Zane grimaced. How could Jackson McGraw deny her the opportunity to find her mother, without offering any sympathy? And yet he sounded as though he really cared for her.
Her search would have to be far more dangerous than he and Kristin realized.
And, as he felt his jaw tighten, he knew he didn’t want anything to happen to her at all.
Beside him, Kristin rubbed her forehead. She looked as if she might be getting a headache. He needed a break, too. He needed to clear his head with some fresh air. Cool mountain air would bring about that professional distance he needed to have.
Ahead was a rest stop, complete with gas station, playground, small restaurant and gift shop. Zane hit the signal light. “We need a break,” he said gruffly.
Sniffling, she nodded. “I’ve never been to so many restaurants in my life.” Her soft words cut into him, and he disliked how much they hurt. They’d only known each other a day and a half, he reminded himself. She’d done a one-eighty on trusting him, but that didn’t mean he should treat her differently from any other client.
Most clients wanted him to check on cheating spouses or investigate untrustworthy employees. Suddenly, he hated his job. So much distrust. Maybe because he’d been so jaded by his childhood that he figured he could handle the suspicions needed in this line of work. Now his suspicions irked him. He hated to feel guilty.
He turned in and parked in front of the restaurant. Slowly, Kristin climbed out. She stood with her hand on the roof of his car, turning carefully as she looked up at the mountains, then down to the restaurant, and over to the gas pumps. They’d already passed the small town of Condon, and the road had straightened out to a simple stretch of narrow valley nestled between the mountains.
“Is there something wrong?” he asked her as he closed the driver’s door.
She swallowed. “I’ve been here before.”
EIGHT
Kristin had climbed out of Zane’s car slowly, her mouth open as she stared around her. The line of snowy peaks to the left were closer than the ones to the right, and the whole valley acted like a wind tunnel, causing her to pull her jacket closer. The snow was gone from the last time she’d been to this gas station, but she knew this place.
Her heart pounded faster in her throat. Oh, yes, she knew this place. And its horrible memories. “I’ve been here before,” she repeated.
“You’ve lived here most of your life. Of course you know this place.”
“It’s more than that.” Giving one more glance at the snowy peaks around her, she hurried into the restaurant.
Inside, she walked around as Zane ordered a couple of coffees at the lunch counter. After scanning the small gift shop area, its trinkets and tourist clothing, she slid onto the round seat beside him at the counter, all the while gazing about.
An older man, vaguely familiar to her, approached carrying a coffeepot. She leaned forward. “Excuse me, but have we met before?”
The man peered at her, shaking his head slowly. “I don’t think so.”
“Was there a car accident nearby back in January?” She tried to keep her voice even, but couldn’t. It wobbled as she finished her thoughts. “A husband and wife killed?”
The man’s expression lit up as he pointed at her with his free hand. “Of course! I remember you. The police were with you.” He frowned. “They were your folks that died, weren’t they?”
She nodded before looking at Zane beside her. “I thought I remembered this place, but for some reason, I thought it happened down around Polson.”
“That’s on the other side of the Mission Mountains,” Zane said, pointing to the rear of the restaurant where the stunning view was visible through a back window. “That’s on Highway 93. This is Highway 83.”
“You were pretty upset,” the waiter added gently. “I don’t blame you for getting that mixed up.”
She pursed her lips, then spoke. “True. I haven’t even looked at the accident report yet. I don’t think I’ve ever looked at it. It’s…too hard, and each time I picked it up, I started to bawl, so I just put it away and…well, I refused to think about it. That goes for the newspaper article, and the obituary the Billings paper ran. My pastor cut them both out for me, but I haven’t read them yet. I thought this place was on the other highway.”
Zane accepted his coffee. “It was an honest mistake, considering your condition.”
“I was pretty upset by the time I got down here. The police officer bought me a cup of hot tea. And…” She pulled in a breath as she zeroed in on a far wall. “And we had to turn around here. I couldn’t see the crash site. I was too… Anyway, the police were so good to me. After the officer bought me the tea, we just returned home.” She looked at the waiter. “Do you know where the crash site is?”
“Sure. It’s at the end of Lindbergh Lake Road, or close to it. I can draw you a map, if you like. The last turn is terrible, but they’ve never done anything about it, not even after the crash. Costs too much money to put up a simple sign, I guess.” He pulled out his order pad and sketched out a map on the back of one sheet, explaining to them exactly how to get there.
Unable to stare at it for too long, she blinked and looked around, carefully assessing the seating area.
“You know,” the waiter said gently when he returned, “I talked to your folks just before the crash. The police even asked me a bunch of questions.”
Wide-eyed, Kristin asked, “What did you say?”
“I said that your folks seemed fine. They said they were on their way to visit a friend.”
Kristin knew of no friend down here. She bit her lip. No one had been able to figure out why they were down this way. Not only had the reason for the crash remained a mystery, but also the reason for the trip. “Did they say where this person lived?”
“Nearby, I think. There aren’t too many people who live year-round on the lake. I’m really sorry your folks died. They’d been in here before a few times and were really nice.”
They were here before? Her heart rate hitched up slightly, but with that short remark, he moved away to greet a trio who’d walked in. Still frowning, Kristin watched the well-dressed blond man hold the door open for a slim, African-American woman. Behind them, a rugged-looking man with a tough expression entered. They ignored Kristin and Zane as they found a table at the other end.
“Mom and Dad didn’t go anywhere without telling me where they were going,” she told Zane, glad they were alone again. “But this time, all they said was they were doing ‘church stuff,’ whatever that means now.”
“Had they said that before?”
“Sure. Mom and Dad visited shut-ins all the time.”
“They could have been visiting a fellow parishioner.”
“Down this far? No one from our church is from outside Westbrook.”
“Maybe the person moved away before you could remember and they were keeping in touch with him. You’ll have to ask your pastor for sure.”
“You’re probably right. Besides, this has nothing to do with our trip. It just had me thinking. And it looks like it’s just another unanswered question. Like the dead end you got with your search for your brother.”
Kristin watched his jaw harden as he looked away. He didn’t want to get hurt again with another dead end. Sympathy tightened in her throat.
He deserves his brother, she thought, surprising herself with the desire to see Zane happy. He didn’t want to be alone any more than she did. But they could both end up that way, she realized with an ache in her chest.
Lord in Heaven, help us. Have us find both my mother and his brother. Only You can do this.
Oblivious to her thoughts, Zane went on, “We should tell Jackson about those two men at the Mexican restaurant. If they are capos or soldiers in the Martino family, they’d be known to McGraw.” He looked at her. “Are you okay?”
She snapped out of her short prayer. “I was praying. What’s a capo?”
“It’s a rank in the Italian Mafia,” he sai
d quietly. “A capo is a man in charge of a gang or a crew. They are well respected, but often the men under them are anxious to be known, or be ‘made,’ as well. What it boils down to is that there’s always someone looking for promotion and respect, and killing you would achieve that. It’s also possible they’ve been ordered to kill you. We have to tell McGraw.”
“He’s coming here in a couple of days.” She looked around the restaurant, accidentally meeting the eyes of the young woman who’d recently entered. Instantly, she shifted her gaze away, wondering if the woman actually knew they are talking about murder, Mafias and things like that. She finished off her coffee. “Let’s get going. We shouldn’t be here wasting time.”
She slid off the seat, pulling out her purse to pay for her coffee. Before she could manage that, Zane had already set some bills down. Wordlessly, he led her out of the restaurant.
The trip into Missoula was quiet. Kristin couldn’t help but look at the Mission Mountains to their right, and at that one peak, Sheep’s Head.
The mountains that had been her home for so many years had new meaning. Death, missing people, searches. All of a sudden, she wanted to stop Zane, tell him to take her home, and forget about everything.
No. She’d given up seeing her parents’ accident site and reading the report. She wasn’t going to give up her search to know her birth mother better.
They finally made it into Missoula just as Kristin’s stomach began to growl for some belated lunch. She ignored it, focusing on finding the police station, and subsequent nearby coffee shop Clay had suggested.
A few minutes later, they were parked along a wide street near the café, and close to the meandering river that cut through the city. The trees had not yet filled out, but several cyclists were speeding past Zane’s car.
Inside, Kristin spotted Clay West immediately. To her surprise, Violet Kramer sat beside him. He stood for them, shaking Kristin’s hand and introducing himself to Zane, before introducing Violet.
Kristin peered curiously at the woman. With thick dark curls, obvious femininity and high heels, Violet looked everything Kristin wasn’t. But the woman smiled warmly, her eyes surprisingly sympathetic as she offered her condolences for Kristin’s loss. Thankfully, the incident this morning wasn’t mentioned.
“I asked Violet to come,” Clay said as they sat down at the small table. “I hope you don’t mind.”
Violet leaned forward. “I’d have invited myself, anyway.”
“I don’t mind,” Kristin answered. “I’ve read all your articles since that story on that girl, Gwyn. It was good how she really tried to redeem herself.”
“Her story had to be told. It’s sad that she died.” Violet studied Kristin carefully. “Clay found an old article about your father in the Billings newspaper. In fact, when Clay and I went down to Billings, we stopped by your family’s old church. Reverend Taylor was still there.”
Kristin nodded. “He came to see me after my parents died, with a copy of the article you mentioned. It showed an old photo of us.” She paused, feeling sheepish. “I didn’t read the article, I’m afraid.”
“You look just like your mom looked when I knew her,” Clay said.
“Thank you for seeing us on such short notice,” Zane said after ordering two coffees from the passing waitress. Giving in to her stress, Kristin added a blueberry muffin.
Clay continued. “I don’t know where Eloise is, though. Jackson asked me the same question, but I couldn’t help him.”
Kristin listened carefully. Was that how Clay knew Jackson?
“Why don’t you tell us what you do remember about Eloise? How far along in her pregnancy was she?” Zane asked.
He thought a moment. “I think she was starting to show. Once she’d said to me that she got involved with someone she should have left alone.”
“Did you ever meet him?” Zane asked.
He shook his head. “Not that I can remember.”
Zane took his coffee when it arrived and set it down in front of him. “Was there anything about Eloise that stood out?”
“She loved to bake. Oh, she could bake up a storm with just about any fruit the home was given. Once, we’d been given some huckleberries and she made pies with them.”
Kristin wrinkled her nose. “I find the seeds too hard,” she said.
“I didn’t care. They barely touched the sides going down when I ate them. Eloise really did like baking. She wasn’t allowed to make any meals, but she was allowed to bake stuff for the younger kids.” Clay let out a reflective laugh.
“Did she ever talk about where she’d like to live someday?” Zane asked. “A favorite spot, or what she’d like to do for a living?”
Clay set down his cup. “No, but she was anxious to have her baby and was the kind of woman who was determined to succeed, no matter what happened to her.”
Eating her muffin, Kristin knew what Zane was aiming for. His subtle questions, while probably noticed by Clay, were forming a picture of a woman that neither of them knew in great detail.
After draining his coffee, Zane set down the empty mug. “Anything more?”
Clay shook his head. “Eloise handled her pregnancy with dignity. She was just that kind of woman.” They talked for a few minutes before he looked at his watch. “I’m sorry. We have another appointment we can’t get out of.”
“Wedding planner,” Violet explained. “It’s the only time we can both spare.”
After smiling at his fiancée, Clay stood and turned to Kristin. “I’m sorry I’m not much help. Ever since you called, I’ve been racking my brain for something to help you, but it was a long time ago. She was just a nice girl who loved to bake.”
Violet rose, too, and smoothed down her tailored outfit. “Kristin, if Jackson warned you not to try to find your mother, you should really do as he says. He’s only thinking of your safety. These people are dangerous people.”
She glanced at Clay. “Let Jackson do his job. Then everything will work out.”
“I wish I was that optimistic,” Kristin answered.
Clay shrugged on his jacket. “One other thing. She wasn’t ashamed of your father. She just said he was the wrong person for her. I know now that she witnessed a Mafia hit, and was involved for a short time with the Mafia, but back then, I didn’t know anything. Eloise always told me to keep strong. When she left, I missed her. It’s because of her that I became a police officer.”
The engaged couple said their goodbyes and left. Kristin fished through her purse for a tissue. Clay’s words were sinking in, and already those foolish tears were starting again. She had to toughen up.
“Let’s go,” Zane said gruffly. “I need to get back to my office.”
“Did Clay say something important?”
“Maybe. It sounds like Eloise might be forced to start her own business. If she applied to work for someone, she’d be concerned that she’d have to reveal her past in a résumé, but if she worked for herself, she wouldn’t have to answer questions about who she was.”
Kristin nodded. “That’s a good point, but remember it takes money to start your own business, and credentials to borrow money to set up a business.”
“True. I’ll know more after I do some research. I set up my own business here, so I know the ropes, and even how to get around them if you don’t want to give your social security number.”
“Is that even possible?”
“If you know certain things to do, yes.”
As they climbed back into Zane’s car, Kristin asked, “Do you think she’d start something that has to do with baking? I mean, she wasn’t trained in anything else and I checked most colleges. I used every name I could think of that would be similar to Eloise Hill, but nothing came of it.”
“She could have been baking just to relieve stress. Still, she’d need money. Do you know how many bakeries there are in Montana?”
“I have no idea.”
“Nor do I. I know it’s a long shot, but worth looking into.
Plus I want to know what your parents were doing down here. I can’t help but wonder if it were related somehow to your mother. They kept all that info on her, and they were interested in helping people less fortunate.” With that, he started driving.
Could that be? Could her parents have had some contact with Eloise? Kristin found herself smiling. The day was a success. She’d met someone who knew her mother, and that small connection encouraged her. She would find her mother. She would be able to move past the sadness of losing her parents and onto the joy of finally meeting her birth mother.
She turned to Zane as he made their way out of the valley in which Missoula was situated. “Clay did know more than he realized. How do you know the right questions to ask? Was that in your training?”
“Nope. Private investigator training is broad and deals mostly with privacy laws, how to do surveillance, and people’s rights and such. But I have learned a few other things over the years.”
“Like what?”
“Like never drive a van.”
She frowned. “Why not?”
“Because most P.I.s drive vans, and that makes people suspicious. And never drink anything while on surveillance.”
She laughed, far more relaxed with Zane than she ever was before. It felt good to be there with him. With a short glance over at him, she found her heart hitching slightly at his clean, angular profile. She liked being with him. A lot.
The Mission Mountains came back into view. The smile that had lingered on her face faded. Was she starting to care for him? Was she ready to set aside her grief and hurt to see if she could move on with her life?
Zane could search for bakeries when they got back, but right now she needed to put one more thing behind her.
She turned to him. “Zane, I want to visit the crash site. I’m ready now.”
NINE
“Are you sure?”
Kristin blew out a long, calming breath. “Yes. I know it takes time away from your search, but a few hours aren’t going to change anything.”
“But a few hours can mean the world if your life is in danger. We need to keep you safe.”
Fatal Secrets Page 8
