Fresh longing filled her as she touched the soccer and basketball trophies, the varsity letters he’d never sewn on a jacket, a pen set he’d made in wood shop. Then there were the cards she’d given him when they first started dating. They’d gone to high school together, were an item for two years before he left for college, so she had the same homecoming and prom pictures.
Unable to spend any more time with those memories for fear she’d undo the progress she’d made in the past few months, she began to close the box when she decided to see what was inside a fat accordion-style file folder tucked between some old sweaters. It looked far too businesslike for the seventeen-year-old David who’d packed up the rest of these things....
When she opened it, she realized why. This folder wasn’t from that early period. It was from after they were married. And what it contained shocked her so badly, she had to put her head between her knees so she wouldn’t faint.
Jeremy Salter hung back in the trees, watching. It was pitch-black, but that didn’t matter. The night- vision goggles his father had given him for Christmas worked beautifully. He’d also received a Swiss Army knife—he loved collecting things that would help him survive in the wilderness. He imagined himself as the next Rambo.
But Claire had no survival skills. She didn’t belong out here, especially after dark. If she wasn’t careful, a bear or a pack of wolves could attack her. Or even a man. Men were by far the most dangerous animals on earth.
His father used to say that; his father had also proved it.
She must like it here, he mused. She came often enough. But not so much lately. Not once David was killed. Since David’s death, she didn’t do much of anything, except cut hair all day. Then she’d curl up on the couch, eyes glued to the TV. But he usually got the impression that she wasn’t watching the program. She’d stare at the screen without blinking and soon the tears would start.
She missed David and didn’t know how to go on without him.
Jeremy understood how that felt.
So what was she doing in her mother’s old studio? Trying to get herself into the same trouble David had? Didn’t she know that some secrets should be buried and forgotten?
She’d be fine if only she’d let the past go. Then he’d be fine, too.
Sometimes he wished he could tell her that. Promise her that everything would get better if she could just go on her way. She was so beautiful and smart and nice. Everything a woman should be. Any guy would love to be with her.
Including him. Especially him. Not that he’d ever have a chance. He was too…different. He’d always been different.
Her flashlight had made it possible for him to track her movements to the loft, but then the light disappeared.
Had she turned it off? Was she sitting on the floor, crying? Missing her mother the way she missed David?
Or did she have some other reason for being here? She’d slipped away from the park so cautiously, it’d certainly felt as if she had a purpose.
He needed to get inside the cabin to find out. But he hesitated to go that close. What if she caught him?
That could be dangerous. For both of them.
But if he was quiet enough, she’d never have to know. He’d been watching her for years, hadn’t he? And she’d never caught him yet.
2
David had a copy of the case files on her mother. Everything was here, from the missing-persons report to the last interview. Claire had seen some of this before, but even she hadn’t been privy to all of it. How had he come by this much information?
He must’ve gotten it from Sheriff King. Either that or he’d called in a favor from his old hunting buddy, Rusty Clegg. Rusty had been a deputy for the past six or seven years. It helped to have a friend on the force.
But what felt so strange about finding this was that David had made his own notations on many of the reports and interviews. It was almost as if he’d picked up the investigation where the sheriff had left off.
Why hadn’t he told her what he was doing? The dates on the log he’d kept correlated with the first year of their marriage and included a number of entries in the months leading up to his death. The last time he’d written anything was two days before the accident. She found detailed information on her stepfather and Leanne, plus her mother’s only sibling—a sister living in Portland, Oregon—and a complete chronology of Alana’s last movements.
Some of it Claire didn’t want to read. It brought back That Night, the longest night of her life, during which every adult she knew, including her stepfather, was out searching. She and Leanne hadn’t been allowed to leave the house. They’d waited for their mother, or some word of her, praying all the while for her safe return—to no avail. When the sun came up, their stepfather and one friend after another checked in with the bad news that they hadn’t been able to find any sign of her.
Reluctant yet determined, Claire’s eyes skimmed the handwritten log fastened to the left side of the thickest folder.
May 10: Spoke to Jason Freeman. Claims he saw Alana at the bakery between 8:00 and 9:00 a.m. Watched her go in and come out carrying a bag of doughnuts while he drank a cup of coffee in the cab of Pete Newton’s truck. Jason says she got in the car with Tug and drove away. Tug confirms this in original interview. Other than Tug, Jason is the last person to see Alana.
May 12: Tried to reach Joe Kenyon.
Now there was a name, the one most often mentioned by those who theorized that Alana had been unhappy in her marriage and had gone looking for fulfillment in the arms of another man. If she’d had one affair, it was plausible she’d have more and might even have run off with whatever new lover she’d taken, right? That explained the mystery to some. But it explained nothing to Claire, who couldn’t believe her mother had ever cheated.
He wouldn’t open his door when I knocked, but Carly Ortega across the street told me Alana stopped at Joe’s house quite often. She even saw her car parked in his drive once, late at night.
Late? How could that be possible? Tug was always home at night. Alana would’ve had to slip out of bed without his noticing in order to leave the house. And why would she do that? Joe had come to cut down the diseased cottonwood tree that was about to fall onto their roof, but other than the few hours they’d spent together then, Claire couldn’t remember them ever speaking.
May 13: Tried again to get an audience with Joe Kenyon. Refused to speak to me. Prick.
David’s log went on for several pages. Figuring she’d read the rest at home, Claire switched to the other side of the folder and skimmed several interviews originally done by Sheriff Meade.
Carly wasn’t the only one who believed there was something going on between Joe Kenyon and Alana. Joe’s twin brother, Peter, thought they were involved. He insisted that he’d heard his brother take a call from Alana while they were at work one day. He said he couldn’t hear what was being said, but he could tell by the tone of Joe’s voice that it wasn’t a simple request for tree-trimming services.
Cringing, Claire dropped her flashlight in her lap. Did she really want to continue reading? This was making her sick, making her wonder if she’d really known her mother. Had Alana been leading a double life?
Claire didn’t want to suspect her, but…how much more about Joe, about Alana and Joe, could she endure?
That depended on how strongly she believed in Alana, didn’t it? Maybe Leanne had been a daddy’s girl from the moment Tug had come into their lives, during Leanne’s first year, but Claire had always preferred Alana. She trusted her mother more than to accept, on circumstantial evidence alone, that Alana was an adulteress.
Breathing