This direction led to something that heightened every sense and narrowed her vision to a pinp.r.i.c.k. Her legs felt weighted down as she moved along the path. The trees grew thicker and denser here, blotting out the sunlight.

Her gaze fell on a gnarled and aged tree, and she went toward it as if in a trance. She'd seen this tree in her nightmares. She touched her fingertips to the bark. The shock of the rough texture rooted her to the moment. She knew this tree.

"There's a hole in this tree. Back here." Claire stepped around the tree. "There."

The hole was about chest level. Off to one side, the initials C.D. were carved into the bark. Claire Dellamare. Standing on her toes, she reached up and plunged her hand into the hole. Her fingers closed around something soft, and she pulled it down. "It's a scarf."

The scarf was riddled with holes from animals, but the silk had once been beautifully patterned with rose flowers. She closed her eyes and could almost see the woman wearing this scarf, but the memory flitted by as fast as a hummingbird.

Megan inhaled sharply. She took the scarf, then lifted it to her cheek. "Claire, this belonged to my mother. She's wearing it in the pictures taken the day she disappeared. How did you know it was there?"

"I don't know." Claire's gut clenched when Megan's face fell. "I want to remember, but I just can't."

The silk scarf seemed to burn a hole in Luke's pocket as he opened the door to his dad's farmhouse with Claire and Megan on his heels. "He's probably napping." He shut the door behind the women.

Knowing Claire was seeing the s.p.a.ce for the first time, he looked at the house through new eyes. The old floorboards had seen better days. His boots had left his fair share of chips in the old oak over the years, and the railing and bal.u.s.ter could use refinishing. He'd rolled his toy cars and trucks down the battered steps many a time. The wallpaper hadn't been updated, though the dainty blue flowers were still in good condition and clung tightly to the plaster walls.

The living room was just off the entry, and he peeked inside to find his father, clad in his customary overalls, snoring in the recliner. The stale scent of sweat hung in the air. Since his stroke, his father had resisted showers and only recently allowed Luke to help him. The wheelchair was beside the recliner, and Pop's head tilted to one side in an awkward angle. What did Claire think of the threadbare orange-and-brown plaid sofa and chairs and the battered end tables? Though clean, nothing had been replaced in all the time his mother had been gone.

How would Pop react when he saw the scarf? Luke prayed it wouldn't trigger another stroke. He cleared his throat. "Pop?"

His dad's eyes fluttered, then opened. He fixed his pale-blue eyes on Luke for a moment before straightening. His gaze went to Claire and lingered. He swiped at his spa.r.s.e white hair. "I'm all stoved up. Who've you brought in, Luke?" His slurred words were soft.

"This is Claire Dellamare."

His rheumy eyes sharpened, and he looked her over. "Dellamare. The little girl who went missing?"

"Yes."

"You don't say! After all these years!"

Luke motioned for Claire to have a seat. "We found something today. I'm pretty sure I know what it is. Beau is on his way here to retrieve it, but I wanted to show it to you first."

He reached into his pocket and entangled his fingers in the soft material. When he pulled it out, he wasn't sure at first his dad recognized it. He stared blankly at the scarf. Then his father's face sagged, and he blinked rapidly. "The body was hers. The one in the bog."

Luke had to evade the question since Beau had asked him to let the sheriff tell his dad about the dental records ID. "This was hidden in a tree trunk." Luke turned his head to stare at Claire. "Claire found it." He inhaled. "Pop, I don't want to upset you or make you feel I blame you for anything, but I have to bring up something Aunt Nancy said."

His father blinked and frowned. "I suppose she brought up that wicked-crazy idea she had about that missing kid." He p.r.o.nounced kid like shid with his speech difficulty. "Don't think I haven't wished a thousand times I'd listened to her and gone out myself that night." He sagged back in his chair like a deflated ball. "She might still be alive if I'd paid attention." His rheumy eyes glimmered with moisture.

Her expression intent, Claire leaned forward. "So you do remember she'd mentioned the child? That little girl who was missing was me, Mr. Rocco. I don't know how I knew where to find the scarf, but I did. What did she say about me?"

His dad reached up with a trembling hand to rub his liver-spotted forehead. "Lordy, I can't remember exactly, girlie. It was more than twenty-five years ago. I thought it foolishness at the time. We can pull-haul all afternoon about it, but it won't change nothing. She's still dead and has been all these years. Some people thought she left me, but I always knew better."

Luke studied his father's face and found the guilt and remorse in his teary eyes a bit too pat. If he'd been regretful all these years, why hadn't he ever mentioned it to his children? For the first time, he looked at his father with a critical eye. There'd been whispers growing up. Some adults suggested Walker Rocco had killed his wife and buried her body in the cranberry bogs. Luke never believed it, but what if all his father's determination to find his wife was to quiet those rumors?

He glanced at Megan and saw his own doubts reflected in her dark-brown eyes. Their father was a taciturn man, and for the first time in his life, Luke wondered what dark events fueled those secrets.

TWELVE.

Claire leaned against the warm hood of Deputy Callahan's car and listened to Megan tell the officer how they'd found the scarf. The cranberries covered the bogs in the fields across the road, and two workers walked between the low bushes.

She couldn't quite decipher the expression on Luke's face since they'd talked with Mr. Rocco. Luke seemed quiet and reflective, though as far as she could tell, his father had been honest with them.

Callahan lifted a brow. "So you just knew it was there and you have no real memory of the night Victoria Rocco put it there?"

"That's right. I recognized the tree, and I knew there was a hiding place. I didn't know what was in there until I put my hand in the hole." She curled her fingers into her palms at the memory of first touching that silky material. There had been just a flash of . . . something, but she hadn't been able to grasp it before it blew off like a dandelion puffball.

"I see."

Was that skepticism in the deputy's eyes? She desperately wanted to be back at the hotel while she lost herself in painting. Her chest hurt, and so did other muscles. But Luke had brought her here, and she didn't have a way back to town until he was ready to take her. Which needed to be soon. She had to be back by three to get ready for her business dinner with Ric and his family.

Callahan straightened. "How well did you know Jenny Bennett?"

"Not well at all. We spoke once on the phone, but we never talked of anything personal."

"You're sure?"

"Of course. I met her for the first time on Thursday when I arrived."

"Then why would she send a letter advising the sheriff that you're not who you say you are?"

A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she reached out to find something solid to hang on to. Strong, warm fingers grasped hers, and Luke's arm came around her waist.

She opened her eyes and looked into the deputy's shuttered expression. "I-I don't understand. How could she say something like that when she didn't even know me?"

"You tell me." He pulled a paper from his pocket and unfolded it. "The sheriff will have a fit if he knows I'm showing this to you, but I think there is more to this than we know. Here, take a look."

The paper was a photocopy of a typed letter. She skimmed it with Luke reading over her shoulder.

Dear Sheriff Colton, Harry Dellamare is coming to Folly Shoals this weekend, and I've recently learned some disturbing information about Claire Dellamare. She's not who she says she is. There is a huge conspiracy swirling around her, and if you get to the bottom of it, I think you'll discover a murderer. Look back about twenty-five years.

A Concerned Citizen It was all she could do not to ball up the letter and toss it in the deputy's face. She glared at him as she handed back the letter. "You think this letter implicates me in her murder, don't you? I certainly didn't hurt Jenny. I was only four."

Callahan refolded the letter and put it in his shirt pocket. "Do you have any idea what it means?"

"No." Her hands curled into fists. "You think I killed her to cover up whatever she thought she knew."

The deputy hesitated, then shook his head. "If I thought that, I wouldn't have shown you the note. But it's pretty clear that whatever Jenny knew got her killed."

Luke's breath whispered past her ear. "So we need to retrace Jenny's steps and see if we can find out what she meant."

Callahan glanced from Claire to Luke. "We won't have long. Danny is ready to hang her."

Claire inhaled and pressed her hand to the sharp pain in her chest. She hated feeling weak and out of control. "Should I contact my attorney?"

Luke's grip around her waist tightened. "You want to sit down? There's a swing on the porch. I should take you back."

"It's time for more pain meds," she admitted. "I'm pretty done in, and really, there's nothing more I can tell you, not even about that night, let alone about what this letter means. I must have seen your mother, but remember, I was only four. I can't recall the dress I was wearing, what kind of cake we had, or the toys I received. It's all a blank."

But was it? When she said the word dress, she had a flash of an image. She closed her eyes and pursued the memory. "I-I think I remember my dress. It might have had ruffles, like a princess dress." She opened her eyes. "I have to ask my mom!" She pulled her cell phone from her purse. "I'll call her." Her gut clenched as her mother picked up on the other end.

"Claire, where are you? I've been looking everywhere for you. Ric wanted to meet you for coffee before dinner."

"I'll be back by three." Focus, she had to focus. She couldn't let her missing year derail this merger. "Mom, what did my dress look like at my fourth birthday party?"

"Let's not worry about something that happened over twenty-five years ago, Claire."

She turned her back to the rest of the group. "This is important, Mom. What color was my dress?"

Her mother heaved a sigh. "It was pink with lots of ruffles. I had it designed especially for the party, and you twirled around like you were a princess in it."

Ruffles. "That's what I thought. Listen, I have to go. I'll talk to you later." She hung up over her mother's objections. She turned back around to face the deputy and the Roccos. "It was pink. With ruffles."

Callahan's expression sharpened. "So you are beginning to remember. Have you ever thought about being hypnotized to see if you can uncover more?"

She shuddered. "I'm not about to let someone take control of me when I'm sleeping. I can't fathom anything more repugnant. Since I'm starting to remember, I'm hopeful more will come." She turned toward Luke's truck. "I need to get back to the hotel, Luke. Would you run me there?"

"Of course." He took her arm.

The strength of his fingers wrapping her forearm made her want to move closer. Why did he draw her so? Could they have known each other when she was small?

Callahan glanced at Megan. "Can you take me to the site? I want to search in that tree cavity a little more in case there's something else in there."

"Sure, but I shone my flashlight in it before we left and didn't see anything."

"I still want to check." The deputy opened his car door. "I'll just follow you."

"Sorry if this set you back some. I wasn't thinking,"

"It's perfectly all right." She slid into the cab of his truck after he opened the door for her. All she had to do was compartmentalize this, tuck it away until she could take it all out and examine it. Tonight she had to close that merger and prove to her father that she could handle anything.

Kate and Sh.e.l.ley left the library and went down a street and over two blocks, guided by the Presbyterian church spire, its white steeple vivid against the blue sky. She wanted to mull over what she'd found at the library, and wandering the market would give her a chance to think.

The Farmer's Market took up a full city block. It started in the church parking lot and spread west. Tables displaying everything from flowers to candy and trinkets intermingled with preserves and canned goods. Come summer, there would be baskets overflowing with local produce.

Sh.e.l.ley zipped her jacket to her chin. "Looking for anything special?"

"Maybe some dried herbs. I thought I'd try a new chili recipe for supper."

The May wind raced down Kate's back. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea when she could go home and curl up with her knitting. She'd been so cold today, another bad sign. She stopped to finger some local wool in a brilliant blue hue, then bought four skeins, though the price made her wince.

She stuffed them in her oversized bag. "This will make a gorgeous throw for the foot of my bed."

Sh.e.l.ley wandered over to a table with dried herbs. "Is this what you're looking for?" She pointed out hanging bunches of herbs.

"Sure is." Kate purchased some baggies of oregano, c.u.min, and chili powder. "I'm ready to get out of this wind. I say we head back to my place and have some coffee."

She hefted her bag to her shoulder, then froze when she saw a familiar span of shoulders. Her lungs didn't want to work, and she stood gaping at the man until she could draw in some oxygen. There were wings of white at his temples, and he'd shaved his mustache, but she'd recognize her father anywhere.

"What's wrong?"

"I-It's him." Kate could barely manage a whisper.

Sh.e.l.ley craned her neck. "Who?"

Kate's heart tried to pound its way out of her chest. How long had he been here? More importantly, was he here to see them?

She gave a quick nod his direction. "My father. He's here."

"You're kidding." Sh.e.l.ley turned to study the couple standing in front of a display of quilts. "Is that his wife?"

Kate tore her gaze from her father's handsome face and looked over the woman with him. "I think so. I've never met her, but I saw a picture of the two of them together."

Her attention went back to her father. He wore white slacks pressed to a crisp line. His navy jacket over a white collared shirt was casual and elegant at the same time. A gold watch gleamed at his wrist. And those shoes looked like Italian leather. Even on vacation, he made sure his attire proclaimed his wealth.

Kate's eyes blurred, and she blinked back the moisture. So many years without a word, then he showed up here in the middle of town.

"You think he called your mother?"

"No. He wouldn't have called Mom with his wife here. He probably thought he could bring his trophy wife here without running into Mom." She didn't look like a trophy wife, though. Yes, she was well dressed with perfect hair and makeup, but there were fine lines around her eyes. This was the same woman he'd been married to when he'd been sleeping with Kate's mother.

Jealousy snaked through her stomach. If not for this woman, she and Mom might have had a perfect life. She might not have had to wear the label of illegitimate. Dad had loved this woman more than Mom. More than his own daughter. Her jaw ached from clenching her teeth. She took a step toward them.

Sh.e.l.ley's fingers landed on her arm. "This isn't the time or place, Kate. Think this thing through."

Kate stopped and tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry. "He's walked in the shadows for too long. It's time he was exposed for who he is."

"If you do this, you'll never have a relationship with him. You have to approach it gently, humbly. Without making demands on him or throwing blame in his face." Sh.e.l.ley's voice was low and pa.s.sionate. "Don't let your emotions ruin what might be if you do this differently."

Breathe. In and out. In and out. Kate let Sh.e.l.ley's persuasive words sink in. "You're right. But what if he leaves before I get a chance to talk to him? He might just be pa.s.sing through."

"I don't think so. Look." Sh.e.l.ley nodded at them as they walked toward the pier. "They came on the Hotel Tourmaline ferry. They just handed their shopping bags to my cousin who works there. They're staying in the area, at least for tonight. Most people who go out to Folly Shoals stay several days at least. You can think about it and maybe approach him when he's alone. Let me ask my cousin how long he's staying and that will tell us how quickly you need to act."

They were leaving anyway. Kate nodded and watched her father hold his wife's elbow. He a.s.sisted her into the shuttle, and she turned a loving smile his direction. A smile that should have belonged to her and her mother.

The Oyster Bistro hummed with low voices and the clink of silverware. The scent of seafood made Claire's mouth water since she hadn't eaten since breakfast. Once her eyes adjusted to the dim light of the dining room, she spied her parents and the Castillos seated in a large back table by a big window overlooking the patio, gaily lit with string lights. Her father had probably demanded the best spot in the house.

Her gut tightened when she saw Ric's dark head bent attentively to her mother, and she stood for a moment to steel herself for the coming skirmish. They hadn't been served yet, so the evening stretched much too long in front of her. Ric's sister would make the evening fun, but his father and stepmother's bickering would make navigating the merger talk very treacherous. The older Castillos opposed the merger, but Ric and his sister held the majority vote since his father's semiretirement.

Her father, dressed in crisp slacks and a collared blue-striped shirt, stood. He smiled and motioned for her to join them. Her legs felt heavy as she wove through the restaurant to the table.