Mia nodded her head.

"Gone."

She blinked, not sure she understood. "Gone?"

"Yep. The whole side of road slid right off the mountain. If you were sitting there on that bench, you'd be in Tennessee about now."

"Oh, no," she said with a soft moan. "I loved that little spot."

"It's a goner. That's why I hiked over the ridge from Watkins Lodge. It's the only way in or out of the cove. The state bulldozers are already clearing up the mud so they can open up the road and that's the only road that leads to Watkins Cove. It could be days before you can drive out of here."

"You can say that again." She looked over her shoulder and lifted her arm toward her car buried under green. Bits of silver peeked out from the dense green.

Stuart released a sinking whistle as he walked toward the car. He poked through and lifted branches to get a better look at the damage. They flung back with a shudder when he released them. He wiped his palms on his shorts. "You might've gotten off lucky. Looks like a good chainsaw and some muscle will set things to right. We can come back with tools when the road is clear. But for now, mountain girl..." He curled his fingers with hers. "Pack up a few essentials in a backpack and put on your boots. It's going to be a muddy hike."

Hours later they cleaned up and headed to Shaffer's for coffee and news. Main Street was filled with locals milling about and Mia assumed they were all in town to pick up supplies at Rodale's Grocery and Clark's Hardware after the storm. Everywhere, she saw signs of damage. Yellow tape blocked off the western edge of Route 9 that led to the overlook and Watkins Cove. A high-pitched hum contrasting with the low growl of engines rent the usual peace of the small town as bulldozers, dump trucks, and other state machinery worked at clearing the roads. Even state troopers had their lights flashing as they blocked traffic from approaching.

Shaffer's was full of townspeople talking excitedly. A long line traveled all the way to the door. Becky was ringing the register while Katherine and even Skipper manned the busy pastry counter. Mia and Stuart took a place in line, and she heard snippets of conversation from the people in the shop as they moved slowly forward. "Lost that purty maple in my backyard." "I prayed to Jesus all night long." "I was a-scared, all right. The river, it come lappin' at our door." When she heard someone say something about "bones," she turned her head.

She felt Stuart's hand on her back and he bent to say in her ear, "Look back there. Your friends are waving."

Mia looked over to where he was pointing and saw Phyllis Pace and Nada Turner waving her over. Nada jumped up to snatch two spare chairs from empty tables and bring them over to their small circular one. Mia smiled and nodded in acknowledgment, thinking as she did so that it was the first time she'd heard these women described as "friends."

When she finally got to the counter she heard Becky call, "Mornin', Mia! Sure is good to see you this morning. We were worried the river was going to wash that cabin away like it did the road."

"Nope. Still here," she called back. She was glad to see Becky so full of energy. "Sure is busy this morning."

Skipper came up and smiled his hello. "It's all the excitement."

"About the road?" Stuart asked from behind her.

Skipper looked surprised that they hadn't heard. "No. About the bones!"

"What bones?" Mia asked.

From the table in the back Mia heard Nada call out, "Quit holding up the line. Come on back here and we'll fill you in."

Mia looked behind her with a guilty eye to see a long line waiting for a chance to grab a coffee and a pastry. Sorry, she mouthed, and the people smiled kindly in response. Lennie came in with a fresh tray of hot, iced cinnamon buns, and her knees almost melted when she caught their sweet scent. She ordered two with two large coffees and slapped bills on the counter before Stuart could grab his wallet.

"It's standard pay for rescues," she told him as she snapped her wallet shut.

They carried their buns and coffee to the table and squeezed into the tight space. Stuart's jeans rubbed against hers under the table.

"What's this about bones?" Mia asked.

Nada and Phyllis leaned over the table, their eyes bright with excitement.

"They found bones on Route Nine while they were clearing the mud," Nada reported. "That's why the police are involved."

"Do they know whose they are?" Stuart asked.

"No, it's too early for an ID," she replied. "They're still searching. They'll bring them to the coroner's office once they've finished. Right now they're picking through the mud to make sure they get them all and to see if they can find anything that will help identify who it is. You know, like a driver's license, bits of clothing, that sort of thing."

"Do they have any suspicions?" asked Stuart.

"No, not yet."

"How old are they?" Mia asked as the ghost of an idea began to take shape in her mind.

"Can't tell. Pretty old. There's only bones there, if you know what I mean."

Mia mulled this over as she sat back in the chair. She stared down at her coffee while her mind went over the letter she'd read from Kate to Theodora. She must have read the letter a dozen times and with each read she heard Kate's voice as though she were speaking to her in the same room. There was such love and compassion in her words, especially for the granddaughter she'd never met. How could Belle not have been overcome by reading it?

There were also specific descriptions in her letter of the night DeLancey disappeared. Or, rather, died, as Kate believed. Mia had read the letter so many times she could recite it verbatim. I drove only partway to town when I saw that the road had been destroyed by a mudslide.

What if Kate were wrong about DeLancey? she wondered with mounting excitement. What if for all those years she'd thought he'd died by his own hand, when, in truth, it had been an act of God?

"Mia?" Stuart asked, drawing her attention.

Mia startled, brought back to the conversation. "Oh, sorry, I was just..." She sat forward. If she needed a support team right now, the two women at the table were her best bets. "Girls," she said, feeling adrenaline pumping in her veins. "This is really important. Can anyone get their hands on a geological survey that goes back to nineteen twenty-nine?"

Nada narrowed her eyes. "That's easy enough. What's going on in that brain of yours?"

Phyllis tapped her chin with speculation. "I know where she's headed. You think those bones could be DeLancey's?"

"Yes," Mia declared.

"Mia," Phyllis said with slight exasperation. "This time I think you're stretching too far."

Mia leaned closer and kept her voice low. "Huddle up."

The two women raised their brows but brought their heads closer. Stuart brought his ear close as well.

"Cone of silence, OK?" she asked. The women's eyes gleamed as they nodded. Stuart smirked. "Last night I read a letter that Kate Watkins wrote to Theodora."

"Where'd you get that?" Phyllis exclaimed.

"Oh hush, Phyllis," Nada whispered heatedly. "Ask your questions later. Go on," she said to Mia, as alert as a hunting dog pointing at the brush.

"It's no secret," Mia answered. "Don't you remember the letter that Lucy Roosevelt gave me for Belle?" She saw Phyllis frown in stern disapproval. Mia quickly shook her head to dispel her suspicions. "No, I didn't open it. I gave it to Belle. Yesterday Belle gave it back to me to read."

"What did it say?" Nada asked.

"I'll let Belle decide how much to share, but what's to the point today is that Kate wrote about the night DeLancey disappeared." She heard the intake of breath at the table. "She wrote that there was a terrible storm that night. I remembered that your daddy, Mr. Pace, remarked on the same thing," she added to Phyllis. "How it rained like the Lord's flood that whole week." She leaned closer, her whisper hoarse with excitement as she spoke each word with deliberation. "In the letter, Kate wrote that the road was washed away and that she was stuck in the cabin for three days before she could get to town."

Nada drew back. "And you're wondering if a mudslide took away Route Nine that night."

"Right," she replied. "The only road from town to Watkins Cove is Route Nine. All we know is DeLancey disappeared the night of November ninth, nineteen twenty-nine."

"But they found bones," Stuart argued. "Not a car."

"But he didn't have a car," Nada remarked. "He took the train in." "He wouldn't walk to Watkins Cove," he said.

"The fact is, he was drunk and upset when he disappeared," added Mia. "Let's just say his judgment was impaired. What if he was desperate and didn't have a car so he just started walking back to Kate?"

"And the poor guy was caught in a mudslide." Nada shook her head. "I can believe it."

"Yes, but will the sheriff?" asked Phyllis.

Nada rose from the table like a shot.

"Where are you going?" Mia asked, surprised.

"We're going to see the sheriff. He'll need to know all this. But we need to lay it all down for him nice and clear. First we'll go to the Gazette and gather up all those articles we dug up. And Phyllis, you get that geological survey. You can do it if anyone can."

Phyllis jotted down the date, her brow knit with concentration. "I'll get right on it and call you the minute I find anything out." She looked up and her usually skeptical eyes were wide with hope. "Oh, Nada, do you think this might be it? An answer, after all these years..."

Mia reached Belle by phone and gave her a brief account of their conclusions and told her of their plan to go to the sheriff. After a stunned silence Belle replied, "I'll meet you there. I'm on my way."

Sheriff Rusty Rhodes was an affable man. He was average height and build with an all-American face and red hair that gave him his nickname. He had an easy manner and good looks that inspired confidence. Mia figured he was likely the dreamboat of the local high school in his time. His belly was a little paunchy now, and his cheeks fleshy in his middle years, but he still charmed when he smiled, as he did now.

"Well, that's an interesting story," he told the assembled group after they'd told him of their suspicions that the bones found might be those of Mr. Theodore DeLancey. Mia stood by Nada in front of the sheriff's broad wood desk. Behind her, Stuart, Phyllis, and Becky formed a wall of support.

"It's no story," Nada snapped back, all six feet of her straightening in offense. She prided herself on being a top-notch reporter, and the last thing she tolerated was anyone doubting her facts. "Theodore DeLancey of New York was declared missing by this very office in November of nineteen twenty-nine. His body was never found. We've got here a copy of a geological survey that shows Route Nine had a mudslide the very night DeLancey disappeared."

"Here it is," Phyllis said as she stepped forward with the papers in hand. She set them on the sheriff's desk with a flourish.

"Thank you, Miss Pace," Sheriff Rhodes said, taking them in his hands. He put on his glasses and studied them, then raised his eyes over his lenses speculatively. "So, you think this here DeLancey fella was taking a stroll along Route Nine that night? In the pouring rain?"

"We have reason to believe he was on his way to Watkins Cove," Mia added.

He squinted, as if trying to place her, then removed his glasses. "Are you referring to that story about ol' Kate Watkins and the killing at the cabin?" He shook his head ruefully. "That's an old chestnut."

Mia snapped her mouth shut in frustration. Sheriff Rhodes was a parody of Sheriff Andy of Mayberry trying to talk sense to the poor, confused townsfolk.

"You listen to me," Phyllis Pace said sharply, pointing a finger at the sheriff. "I remember you running naked in your mother's yard, so don't you dare talk to me in that patronizing tone of voice."

Mia turned her head to see Stuart's eyes twinkling.

Phyllis puffed up and Mia could well imagine high school boys cowering under that steely gaze. "You see before you representatives of some of this town's oldest and proudest families. Nada Turner is the editor and publisher of our newspaper. We speak for the town when we say that we demand an answer to this scandal that has clouded our city, spawned malicious gossip, and smeared the reputation of the Watkins family for two generations. I call on you to do your duty, as the town failed to do in nineteen twenty-nine. If this is the body of Theodore DeLancey, then this town has the right to know. The Watkins family has the right to know. And frankly, Sheriff, I want to know. This story, as you put it, must be put to rest at last."

Mia felt a stirring of pride for Phyllis. Sheriff Rhodes appeared chastened, though Mia knew as a politician, he was wise enough to see which way the wind would turn if he ignored this request.

"Well, now, Miss Pace," he began in a conciliatory tone. He looked up to include the group. "Ladies. Sir. This isn't the kind of thing we can get an answer for right away. See, here's how it goes. We've got searchers out there this very minute working in difficult terrain. Some of them guys are in mud knee-high to chest-high in spots. We're picking through to find not just bones, but shoes, a jacket, and any other clothing or jewelry that could have been stripped off with the mud as it tumbled down the canyon. Now that alone takes time."

Mia heard a door open and close, felt the stir of air rustle through the room.

"Next the bones are cleaned and assigned an identification number," the sheriff continued. "Then the victim's teeth are X-rayed, any clothing and jewelry carefully packed away, and a sample of his DNA taken.

"But you get into another problem now. What do you compare this DNA to? In a crime scene you've got DNA at the scene and a suspect you're trying to link the crime to. The best way to make an ID with DNA is to have living blood relatives, a parent or a child, to come forward and offer to have their DNA tested and compared. It's basically like doing a paternity test."

He leaned forward in his squeaky chair and pointed his index finger on the desk. "Now, see, here's the stickler as I see it. Supposing we get the DNA. Where are we going to get the DNA sample to match it with?" He spread open his palms. "Where's his family today?"

"Here."

All heads turned to the rear of the room, where Belle stood by the door. She was dressed in khakis and a coral-colored fishing shirt that complemented her red hair. She walked forward to the sheriff's desk and stuck out her hand.

"My name is Belle Carson. Belle Watkins Carson. If that body is Theodore DeLancey, then he's my grandfather."

Chapter Twenty-six.

The Gazette

September 13, 2007

OLD SCANDAL LAID TO REST.

Today the remains of Theodore DeLancey were laid to rest, ending nearly eighty years of speculation and scandal.

DeLancey was first reported missing in 1929 by his wife, Camilla DeLancey, now deceased. After a brief and some say flawed investigation, the sheriff officially declared Theodore DeLancey a missing person. Later, the state of New York, where his family resided, declared him legally dead. Unfounded and wild rumors and accusations concerning the nature of Mr. DeLancey's death plagued noted fly fisherwoman Miss Katherine Watkins (Kate) for the remainder of her life. Miss Watkins had frequently served as Mr. DeLancey's fly-fishing guide.

The discovery of bones at a mudslide on Route 9 this week was a huge break in this unsolved mystery. Following confirmation of DNA tests with his granddaughter, Belle Watkins Carson, the coroner declared DeLancey's death accidental.

With the burial of Theodore DeLancey the town of Watkins Mill will, at long last, lay an old scandal to rest.

The Gazette

September 15, 2007