“You’re listed in the Crossroads Church business directory.”
“You attend Crossroads? I don’t remember seeing you there. Not that I know everyone, of course, but it is a small community and newcomers have a tendency to be noticed.”
“I haven’t attended really. I’ve just arrived in town.” She shifted in her seat, her eyes downcast. “Besides, the Lord and I aren’t on speaking terms these days.”
Cain tented his fingers in front of his lips to hide his smile. “That so? Yet you chose to get your business references from the church directory instead of the yellow pages?”
Color heightened in her cheeks.
“Where are you from?” Cain asked.
A shadow of hesitation crossed her face. “I’m a bit of a nomad. I don’t call any one place home.”
Cain tilted his head to the side and studied her bowed head. There were many layers and hidden secrets to Miss Sophie Clarkston. She intrigued him.
“Well, let me be one of the first to welcome you to Promise. I’m surprised you found us,” he said. “But I’m glad you did.”
“I’m familiar with Promise, Mr. Garrison. My family has owned a small cottage about ten miles out of town for as long as I can remember. My dad and I travel extensively so we rarely stay in it, but if I had to call one place home, I guess Promise would qualify.”
Cain rested his forearms on his desk. “Tell me about this letter.”
She sipped her coffee then placed the mug on the desk. “I received the letter two days after my dad disappeared. The postmark made me think he came to the cottage. If he did, he didn’t stay.”
The pain he saw in her eyes stirred him.
“Has your father ever done anything like this before?”
“No. Definitely not. My father would never hurt me.”
Cain didn’t bother to point out that that is exactly what he had just done.
“It’s always been just me and my dad,” Sophie said. “He’s hardworking, kind, loving. He has a strong belief in God and lives his life modeling his faith. I don’t understand. He never would have left me without a word. Never. Unless he had no other choice. I need your help, Mr. Garrison. I need to know what happened to my dad.”
“Call me Cain. In this small town, Mr. Garrison is still my father’s name.” He grabbed a tablet and pen out of his side desk drawer. “Why don’t we start at the beginning?” He made a few notations on the paper and asked without looking up, “I assume when your dad disappeared you notified the police.” Her hesitation caused him to look up.
“Yes.” She squirmed in her seat and didn’t make eye contact with him. “At first, they weren’t much help. It’s not against the law for an adult to decide to leave. When I got this letter, I tried to convince them that he was in danger and we needed to find him.”
“And?”
“They still didn’t seem to take it very seriously. They wrote up a missing person’s report. One of the officers was really nice. He promised me he’d look into it and he did.” Her eyes cut to his. “That’s how I found out my identification papers are phony. So are my dad’s. They weren’t able to find anything after that. Truthfully, I think they just stopped trying.”
He lowered his pen and sat back. Something wasn’t right here. She was holding something back. He sensed it and wondered why.
“Sophie…” Cain ran his hand through his thick brown hair and tried to choose his words so as not to cause her any more pain. “I understand this whole situation has been very difficult for you.”
“Difficult? It’s been a living nightmare. Every memory I ever had, every single thing I thought I knew about myself and my dad is now nothing more than questions. I need to know what’s going on.”
“You’re going to need more help than I can give. I’m a small-town investigator. My biggest cases are insurance fraud, cheating spouses and missing pets. You should contract a larger investigation firm in the city. They’d have more resources than me.”
Sophie fought back tears. “What big city would you recommend, Cain? I can’t remember ever setting foot in a city, any city, until two weeks ago. And since we’ve moved from one small town to another for the past twenty-two years, what city or town do you suggest I call home?” She tapped her index finger on the file folder lying on his desk. “Besides, this report was done by big-city cops. Your old stomping ground, as a matter of fact. The Charlottesville police discovered the documents I had were fake.”
The quiet desperation underlying her words filled him with empathy. Cain offered a silent prayer for wisdom on how he could help this woman.
“Do you have anything else that might indicate your father’s true identity? Maybe an entry in a family Bible or a name on the back of a photograph? Anything at all to give me a place to start?”
She shook her head.
Thoughts ricocheted like pinballs through his mind. “What about the cottage?” He leaned forward and rested his forearms on the desk. “You said it had been in your family for years. There must be legal documents to prove it. A real estate title, for one.”
Sophie shrugged. “Maybe. Like I told you, we’ve owned it for as long as I can remember. I have no idea if there are any papers to prove it. I just figured possession is nine tenths of the law.” She held up an object in her hand. “I have the key.”
A smile danced across her lips and Cain’s heart skipped a beat. There was something about her, a vulnerability hidden beneath resilience, a shyness buried beneath determination, that drew him to her.
He’d promised himself never again—never get emotionally involved with a woman on one of his cases. He’d learned his lesson the hard way and vowed never to repeat it. This unexpected empathy he felt was unsettling.
She needed his help. And he needed a new client. So he’d help her, despite the fact that fake documents would make it an uphill battle all the way. He’d just have to make sure this time that he used his head, kept things strictly professional between them. He couldn’t afford to allow himself to have any feelings for her…not even empathy. He had no intention of walking down that treacherous path a second time.
Cain crossed around the desk, plopped in the leather chair beside her and clasped his hands between his knees. “I know how hard this must be on you,” he said, leaning forward and locking his gaze with hers. “And I’ll do what I can to help. But I’ve got to be honest here. You’re probably throwing your money away. Fake identities usually lead to dead ends.”
She stood and offered him her hand. “I understand. Thank you for your honesty.”
He clasped her hand in his. He couldn’t bear the look of defeat in her eyes. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do.” He stood. “Leave me your address. I’ll see if I can locate a real estate title on the property. And I’ll include it in the consultation fee you just paid so it won’t cost you any more money. Meanwhile, I want you to go home and look through anything and everything you own for a name, an address, a picture. Anything you think might give me a place to start looking. You find something and we’ll talk again.”
“Thanks.” She scribbled her address on a scrap of paper she pulled from her tote bag and handed it to him.
“Wait a minute,” he called as she crossed the room.
Sophie turned and paused in the doorway.
“At least let me take you to Holly’s for a welcome-to-Promise lunch.”
Yeah, that’s professional. That’s keeping your distance. Invite the client to lunch because she looks at you with lost puppy dog eyes. Are you crazy?
“Taking