Bridger hadn’t got what he’d come here to find. Not yet, anyway.

And now he’d made the acquaintance of Laci Cavanaugh. She was a cute thing, fair-skinned, slender, blue-eyed with short, curly blonde hair. She didn’t make him feel like such an outsider.

He’d come to town months ago, rented an old farmhouse just outside of Old Town Whitehorse and began his search, but he wasn’t any closer to learning his true identity.

Unfortunately, his quest had come at a high price. The woman he believed to be the ringleader of the illegal adoptions, Pearl Cavanaugh, had suffered a stroke.

Bridger tried not to get his hopes up, telling himself that if he didn’t find any adoption records, there was always Pearl’s granddaughter Laci. As it turned out, she was free for Christmas.

One way or the other, maybe he’d finally get lucky.

Available in September 2009 from Mills & Boon® Intrigue

The Sheriff’s Amnesiac Bride by Linda Conrad & Soldier’s Secret Child by Caridad Piñeiro

Her Best Friend’s Husband by Justine Davis & The Beast Within by Lisa Renee Jones

Questioning the Heiress by Delores Fossen & Daredevil’s Run by Kathleen Creighton

The Mystery Man of Whitehorse by BJ Daniels

Unbound by Lori Devoti

Private S.W.A.T Takeover by Julie Miller

BJ Daniels’s life dream was to write books. After a career as an award-winning newspaper journalist, she sold thirty-seven short stories before she finally wrote her first book. That book, Odd Man Out, received a 4½ star review from Romantic Times BOOKreviews. Since then she has won numerous awards, including a career achievement award for romantic suspense.

BJ lives in Montana with her husband, Parker, two springer spaniels, Spot and Jem, and an ageing, temperamental tomcat named Jeff. When she isn’t writing, she snowboards, camps, boats and plays tennis.

To contact BJ, write to her at PO Box 1173, Malta, MT 59538, USA, e-mail her at bjdanielsmystery@hotmail. com or check out her website at www.bjdaniels.com.

THE MYSTERY MAN OF WHITEHORSE

By

BJ DANIELS

MILLS & BOON®

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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This one is for good friend Al Knauber. Hope you’re loving Alaska. We’re missing you down here.

Chapter One

Laci Cavanaugh blamed the champagne. Normally she didn’t drink anything stronger than coffee, so of course the champagne had gone right to her head.

Her best friend’s wedding called for champagne, though. Laci and Alyson Banning had been friends since birth. Like Laci, Alyson had ended up being raised by her grandparents south of Whitehorse, Montana, just down the county road from each other. And while both had left for college and careers, both were now back.

Unfortunately, Alyson’s return had been bitter-sweet. Just weeks before her wedding, her grandfather had died. With the invitations already sent, she had stuck to her plans, knowing that’s what her grandfather would have wanted. The wedding reception now had the community center jam-packed, the large room shimmering with candles and silver streamers, the air alive with laughter and happy voices.

Laci had never seen her friend so blissful, and the best news of all was that Alyson and Spencer might be staying around Whitehorse after their honeymoon. All Alyson had to do was convince Spencer, and Laci didn’t think that was going to be a problem given that the man clearly idolized his new bride. Laci loved the prospect of having her best friend here. She was already fantasizing about their children growing up together.

Assuming, of course, that Laci’s Prince Charming came riding up soon and swept her off her feet, as Alyson’s had. It had all sounded so romantic—and, of course, being best friends, Alyson had told Laci everything. Love at first sight, Alyson had said. Not two weeks into the relationship she’d brought him home to meet her grandfather.

Laci had been in Billings with her cousin Maddie, so she hadn’t gotten to meet Spencer that time. She’d only really got to spend any time around him at the rehearsal dinner. But she’d seen at once why Alyson had fallen for the man. He was charming and incredibly handsome, not to mention attentive and clearly crazy about Alyson.

Laci had felt a twinge of envy. Unfortunately, men like Spencer didn’t come along every day. At least they hadn’t for her.

As she took a sip of her champagne and watched the bride and groom dance, she was overwhelmed with happiness for her friend. The two looked so perfect together: Alyson beautiful with her long, flowing auburn hair and slender body, Spencer tall, dark and handsome as any movie star. The perfect couple.

As the dance ended, Alyson turned to say something to one of the guests. Laci found herself looking at Spencer, thinking how adorable the couple’s children would be.

Spencer was smiling, his eyes on his bride as he watched her converse with the guest.

And that’s when it happened.

His expression changed so quickly that Laci told herself she’d only imagined the look he gave his bride. It lasted all of a split second. Just a flicker of something dark and disturbing.

Just long enough for Laci’s blood to turn to ice. Her champagne glass slipped from her fingers, shattering as loudly as a gunshot as it hit the floor. Laci didn’t hear it. Nor did she see anything but the groom. It was as if only she and Spencer were in the room.

He turned his head. Maybe at the sound of the glass breaking. Or maybe he’d felt her gaze on him. His eyes locked with hers. Time stopped.

He blinked, then smiled as if he thought he could hide the fact that he was visibly shaken and upset. He knew she’d seen him. Laci gasped, not realizing until then that she’d been holding her breath. Music and laughter filled the space again. One of the caterer’s crew rushed to clean up her broken glass and the spilled champagne.

She stumbled back, feeling weak and sick to her stomach as she watched her best friend turn back to Spencer and whisper something in his ear. They both laughed, then Spencer swept Alyson into his arms and whirled her across the dance floor.

“They make a beautiful couple, don’t they?” said a tall brunette woman Laci didn’t know but whose too-sweet perfume was making her sicker.

Laci could only nod, her heart beating so hard it hurt. She fought her way through the crowd to the back door, feeling suddenly faint as she told herself that she hadn’t seen anything.

It was just the champagne. That and her overactive imagination. Or maybe she’d misread his look. She couldn’t even be sure he’d been looking at Alyson.

Her mind raced. All she knew for sure was that the look she’d seen had been hateful and dangerous. And now her best friend was married to the man. Not just married to him, head over heels in love with him.

It made no sense. Why would Spencer marry Alyson if he didn’t love her? Unless her friend was pregnant and he’d felt forced into the marriage?

But Alyson would have confided in Laci if that had been the case. Aly told her everything, didn’t she?

Outside, Laci took deep, gasping breaths, tears burning her eyes as she rushed around the side of the building to the darkness and leaned her palms against the wall of the community center and retched.

“Weddings have the same effect on me,” said a deep male voice behind her.

She started, fearful that Spencer had followed her. But the voice had come from the playground of the one-room schoolhouse next door.

A man in a tuxedo rose from where he’d been sitting on the merry-go-round and walked toward her. He handed her the napkin that had been wrapped around the stem of his champagne glass. The paper cloth was cold and damp. Just what she needed.

She wiped her face, the chilly night air slowly bringing her back to her senses. “Must have been something I ate.”

“Sure,” he said. “Couldn’t have been anything you drank.” His sarcasm was at odds with the deep timbre of his voice. He was tall and solid-looking and vaguely familiar.

She took a step back and bumped into the wall.

“You really should sit down,” he said.

“I need to get back inside.” It was the last thing she wanted to do. Just the thought of seeing Spencer with Alyson made her feel sick again.

“Here,” the man said, taking her arm. “Just sit down for a minute.” He drew her over to the merry-go-round, his grip strong and sure.

“I’m fine,” she protested, but she grabbed the railing and sat as her legs gave way under her.

“Yeah, you’re great,” he said. “If you were any better, you’d be flat on the ground.”

She put her head between her knees, afraid he was right. She’d never fainted in her life, but tonight could be a first.

She told herself she’d sit for just a minute, then she had to go warn Alyson. Even as she thought it, Laci questioned the sanity of that idea. She’d spent the last twenty-nine years going off half-cocked. Never one to look before she leaped, she’d suffered the consequences of her actions, especially when it came to relationships.

Was she seriously thinking of telling Alyson about the “look” she’d seen? Aly would never believe her, especially based on some brief, questionable glance. Laci would only come off as jealous or spiteful or both.

“You all right?” he asked as he took a seat next to her.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him finish off his champagne and set the glass down on the ground. She mumbled, “Uh-huh.”

He didn’t say anything after that, just leaned back against the railing and stretched out his long legs. He wore cowboy boots with his tux. Something about that made her feel a little safer in his company.

Laci concentrated on breathing and convincing herself she was losing her mind. A better alternative than thinking that her best friend had just married not only the wrong man, but also a man who was…what? Dangerous?

After a few minutes, she sat up, feeling a little better, and glanced over at the man beside her. He was staring up at the stars, both hands behind his head, his profile serene.

“Better?” he asked, not looking at her.

“Yes. Thank you.” As she heard the front door of the community center open and the crowd rush out, she pushed to her feet, still feeling a bit wobbly.

“Looks like the bride and groom are about to make their departure,” her merry-go-round companion said without moving.

Laci hurried toward the excited guests. She could hear the sound of a motor. Exhaust rose into the darkness as a car was pulled around to the front of the center. Within moments Alyson and Spencer would drive away.

As Laci pushed her way through the crowd, she spotted the bride and groom. Spencer had his arm around Alyson and seemed to be searching the crowd for someone.

When he spotted Laci, he said, “There she is.”

“Laci!” Alyson rushed to her and threw her arms around her. “I told Spencer I couldn’t possibly leave without saying goodbye to you,” she said, sounding both breathless and blissful.

“Aly,” Laci said, hugging her friend tightly. “I don’t want you to go.”

Alyson laughed. “I’ll be back in a week.”

“No, listen—”

“Come on, sweetheart,” Spencer said beside them. Laci felt his hand on her arm. “Let me give Laci a hug, and then we really have to get moving if we hope to make our connections tonight.”

“No,” Laci said, fighting the feeling that this might be the last time she saw her friend. “Aly, listen, I have to tell you—”

Spencer pulled her into a breath-stealing hug that stifled the rest of her words. Her skin crawled as he bent his head, his lips brushing her ear, and whispered, “Goodbye, Laci.”

“No,” she cried as she pulled back from him and tried to see her friend. “Aly!”

But Spencer had already turned and swept Alyson up as he rushed to the waiting car, the guests surging around the pair, cutting Laci off.

Laci could only watch through tears as her friend waved from the back window, the car speeding off down the road, the lights dying away in the darkness of the November night.

Chapter Two

Laci Cavanaugh woke the next morning dizzy, headachy and sick to her stomach.

“How much did you drink last night?” she asked her image in the bathroom mirror and groaned. It was so unlike her to overindulge. She didn’t even sample the wine when she was cooking, although most chefs did.

After the bride and groom had taken off, the bridesmaids had insisted Laci go into town with them to one of the bars. She’d been in a daze. She vaguely remembered the bartender having to ask them to leave at closing time. No wonder she felt so horrible.

But as she stared into the mirror she knew it wasn’t just the drinks that had made her sick this morning. It was that niggling worry that she had tried to kill last night with alcohol. Alyson. Her best friend was in trouble.

Or was she?

This morning, in the light of day, Laci had to question everything that had happened last night at the reception. What had she really seen? A split second of something dark and disturbing on Spencer Donovan’s face. She couldn’t even be sure it had been directed at Alyson.

True, Laci had thought a second later that when he’d looked at her he’d been upset—as if he’d realized she’d seen him. She remembered how rattled she’d felt, how convinced he meant Alyson harm.

This morning, though, she admitted it was probably the champagne. Or her imagination—which, as her older sister Laney often pointed out, was more often than not out of control.

Even the way Spencer had said goodbye to Laci could have been innocent enough. Only she could read something into “Goodbye, Laci.” Just as she could have imagined that he’d rushed Alyson off in such a hurry because he was afraid of what Laci would say.

She sighed. As if there had been anything she could have said to Alyson to keep her from going. She cringed at the thought of what she might have said. I saw your new husband look at you funny. Like he hated you. I think he wants you dead. Great thing to tell someone right before they take off on their honeymoon.

Wandering into the kitchen, she poured herself a large glass of orange juice. To make matters worse, she recalled her behaviour in front of the man in the school playground. He’d looked so familiar, but she couldn’t place him now any more than she could last night. Not that it mattered.

Taking a sip of orange juice, she eyed the phone. Even if she could have called Alyson—who would now be on a flight to Hawaii for her honeymoon—she wouldn’t have, she assured herself.

Besides, what would she say to her friend? By all appearances, Spencer seemed to be the perfect husband. Attentive, handsome, obviously educated, successful and well-off financially. Plus, Alyson adored him.

“You’re wrong about him,” Laci said with false conviction as she picked up the phone and dialed her sister’s cell. Laney was the sensible one. That’s why Laci always used her as a sounding board. And right now she needed sensible—even if her sister was on her own honeymoon.

BRIDGER DUVALL STOOD in the middle of the musty building in downtown Whitehorse, telling himself he should have gone with his first instinct and left town.

“What do you think?” the young Realtor asked. She was a cute blonde with a husband and at least one young son and was so green that he suspected this could be her first sale.

What did he think? He thought he should have his head examined. He looked around the building. The structure had been sitting empty for a couple of years at least. Which should have told him that opening any business in this town was more than a little risky, but a restaurant was crazy.

The building needed to be completely remodeled. Fortunately, he could do a lot of the work himself.

As he stood there, he could imagine the brick walls with art on them, cloth-covered tables along both sides with candles glowing, low music playing in the background and some alluring scents coming out of the kitchen at the back.

If he closed his eyes, he could almost smell his marinara sauce and hear the clatter of dishes, the murmur of voices and, of course, the comforting ding of the cash register.

“It would need a lot of work,” the Realtor said.

An understatement. “It would need a whole lot of work.” But even as he said it he knew he was going to take the place. There was plenty of light, the building was more than adequate for what he wanted to do and the price was right. With luck, he could be open before Christmas.

It wouldn’t be the restaurant of his dreams. Not in this isolated part of the state. But since he couldn’t leave here, he might as well do something while he was waiting.

“Let’s write up an offer,” he said and saw the Realtor’s surprise.

“Really?”

He laughed. “You talked me out of every other place in town.”

“Maybe I should try to talk you out of this one.”

“Don’t waste your breath.” He looked around him, seeing again the dust and dirt and peeling paint. Still…“There is something about this place.”

She followed his gaze, clearly not seeing it. “Well, if you’re sure this is the building you want…”

He smiled at her. “It is.” Wait until the residents of Old Town Whitehorse heard he was opening a restaurant. It would be a clear message to them: he was staying until he got what he wanted. Or until he went broke, he thought with a wry smile.

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA what time it is out here?” Laney Cavanaugh Giovanni asked, sounding half-asleep as she answered the phone.

Laci hadn’t thought about the time difference between Whitehorse, Montana, and Honolulu. “Sorry. I needed someone to talk to.”

“You should get a pet. Or just talk to yourself.”

“I am talking to myself. I just don’t like the answers I’m getting.” Laci could hear her sister get up, then the sound of glass doors opening and closing as Laney took the phone outside. She could imagine the view of the ocean, the smell of salty sea air, the lull of the surf below the balcony and the cries of the gulls. Every woman she knew was on her honeymoon.

“How was Alyson’s wedding?” Laney asked after a big yawn. But she sounded more awake. And it wasn’t as though Laci would have let her go back to sleep—and she would know that.

“It was…nice.”

“Nice?” Laney asked. “Okay, what happened? You didn’t do anything you shouldn’t have, did you?”

Now that she had her sister on the phone, Laci wasn’t sure she wanted to tell her. It sounded too nuts, even for her. “Of course not. Look, it’s nothing. Really. Sorry I woke you up. I should let you go.”

“Oh, no, you don’t. What is it?” her sister demanded.

Laci groaned. “You’re going to think I’ve lost my mind.”

“I already think you’re nuttier than peanut brittle,” Laney said, repeating something their grandmother Pearl always used to say before a stroke had left her incapacitated in a nursing home.

“Okay, something did happen. At least I think it did. It was probably just my imagination. I’m sure it was.”

“Laci!”

“It’s Alyson’s husband, Spencer.”

“Do not tell me he made a pass at you at the reception.”

“No,” Laci said. It was much worse than that. “I caught him looking at Alyson strangely.”

“How strangely?” Laney asked, sounding as if she was taking this seriously.

Laci realized she’d hoped that her sister would tell her what a fool she was and relieve her mind. “He looked as if he couldn’t stand the sight of her. As if he hated her. As if he wanted to harm her.” The words were out and she wished she could call them back. She felt as if she was being disloyal to her best friend. “I know it sounds round the bend—”

“How was he acting right before that?”

“That’s just it. He was laughing and smiling and dancing with her as if he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have married her. I’m sure I must be mistaken.”

She groaned, remembering the look Spencer had given her when he’d felt her watching him. He’d been upset, hadn’t he?

“That is really odd,” Laney said. “You’re sure he was looking at Alyson?”

“No. But since he doesn’t know anyone else in town, who else could he have been looking at? Like I said, it was just for an instant. I’m probably wrong.”

She waited for her sister to agree, but instead Laney asked, “Have you seen Alyson since?”

“No. Right after that they left on their honeymoon.” She recalled the way Spencer had hustled Aly off. “Just tell me that I’m silly to be worried about her.”

Her sister seemed to hesitate. “You’re silly to worry about her.”

The words lacked conviction but Laci felt better. “Speaking of honeymoons…”

“Yes, I probably should get back to mine,” Laney said, a smile in her voice.

“You know that I will always suspect that you eloped so you wouldn’t have to ask me to cater your reception,” Laci said.

Laney laughed. “I eloped because I’ve decided to become more impulsive, like you.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Laci said in all seriousness. “One of us has to be the stable one. I like it when it’s you.”

“Eloping was the first impulsive thing I’ve ever done. You’re the one who always told me to go with my feelings instead of being so analytical.”

“I don’t know why you would take advice from me.”

“Maybe we’ll have a reception when we get back,” Laney said. “And you can cater it.”

“Okay,” Laci said but without her usual enthusiasm. Her mind was back on Alyson.

“We can talk more when I get home. It won’t be that long, which is why I’m resuming my honeymoon now,” Laney said, and Laci could tell by her sister’s tone that Nick had joined her on the balcony. Nick was gorgeous and crazy in love with her big sister. “'Bye, sis.”

“Oh, Laney, I forgot to tell you. Alyson and Spencer are spending their honeymoon in Hawaii, too. Maybe you’ll run into them.” But Laci realized her sister had already hung up.

AFTER WRITING UP AN offer for the building, Bridger Duvall spent the rest of the day digging through old newspaper archives, looking for any mention of Dr. Holloway, the Whitehorse Sewing Circle or Pearl Cavanaugh.

As he searched, he thought of Pearl’s grand-daughter Laci and their chance meeting at the wedding. Fate? Not likely given the size of Whitehorse, Montana. Laci lived five miles south of town in what was locally known as Old Town. The now near ghost town had once been Whitehorse. That was, until the railroad came through in the 1800s and the town moved north to the rails, taking the name with it.

He recalled the first time he’d seen Old Town. If a tumbleweed hadn’t rolled across the dirt street in front of his car, he wouldn’t have slowed and would have missed the place entirely.

Little was left of the small ranching community. At one time there’d been a gas station, but that building was sitting empty, the pumps long gone. There was a community center, which was still called Whitehorse Community Center. Every small community in this part of Montana had one of those. And there was the one-room schoolhouse next to it.

There were a few houses, one large one that was boarded up, a Condemned sign nailed to the door, an old shutter banging in the wind.

For years the community had been run by Titus and Pearl Cavanaugh, both descendents of early homesteaders and just as strong and determined as the first settlers.

Titus was as close to a mayor as Old Town had. He provided a church service every Sunday morning at the community center and saw to the hiring of a schoolteacher when needed.

Pearl’s mother Abigail had started the Whitehorse Sewing Circle. The women of the community got together a few times a week to make quilts for every new baby and every newlywed in the area.

The old cemetery on the hill had also kept the Whitehorse name. The iron on the sign that hung over the arched entrance was rusted but readable: Whitehorse Cemetery.

Bridger had learned a lot about the area just stopping at a café in Whitehorse proper, five miles to the north and the last real town for miles. All he’d had to do was ask about Old Town Whitehorse and he got an earful. The people were clannish and stuck to themselves. The old-timers still resented the town moving and taking the name. And, like Whitehorse proper, both communities were dying.

A lack of jobs was sending the younger residents to more prosperous parts of the state or the country. The population in the entire county was dropping each year. People joked about who would be around to turn the lights out when Whitehorse completely died.

While Bridger had learned a lot, he hadn’t gotten what he’d come here to find. Not yet, anyway.

And now he’d made the acquaintance of Pearl’s granddaughter, Laci. She was a cute thing, fair skinned, slender, with short curly blond hair and blue eyes.

Life was strange, he thought as he continued to search the old newspapers. In a way, his life had started here. And now here he was, thirty-two years old and back here in hopes of finding himself.

The one thing he’d learned quickly was that being an outsider was a disadvantage in a small Montana town. Not that he’d expected to be accepted immediately just because he lived here and was now opening a restaurant.

But he’d found it was going to take time. Fortunately, time was the one thing he had plenty of.

His eye caught on a notice in one of the old news-papers he’d been thumbing through. A city permit for a fence at a house owned by the late Dr. Holloway.

Bridger felt a rush of excitement. For months he’d been trying to track down his birth mother after finding out that he was adopted.

Not just adopted—illegally adopted. The story his adoptive mother told him on her deathbed involved a group of women called the Whitehorse Sewing Circle.

Thirty-two years ago, his parents, both too old to adopt through the usual channels, had gotten a call in the middle of the night telling them to come to the Whitehorse Cemetery.

There an elderly woman gave them a baby and a birth certificate. No money exchanged hands. Nor names. Bridger had surmised over his time here that the woman in the cemetery that night was none other than Pearl Cavanaugh.

How a group of women had decided to get into the illegal adoption business was still beyond him. Nor did he know how many babies had been placed over the years.

He’d come to town months ago, rented an old farm-house just outside of Old Town and begun his search.

Unfortunately, his quest had come at a high price. Most of the people involved were now dead. The doctor who Bridger believed had handled the adoptions—Dr. Holloway—had been murdered by one of his coconspirators, his office building burned to the ground, all records apparently lost.

The woman he believed to be the ringleader, Pearl Cavanaugh, had suffered a stroke. Another key player, an elderly women named Nina Mae Cross, had Alzheimer’s. Both women were in the nursing home now. Neither was able to tell him anything.

But Bridger was convinced Holloway was too smart to keep records of his illegal adoption activities with his patients' medical records at the office. So he held out hope that the records would be found elsewhere.

But where would the doctor have hidden them to make sure they never surfaced? Maybe in this house Bridger had discovered.

Or maybe no records had been kept. Certainly no charges had been filed against anyone involved, for lack of evidence.

But even if Bridger found proof, not one of the women in the original Whitehorse Sewing Circle was less than seventy now. None would ever see prison. The only thing he could hope for was learning his true identity.

“Even if you had proof that would stand up in court,” the sheriff had said, “you sure you want these women thrown in jail? If they hadn’t gotten you and your twin sister good homes, neither of you might be alive today.”

Bridger knew he probably owed his life to the Whitehorse Sewing Circle. The women had taken babies who needed homes and placed them with loving couples who either couldn’t conceive or were ineligible to adopt because of their age.

Also, something good had come out of his quest: he’d found his twin sister, Eve Bailey. Eve had grown up in Old Town and suspected from an early age that she was adopted. She’d come back here also looking for answers and, like him, had ended up staying.

As he copied down the address of the house that Dr. Holloway had owned, he felt a surge of hope. The doctor had lived in an apartment over his office. So what had he used the house for?

Bridger tried not to get his hopes up, telling himself that if he didn’t find anything at the house, there was always Pearl Cavanaugh’s granddaughter.

One way or the other, maybe he’d finally get lucky.

LACI JUMPED WHEN THE phone rang and picked it up before even checking caller ID. She’d been thinking about Alyson, so she’d just assumed it would be her.

“Laci?”

“Maddie?” She realized she hadn’t heard from her cousin in weeks, not since Maddie Cavanaugh had moved to Bozeman to attend Montana State University. “How are you?”

“Great. Really great,” Maddie said, sounding like her old self again.

Laci couldn’t have been more relieved. Maddie had been through so much, not the least being suspected of murder. But probably the hardest was her breakup with her fiancé, Bo Evans.

The hold Bo had on Maddie was still a concern. Laci feared that Maddie might weaken and go back to that destructive relationship.

“So tell me about your classes,” Laci said, and Maddie launched into an enthusiastic rundown. She sounded so happy that Laci began to relax a little.

Counseling and college seemed to have helped Maddie put Bo Evans and a need to punish herself behind her.

Maddie asked about Laci’s catering business, and Laci quickly changed the subject. Her lack of business was the least of her worries right now, but she didn’t want to get into the Alyson and Spencer situation with her cousin.

“I have a test first thing in the morning, so I’d better go,” Maddie said after they’d talked for a while. “I wanted to let you know that my roommate has invited me home for Christmas. She’s from Kalispell, so…”

Laci tried to hide her disappointment. Maddie had planned to spend Christmas with her. Laney and Nick had already made plans to have Christmas with his family in California. “Oh, you’ll have a great time. What a nice invitation.”

“You don’t mind?” Maddie asked, sounding relieved.

“Of course I will miss you, but I’m so glad you’re enjoying college and making friends.” Laci knew that Laney would now insist she come to California—the last thing she wanted to do. Christmas required snow. Christmas was Montana. Also, she couldn’t leave her grandfather alone for the holidays.

“I’m really proud of you,” Laci said. “You’ve been through a lot.”

“You know us Cavanaugh women,” Maddie said with a laugh. “I’m excited about the future.” Her cousin sounded surprised by that. After everything she’d been through, it was no wonder.

Laci hung up, relieved that Maddie hadn’t asked about Bo Evans. Maybe she was finally over him. Laci would rather believe that than believe Maddie hadn’t wanted to come home for Christmas because she was afraid to see Bo again. Either because she feared she might be tempted or because she was scared of the Evans family. Laci could understand being afraid of that family.

ARLENE EVANS COULDN'T believe the mental hospital wouldn’t let her see her daughter Violet.

“I told you they wouldn’t let us in,” Charlotte said as she inspected the ends of her long blond hair.

Arlene glanced over at her younger daughter as she put the car into gear. More and more, Charlotte was starting to annoy her. The whiny voice. The obsession with her split ends. The way she’d put on weight since the “incidents.”

Arlene insisted the family all refer to the attempts on her life as “those unfortunate incidents” if they had to refer to them at all. She would just as soon forget the whole thing. But that was a little difficult since the entire country had heard about her three children trying to kill her.

It had almost cost Arlene the farm in lawyer fees to get her two youngest off. It had cost her her husband. Floyd divorced her and ran off with some grain seed saleswoman. Good riddance. She’d leased out the land and would be just fine now that her Rural Meet-A-Mate Internet dating service was doing so well. Being on national TV hadn’t hurt.

Whatever the cost, it had been worth it to get Charlotte and Bo cleared. In her own mind, Arlene knew where the blame for the whole mess lay: her old-maid daughter Violet. Violet had always been the problem child. Charlotte, barely eighteen, and Bo, now twenty, would never have even contemplated the terrible things they’d done without Violet as the ringleader.

Alice Miller, that old busybody who lived down the road, had suggested the children were fed too much sugar. The woman really needed to turn off the talk-show television and take care of her own business.

Fortunately, Arlene had been able to hire a good lawyer for Charlotte and Bo and got them probation. The judge had insisted they come home and live with her so they could begin to heal. Arlene wasn’t sure that’s what had been going on at the house, though.

Bo stayed in his room listening to that horrible music and barely had a civil word for her, except late at night when he went out doing who knew what. Charlotte, restricted from going into town on Saturday nights because of those other unfortunate incidents involving strange men, hung around the house and ate.

Half the time, Arlene couldn’t stand the sight of her own children. Now there was an episode for the talk shows.

The only way she’d been able to stay sane was to concentrate on her business. Her Internet rural dating business had taken off after she’d been interviewed on one of the national morning TV shows. But many locals were still wary of the Internet. She’d been forced to remove some people’s profiles who hadn’t asked to be put on her Web page. The ingratitude of people still amazed her.

Like the Cavanaughs. The whole bunch of them blamed Bo for Maddie’s problems. All Arlene could say was good riddance to that one, too. She hated to think what Bo’s life would have been like if he’d married that girl.

Arlene couldn’t believe the injustice in the world. That’s probably why, when she got to the point that she found herself finding fault with Charlotte and Bo, she would turn all her anger and frustration on the one person who really deserved it—her oldest daughter, Violet. On the fast track to thirty-five and insane, Violet had little chance of ever getting married now. And wasn’t it just like everyone to blame the mother for it.

“I’d love to give Violet a piece of my mind,” Arlene said as she left the mental hospital, tires spitting gravel. She’d even hired a lawyer, but the hospital hadn’t budged, saying that it would not be in Violet’s best interest to see her mother. As if Arlene gave a fig about Violet’s best interest.

Did Violet appreciate all the years Arlene had labored tirelessly to try to get her married off? No. How did Violet pay her back? She’d tried to kill her own mother and had drawn in her younger sister and brother as accomplices.

“Sometimes I just don’t know why I try,” Arlene said and sighed as she drove toward Old Town Whitehorse. Beside her, Charlotte pulled a candy bar from her jacket pocket, at least her third this morning.

“Watch where you’re going!” Charlotte yelled as the car almost went off the road. “What is your problem?”

Arlene got the car back on the road and looked over at her daughter again. She’d never noticed before how much Charlotte was beginning to resemble her sister Violet.

BACK AT THE HOSPITAL, Violet Evans felt the drool run down her chin but didn’t move a muscle to stop it.

“Violet?”

She stared into nothingness, her eyes glazed over, her mind miles away. Miles away in Old Town Whitehorse.

“Violet, can you hear me?”

The doctors called her condition a “semicatatonic state.” She’d been like this ever since she’d been brought to the mental hospital after admitting to trying to kill her mother. It was a textbook-classic case, she’d heard the doctors say and had to suppress the urge to laugh.

It should be textbook-classic; that’s where she’d found the symptoms for the condition. Lately, though, the doctors had noticed that she was starting to come out of it.

Violet loved fooling with them. One day soon she would come out of it, all right. She wouldn’t remember anything. When they told her about her crimes, she would be shocked, feel incredible remorse for the misery she’d caused and find it almost unbearable.

There would be suspicion with her apparent confusion about where she’d been, what she’d done. There would be more psychiatric tests, but finally they would have to release her back into society. They would have to since she’d clearly been sick when she’d tried to kill her own mother. And soon she would be well.

But for now, Violet Evans saw nothing, felt nothing, was nothing. At least on the surface. Her mind worked 24-7, planning and plotting for the day when she would walk out the front door of the hospital a free woman.

Inside, she smiled to herself. It wouldn’t be long now. Soon she would be free. Only this time she would be much smarter. This time she wouldn’t get caught. Nor was she just going to finish the job she’d started. That was the problem with too much time to think—it made you realize there were a lot of people you wouldn’t mind seeing dead.

THE PHONE RANG THE minute Laci hung up from talking with her cousin. She smiled as she picked up the receiver, sure it was Maddie calling her back.

“What did you forget to tell me?” she said without bothering to say hello.

Silence.

“Maddie?”

No answer.

She checked the caller ID. Blocked. Her heart began to pound as she recognized the faint sound of someone breathing on the other end of the line.

She told herself there was nothing to be frightened about. It was just a bad connection. Then why could she hear the breathing just fine? “Hello?”

Still no answer.

“What do you want?” she demanded into the phone.

The caller hung up with a click.

Her heart drummed in her chest as she tried to convince herself it was just a wrong number. She hung up and hit star-6-9.

The recording confirmed that the phone number could not be accessed.

She hung up, telling herself she was overreacting. As usual. But now she was spooked, the call feeling like an omen.

Chapter Three

At the sound of a car, Laci wandered into the living room, still feeling under the weather. And while she was relieved about Maddie, she couldn’t get Alyson out of her mind. Or the strange phone call.

One of Alyson’s bridesmaids, a younger friend they’d both grown up with, trotted up the front steps.

Laci opened the door, glad to see McKenna Bailey. McKenna, all cowgirl, was dressed in jeans, western shirt, boots and a straw western hat pulled down over her blond hair.

“I guess I don’t need to ask how you’re feeling,” McKenna said with a laugh. “I couldn’t believe you last night. I’ve never seen you drink that much.”

Which could partly explain why she felt so horrible. But she knew the perfect cure of whatever ailed her.

“Pancakes,” Laci said drawing McKenna into the kitchen.

“Pancakes? You can’t be serious,” McKenna said as she took off her cowboy hat and set it on the stool next to her at the breakfast bar.

“Pumpkin pancakes.” As Laci whipped up the batter, she began to feel better. Cooking always did that for her. McKenna talked about the wedding ceremony, the food at the reception—the town women had insisted on doing a potluck, almost as if there were a plot against Laci and her catering company.

Ever since she’d decided to start Cavanaugh Catering, nothing had gone right. True, her first catered party had ended with a woman being poisoned to death—not Laci’s fault, though.

Since then, she hadn’t had any business and was starting to wonder if her sister had been right about it being a mistake to run a catering business here in the middle of nowhere.

Laci spooned some of the golden batter into a sizzling-hot skillet. The smell alone made her feel better.

“Spencer is really something, huh?” McKenna said.

Laci shot a look over her shoulder at McKenna. “He’s handsome enough,” she said noncommittally.

McKenna laughed. “Arlene Evans is positive she’s seen him in one of her movie magazines.” She lowered her voice. “But you should have heard what Harvey Alderson said.”

Laci could well imagine, knowing Harvey.

“He said the guy looked like a porn star to him,” McKenna said and laughed again. “Makes you wonder what Harvey knows about porn stars, doesn’t it?”

Laci laughed and turned back to her cooking. The pancakes had bubbled up nicely. She flipped each one, then brought out the apple-cinnamon syrup and fresh creamery butter and put them on the counter in front of McKenna, happy her friend had stopped by. She wished McKenna was home for more than the weekend.

“The thing about men as good-looking as Spencer Donovan—you’d have to keep him corralled at home,” McKenna said, only half joking. “Every woman in the county would be after him. Speaking of men…I did something really stupid last night.”

Laci couldn’t imagine McKenna Bailey doing anything stupid in her life. She hadn’t even had that much to drink last night. “What?”

“I signed up on Arlene Evans’s rural dating Internet site,” McKenna said and grimaced. “I’m never going to find my handsome cowboy helping Eve with the ranch. Or at vet school. I figured, what would it hurt, you know?”

“I know,” Laci said with a laugh as she slid a plateful of silver-dollar pancakes in front of McKenna and watched her slather them with butter before making another skilletful for herself.

Was that all it had been last night? A splash of champagne and a shot of envy, stirred not shaken, with a healthy dose of vivid imagination? She sure hoped so because she really didn’t want her friend to be in trouble. She glanced at the kitchen clock over the stove as she sat down, not even hungry for her favorite pancakes. Alyson would be in Honolulu soon.

“Laci, these pancakes are to die for,” McKenna said between bites. And the conversation turned to Laci’s catering business—and lack of clients. And for a while Laci stopped worrying about Alyson and worried instead about how to get Cavanaugh Catering cooking.

BRIDGER DUVALL SNAPPED on his flashlight as he descended the rickety basement stairs of Dr. Holloway’s former house. It was dusty and dark down here, the overhead light dim. The place, he’d learned, had been sitting empty for years. He doubted anyone had been down here in all that time.

“Can’t be much of interest down there, but you’re welcome to look, I guess,” the elderly neighbor said from the top of the stairs.

“Thanks,” Bridger called over his shoulder as he descended deeper. He’d managed to talk the neighbor into letting him into the house after discovering it was empty, and the man thought he knew where there might be a key.

In a town like Whitehorse, neighbors were often given a spare key to the house next door. Bridger loved that about this part of Montana. As it turned out, the door hadn’t even been locked.

A house that the doc owned—but apparently had never lived in—seemed like the perfect place to store records you didn’t want anyone to ever see.

The basement smelled of dampness and mildew. He stopped on the bottom stair. He heard something scurry across one dark corner and shot his flashlight beam in that direction quick enough to catch the shape of a mouse before it disappeared into a hole in the concrete.

Great. Who knew what else lived down here.

Bridger shone the flashlight around the small, damp basement. It was little more than a root cellar. He brushed aside the cobwebs to peer into a hole that ran back under the house. There was a lot of junk down here, most of it looking as if it had been there since the house was originally built a hundred years before.

One box held what appeared to be women’s clothing. He held up one of the dresses. Dated. Had the clothes belonged to the doctor’s wife before her death? Or had the doctor had a mistress who’d lived here?

Bridger dug through several of the boxes, finding more old clothing but no files. No records.

He couldn’t help his disappointment. He’d hit one dead end after another. In the last box he opened he found an old photo album. He flipped it open. Most of the pages were empty except for a few colored photographs of two little girls. Children who’d been part of the adoption ring?

Tucking the album under his jacket, Bridger climbed up out of the basement, anxious for some fresh air.

The helpful neighbor was waiting in the living room. “Find anything?” he asked.

“Nothing much.” He’d told the old man that he was looking for his mother’s medical records. No lie there. He feared the man wouldn’t let him take the photo album if he told him about it, so he kept it hidden under his jacket.

Bridger handed him back the key, thanked him and took one last look at the inside of the house, wondering why Dr. Holloway had kept it and whose clothing that was downstairs. The dresses had been in different sizes, so that seemed to rule out a mistress.

A thought struck him, giving him a chill. Was it possible the birth mothers had stayed here in this house until they’d given birth? Maybe even Bridger’s own mother?

The used furniture appeared to be a good thirty years old and was now covered in dust. If his mother had stayed here, there was no sign of her after all this time.

He followed the old man out the front door, glancing back only once. For just a split second he imagined a woman standing at the front window, her belly swollen with the fraternal twins she carried, her face lost behind the dirty window.

TO KEEP FROM CALLING Alyson and ruining her honeymoon, Laci tried to stay busy. She cooked everything she could think to make, then had to find a home for all the food.

She dropped off a week’s meals at her grandfather Titus’s apartment—the one he’d taken in town so he could spend more time at his wife’s bedside at the nursing home.

Gramma Pearl’s condition hadn’t changed since her stroke. Her eyes were open, but she wasn’t able to respond, even though Laci liked to believe she knew her and understood what Laci said to her. Once, Laci would have sworn her grandmother squeezed her hand. Laney said it must have been her imagination.

Laci’s imagination was legendary.

The treats Laci had baked she took to the staff at the rest home when she went to visit her grandmother. They all seemed to love her cookies and cakes.

As she came out of the nursing home, Laci was debating what to do with the batch of her famous spicy meatballs she had in her car. They were too spicy for—She collided with what felt like a brick wall, emitting an “ufft” as strong arms grabbed her to keep her from toppling over backward.

“We really have to quit meeting like this,” said a teasing male voice.

She looked up as she recognized the voice from the wedding reception. Actually, from the merry-go-round in the schoolyard next to the community center, where he’d come to her assistance.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said, embarrassed.

“Nice to see you, too,” he said and grinned. “Glad to see you’ve recovered from the wedding. Still having trouble staying on your feet, though, I see.”

He was even better looking in broad daylight. He wore a western shirt, jeans and boots. His dark hair curled at the nape of his neck beneath his gray Stetson. She noted that his clothing was worn and dusty as if he’d been working.

She hadn’t taken him for a working cowboy last night—even though he’d been wearing boots with his tux. Apparently he was the real thing. Having grown up in old Whitehorse, she had a soft spot for cowboys. Especially ones as gallant as this one.

“Still rescuing damsels in distress, I see,” she said, cringing inside at the memory of what happened at the wedding.

He smiled and held out his hand. “I don’t think we were ever officially introduced. Bridger Duvall.”

Bridger Duvall? The mystery man of Old Town Whitehorse? Now she remembered why he’d seemed vaguely familiar. While their paths had never crossed, she’d certainly heard about him.

“Laci Cavanaugh,” she said, taking his hand. It was wonderfully large and warm and comforting. There was something so chivalrous about him. She recalled how he’d given her his napkin outside the community center. Also how he’d given her peace and quiet. She’d appreciated both.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, looking into her eyes before letting go of her hand.

“So you’re Bridger Duvall,” she said, feeling more than a little off-kilter considering the way their paths had crossed both times.

“The scurrilous rumors about me are highly exaggerated,” he said with a twinkle in his dark eyes.

She cocked her head at him, curious and maybe flirting just a little. He did have a great handshake, and that voice of his was so wonderfully deep and soft. Like being bathed in silk.

“Which rumors are those?” she asked.

“That I only come out at night, that I’m fabulously wealthy and that I’m doing weird experiments in the barn out on the ranch.”

She liked his sense of humor. “And how are they exaggerated?”

Grinning, he leaned toward her conspiratorially. “I do the weird experiments in the basement.”

“That house doesn’t have a basement.”

Bridger laughed as they walked toward their vehicles. “Caught me.”

Laci Cavanaugh. Granddaughter of Pearl Cavanaugh. He felt only a twinge of guilt. It had been no accident running into her today. He hadn’t meant the run-in to be so literal, though. But whatever worked.

“Well, at least now I know which rumors are true,” she said as she moved to her car and started to open the door.

“It was nice seeing you again,” he said, surprised he meant it—and not because of his ulterior motive.

She smiled. “I’m sure we’ll run into each other again.”

As she opened her car door, he was hit with a tantalizing aroma that took his breath away. “What is that wonderful scent?” he asked stepping over to lean past her into the open car door to take a whiff.

She laughed. “Meatballs and spaghetti. I was planning to drop the dish off at the senior center, but I’m afraid it’s too spicy for their tastes.”

Bridger cocked a brow at her. “Well, it is almost dinnertime, and I just happen to know the perfect place to take it. I can assure you it would be greatly appreciated. Just follow me. It’s only a few blocks from here.”

He saw her hesitate, as if worried that the rumors about him might be true, before accepting. If she only knew.

Laci followed his pickup, surprised when he turned into a spot in front of one of the old empty buildings on the main street, and wondered if she hadn’t made a mistake in coming here with him.

“I don’t understand,” she said, looking from him to the building, which apparently was being remodeled.

“You will.” He opened her car door and took out the casserole dish. “Right this way.”

He led her through the front of the restaurant, which was filled with sawhorses, tools, dust and paint supplies, through two swinging doors that led to the new stainless-steel commercial kitchen. Everything but a small table and two chairs was covered with plastic until the painting was finished.

Clearly this was where he’d been working. He put the casserole on the round table and dug under the plastic to open a cabinet and bring out dishes.

“I have some leftover bread and a salad I’d planned to eat for supper,” he said, setting both on the table.

“What is this place?” she asked, looking back toward the front of the building as he began to cut thick slices of the bread.

“It’s a restaurant. Well, that is, it will be once it’s finished,” he said with obvious pride, and she realized he worked here.

“Opening a new restaurant in Whitehorse?” She hadn’t meant to sound so disbelieving.

“I know it’s risky—”

“Risky is one way of putting it.” She wondered who’d take such a risk, since the last restaurant in this building hadn’t lasted six months.

She lifted the lid on the casserole, and he groaned and breathed in the rich scent with obvious pleasure. She couldn’t help but smile with pleasure of her own.

“If that tastes half as good as it smells…”

She laughed as she dished him up some of the meatballs and spaghetti hiding beneath the sauce and waited as he sat down and picked up his fork.

He took a bite, closing his eyes and savoring the wonderful flavors. His eyes flew open. “Who made this?”

“I bought it from some woman cooking beside the road,” she joked, thinking he must be doing the same, as she filled her plate and took a bite of his salad. “This salad is wonderful. Did the restaurant’s cook make it?”

He grinned. “Yeah, you like?”

She nodded, looking surprised as she took a bite of the bread. “Yum. Homemade bread. Maybe this restaurant will do all right after all.”

“Maybe, if it has these meatballs on the menu,” he said and took another bite. “I’m serious,” he said between bites. “I’m hiring whoever made this.”

“Hiring them to do what?” Laci asked.

“Cook, what else?”

She glanced toward all the stainless steel in the kitchen. “This is your restaurant?”

It hadn’t dawned on her. For some reason, she’d just assumed he was doing the construction on the place—not that he owned it—given how he was dressed.

About then she noticed that he was looking at her oddly. “You made this?” he asked, sounding as surprised as she’d been about him.

She bristled. “Don’t I look like someone who could have made this?” She realized her skin was a little thin since her catering business had gone nowhere fast.

He still looked stunned, and she realized he had to be regretting saying he wanted to hire whoever had made the meatballs now that he’d found out it was her. “Is this about the job offer? Because if it is, I’m definitely not looking for a job.”

“Sorry, it’s just that…” He shook his head. “Can you cook anything else?”

She bristled again. “Of course. I can cook anything.”

“That’s big talk,” he said, his tone challenging. “I assume you’re willing to back it up?”

She glared across the table at him. “Name your terms.”

He grinned. “I can have the kitchen ready tomorrow. Say 9:00 a.m.? You don’t mind a little friendly competition?”

“You mean from your chef?”

He nodded, looking pleased with himself.

Not that she had to prove anything with her cooking. But damn if she wasn’t going to show him. She smiled across the table at him, wanting to cook something that would knock this cowboy and his chef on their ears.

They ate in a strangely companionable silence. She couldn’t remember a meal she’d enjoyed as much. After they’d finished, she started to pick up her casserole dish, but he put a hand over hers. There were only two meatballs and just a little sauce and spaghetti left.

“Mind if I finish that off later? I’d be happy to get your dish back to you tomorrow.”

She looked into his dark eyes, surprised that she hadn’t noticed before the tiny flecks of gold in all that warm-brownie chocolate. What was she thinking taking a cooking dare from this man?

She didn’t want a job in a restaurant. She was determined to make Cavanaugh Catering a success.

But she couldn’t let him think that she was a one-dish cook. No way. Her pride was at stake here.

And not just that, Laci realized as she left and headed home. Bridger Duvall had taken her mind off worrying about Alyson for a while. And for that she was thankful.

But when she reached home, she knew that she couldn’t put off calling her friend any longer. She dialed the number Alyson had given her for the hotel where they would be staying in Hawaii.

“I’m sorry, we have no one by that name registered here,” the desk clerk informed her.

“But that’s not possible,” Laci said. “Mrs. Spencer Donovan gave me this number.”

“When were they to arrive?” the clerk asked.

Laci told him and waited while he checked.

“Apparently Mr. Donovan canceled those reservations.”

Laci stood holding the phone, dumbstruck, her fear spiking. Spencer had canceled the hotel reservations? Why?

So Laci couldn’t warn Alyson.

AS BRIDGER HEADED out of town toward the ranch he rented outside of Old Town Whitehorse, he spotted the nursing home marquee announcing one of the resident’s birthdays. It was later than usual, but still he turned into the lot.

It had become a ritual, stopping by every day to pay Pearl Cavanaugh and the other elderly Whitehorse Sewing Circle women a visit. He’d been told by the nurses that Pearl had been quite the woman before her stroke.

While her mother may have started the quilting group and possibly the adoptions, there was little doubt that Pearl Cavanaugh had been the ringleader during the time that he and Eve were adopted.

He stuck his head in Pearl’s room. Her husband Titus visited every morning and early in the afternoon. Bridger made a point of making sure their paths didn’t cross. He’d attempted to ask Titus about the adoption ring but had been quickly rebuked and threatened with slander. If Titus knew anything, he wasn’t talking. Just like the rest of them.

Pearl was lying in bed, her blue eyes open and fixed on the ceiling.

“How are you doing today, Pearl?”

No response. But then, he hadn’t expected one.

He pulled up a chair beside her bed and looked into her soft-skinned wrinkled face. It reflected years of living, and yet there was a gentle strength about her. He wished he had known her before the stroke. Guilt consumed him since he felt he was partly to blame for putting her here. If he hadn’t come to Whitehorse looking for answers, maybe she wouldn’t have had the stroke.

He took her frail hand. The skin was thin and pale, lifeless. Her eyes moved to him. “Remember me? Bridger Duvall. I’m one of your babies.”

Did something change in her expression? He could never be sure as he told her—as he always did—about his adoptive parents, about growing up on a ranch outside of Roundup, Montana.

“I loved my parents and miss them terribly, but I still want to know who my birth mother is. From what everyone has told me about you,” he continued, “you have to have known that some of the children you adopted out would come looking for their birth parents. You would have kept a record.”

He thought he saw something flicker in her pale blue eyes—eyes the same exact color as her grand-daughter Laci’s. He was more convinced than ever that Pearl was in there, just unable to respond.

“You know who she is, don’t you?” He looked down at her hand. It was cool to the touch, the skin silken and thinly lined with veins. He stroked it gently.

“How to get that information out is the problem, huh? Don’t worry, I’ll be here every day to see you, and one of these days you’ll be able to tell me.” He smiled at her. “You’re going to get better.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and for a moment he thought she’d squeezed his hand just a little as he placed it carefully back on the bed.

As he rose, he saw that she was no longer looking at him but behind him. He spun around expecting to see Titus in the doorway, but it was another elderly lady he’d seen around the nursing home.

The woman was tall with cropped gray hair and a permanent scowl on her face. She quickly turned and took off down the hall.

As he started after her, a nurse appeared in the doorway. “Everything all right in here? I just saw Bertie Cavanaugh take off like a shot. She wasn’t bothering you, was she?”

Bridger shook his head. The nursing staff had been very kind to him. At first they’d been suspicious, but after a while seemed thankful for his visits to the patients.

“Bertie Cavanaugh?” he said. “Any relation to Pearl?”

“Everyone from Old Town Whitehorse is related one way or another,” the nurse said with a laugh. “I think they might be second cousins through marriage.”

Another elderly woman from Old Town. Had she belonged to the sewing circle? He’d have to find out. He tried not to get his hopes up. One of his first leads was a woman who was deeply involved in the illegal adoption ring, Nina Mae Cross. Unfortunately Nina Mae had Alzheimer’s and was of no help at all to him, even though he continued to visit her, as well.

“See you tomorrow, Pearl,” he said as he left. She was staring up at the ceiling again, but he had the strangest feeling that seeing Bertie Cavanaugh had upset her.

Or did she fear that Bertie had overheard what they’d been talking about? His adoption.

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