shook her head. She sprinkled cheese on her steaming chili. She would have to tell him something. If she didn’t, he’d find another source, perhaps not one as devoted to Harriet as she was. “Not out of thin air. Out of a coincidence.”
“Tell me,” he said softly, not making it an order.
“My great-uncle and great-aunt adopted Harriet around the time Colt and Frannie disappeared. Uncle George was a minister here in town forever. He’s my grandfather’s younger brother—he’s almost eighty now. He and Aunt Rachel have retired to Florida.”
“Aren’t there adoption records, some way to disabuse your cousin of this notion?”
“It’s not that simple.” She tried the chili, which was spicy and packed with vegetables. Her mother did like her hot peppers. “Look, this is none of my business or yours. Harriet didn’t ask for any trouble.”
“I’ll be discreet.”
A Sinclair discreet. Penelope almost smiled. “What about your father’s investigator? Are you going to tell him?”
“Jack doesn’t report to me, I don’t report to him.”
“I suppose you’ll find out anyway. Everyone in town knows the story.” She paused, added chopped onion to her chili, saw that none of what she’d said so far had affected Wyatt’s appetite. She forced herself to think, examine her options. They weren’t good. “Okay. Uncle George found Harriet on the church doorstep about forty-eight hours into the search for Colt and Frannie’s plane. The doctors figure she was between six and eight weeks old. She was wearing a diaper and a sleeper, and she was wrapped in a blanket. She’d been placed in an apple basket.”
Wyatt straightened. “Good Lord.”
“I know. It’s right out of a Dickens novel.”
“There must have been an investigation—”
“A thorough one. The authorities didn’t find a thing, not a single clue as to who her biological parents were, who’d left her there. My aunt and uncle stepped in and adopted her. They were thrilled—they have an older son, but Aunt Rachel couldn’t have any more children after him.”
“They treated Harriet well?”
“They’re a wonderful family. They love her, and she loves them. That didn’t stop her, though, from creating this kooky fantasy.”
“I don’t know,” Wyatt said, “maybe it’s not so kooky.”
“It’s much more likely someone took advantage of the hoopla over the missing plane. Chances are she’s the result of some incestuous or otherwise illicit relationship. But it’s a lot more fun to be Colt Sinclair and Frannie Beaudine’s long-lost daughter.”
“The timing—”
“There’s a narrow window of opportunity. Say Harriet was six weeks old. The Piper Cub disappeared in mid-April. That would mean Frannie would have given birth around the first of March. Right?”
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