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BY THE TIME he left the office for the day, Trey had stopped trying to dismiss Amanda Curtiss and her troubles from his mind. He couldn’t do it. His mother would say he was conscientious, like his father, but he knew better. It was apprehension, caused by the sense that Amanda was going to cause problems for anyone who became involved in her hunt for answers.
Stubborn, that was the word for her—just like a lot of the hardheaded Pennsylvania Dutch he’d grown up with. Once they’d made up their minds, a person might as well save his breath and prepare either to get out of the way or to pick up the pieces.
He’d headed automatically for his own place, but a sudden impulse made him turn at the corner of Oak Street and make for his parents’ house instead. He had to pick his father’s brain on the subject of Amanda’s search, so he might as well do it now.
A few minutes later he pulled into the driveway at the comfortable old Queen Anne house where he’d grown up. In his mind’s eye, he could still see a bicycle leaning against the mammoth oak tree that Dad threatened periodically to have cut down before it fell on the house. And a skateboard abandoned on the porch steps, providing the material for a fatherly lecture on the proper care of one’s belongings.
When he got out, the October sun slanted through the branches of the oak tree, picking out bronze and gold in the leaves. The lawn could use a raking, but Dad was forbidden to do that sort of thing since his heart attack in the spring. Trey would have to take the initiative and either do the fall cleanup himself or hire someone.
Scuffing through the leaves that had already fallen, he headed for the side door that led into the kitchen. “Mom? Dad? You home?” Since the car was in the garage and the door unlocked, that was a safe assumption.
“Trey!” His mother looked as delighted as if she hadn’t seen him in three months instead of three days. “How nice. You’ll stay for supper.”
He grinned, giving her a quick hug. “Now, how did you know that was on my mind?” Nothing pleased his mother more than having her cooking appreciated.
“You don’t eat enough, cooking for yourself,” she chided.
“Where’s Dad?” he interrupted, before she could tell him he ought to get married so he’d have someone to take care of him. There was never any use telling her that none of the women he dated cared any more for cooking than he did.
“In the study. You go and chat with him while I add a few more potatoes to the pot. Go on. Pork chops tonight, and luckily I got extra.”
She always had extra, of course. Dad claimed she’d never gotten past the years when as often as not Trey would bring a friend or two home for supper at the last minute.
Dad put his newspaper aside when Trey entered the round room that took up the first floor of the typically Victorian turret. Upstairs, this area was a sunroom off the master bedroom, and here it was his father’s domain. The golden oak desk still sat in front of a bank of windows, although it wasn’t littered with a slew of papers as it had been during his father’s working years.
“About time you were coming by,” he said. “Your mother convince you to stay for supper?”
Trey grinned. “You should know I never take much convincing.” Concern lurked behind the smile as he pulled up a rocking chair next to his father’s recliner. Dad was still looking too pale, too drawn, since the scare he’d put them through a few months ago.
His father seemed to see past Trey’s casual manner. “Something on your mind?”
“As a matter of fact, something has come up I’d like your advice on.” Maybe it would do his father good to be involved in the business of the firm he’d spent his life building. “I had a new client come in today—a woman who was referred by a Boston attorney I met a couple of years ago. She had a rather odd story to tell.”
“I’m retired, remember?” But he was leaning forward, obviously interested.
Trey reached in his pocket, pulled out a couple of ones and put them on the lamp table. “There. Consider yourself a consultant.”
“Right. So what am I consulting on? You can surely handle whatever it is.”
“My memories don’t go back far enough to be helpful, and I figure yours do. And you won’t go blabbing it around town.”
“Thanks for the compliment. So tell me.” In spite of the sarcastic words, he looked pleased.
But as the story unfolded, Trey saw his father’s expression change. He seemed to freeze up as he looked into the past, as if he’d seen something he’d rather not look at.
Trey faltered to a stop. His mother had been on a campaign to keep anything worrisome away from Dad, and he seemed to have tripped right into it.
His father leaned back in the chair, his mouth tight. It took a few minutes for him to speak. “If I were you, I’d tell the woman you can’t help her.”
“That was my first instinct,” Trey admitted. “But she struck me as the kind of person who doesn’t give up easily. If I don’t help her, she’ll go around town asking questions on her own. It seemed to me...”
Dad waved a hand tiredly. “No, you’re right. That would be worse.” He mused for another moment. “If you’re looking for a death in 1989 that is related to the falls, there’s only one I can think of that fits. Elizabeth Winthrop’s granddaughter was found dead at the base of the falls sometime in the spring.”
“Winthrop,” Trey repeated. It was like saying “Rockefeller” by Echo Falls standards. The Winthrop family had established the town, lumbered the surrounding hillsides, built up a thriving business that still provided employment to half the town.
“Exactly.” Dad’s eyes met his. “The story was hushed up, of course. If people knew, they were generally sensible enough not to talk about it, but word got around, of course.”
“So what was it? Suicide?” That was the first thought that came to mind. Elizabeth Winthrop was an elderly autocrat who would find it unthinkable that such a thing could touch her family.
“It was ruled accidental, of course. Still, not even the Winthrops could eliminate all the speculation, especially since Melanie Winthrop had left town suddenly some months earlier. She’d have been about seventeen at the time, I suppose.”
“Pregnant or an addict?” Those were the obvious answers.
“Pregnant,” his father said reluctantly. “She was sent off to have the baby and put it up for adoption.”
“So that may be Amanda Curtiss’s answer. There must be records...”
“It’s not as simple as that. Melanie didn’t go through with the plans. She disappeared, and as far as I know, she wasn’t seen or heard from until the day she was found lying on the rocks at Echo Falls.”
He leaned back in the chair, breathing as if he’d been running, his face gray. Alarmed, Trey clasped his wrist. “Dad...”
“Now that’s enough talk.” Trey hadn’t realized his mother was standing at the doorway until she hurried to his father. “Ted, you know you shouldn’t tire yourself that way.” She picked up a glass of water and held it to his lips.
“I’m sorry.” Guilt had a stranglehold on Trey’s throat. “I shouldn’t have kept him talking so long.”
“Nonsense.” His father pushed the glass away fretfully. “Don’t fuss, Claire. I’m fine.”
“Supper will be ready in five minutes. Trey, you can set the table.” She shooed Trey out of the room ahead of her.
“I didn’t mean...” he began, but his mother shook her head.
“You couldn’t have known it would affect him that much.” She didn’t bother to deny she’d been listening. “But he wouldn’t want you to keep it from him.”
“I don’t get it. Why should it upset him that much? It’s not as if you were close friends with the Winthrops.”
“Your father was the family’s attorney in those days.” His mother stirred gravy vigorously with an air of not knowing what she was doing. “They fell out over this business of Melanie’s pregnancy. He thought they were making a mistake to handle it that way, disregarding the girl’s wishes. That was the last thing he did for them, and I remember that his partner was furious that he gave up such a lucrative client. But when it comes to principles, your father is a stubborn man.”
Trey wasn’t sure what to say. “I didn’t know he’d ever represented them.”
His mother handed him a pot of mashed potatoes. “Put that in a bowl.” She gave him a half smile. “I’m sure your father never regretted losing them.” She hesitated. “I’d like to tell you to drop the whole thing, but I know better. You’re just as stubborn and principled as your father. You’re going to help this woman, aren’t you?”
He paused, but there really was only one answer. “Yes. I guess I am.”
CHAPTER THREE (#ubaf23632-79a5-5418-8b50-3a908bd00fb5)
AMANDA WASN’T QUITE sure how she’d let Trey Alter talk her into changing the plans she’d made. She had no particular reason to trust him. Just because Robert had recommended him, that didn’t mean she should let him dictate what she did.
But after telling herself all that, here she was, getting into Trey’s car in front of his office the next day.
“Somehow I thought this was the kind of car you’d have.” She snapped her seat belt.
Trey sent her a startled glance. “What’s wrong with my car?”
“Nothing. Nice, conservative sedan, tan, sedate—just the thing for a family lawyer to drive.”
Instead of taking offense, he grinned. “Stodgy, in other words. If it’ll make you feel any better about me, I also own a beat-up, four-wheel drive pickup. Red.”
“With a gun rack behind the seat?” she inquired.
“You bet. Now you don’t know whether I’m a good ole boy or a stuffy lawyer.”
She couldn’t deny that he’d intrigued her. “So which is it?”
“Both. Or neither, depending on your point of view.”
“Sorry. I guess I shouldn’t succumb to stereotypes.”
He shrugged. “No problem. We all do it sometimes.”
“Yes.”
People had thought that because Juliet was an artist, she couldn’t possibly have been a typical soccer mom. Maybe she wasn’t, but she’d been there for every single event in Amanda’s life, including being a room mother and chaperoning school trips.
They hadn’t gone more than a mile out of town, and she hadn’t managed to ask him what, if anything, he’d found out, when he turned off the main road onto a farm lane.
The car hit a pothole, and he winced. “Sorry. Guess I should have made you ride in the pickup. The milk tankers really tear up this road.”
Amanda glanced across a cornfield, stalks yellow and ready for cutting, to a tidy white farmhouse. “No power lines,” she commented. “I assume it’s Amish?”
He nodded. “How did a Boston vet become able to identify an Amish farm at a glance?”
“My graduate degree is from the University of Pennsylvania. A lot of their large animal work is carried out in the Lancaster County area. And I had a practice there for a time.”
“So you know enough not to gawk when you see a bonnet, or try to take a photograph of an Amish person?”
“At least that much,” she said gravely. “Look, shall we stop evading the point and get to it? Did you find out anything?”
“I’m not sure how much...” The car hit a rut, and he broke off abruptly. “How about I concentrate on getting us there without ruining my shocks? Then I’ll tell you what I’ve been able to find out so far.”
“Fair enough.” She gripped the armrest. “Are the falls on private land?”
“No, but this is the shortest access to the bottom of the falls, and Eli never minds folks driving up his lane as long as they don’t make a mess. You can take a township road to the state lands, but it’s out of the way.”
She subsided, letting him concentrate on the road, if she could dignify it by calling it that. She had been so taken up with her own problems the previous day that she hadn’t really noticed him. Now she had time for a closer look.
Not bad. Nice, even features in a strong face, brown hair with just a hint of bronze when the light hit it, a pair of level brows and a strong, stubborn jaw. He was in is early thirties, and she wondered what he found to do for fun in a town like Echo Falls.
Of course, he could be married with a couple of kids, but she didn’t think so. She hadn’t seen any family photos or childish artwork in his office, and he didn’t wear a ring.
Not that it mattered in the least what his marital status was, she assured herself.
“There are a few hunting cabins out that way.” He waved a hand toward a road that cut off around the curve of the hillside. “When the state took over the falls, they didn’t buy up much of the surrounding land. Probably thinking the less accessible it was, the better.”
He reached a slightly wider place in the road and pulled to the side, turning off the ignition. Ahead of them, the road seemed to peter out to a mere track. “We’ll park here and go the rest of the way on foot. You don’t mind a walk in the woods, do you?”
“No, and Barney will enjoy it.” She got out and opened the back door for Barney to jump down from the seat. He stood for a moment, nose raised to the unfamiliar scents.
“This way.”
Trey slung on a small backpack and gestured to a path. No sign. As he’d said, the state didn’t care to make it easy for tourists.
They headed along a path that slanted slightly upward. Barney, happy to be released, scampered along, dodging from one side of the trail to the other to explore.
Trey eyed him. “He’s not going to run off chasing a deer, is he?”
“I won’t say he wouldn’t be tempted, but he’s well trained.” She smiled. “Although he was actually a dropout from a service dog organization I’m involved with.”
“What did he do? Flunk his final?” Trey gave her a quizzical look.
“Not exactly. He could master the techniques, all right, but he didn’t have that extra edge of concentration and empathy that’s needed for a service dog. So he came home with me, and we’re both happy.”
“Your mother was a dog person, then?”
“Let’s say she and Barney tolerated each other. He’s a good watchdog, though. Did I tell you about the burglar he thwarted?”
“No.” He frowned. “Was this recently?”
“Within the last couple of weeks.” It seemed longer, given all that had happened since then. “The police seemed to think it was just a random act.”
He must have caught the hesitation in her voice. “You didn’t agree?”
“Whoever he was, he came in through the window in the den. There were some expensive electronics there, but the only thing disturbed was the painting of Echo Falls. I found that odd.” She shrugged. “He may have been interrupted by Barney before he could get any farther, but still, it was strange that he’d go for the painting first.”
Trey, slightly ahead of her on the trail, glanced back to study her face. “Could it have been someone who knew the value of a Juliet Curtiss painting? Maybe the artwork was the goal all along.”
“Possibly. That was my first thought, but it seems strange that someone as sophisticated as an art thief wouldn’t have taken the elementary precaution of finding out that there was a guard dog. It looked as if he went back out the window faster than he’d come in.”
Trey looked at Barney with what seemed increased respect. “A good thing Barney was on the job. So the painting was the only thing disturbed. Damaged?”
“No, but the frame was broken. That’s how I found the inscription on it.” She could hear her own voice flatten at the reminder of why she was here. This wasn’t just a pleasant walk in the woods with an attractive guy. “The wording had been placed so that no one would have noticed it unless the painting was out of the frame.”
“Right.” He seemed to recognize that it was time to talk. The path widened out, the ground becoming more level, and they were able to walk side by side. “Like I said I would, I spoke to my father. He was able to identify a death that is likely the one your mother memorialized. A young woman named Melanie Winthrop.”
“M,” Amanda said, her heart pumping a little faster. “Who was she? How did she die?”
Trey frowned, giving her the impression that he was reluctant to talk about it. “You have to understand first that the Winthrop family is a big deal in Echo Falls. Owners of the mill, town founders, with a finger in just about every pie there is here.”
“Bad things hit rich families, too,” she said, impatient to get on with it. She was on the point of possibly learning the truth about her mother, and he wanted to chat about town history. Didn’t he understand that her stomach was roiling with emotions even she couldn’t sort out?
