bother you again so soon, but I saw Frances last night, and she looked so sad. I didn’t mention anything about Buddy Smith, but I couldn’t get him out of my mind. Did you get a chance to talk to him about Reagan?”

  “Yes, he’s going to talk to Sammy and suggested I get in touch with a detective at the sheriff’s department. He thinks they’re more likely to do something if they know I’m interested in the case. I’m going to do it today.”

  “That all makes sense,” Maxine said. “More and more churches are praying for Reagan’s return.”

  “Good. Maybe you could also say a personal prayer about Buddy’s efforts to locate his daughter. There’s nothing to mention publicly, but I’m praying about it.”

  “The girl back in high school? What was her name?”

  “Amber Melrose. She left town shortly after Elise was born. Buddy recently uncovered some new information that might help him track her down.”

  “If he finds her, I hope it has a happy ending.”

  “Me too.” Gracie pushed the start button on the coffeemaker. “Tell Frances I’m going to reach out to the detective at the sheriff’s department.”

  “Thanks, baby girl. Love you.”

  After the call ended, Gracie took a cup of coffee onto the back deck for her prayer time. When she finished, she decided to take Opie for a morning walk.

  A powerful thunderstorm had moved through the area during the night, and the air was cool and fresh. Green leaves blown from the trees by the high winds dotted the sidewalk. Opie loved walks, and every sense was on high alert. His four-inch bobbed tail remained straight up in the air, and his nose constantly twitched from side to side. Gracie kept a tight grip on his leash in case a squirrel made an appearance. If one did, a sharp bark from Opie sent it scurrying up a tree or dashing across the yard. They passed the bed-and-breakfast where Judge Williams was going to stay and approached Beatrice Smith’s house. Buddy’s mother was outside watering her flowers. Gracie waved.

  “Gracie!” Beatrice called out after her. “Could you come over if you have a minute?”

  There was a three-foot-high retaining wall along the sidewalk. Opie easily bounded up the four steps onto the brick walkway that led to the long front porch. Beatrice was misting a cluster of large purple flowers in a shady part of the yard. She turned off the hose. Opie pulled on the leash.

  “Good morning,” Beatrice said, stepping closer so she could pat the dog’s head. She was wearing colorful gardening gloves. “How are you and Opie doing?”

  “Fine.”

  Beatrice continued to scratch Opie’s neck.

  “What are you watering?” Gracie asked.

  “Purple iris.”

  The petals on the large flowers curled down like lavender waterfalls.

  “I’ll cut some for you,” Beatrice said.

  “That’s sweet, but—”

  “Don’t be silly. Wait here.”

  Beatrice went inside the house. Opie sniffed around the base of a large tree. There was a squirrel’s nest in the upper branches. The yard had a peaceful, welcoming feeling. Beatrice returned with kitchen shears and several damp paper towels.

  “We’ll wrap them in these,” she said. “As soon as you get home, put the flowers in water, and they should be fine for several days. It makes me happy to know they’ll have a good home.”

  Beatrice clipped six long stalks and secured them with a small rubber band. She talked as she worked. “Buddy came over last night for a late supper and told me Reagan Landry ran away from home.”

  “It looks that way. I’m going to see if I can help the family find her, and Buddy is going to talk to Reagan’s father about the situation.”