Tragedy made them strangers. The truth could change that...

Lacey Morgan’s grandmother is the only reason she has to ever set foot in Silver River. Her hometown is populated with too many ghosts and memories. Too many painful reminders. Including Rory Dalton.

In all her brief visits over the past ten years, they’ve barely spoken. Locked on opposite sides of the tragedy that tore their lives apart, they buried their feelings along with their parents. But this trip is different. She will stay a little longer. Dig a little deeper. And try to solve the mystery that has kept them from the truth...and each other.

“Just because you’re riding in my truck doesn’t mean we’re back together.”

“No, of course not. That’s not what I meant.” Did Rory think she hoped for reconciliation? After ten years? Ridiculous. “That’s one nice thing about living in Boise. I can walk down the street and nobody knows me.”

“Or your past.”

“Or my past. Yes.” Lacey didn’t even try to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

“You’re not the only one,” he said grimly.

“I’d ask you in, but you—”

“Need to go,” they said in unison.

To say she’d forgotten the effect he had on her would be a lie. He still had the power to warm her with his presence, to make her yearn for his kiss.

Why hadn’t Rory married and started a family of his own?

Why hadn’t she?

Dear Reader,

When I visited central Idaho and the beautiful Salmon River country, I knew I had to set a story there. And so the town of Silver River came into being, along with its namesake river and the surrounding mountains.

As the story goes, ten years ago a horrible murder was committed in Silver River, a crime the town never forgot and that profoundly affected the lives of Lacey Morgan and Rory Dalton. They were high school seniors and planned to spend the rest of their lives together. The crime shattered those plans. Rory and Lacey became virtual strangers.

Now new evidence regarding the murder comes to light. But is it too late for Rory and Lacey? And what if revealing the truth adversely affects others? Might there be circumstances in which the truth should be kept secret?

These were just a few of the questions I encountered while writing Silver River Secrets. Good thing Rory and Lacey took over, and I didn’t have to answer them! I hope you will agree they made the right choices.

Visit my website at lindahopelee.com or email me at linda@lindahopelee.com. I’m also on Facebook and Twitter (@lindahopelee).

Linda

Silver River Secrets

Linda Hope Lee

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LINDA HOPE LEE lives in the Pacific Northwest. She likes traveling to new places, especially to small towns that might serve as settings for her novels. In addition to contemporary romance, she writes in the romantic suspense and mystery genres. When she is not writing, she is busy creating watercolor paintings or drawing in colored pencil or pen and ink. Another pastime is photography, which she uses as inspiration for her art and for her stories. She also collects children’s books and anything to do with wire fox terriers.

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

“SHE’S B-A-ACK,” Sam Porter announced.

“That so?” Rory Dalton didn’t bother to look up from under the hood of Sam’s ’66 Ford Mustang. Instead, he focused on installing the car’s new water pump.

“Yep. She’s just about to head over the bridge. Aren’t you gonna come look?”

Rory gave the wrench another twist. “I’m busy fixing your car, in case you didn’t notice. Besides, how do you know it’s her?”

“She’s driving a convertible with the top down. A white Camaro. Could be a classic.”

“No kidding.” Rory straightened and regarded his friend, who stood at the open end of Dalton’s Auto Repair. He and Sam had been buddies since they played football for Silver River High ten years ago, and both shared an interest in classic cars.

Sam laughed. “Thought that’d get your attention. Hurry up or you’ll miss her. She travels.”

Rory tossed the wrench on the workbench and trotted over to stand beside Sam. From the shop’s hilltop vantage point, he had a sweeping view of the highway leading into Idaho’s Silver River. Her car was the only one on the road. As Sam said, it was a Camaro. A ’75, to be exact, not quite old enough to be considered a classic. Still, a fine set of wheels.

The car held his interest for only a moment, and then he zeroed in on the driver: Lacey Morgan. Her long, dark brown hair swirled around her face. Sunglasses shaded her eyes, and a sleeveless top exposed her tanned arms.

Rory’s throat went dry.

Just then, she looked up to the hilltop. Rory jumped back, hoping she hadn’t spotted him. He didn’t want her to think he had the slightest interest in her return to Silver River.

Sam shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Wonder how long she’ll be here this time.”

“She never stays more than a week. Just long enough to check on her grandmother.”

“Might be longer. Remy broke her hip. She went straight from rehab to Riverview. Lacey’s here to help her get settled and to clean out her old apartment.”

“I heard about Remy’s accident. I’m sorry she’s had trouble. But how do you know so much? Or would that be violating lawyer-client confidentiality?”

Sam laughed. “Not at all. That bit of info comes from Ida Capshaw. She’s our paralegal, you know, and she plays bridge with Remy.”

“Ah.” Rory stepped forward again in time to see Lacey’s car sweep over the bridge and join the traffic on Main Street. Then a delivery truck pulled in behind her, and she was lost from his view.

He gave his head a quick shake and frowned at Sam. “Why are we standing here wasting time when there’s work to be done?”

Sam’s eyebrows peaked. “Because she’s back?”

“So? No business of mine.”

“So you keep telling me. But I have a feeling you’re in for trouble, this time. Big trouble.”

* * *

LACEY MORGAN HEADED down Main Street with the image of Rory Dalton imprinted on her mind. She hadn’t intended to look up at his auto shop when she rounded that last curve in the highway, but she had, and there he had been, gazing down at her as though he’d been waiting for her to drive by. Which was crazy. Why should he care that she’d come to town again? He knew she made the trip from Boise to Silver River periodically to visit her grandmother. When their paths crossed, they said little more than a brief “hello.”

The events of that fateful day ten years ago, just a week before they both were to graduate from Silver River High, with their whole future ahead of them—a future they planned to spend together—had ripped them apart and turned them into strangers.

An overhead banner advertising the town’s annual Silver River Days caught her eye. This year’s dates were August 10–15. She’d be long gone by then. Cleaning out Gram’s apartment and settling her into Riverview would take no more than a week, tops.

Lacey’s boss at the Boise Historical Society was generous about her visits to Silver River, and especially about the extra time she needed for this trip. Even if she’d wanted to stay for the celebration—which she didn’t—she wouldn’t ask for more time off.

Leaving the downtown behind, Lacey was soon in the country again. Rambling mountain ranges surrounded her, and here and there the river popped into view, sparkling in the sunlight.

Another mile brought the turnoff to Sophie’s Bed and Breakfast, where globe lights along the driveway guided Lacey to the Victorian-style house painted bright lavender with white trim.

She parked in the guest lot and pulled her suitcase on wheels up the flagstone walk to the porch. Several middle-aged guests sat in wicker chairs chatting and drinking iced tea. They exchanged “hellos” with Lacey as she passed by.

Inside the house, Sophie Bennett came from around the counter with arms outstretched. “Lacey! I’ve been watching for you.”

“Hello, Sophie.” Lacey returned Sophie’s hug, catching a whiff of her lilac-scented perfume.

Sophie stood back and held Lacey at arm’s length. “Good to see you.”

“You, too.”

Sophie’s bright blue T-shirt and orange slacks fit smoothly over her trim figure. An orange scarf holding back shoulder-length blond hair revealed a hint of gray at the temples.

Sophie returned to her post behind the counter to check Lacey in. That completed, she took a key from a drawer and motioned to Lacey. “Come on. I’ll take you up to your room.”

They went down a carpeted hallway to the stairs. The rooms they passed offered Lacey glimpses of wood paneling and wallpaper, brocaded fabrics and patterned carpets, hurricane lamps and heavy draperies. The B and B had long been a dream of Sophie’s, and when she finally convinced her husband, Hugh, to buy the place, she fixed it up in style.

“Sorry to hear about your grandmother’s accident,” Sophie said over her shoulder as they climbed the stairs. “How’s she doing?”

“Determined to walk again, but agrees it’s time to be in a place where someone can look after her.”

“There’s no better place around here than Riverview.”

“I know. We’re so lucky the owners decided to build their retirement home here rather than in Milton.”

On the second floor, Sophie stopped at one of the rooms and slipped her key into the lock. “Here we are.”

Lacey followed her inside, her gaze taking in a queen-size bed with a colorful patchwork quilt, an armoire, an overstuffed chair and a round rosewood table. A Tiffany lamp decorated with yellow roses hung over the table.

“I love it!” Lacey exclaimed.

“Fabulous view, too. Take a look.”

Lacey parked her suitcase next to the luggage rack and followed Sophie to the window. In the courtyard below, water gushed from a stone fountain, and walkways wound through gardens full of flowers. Beyond lay the river and neighboring farms.

Then her gaze landed on an all-too-familiar copse of willow trees and a two-story house with peeling white paint. Her stomach dropped. “Oh...”

“What’s the matter?” Sophie’s voice rose in alarm.

“Our old house. Gram’s house.”

“You can see it from here?” Sophie peered out the window. “Oh, my. Lacey, I’m sorry. I never realized...” Sophie pressed her fingers to her lips and looked at Lacey. “You don’t have to stay in this room. You can move across the hall.”

Lacey shook her head. “No, I want this one.”

“But to be reminded whenever you look out the window...”

“Sophie, not a day goes by that I don’t think about what happened in that house.”

“I’m sorry, honey, so sorry. But I do wish you could put the past behind you.”

Lacey shook her head and bit her lower lip. “Not possible.”

Sophie let a moment of silence pass and then said, “Okay, if you’re sure you don’t want to change rooms, I’ll let you get settled. You probably want to go see your grandmother right away.”

“Yes, I’m having dinner with her, but that still gives me time to unpack.”

“If you need help bringing in more stuff, Hugh is around somewhere.”

“I’ll be fine. Thanks.” Lacey lifted her suitcase onto the luggage rack and unzipped it.

Sophie walked toward the door but then stopped and turned. “Don’t forget the party tonight.”

Lacey looked up. “Party?”

“Yes, I mentioned it when you made your reservation. We’re having a kickoff party for Silver River Days, here in our courtyard.”

“Oh, right. I saw the banner in town. But I don’t think—”

“Please come, Lacey.”

Lacey pressed her lips together. “But I won’t be here for the celebration itself. And, well, you know I feel uncomfortable at town gatherings.”

Sophie slowly shook her head. “Lacey, it’s been ten years. Do you really think people are looking at you and thinking only that your father was a...was...”

Lacey closed her eyes. “Go ahead and say it, Sophie. A murderer. You, along with everybody else in this town, believe that my father shot and killed Rory Dalton’s father in cold blood. But he didn’t. I know he didn’t.”

“The jury convicted him.”

“They were wrong.”

Sophie stepped close and put her arm around Lacey’s shoulders. “You know Hugh and I were friends with your parents, hon. We used to go out together. And, okay, your dad was a hothead sometimes, but we put up with him. No question we loved your mom. Nobody mourned her death more than we did. I miss her to this day. But don’t you think it’s time for you to move on?”

“If only I could prove his innocence...”

“Let it go, Lacey.”

Lacey squeezed her eyes shut. “I can’t. I just can’t.”

* * *

CARRYING A VASE of pink roses, Lacey knocked on the door to her grandmother’s apartment at the Riverview Retirement Community.

“Come in,” came the cheery reply.

She opened the door and stepped into the apartment’s compact kitchenette and from there into the living room.

Remylon Whitfield, looking crisp and cool in a pink cotton blouse and white slacks, sat in her wheelchair near the patio door. She held out her arms. “Lacey, love! I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Good to be here, Gram.” Lacey set her purse and the flowers on a table and then hurried to Remy’s side and gave her a warm hug.

“I’ve missed you,” Gram said when they ended their embrace. She glanced over Lacey’s shoulder and clapped her hands. “You brought me some roses. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. The best housewarming present I could think of.”

“They’re perfect. Did you get your room at Sophie’s? You’re staying for dinner here, though, right? We can play Scrabble afterward.”

Gram’s eyes behind her glasses were hopeful.

“I should have time for a game or two, although Sophie wants me to come to their Silver River Days party tonight. I told her I’d think about it.”

“You should go, dear.”

Lacey sighed. “I just don’t feel comfortable in this town.”

“I know, honey. Sometimes, when I get to thinking about the past, I don’t, either.” Gram looked down at her hands.

“But it’s different for you. Having your son-in-law accused of murder is not the same as having your father, your flesh and blood, accused.”

“Not accused, dear. Convicted,” Gram said in a reproving tone.

Lacey opened her mouth to argue but then clamped her jaw shut. No sense in firing up their old disagreement, especially when she’d just arrived. Her gaze landed on two cardboard boxes sitting beside the patio doors. “Looks like you’ve already done some moving.”

Gram nodded. “Cousin Bessie helped me gather some things together before she left. Vernon brought the boxes over when he came to pick her up.”

“That was nice of him. I could start unpacking them now. We have some time before dinner.”

“Might as well.”

While Lacey tackled the boxes, which contained mostly linens that she stowed away either in the bathroom or in the hall closet, her grandmother filled her in on her new life at Riverview. The food was good, the aides were nice and she’d met the woman next door, who was also a bridge player.

“Sounds like you’re settling in,” Lacey said.

Gram sighed. “Maybe so, but I’m sure gonna miss Cousin Bessie.”

“I know. I’m glad you two were apartment neighbors these past years. But I can understand her wanting to go with her son and his family when he was transferred. You have a lot of close friends in town, especially your bridge club.”

“Not like family. Not much left of our family now... Just you and me.” Gram gave her a sidelong glance.

Lacey knew what was coming next. Sure enough, Gram let a few seconds go by and then said, “Would be nice to live closer to each other.”

Lacey tucked the last pair of sheets and pillowcases into a drawer in the hall closet. “Anytime you want to move to Boise, I’ll find a place for you.”

Gram folded her arms. “Only way I’d ever leave Silver River is in a pine box, and then I’ll go only as far as Restlawn. I’ll not run away like you did.”

Lacey’s stomach churned. “I didn’t run away. I went away to college, which I had planned to do before...before...” She shut the drawer and spread her hands. “Gram, please, let’s not spoil my visit.”

Gram wrinkled her brow. “You’re right. I’m sorry, honey. I just wish you would come back home where you belong.”

Where you belong. Gram’s words brought an ache to Lacey’s heart. No, as much as she might wish it were so, she did not belong in Silver River. Not anymore.

If she could somehow prove her father’s innocence, then she could hold her head high and live here again. But, after ten years, what hope did she have of that?

CHAPTER TWO

BY THE TIME Lacey returned to Sophie’s, dusk had spread a rosy glow over the landscape. The globe lights lining the driveway shone like miniature moons. Inside the B and B, the sounds of lively music, talking and laughter drifted in from the courtyard. Instead of joining the party, Lacey went toward the stairway. Despite Sophie’s encouragement, she’d decided to skip the party. She wouldn’t be here to celebrate Silver River Days, anyway. If not for her grandmother, she wouldn’t come to town at all. Ever.

“Lacey?”

Uh-oh, caught.

She turned to see Kristal Wilson enter the front door. Lacey warmed at the sight of her old high school friend, one of the few who stood by her after the tragedy.

“I heard you were staying here,” Kris said as they exchanged a hug.

Lacey shook her head. “The grapevine in this town never ceases to amaze me. I just arrived this afternoon. I planned to give you a call.”

Kris tucked a lock of silver-blond hair behind her ear, revealing a dangling silver heart earring. “I know, but here we are, and we can go to the party together.” She gestured toward the door to the courtyard.

Lacey shook her head. “Uh-uh. I decided to skip it. It’s been a long day, and besides, I’m not dressed for it.” She pointed to her sleeveless blue tunic top and black tights.

“Who dresses up in Silver River?”

“You do. You always look like a million.”

Kris grinned as she smoothed the collar of her bright yellow blouse, which she wore with a brown pencil skirt and high-heeled shoes. “That’s because I’m a walking advertisement for the shop.”

“No, you love clothes. You always have.”

Kris waved dismissively. “Okay, okay. But, Lacey, come to the party, just for a little while, so we can catch up. Otherwise, we’ll have to wait till we go to lunch, and who knows when that will be?”

“Well...okay, for a little while.”

Still, Lacey felt her muscles tense as she stepped into the crowded courtyard. There were so many people. Had the whole town come out? On the way to the bar, she nodded and smiled at familiar faces. Then, glasses of Chardonnay in hand, she and Kris strolled the walkway circling the burbling fountain. Music from the four-piece combo filled the air, and balloons and streamers added a festive touch. They chatted about Remy’s move and Kris’s job at her aunt’s clothing store and the problems of being a single parent to eight-year-old Lucas.

“Thank goodness for day camp,” Kris said. “It’s been a lifesaver this summer.”

At the buffet table, they sampled the appetizers.

“Has anything changed between you and Sam?” Lacey asked, plucking a potato chip from a napkin-lined basket.

Kris munched a cracker topped with cream cheese. “Not really. He’ll never forgive me for breaking up with him and marrying Nolan.”

They chatted for a while longer, and then Lacey said, “I really should go. But we’ll get together for lunch soon.”

“I look forward to that... Oh, oh...” Kristal placed her fingers to her lips.

“What?”

“If you leave now, you’ll run smack into him.”

“Him, who?”

“Rory. He and Sam just arrived.”

* * *

RORY DRAGGED HIS steps as he followed Sam into the courtyard at Sophie’s B and B. He wasn’t really in a party mood. After a busy day at the shop, all he wanted was to go home, snap open a beer, kick back and relax. But he’d told Sophie and Hugh he would come and help celebrate the upcoming festival. On the way in, he’d met Sam, and so here they were. He wouldn’t stay long, just say a few “hellos,” and then leave.

Sam pulled two bottles of beer from an ice-filled tub. “Here you go.” He handed one to Rory.

“Thanks.” Rory opened the beer and took a sip. The cold liquid made his taste buds tingle.

“Hits the spot, doesn’t it?” Sam held up his bottle.

“Yeah, but I could drink beer at home.”

“Not with all the food you’ll find here.” Sam gazed around. “Let’s head over to the buffet table... Uh-oh.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Kristal’s here.”

“That’s okay, isn’t it? You two are on speaking terms.”

“Yeah, but are you and Lacey? ’Cause she’s here, too.”

Rory followed the direction of Sam’s nod, and sure enough, Kristal and Lacey stood at the buffet table. Feeling his chest tighten, he took a deep breath. “I never expected Lacey to be here. She keeps to herself when she comes to town.”

“Not this time. But Kris spotted us, so we might as well say hello.”

Rory frowned. “But I...”

“What? You two do speak to each other, don’t you?”

“When we have to.” He took another sip of beer while he debated. Finally, he said, “Okay, let’s get it over with.”

Still, as he and Sam approached the two women, who were now turned to face them, he found breathing difficult.

“Hello, Kris, Lacey,” Sam said. “Saw you this afternoon coming into town, Lacey. Nice set of wheels.”

“Thanks, Sam.” Lacey’s gaze shifted to Rory. “Hello, Rory.”

“Lacey.” Rory nodded without smiling.

Lacey’s long brown hair curled about her heart-shaped face, and her eyes were as big and brown as he remembered. His chest tightened even more.

“Good crowd,” Sam said, looking around.

“It is.” Kris nodded.

An awkward silence fell. Then, just as Rory was about to say, “Nice seeing you,” or some other phrase to signal his exit, Sam said, “Kris, you need a refill.”

Kris looked at her half-full glass of wine and then at Sam. “I do?”

Sam tilted his head.

“Oh, I guess I do,” Kris said.

Sam lifted the glass from Kris’s hand. “You two excuse us?”

Before either Rory or Lacey had time to respond, Sam steered Kristal toward the bar.

Rory stared after them. Thanks a lot, Sam. He turned back to Lacey, intending to say, “See you around,” but what came out was, “Sorry to hear about your grandmother’s accident. Being laid up must be tough on her.”

“It is, but she’s recovering.” Lacey shifted her feet and looked toward the door.

Okay, she’s as anxious to get away as you are. Let her go.

“She’s at Riverview now, right?” he said.

“Yes. That’s why I’m here again, helping her to move.”

“I figured that.”

Why else would she be in Silver River? Certainly not to see him. And why were they standing here making conversation, anyway?

“Your business doing well?” she asked.

“If you mean the shop, yeah, business is great.”

“Still working for your grandfather, too?”

He nodded. “Part-time.” Working for his grandfather’s real estate investment business was more an obligation—and a necessity—than a pleasure. “What about you? Still with, what? Some historical society, right?”

A smile lit up her face, the first he’d seen all evening. “Yes. The Boise Historical Society. I’m doing what I love—writing about history.”

They’d both made lives for themselves without each other. And yet, after what had happened, he should be glad they’d managed to move on.

They fell silent while the music and conversation swirled around them. Okay, now go! Then his gaze fell on her empty glass. “Looks like you’re ready for another drink.”

She frowned but said, “Why, I suppose I—”

“There you are, Rory!”

Rory looked around to see Helen Lewis hurrying along the walkway.

Helen skidded to a stop. “I’ve been looking for you. I just had to tell you how well our car runs since you gave it a tune-up. Jasper and I were about to trade it in, but not now.”

“Glad it’s working for you,” Rory said.

Helen turned to Lacey. “This man is a wonder.” She peered through her black-framed glasses. “Oh. I don’t think I know you.”

“This is Lacey Morgan,” Rory said. “Lacey, Helen Lewis. She and her husband are new in town. He works for Thompson’s Building Supply, and Helen works at the Visitor’s Center. Lacey, ah, used to live here,” he added to Helen.

Helen’s eyes widened. “I’ve heard about you. You’re the one who—”

Catching Lacey’s stricken look, he finished quickly, “Went to high school same time as I did.”

Helen frowned as she cut her gaze to Rory and then back to Lacey. “Oh. Right. You were high school buddies.”

“Buddies” didn’t exactly describe his and Lacey’s relationship back then, but he wasn’t about to correct Helen. “We were on our way to get Lacey another glass of wine.” He nodded toward the bar.

Lacey shook her head. “No, I really need to leave now. Busy day tomorrow. Nice meeting you, Helen. Good to see you again, Rory.”

The words tumbled from her mouth, and before Rory could reply, he was staring at her back as she hurried along the walk to the B and B’s door.

Helen pressed her fingers to her lips. “Oh, dear, I hope I didn’t run her off.”

Rory raised a hand. “Don’t worry about it. Lacey and I were only saying hello.”

* * *

INSIDE THE B AND B, as Lacey set her empty wineglass on a table, she realized her hands were shaking. She felt queasy, too. Bad enough to have spent time talking to Rory, but then to meet a stranger who apparently knew all about her past... Too much.

Taking a deep breath, she hurried through the dining room to the stairs. She put her foot on the bottom step, but then on impulse swiveled around and marched toward the front door.

Five minutes later, she sat in her car at the entrance to the highway, waiting for traffic to clear. She rolled down the window and, along with sounds of the music from the party, the fresh air rushed in, tinged with the smell of grass and hay and the river.

Once on the highway, she pressed her foot to the accelerator, watching the speedometer inch up past the speed limit. Except for a pale glow of light lingering behind the mountains and the lights of the houses she passed, darkness covered the land.

She sped along for a few miles and then came to her senses and eased her foot off the accelerator. No point in risking a ticket. Calmer now, she loosened her grip on the steering wheel and leaned back against the seat. Putting distance between herself and the party—and Rory—was just what she needed.

And yet her thoughts lingered on their meeting. They’d exchanged more words tonight than during any other time their paths had crossed when she’d come to town. So what? Trapped by circumstances, they were only being civil to each other, exchanging small talk that didn’t mean anything. In a few days, she’d be gone again.

Meanwhile, she’d be sure to keep her distance.

* * *

LACEY SURVEYED THE array of food displayed on the B and B’s dining room sideboard, from scrambled eggs and hash browns to waffles and oatmeal and fresh fruit. She breathed in all the enticing aromas, and her stomach rumbled. After her unsettling encounter with Rory, she’d spent a restless night, but that hadn’t dulled her hunger this morning. The conversation of other guests drifted through the room. The door to the courtyard stood open, admitting a fresh morning breeze.

Sophie bustled in carrying a tray of coffee cups. “Good morning, Lacey.” She set the tray next to the coffee urn.

“Hi, Sophie.” Lacey slowly shook her head. “I don’t know how you do it.”

Sophie quirked an eyebrow. “Do what?”

“The party last night, and now this fantastic breakfast.” She made a sweeping gesture to include the sideboard.

Sophie laughed and fingered the turquoise scarf holding back her hair. “The committee prepared last night’s food, and this spread is our cook’s doing. She’s a marvel. Still, compliments are always welcome... I was glad to see you at the party,” she added, as she unloaded the cups.

“Kris caught me as I came home from Gram’s.”

“Ah, so I had a little help, did I? Well, you came, anyway. I saw you talking to Rory—” She cast Lacey a cautious glance.

Lacey picked up a plate and helped herself to the scrambled eggs. “All these years, we’ve never said much more than ‘Hi,’ and then last night we actually had a conversation. Sort of.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.”

Lacey shrugged and added hash browns to her eggs. “I can’t imagine why. We won’t get together again.”

“You never know.” Sophie finished unloading the cups and picked up the tray. “Oh, by the way, are you going up to Restlawn to visit the graves sometime this trip?”

“Yes, I’d planned to go this morning, before I start cleaning out Gram’s old apartment.”

“Feel free to take some of the flowers in the courtyard.” Sophie gestured toward the open doors.

“Why, thanks, Sophie. That’s thoughtful of you.”

“That way, Hugh and I can pay our respects, too. He’s outside now. You can get a bucket and some clippers from him and choose the flowers you want.”

Half an hour later, Lacey found Hugh outside folding up the tables from last night’s party. Dressed in blue overalls and a white T-shirt, he looked more like the farmer he used to be than the proprietor of an elegant bed-and-breakfast.

“Looks like you’re getting your courtyard back in shape,” Lacey said.

“That was some party.” Hugh lifted his baseball cap, smoothed his gray crew cut and then settled the cap back on his head.

They chatted a bit, and then Lacey said, “I’m going up to Restlawn this morning, and Sophie said I could take some of your flowers, and that you’d have something I could put them in.”

“Sure. Wait here a minute.”

Hugh disappeared inside a toolshed, emerging a couple minutes later carrying a plastic bucket and a pair of clippers. He handed them to Lacey. “These should do the job.”

“Thanks, Hugh.”

“Take some of the pansies.” Hugh indicated the flowers clustered in one of the beds. “Your mother’s favorite.”

“They were, and I will take some.”

“Don’t suppose Rick would care what flowers you put on his grave,” Hugh said in a dry tone. “Not that he deserves any.”

Lacey dropped her jaw and stared at Hugh, his unexpected slam at her father taking her off guard. Then she lifted her chin and said crisply, “Well, I care.”

Hugh shook his head. “You’re probably the only one who does.”

CHAPTER THREE

ON THE DRIVE to Restlawn Cemetery, Hugh’s unkind remark about her father rang in Lacey’s ears. But, like many of the townspeople, he believed that Rick Morgan had, in fact, shot Rory’s father, Al Dalton, Jr., in cold blood. Standing by her father hadn’t been easy for Lacey, since the murder had resulted in her mother’s death, too. Sometimes, she had her doubts, but, oh, she didn’t want to believe he could commit such a terrible crime.

If only she could find some proof of his innocence. But little chance of that, especially now that ten years had passed.

She reached the turnoff to Restlawn and followed a narrow, winding road to the iron gates marking the entrance. Spotting the tall oak tree that shaded her grandfather’s and her mother’s graves, she pulled to the side of the road and parked. Bucket of flowers in hand, she trudged over the freshly mowed grass, breathing in the pine-scented air and listening to the twittering birds. Cemeteries always seemed so peaceful, and Restlawn was no exception.

She stopped in front of the headstones, her grandfather’s on the left, her mother’s to the right. On her grandfather’s other side, an empty plot waited for Remy.

When Lacey knelt to place the flowers in the embedded vase on her mother’s grave, she saw that the holder already contained pansies. A glance at her grandfather’s vase revealed his, too, held the delicate blossoms. They were wilted, as though they’d been there for several days.

Who had brought the flowers? Gram used to visit, but not since she’d broken her hip and been confined to her wheelchair.

A sudden unease gripped Lacey, and she glanced over her shoulder. No one was nearby, and no other cars were on the road. Still, she had a creepy feeling someone was watching her.

Lacey turned back to the graves. She thought about removing the wilted flowers but then decided to leave them. Pouring fresh water from the bucket into the vases, she added a few of the flowers she’d brought to each of the embedded vases.

She ran her fingers over her grandfather’s engraved name on the marker, Jason Carl Whitfield, remembering him as a happy man who took pride in his work as a carpenter and who doted on his wife and daughter. Lacey’s mom was spoiled and self-centered, as might be expected of one who’d been the center of her parents’ universe.

On the whole, she’d been a good mother to Lacey, though. Lacey especially remembered the bedtime stories and poetry they shared.

Lacey touched her mother’s carved name, too, and then whispered a prayer for both of them. Grasping the bucket, she stood and, still uneasy, looked around again. Seeing no one, she turned her steps toward her father’s grave, which was some distance away.

I won’t have that murderer near my family! Gram had declared.

He wouldn’t be here at all but for Lacey’s insistence. When he died in prison, she arranged to have his remains returned to Silver River and had with her own money purchased the plot and the marker. She chose an especially pleasant spot, with a nearby fountain shaded by several maple trees. But unlike her grandfather and her mother, who’d both been mourned in public services, only Lacey—and the grave digger—were present to witness Richard Mark Morgan’s burial.

As she knelt to place flowers in the vase, she saw purple-and-white pansies, the same flowers that were in her grandfather’s and her mother’s vases. Apparently, the same person had visited all three graves. Who? Someone who believed in Rick’s innocence, as she did?

Lacey added her flowers to the vase, whispering, “I still believe in you, Dad. And maybe someone else does, too.”

Before leaving the cemetery, Lacey pulled into a viewpoint overlooking the town. From here she could see Main Street, busy as usual, with vehicles and pedestrians. Beyond the business district were blocks of homes, and then the river, sparkling in the sunlight.

Sadness filled her. Silver River was a pleasant and peaceful town. She’d been happy living here until that fateful day ten years ago. Now she lived in exile. Not that she didn’t like Boise. She did. And she liked her job with the historical society. But Boise could never replace Silver River and the happiness she had known here.

* * *

RORY DROVE ALONG the highway connecting Silver River with Milton. Not that he was going all the way there. He’d turn around soon and head for Dalton Properties, where he worked most afternoons. He’d taken this long drive today to check out the overhaul he’d given the ’58 Dodge, one of his classic car acquisitions bought from a man in Fork City, who’d kept it hidden away in an old shed like buried treasure.

Rory tuned his ear to the engine, but his mind wandered to last night’s party and Lacey Morgan. They’d actually talked to each other. Their conversation had been awkward, but what did he expect?

Their encounter didn’t mean anything, though. Probably wouldn’t happen again.

Thinking of her reminded him that the turnoff to the old Whitfield farm was up ahead. The house still sat there, empty and in disrepair, a constant reminder of the tragedy. Usually, as he passed by, he gritted his teeth and stepped on the gas, eager to put the place behind him.

But today, as the turnoff approached, he found himself slowing down, and in the next moment swung the Dodge off the highway and onto the dirt road leading to the farm. He bumped along, jerking the wheel to avoid potholes and overgrowth pushing through the barbed wire bordering the road. Reaching the house, he put on the brake and gazed out the window at the two-story structure. Paint had peeled off the siding and holes dotted the roof. Ragged curtains hung in a few of the windows.

Memories flooded his mind: bringing Lacey home from school. Doing homework at the kitchen table while sampling her grandmother’s cookies. Hiking down to the river where they lazed in the sunshine or splashed around in inner tubes.

He stepped from the car and walked around to the back of the house. Beyond a stretch of overgrown grass and weeds sat a garage with the door off its hinges, a barn missing part of the roof, a couple of weathered sheds and a chicken coop. And farther yet, past a row of willow trees, a trail led to the river.

He looked up at the house’s second story, focusing on one of the windows. The window where Lacey’s father had stood when he pointed his shotgun at Rory’s father and pulled the trigger. Rory swung his gaze back around to the ground, picking out the spot where his father had died. He shuddered and felt sick to his stomach. He stood there, clenching and unclenching his fists, until he got a grip on himself. Then he marched back to his car, climbed in, slammed the door and drove off.

That house should not still be standing there, he thought, while rumbling back down the dirt road toward the highway. It should have been torn down long ago so that he didn’t have to look at it and be reminded of what had happened there. Ten years ago. Ten long years. High time he did something about that house.

* * *

BACK IN TOWN twenty minutes later, Rory parked in his reserved slot behind the Scott Building on Main Street. He sat there a moment, his mind spinning with his new plan.

A knock on the window interrupted his musings. He looked up to see Stuart MacKenzie, one of his grandfather’s employees.

Rory rolled down the window. “Hey, Stuart. Where are you off to?”

Stuart smoothed the lapels of his lightweight sports jacket. “The Cooper ranch. Old man Cooper is ready to talk business.”

Rory opened the door and stepped from the car. “Good for you. Hope you land the deal.”

Stuart grinned. “Thanks, buddy. But I’m not doing anything you can’t do—if you’d forget about your cars and tend to business here.” He nodded at the Dodge. “That is a great-looking car, though.”

Rory pocketed the keys and ran his hand along the car’s engine-warm hood. “Yeah, well, I guess restoring old cars does for me what owning land does for my grandfather. To each his own.”

“Ri-i-ght. Try telling that to A.J. When you gonna take your rightful place around here as the ‘heir apparent’?”

Rory shook his head. “Don’t hold your breath.”

Stuart laughed. “If I were a betting man, I’d bet on A.J. But I don’t want to get involved in your family feud. I’m not taking sides, either.”

Stuart headed for his car, and Rory entered the building. The smell of wax and varnish from the first floor’s furniture store drifted along the hallway. He took the back stairs to the second floor where the offices of Dalton Properties were located. His grandfather’s middle-aged administrative assistant, Sheila Cobb, sat at her desk.

“Morning, Sheila.”

“Glad you’re here, Rory. He’s been wondering.” She tipped her head toward the door to A.J.’s office just as it opened and his grandfather stepped out.

At seventy, Alfred James Dalton was as fit and trim as he’d been in his younger years, thanks in part to heredity, but also to regular rounds of golf and visits to the local gym.

A.J. spread his feet apart and propped his hands on his hips. “About time you got here.”

Rory glanced at his wristwatch. “I know, I’m a little late, but with good reason—”

“Never mind. Sheila put some new proposals on your desk. Look ’em over, and then we’ll talk.”

“I’d just as soon talk now—about something else.”

A.J. raised his eyebrows. “Hmm, all right. I’ve got half an hour until my two o’clock arrives. Come on in.”

Once in his office, A.J. pointed to a straight chair. “Have a seat.”

Rory sat, while A.J. rounded his desk and sank into a black leather chair that always made Rory think of a throne. Unable to find a chair locally that suited him, A.J. had ordered this one over the internet. When it had arrived, the delivery guys had one heckuva time getting it up the narrow stairs. But they succeeded, and there it was, and A.J. fit into it as though it were made especially for him.

A.J. opened a file folder on his desk and idly rifled the papers inside. “So, what’s on your mind?” he said without looking up.

“I want to buy the Whitfield property.”

A.J. jerked to attention. “Yeah? You know I’ve tried for years to get Remy to sell, and she’s flatly refused. What makes you think you can change her mind?”

“I’m betting she needs the money, now that she’s living at Riverview. That place doesn’t come cheap.”

“Maybe Lacey is helping out.”

“Maybe. Still—”

A.J. rubbed his jaw. “Okay, let’s say you get her to sell. What do you see happening to the property?”

“First thing is tear down the house. It’s an eyesore, and I’m sick of it. Always reminding me—”

“You think tearing it down will erase your memory of what happened there?”

“It’ll go a long way to helping.”

A.J. closed the file folder and leaned forward. “And then what? A subdivision is what I see. Ought to be enough land for fifty or sixty houses.”

Rory shrugged. “Getting rid of the house is first and foremost. You hate the sight of that place as much as I do.”

“I’ll agree with that.”

His voice cracked, and his gaze strayed to the framed photo on his desk, a picture of him with his son, Alfred James Dalton Jr., better known as “Al Jr.” Their arms slung over each other’s shoulders, big grins on their faces, they stood in front of the Ross Building, one of their many projects.

“So, what do you think?” Rory asked.

“I need to know more. You plan to use Lacey to get to Remy? Heard you two were cozying up at Sophie and Hugh’s party.”

Rory clenched his jaw. “We weren’t ‘cozying up.’ We happened to find ourselves face-to-face and exchanged a few words, that’s all. As for using Lacey, ten years ago, you told me I couldn’t have anything more to do with her.”

“That was then. This is now. That property has sat there in a time warp, and I agree with you that enough is enough. You get it and you’ll have a big bonus.”

“All right—”

“Wait a minute. I’m not letting you completely off the hook.”

Rory narrowed his eyes. “What?”

A.J. pointed a forefinger. “I need you to take more responsibility around here. This business will be yours someday, and you need to know how to run it. Stuart knows more about our operation than you do.”

Rory shook his head. They’d had this discussion before, many times. “I’m giving as much here as I can. I have my own business to run—”

A.J.’s mouth turned down. “Oh, yes. Cars again. Collecting ’em isn’t enough. You have to tinker with them, too.”

Rory pushed to the edge of his chair. “If we’re done here—”

A.J. put out a staying hand. “Not quite. Don’t forget that I own that prime piece of property Dalton’s Auto Repair sits on.”

“So?”

“So Silver River could use another motel.”

“Go ahead and sell the property.” Rory made a dismissive wave. “I can always relocate.”

“You could if you had the money. But you don’t. It’s all tied up in cars.”

Rory pressed his lips together. “Okay, we are done here.” He stood and strode to the door.

“Keep in mind what I said.”

“I’m sure you’ll be reminding me again,” Rory said as he went out the door. And again, and again.

“Get back to me ASAP about those proposals,” A.J. called after him.

* * *

IN HIS OFFICE, Rory hung his jacket on the coatrack and paused to look out the adjacent window. Instead of facing the street, like his grandfather’s office, Rory’s office looked out on the back parking lot. He didn’t care. Not even the best view in the world could make him want to be there.

His gaze landed on his Dodge, and a smile touched his lips. That was one fine car. Then he saw A.J.’s shiny new BMW, and his mouth thinned. No, his grandfather would never understand or share his love of the classics.

He turned away and crossed the room to his desk. His office had no personal touches. No photos, no certificates on the wall, nothing to identify him as the occupant. He hadn’t put down roots here, and he never would.

A.J. knew how to play the guilt game, though, making him think he should be grateful for the opportunity to take his father’s place in the company. If his father were still alive, Rory had no doubt the situation would be different. His father had understood Rory’s need to work with his hands, to create something. He was proud of Rory’s talent and never passed up an opportunity to brag about him.

But Al Jr. wasn’t alive. He was dead. Shot in the back on that fateful day when he went to see Norella Morgan.

Guilt gave way to anger. Anger at Rick Morgan, the hothead who pulled the trigger. And yet at the time, he’d wanted to stand by Lacey. He’d loved her, and planned to marry her.

But that was all over now.

Now, what he wanted most of all was to get rid of that house. Somehow, he’d find a way. Pushing aside his troubled thoughts, he sank into his desk chair. For a moment he only stared at the file folder lying there. Then he took a deep breath, opened the file and began reading.

* * *

“I VISITED THE graves at Restlawn this morning,” Lacey told Gram while they enjoyed a cup of tea on her patio. The afternoon sun had cleared the mountains and shone brightly from a cloudless sky. A brisk breeze swayed the cottonwood trees lining the riverbank. Still, the air was hot, even in the patio’s shade.

Gram smiled. “That was nice of you, dear. I’ve missed going myself.”

“I took some of Sophie and Hugh’s pansies to put in the vases, but there were already pansies in them.”

“Really?”

Gram’s tone sounded more matter-of-fact than surprised.

“Yes. Do you know who could be responsible?”

Gram kept her gaze on her teacup. “Does it matter?”

“Yes, it does. You know something. Come on, tell me.” Lacey leaned forward.

“Well...maybe the person was Claire Roche. Hank and Lena Nellon’s daughter.”

“Of Nellon’s Hardware?”

Gram nodded.

“Why would she leave flowers?”

Gram bit her lower lip and looked off toward the mountains.

“Gram—”

Placing her teacup on the wrought-iron table, Gram folded her arms. “Oh, all right,” she said in a grudging tone. “She liked Rick. He was a frequent customer at the store when she worked there. She was separated from her husband, Clint, at the time.”

“But Dad wouldn’t—”

Gram set her jaw. “You don’t know what your father would do. He was a murderer, wasn’t he?”

Lacy flinched. Her first impulse was to fling back, “No, he wasn’t!” Instead, she took a deep breath and said calmly, “Why didn’t this come out at the trial?”

“Why should it have? Claire’s crush had nothing to do with Rick shooting Al Jr.”

“Is Claire still in town?”

“Oh, yes. She and Clint got back together.” Gram shook a finger at Lacey. “But don’t you go asking her about the flowers. What does it matter who put them on the graves? That doesn’t change the fact that your father was a murderer, and if it hadn’t been for his crime, your mother would be alive today.”

“No, Gram, he wasn’t a murderer.”

“Oh, you always say that. You have no proof.”

Yes, she needed proof. But how to obtain that was still a mystery.

And yet, as she washed and dried their teacups in the apartment’s kitchenette, she thought about what Gram had said about Claire having a crush on her father. Had he returned her affection? She’d always thought her father was devoted to her mother, but maybe that hadn’t been the case. Even so, did that make him a murderer?

CHAPTER FOUR

LACEY UNLOCKED THE door to Gram’s old apartment and stepped inside. Having been vacant several weeks, the apartment’s air was hot and stale. She strolled through the rooms, bare of furniture except for a sofa, a couple of overstuffed chairs and a few end tables. Those items could be sold to the town’s used furniture store or donated to the thrift store. She would deal with them another day. Today, her task was to clean out the basement storage unit.

She took the elevator to the basement and located Remy’s locker. Cardboard boxes were stacked from the floor nearly to the ceiling. Lacey sighed. Chances were, very little of the boxes’ contents could be kept. Gram’s Riverview apartment was nearly full now, and although the building had basement storage as well, that space was much smaller than this one.

A peek in one box revealed a set of dishes with a pink rose pattern. Gram’s “company dishes,” brought out when they had guests for dinner and sat at the farmhouse’s dining room table under the crystal chandelier.

She’d bet they hadn’t been used since Remy moved out of the farmhouse, and that would have been right after the murder. Unable to bear living in the house where the crime had occurred, she and Lacey moved into this apartment. Lacey had soon graduated high school and had gone off to college in Boise, where she’d stayed. She hated leaving Gram alone, but Cousin Bessie and her family were nearby, and so she knew Gram would have someone to look after her. Plus, she made periodic trips to Silver River to visit.

Even though Gram hadn’t used the dishes for years and probably had no plans to use them now, she wouldn’t want to give them up. Gram hung on to her possessions. The empty farmhouse was a prime example.

Retrieving a hand truck from the hallway, Lacey loaded it with several boxes. She wheeled them out the basement’s back door to the parking lot, where she’d parked her car.

The Camaro’s top was down. She opened the trunk and stacked the boxes inside, and then returned for another load. These she put in the backseat. The last box was heavier than she expected, and it slipped from her hands and fell to the ground. The top burst open, and the contents tumbled out. A trinket dish made of pink glass broke into several pieces. Oh, oh, Gram wouldn’t like any of her treasures damaged.

Lacey retrieved a plastic bag from her car’s glove box. As she gathered up the pieces, she realized the dish belonged not to Gram but to Mom. She’d seen it on the dresser in her parents’ bedroom. Examination of the rest of the box’s contents revealed they were her mother’s, as well. Included were several more trinket dishes, a blue silk scarf, a pair of black high-heeled shoes, a long black skirt and a frilly white blouse, and a scattering of books.

One book, which had a picture of pansies on the cover, caught Lacey’s eye. She had often seen her mother writing in it.

What are you writing? she once asked. Poetry?

Her mother smiled. Some. Mostly, I just...write.

Lacey picked up the book and ran her fingers over the pansies on the cover. Now, she could find out for herself what her mother had written. She opened the cover and idly flipped the pages. Yes, there was some poetry, but other pages with dated entries appeared to be a journal.

Excitement rippled down Lacey’s spine. Perhaps her mother had written on the days leading up to the murder and her own death. Maybe she’d recorded something on that very day.

Lacey turned more of the pages but then stopped and closed the book. She’d wait until later, when she had time and privacy. Now, she must finish the task at hand.

Should she replace the journal in the box or put it aside? She and Gram planned to go through everything, and she would surely notice if the book were missing.

Lacey didn’t want to go behind her grandmother’s back, but what if Gram forbade her to read the journal? She stood there clutching the book and debating what to do.

* * *

RORY DROVE ALONG Park Street on his way to work at his auto repair shop. Ordinarily, he’d take Main Street, but today he drove down Park Street so that he could stop by Alice Helmer’s. He’d put a new battery in her Chevy last week and wanted to make sure it was running well. When he arrived at Alice’s, he found no one at home. Her car was gone, too, which answered his question.

As he rounded a corner, he saw the Towne Apartments and recalled that was where Remy Whitfield had lived before moving to Riverview. A familiar white Camaro convertible sat in the parking lot. Lacey’s car. And there was Lacey, too, standing by a broken cardboard box and a scattering of the contents.

He pulled into the lot and lowered the window. “Need some help?”

She looked up from the book she’d been studying. “Rory!”

“On my way to the shop. Saw you and thought you might need some help.” He nodded at the broken box and the scattered items.

She closed the book and laid it on her car’s front seat. “I’m cleaning out Gram’s storage unit.”

“I figured.” He cut the engine and stepped from the car. Approaching the box, he knelt to examine it. The flaps and one side were torn. “I have some tape in my car. I’ll fix this for you.”

She put out a hand. “Thanks, but you don’t have to. I can—”

“I know I don’t. But I’m betting you don’t have any tape.”

“No, but I can find another box.”

“No need.” He went to his car, opened the trunk and rummaged through his toolbox. “Okay, we’re in business.” He held up a roll of tape and a pair of shears.

She held the pieces of cardboard together while he taped them. Their fingers tangled in the process, sending him an unexpected rush of heat. He shot her a glance. She was looking down, but he could swear her cheeks were pink.

When the box was mended, he helped her replace the contents. “Remy has quite a collection of fancy little dishes,” he commented.

“These are my...my mother’s.”

The catch in her voice made him wince, and he fell silent. When they finished packing, he taped the lid shut and added the container to the others in her car’s backseat.

“Is this all?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes. “I wish. No, there’s more in the storage locker. I’m looking at another load, at least.”

“Maybe not, if I help you.”

“Oh, no, no, no.” She vigorously shook her head and then frowned. “Don’t you have to go to your shop?”

“John’s there. Best assistant I ever had.”

“Still, no. I can manage.” She folded her arms and stood with feet planted apart.

“Is that the door to the basement?” He pointed.

“Yes, but—”

“We’ll have you and the boxes back to Riverview in no time.” He headed toward the door.

She ran to catch up. “Why are you doing this?”

“Lacey, don’t make a big deal out of it, okay? Let’s just get the job done.”

“You always were kinda bossy.”

“Huh! So were you, as I recall.”

They managed to load all the boxes into their vehicles and were soon on the road to Riverview. As he followed Lacey’s white Camaro along the highway, he experienced a wave of guilt. His offer to help was an honest one, but at the same time, he also hoped to see Remy Whitfield. Not just see her; talk to her. He went over in his mind what he would say. Since working for his grandfather, he’d had plenty of experience sealing the deal. He might not especially like working in the investment property field, but he was good at it.

* * *

LACEY PULLED UP to the service entrance at Riverview with Rory’s truck right behind her. She jumped from the car and went back to him. “Some of the boxes need to go to Gram’s apartment and the rest to her basement storage unit.”

“Just tell me which is which.”

She found a hand truck, and they sorted the boxes, transferring those to the basement first. “I can take the ones to her apartment,” she told him.

“I got ’em.” He kept a firm grip on the hand truck. “You lead the way.”

“But—”

He waved her on ahead of him.

Okay, she’d stop him at the door to the apartment.

But when they reached the door and she opened it, he swept by her, pushing the truck inside.

“That you, Lacey?” her grandmother called from the apartment’s interior.

“Yes, it’s me.” She followed on Rory’s heels, unable to squeeze ahead of him in the kitchenette’s close quarters.

“Rory Dalton? Is that you?” she heard her grandmother exclaim.

“Yes, it is, Mrs. Whitfield.”

Lacey finally reached the living room. Her grandmother sat in her wheelchair staring at Rory. “What are you doing here?”

Surprisingly, Gram’s voice held more curiosity than the anger Lacey expected.

Rory propped his foot on one of the truck’s wheels. “I just happened to be passing by your old apartment and saw Lacey loading up in the parking lot and stopped to help.”

Gram slowly shook her head. “You always were the helper. Why, just last week, I was on the shopping bus, and I saw you take Agnes Crawley’s arm and walk her across Main Street.”

Rory grinned. “Aggie’d just given up her crutches after a broken ankle, and she wasn’t too steady yet. But where do you want these?”

Gram looked around. “Ah, over in that corner.” She pointed to a space near the bedroom door.

Lacey helped Rory unload the boxes. The sooner they completed the task, the sooner he could leave.

“So, how’re you doing, Mrs. Whitfield?” he asked when the last container had been stowed away.

“Pretty good. But I’ll be a lot better when I can walk again.”

“I hear you on that.”

“Well, thanks for your help today, Rory,” Lacey said stiffly. “You can put the hand truck back by the door on your way out.”

“Now, wait, Lacey.” Gram held up a hand. “Least we can do is offer Rory a cup of tea.”

Rory shook his head. “No tea, thanks, but I’d go for a glass of cold water. That sun’s blazing today.”

Gram turned to Lacey. “There’s a pitcher of water in the fridge.”

Lacey tried to catch Rory’s eye to glare at him, but he was gazing around the apartment. She went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.

“Sit,” Gram told Rory, pointing to an overstuffed chair across from her.

Rory sat, leaning back, settling in. He gazed around. “Nice place you got here.”

“I like it,” Gram said. “What’re you up to these days?”

“My car shop. Working for A.J.”

Lacey returned to the living room with the glass of water and handed it to Rory. When he looked up, she got in her glare. He seemed not to notice, smiling as he accepted the water. “Thanks so much.” He took a long swallow. “Ah, that hits the spot.”

“Would you like something, Gram?” Lacey asked.

Gram shook her head. “No, I’m fine. Had tea a while ago with my next-door neighbor.”

No one said anything. Lacey shifted from one foot to the other. Gram smoothed her skirt. Rory drank his water.

Then he cleared his throat and sat forward. “I drove by your old farm the other day...”

“Rory—” Lacey began.

Gram interrupted. “The other day? I ’spect you drive by it quite often, being it’s on the highway to Milton.”

“True enough,” Rory said. “Anyway, it occurred to me what a fine piece of property you have there.”

“If you’re about to make me an offer, save your breath. I’ve told your grandfather time and again I won’t sell. There’s plenty of land around here for him to play with. He doesn’t need mine.”

“Would you consider selling to me?”

“You? Why would you want the place? Never mind, it don’t matter. It’s not for sale. Never will be.”

“I just thought that now you’re living here, you might find a use for the money.” He named a sum.

Lacey sucked in a breath.

Gram dropped her jaw. “That much?”

Rory smiled. “That much.”

Gram frowned and turned away to gaze out the patio door. Long moments passed. Lacey’s stomach clenched. Should she tell Rory to leave? She’d been itching to since he’d pushed his way in. She was about to speak up when Gram turned back to them. Her eyes were misty.

“No amount of money will make me change my mind, Rory. I don’t expect you to understand, but—” She dug into her blouse pocket and pulled out a tissue.

Lacey ran to Gram’s side and placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, Gram.” She looked up at Rory. “We need you to leave. Now.”

Rory stood. “Of course. I didn’t mean to upset you, Mrs. Whitfield... I thought my offer would interest you.”

“Enough.” Lacey grabbed the glass from his hand. “Leave the hand truck. I’ll take it back myself.”

Rory strode to the truck, grasped the handle and wheeled it into the kitchen. “Goodbye, Mrs. Whitfield.”

Lacey plunked the glass on the counter and all but pushed him out the door. Instead of letting him go, she followed him down the hall, seething inside.

When they reached the entrance, he set the hand truck back in its cubbyhole. “I didn’t mean to upset her.”

“Did you honestly think she’s changed her mind about selling the property?”

“How should I know? I haven’t spoken to her for quite a while.” Rory went through the door and into the alley.

His defensive tone fueled her anger. She followed him, not about to let him leave yet. Thankfully, no one else was around. “And you didn’t stop earlier to help me. You were using me to get to Gram.”

Rory fished in his jeans pocket and pulled out his truck keys. “No, Lacey. I really did stop to help you.”

“Okay, but while you were helping you got the idea that if you followed me here you could make your offer to Gram.”

“Yeah, that’s probably the way it happened.”

“Probably. Huh. And why do you want the property? You’ll just resell it to someone who wants to build mini-ranches or condos or a motel.”

“I want to get rid of that house.”

“The house is the main reason Gram hangs on to the farm.”

Rory propped his hands on his hips. “Lacey, you can’t tell me you like having that house still standing.”

Lacey winced and then steadied herself and lifted her chin. “It’s not for me to decide. Or you, either. The house—and the farm—have nothing to do with you.”

Rory’s eyes blazed. “Nothing to do with me? My father was murdered there. Shot in the back by your father, while he was running to his car. And then, your father turned on your mother, and as she crawled from the bed trying to escape him, he pushed her, and she cracked her head on the fireplace hearth. Fell into a coma and died a week later. Isn’t that what the prosecutors proved in the trial that sent your father to prison?”

Tears burned Lacey’s eyes. She slapped her hands over her ears. “Stop. Stop. You have no right to come here and talk to me like that.”

“You want my sympathy?”

“No, of course not!”

She spoke the truth. Whatever she and Rory had together all those years ago—the fresh, bright new beginnings of love—was long gone now. As dead and buried as their parents.

The rumble of a delivery truck in the driveway brought them both to attention.

“Gotta go,” Rory mumbled and, without looking at her, flung open the door to his truck and climbed in.

“My father was not a murderer, Rory Dalton. And I’m going to prove he wasn’t.”

But between the delivery truck’s approach and the start of Rory’s truck engine, her words were lost.

When Lacey returned to Gram’s apartment, she found Gram where she’d left her, sitting in her wheelchair by the open patio door, gazing outside. She went over, knelt in front of her and took her hands.

“I’m so sorry. I tried to keep Rory out of the apartment, but he barged his way in. I had no idea what he was up to.”

“That’s all right, honey. I’m fine. Just had a little lapse for a few minutes. Don’t blame Rory. He was doing his job.”

“He wants to tear down the house. He told me so just now. I told him you’d never let that happen.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Let’s not talk about it anymore.” Lacey checked her wristwatch. “It’s time for lunch. Then we’ll play Scrabble or do something else fun this afternoon. The boxes can wait till tomorrow.”

* * *

RORY SPED AWAY from Riverview, twisting the wheel so hard on one curve he nearly careened off the road. He hadn’t intended to lose his cool with Lacey, but she’d been so angry with him, at what she considered a betrayal, that he couldn’t contain himself and had lashed back.

Still, he wasn’t sorry he’d stopped to help her or that he’d gone to Riverview and seen Remy Whitfield. The one other regret was Remy’s discomfort. He hadn’t meant to upset her. But they all were upset, and had been all these years. That was why the situation needed to be dealt with. He firmly believed that once the house was no longer standing, they all could heal and move on. Somehow, he needed to convince Remy.

Lacey would be leaving town soon. Once she was gone, he would contact Remy again. He hadn’t sensed she disliked or rejected him; in fact, she’d been downright friendly until he started talking about the Whitfield farm.

Rory drove through town and across the bridge, catching the road leading up the hill to his shop. He parked in his spot in the back, under a maple tree.

Inside the garage, he approached John, who was changing the oil in a Honda. “What’s happening?”

John straightened and stepped away from the car. “Lots. Harry Selznick dropped off his Chevy.” He pointed to the car sitting in the adjacent bay. “Tire keeps going flat. I took a look. Needs a new rim. Subaru’s waiting.” He gestured to the SUV on the other side of the Chevy.

Rory stroked his chin. “We’ll need to check the junkyards to see if they have a tire rim that’ll fit the Chevy. If not, we’ll go to the internet.”

John nodded. “I’ll finish up with the Honda, and then I’m on it. Oh, there were a couple of calls, too. Messages on your desk.”

“Thanks. I’ll check those and then get started on the Subaru’s transmission.”

Rory went into the office, feeling much better now that he was back at the shop. Being on the job he loved allowed him to put aside all his other problems and frustrations—at least for a while.

* * *

LACEY CLOSED THE flaps on the box she’d finished unpacking and added it to the other empty boxes ready for the recycle bin. As she’d promised Gram, they’d waited until Sunday afternoon to tackle the boxes from her old apartment. This morning they’d attended the church service in the Riverview chapel and then enjoyed lunch in the dining room with the other residents.

“We probably should quit now,” she told Gram. “But we did manage to weed out a few things to donate.” She pointed to several decorative plates, a few old cookbooks and some costume jewelry piled on the sofa.

Gram reached out and ran her fingers over the embossed roses decorating one of the plates. “Giving away these things is like giving away pieces of my life.”

“I know. But we’ve kept a lot, too.”

Gram pointed to the one container that remained. “What happened to that one? I don’t remember all that blue tape.”

“The box split apart in the parking lot when I was loading it into my car. That was when Rory came by, and he taped it. It’s full of Mother’s things.”

Gram’s shoulders stiffened. “If you think I’m giving away any of her belongings, think again.”

“No, I wouldn’t ask you to do that. But one of her trinket dishes broke.” She pulled off enough tape to remove the plastic bag enclosing the pieces. She laid the bag in Gram’s lap and opened it.

Gram reached into the bag, pulled out a couple pieces and held them up. “Ah, the dish your granddad and I got her for Christmas. She admired it at Trinkets and Treasures. Can you put it back together? There’s some superstrong glue in my kitchen drawer that ought to work. Did you get all the pieces?”

“I’m sure I did, and, yes, of course I’ll mend it.”

Lacey retrieved the cement, and while she carefully glued together the broken dish, she listened to Gram’s stories about Norella and her collection of decorative boxes and dishes. Some were gifts and others were souvenirs of places she’d visited.

By the time Lacey set the mended bowl on the side table to dry, her mother’s presence was so alive in the room she almost expected her to step from the shadows.

“I don’t want to see any more from that box,” Gram said. “Take it down to storage.”

“Just one other thing we need to discuss.” She picked up her purse and pulled out the book with the pansies on the cover. She held out the book to Remy. “I found this in the box, too, and put it aside.”

Gram nodded but made no move to take the book. “Norella’s journal.”

“Yes. Have you read it?”

“Of course not. A journal is private.”

“But Mom’s gone now. I’d like to read it, but I wanted to ask you first.”

“And I’m saying no.” Gram held out her hand. “Give me the journal, Lacey,” she said in a tight voice.

Lacey pressed the journal to her chest and took a step back. “It’s as much mine as it is yours. I’ll give it a look and then put it back with the rest of her things.” She tensed, waiting for further argument.

Several moments passed before Remy leaned back and gave a resigned sigh. “All right. But I’m betting you’ll be sorry.”

Lacey tucked the journal back into her purse. “Maybe so, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

* * *

“WHICH BLOUSE DO you like, the white one or the pink?” Lacey pulled the blouses from Gram’s closet and held them up. Five o’clock had rolled around, dinnertime, which called for a change of clothes. For Gram, anyway. For Lacey, her jeans and navy T-shirt would have to do.

Gram tilted her head. “Hmm, the white has a pretty lace collar, but pink is my favorite color.”

“Pink it is.” Lacey handed her the pink blouse and returned the white one to the closet. Her cell phone rang. “Who could be calling?” she wondered aloud. Maybe Kris wants to set up a lunch date.

Lacey pulled her phone from her pocket. The number was local but unfamiliar. Could it be Rory? Why would he call? Hadn’t they parted yesterday with a finality that discouraged further contact? Just in case it was him, though, she wandered into the living room, where she’d be out of Gram’s earshot. Strolling to the patio door, she idly gazed out. The lowering afternoon sun sent long shadows through the willow trees bordering the river.

The caller turned out to be Elton Watts, publisher of the Silver River Sentinel.

“Remy gave me your number,” Elton said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all. What can I do for you?” As a high school senior, Lacey had written a few articles for the paper to fulfill assignments in her journalism class. Since then, she’d had no contact with Elton, other than to exchange greetings during chance encounters around town.

So, why was he calling her now?

“I’d like to discuss something with you, but not over the phone. Can you drop by the Sentinel tomorrow morning? You’ll still be in town, won’t you?”

“Yes, I’m here for a few more days. But can’t you tell me what this is all about?”

“I’d rather talk to you in person.”

“Well...all right.”

They settled on nine thirty. Lacey ended the call and rejoined Gram. “That was Elton Watts. He wants me to come to his office tomorrow.”

Gram looked up from fastening the last button on the pink blouse. “I forgot to tell you he called this morning, and I gave him your cell number. Was that okay?”

“Of course. But did he tell you what he wants to talk to me about?”

“Not a word.” Gram shook her head. “Are you going to meet with him?”

“Yes, of course.” Elton was one of the few people who had not taken sides when Rick Morgan was accused of killing Al Jr. He might have had an opinion, but if he did, like a good journalist, he kept it to himself.

“Good.” Gram smiled. “Now, how do I look?” She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin.

Lacey smoothed the blouse’s collar. “You look gorgeous. Come on, let’s go wow ’em.”

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