riding farther up her thighs and becoming a belt. Some clothes weren’t meant for booth-scooting.
“Mr. Tanner.” Abby removed a black-and-white file folder from her Balenciaga tote and pushed it across the table. “I’m afraid I don’t have much to go on.”
“Hi, I’m Bridgett. Welcome to The Magpie.” Startled, Abby looked up at the woman. What she wouldn’t give to have legs that long. The waitress placed two glasses of water on the table and handed her a menu.
Abby didn’t need to look at it. She knew exactly what she wanted. The scent of bacon beckoned, causing her to crave her favorite sandwich.
“I’ll have a BLT on white toast, mayo on the side and an order of fries.” She returned the menu. “And a black coffee, please.”
“Sure thing, hon,” Bridgett said. “What about you, Clay? Bert made that jalapeño crawfish chowder you love so much.”
“How can I say no?” He beamed at the waitress.
“Coming right up.”
Abby followed Clay’s eyes and was pleasantly surprised when they didn’t wander to Bridgett’s retreating backside. Was it possible gentlemen still existed?
“Designer folder?” Clay opened the black-and-white fleur-de-lis file, revealing its hot-pink lining. “Now I’ve seen it all.”
“There is nothing wrong with being fashionably organized, Mr. Tanner.” She had purposely purchased the folder at the stationer’s to match the outfit she had chosen for their meeting. But now she felt silly.
“I’m not saying there is.” He leaned back against the booth. “However, if we’re going to work together, I insist you call me Clay. Mr. Tanner is my father.”
“Agreed,” Abby nodded. “Those are copies of my birth certificate and my father’s death certificate.”
Clay flipped through the pages. “Both documents list a different father.”
“My mom remarried when I was two. My stepfather adopted me years later. Legally, it changed all my records naming him as my father, but it didn’t sever my rights as Walter’s next of kin. A copy of all court records and my adoption are in there.”
“What makes you think you have a sister?”
“I arrived at the hospital the day after Walter died and a nurse gave me a handwritten note. She said he was adamant I received it. It said find your sister. Nothing more.”
“Do you have the note?” Clay asked.
“On me? No.” The piece of scrap paper was all Abby had left of her biological father. It was home, tucked safely in a drawer so she wouldn’t lose it. She’d never thought to keep any of his treasure hunts. Then again, she’d never expected their time to end so soon. “I assure you, that’s all there was.”
“The note didn’t seem strange to you at all?”
Abby blinked back tears. “No. Notes were our thing. Every year for my birthday, Walter sent me a clue and I had to search for my real gift. It was never anything of monetary value—it was always something much greater. I guess you could say this is my final clue, a few weeks before my birthday. I need to know what it means. I’m hoping you can help me figure it out.”
“I promise to do my best.” Clay rested his hand on top of hers. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
His touch rocketed through her. The forwardness alone should have sent Abby in the other direction. Instead, she found his simple gesture comforting, understanding.
“Thank you. Ours was an unconventional relationship, and as strange as all this must sound, it worked for us. I had no idea he was sick until it was too late.”
Clay gave her hand a brief squeeze before he withdrew and continued studying the contents of the folder. Instantly, Abby missed his touch and wanted to say, please don’t let go yet. Just a few more minutes. But she needed to find the meaning of Walter’s note, not send the man running in the opposite direction.
“I see you were born here,” Clay said over the top of the folder.
“Walter was stationed at Randolph Air Force Base when I was born. My parents rented an apartment here in Ramblewood until on-base housing became available, but I’m not sure how long they lived here. My mom hasn’t been very forthcoming with any information. I figured Ramblewood was the best place to start. I’m hoping you can find someone here who remembers them.”
“How old is your sister?”
“Here you are.” Bridgett set their food on the table. “Holler if you need anything else.”
Abby inhaled the scent of her BLT. She twisted the top off the ketchup bottle and smacked the bottom of it until it poured onto her fries.
“I don’t know how old she is, or if she exists.”
Clay remained silent. Abby looked up to find him staring at her incredulously. She placed the bottle on the table and shrugged. “What? I like ketchup.”
Eyes wide, he asked, “You don’t know how old your sister is or if she’s real?”
“This is all news to me. The nurse said my father wrote the note hours before he died. Deathbed confessions being what they are, I thought there might be something to it. Although my mother and father—I call my stepdad my father because he raised me so he earned that title—never heard of any sister. My mom says if one existed, she would have known about her since she had remained in contact with his family. Given that Walter was in the service and stationed overseas for a while, anything is possible.”
“So I’m looking for a woman in no particular age range, possibly not even in this country, who may or may not exist?”
“I know this is a long shot. Logic tells me she’s younger—maybe there was someone else after my mom and Walter split, although no one I’ve spoken with on his side of the family knows anything, either. A part of me wonders if this is why my parents divorced. Mom has been quick to dismiss it, which makes me even more curious.”
Clay didn’t respond. He ate a few spoonfuls of chowder and reviewed the documents along with the sparse notes she had jotted down. Abby dove into her sandwich, studying him.
If she’d met Clay on the street, she wouldn’t have guessed he was a private investigator. Physically, he was more the actor or country singer type with his high cheekbones and the dark blond stubble along his jawline. Clean-cut meets cowboy. He was definitely easy on the eyes, and Abby wondered why he was still single. Not that it was any of her business, but Kay had made it a point to tell her that much.
“Before I take a case,” he said. “I have to let you know in advance that I run a background check on all my clients. It’s standard practice, so if there’s anything you need to tell me, please let me know now.”
“I have nothing to hide.”
Clay regarded her from across the table, and she fidgeted in her seat. She knew she probably appeared desperate, but she needed Clay to help find out if her father’s message was true. With only two weeks off from work, Abby
