Moon Bay, brought back sharp, poignant memories. There, in an expensive enclave of homes on five-acre estates carved from sage brush and artichoke farms, she located her former home with the help of an address she’d found in her mother’s possessions.
Standing at the locked gate of the imposing but run-down mansion, images flooded her mind. She’d been riding a tricycle on the sidewalk. Her father was yelling for her to stop as she gained speed on the downward slope. She’d shot through the open wrought-iron gates and gone off the curb in a tangle of arms, legs and tricycle wheels and had a terrific crash on the pavement.
Her parents had taken her to the emergency room for a broken collarbone. She’d tried not to cry, but it had been the worst pain she’d ever experienced.
Running her fingers over the long-repaired bone, she reviewed her life since that time. Her mother’s fears. Her weeping. Moving from one cheap apartment to another. Settling at last in Denver. Her own childish delight in the snow, which she’d never seen, and the birth of the twins. Another delight for her, but more pain for her mother.
The mansion was unoccupied and in disrepair. The old man who had bought it by paying the back taxes had lived here alone after his wife died. He’d passed away a few years ago, and his children were in a battle over the property, according to Tyler. So the place sat empty and forlorn, looking like an aging beauty waiting for her fickle bridegroom to return and make things right again.
“May I help you?” a voice asked, startling her.
A policeman had stopped at the curb and called to her from the open window of his cruiser. A stab of fear hit her. She reminded herself she wasn’t doing anything wrong.
Sara shook her head. “I used to live here. A long time ago,” she added when he looked skeptical. “Since I was in the city, I decided to see if I could remember the place.”
“This house has been empty a long time. I try to keep an eye on it. An unoccupied house is an invitation for drug dealers to move in.”
“That would be terrible.”
“You had better move on,” he told her, but in a kind manner. “Your staring has made the lady down the street nervous. She reported someone was ‘casing’ the estate. That’s why I came by.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause trouble,” Sara told the officer.
She walked back to her car, parked at the curb near where she’d fallen so many years ago. She felt close to tears as the nostalgic mood lingered.
Heading for the town house in her old but dependable vehicle, she had to laugh. Obviously she and her family had fallen on leaner times since their days in the mansion. The policeman would probably tell his fellow cops about the encounter and spend the afternoon painting scenarios of what had happened to them. Someone at the station might even recall the disappearance of Jeremy Carlton and the mystery surrounding his death, presumably by drowning, but the body was never found.
Sara had questions of her own. What had happened to her father’s business? His money? How had her mother managed with four children and no job?
The latter was answered when she and Tyler had discovered funds in a brokerage account after their mother’s death. She’d lived very frugally off the interest, using extra money only during emergencies.
Sara thought her mom would have been better off if she’d had to work, to get out and interact with people so that she wouldn’t spend hours alone in the tiny rental house where they’d finally settled in a suburb of Denver.
At the town house, she pulled into the short driveway and turned off the engine. Stacy was sitting on the marble stoop, chin in her hands, elbows propped on her knees. She smiled broadly when Sara came up the walk.
“I ringed…rang your doorbell but you weren’t home,” she said, moving over so Sara could sit.
Sara enjoyed the coolness of the stone through her slacks as she joined the child. By midafternoon the temperature had climbed into the upper seventies and the shade of the alcove was nice after her day of exploration.
“I’ve been on the scenic tour of the city,” she told Stacy. “I saw Fisherman’s Wharf and the Golden Gate Bridge and had lunch at Cliff House. My table was by the window so I could see the ocean.”
“Did you see any ships?”
“Yes. A huge one. It looked like an oceangoing barge.”
She was rocked by a sudden image of herself at four. She was standing by a window and looking out at the sea, wondering where her daddy could be and why he’d gone off on a boat and when he was going to come back.
With grave certainty, she knew she’d been looking out the window of her bedroom in the mansion—
“Do you have a headache?” Stacy asked.
Sara dropped her hand—she’d been unconsciously rubbing her temple—into her lap. “No, just thinking.” She smiled to show she was all right.
“My mommy used to have headaches. She’d tell Daddy to leave her alone, she had a headache—whenever he was mad at her.”
Sara was startled by the grown-up words coming from the child’s mouth. Surely Stacy had been too young to remember what sounded like frequent quarrels between her parents.
But maybe not. Vague recollections were coming back to her from her youth now that she had returned.
A premonition that she and Tyler should leave the past behind and get on with their lives pierced her heart like a hot spear. Surely there had been enough unhappiness back then to last all of them a lifetime.
Looking at young Stacy, Sara wondered if bringing the ancient case up, assuming they found their missing uncle and solved the murder, was worth it in light of the pain it might cause innocents like this child.
“Daddy!” Stacy yelled, jumping up and running to the end of the sidewalk.
Cade Parks pulled into the garage on his side of the house, then joined his daughter, coming through the gate and scooping her into his arms. “What are you doing sitting out front? You know you’re not supposed to do that.”
“Tai said I could wait for you. You’re late,” Stacy said, turning the reprimand on him.
Sara couldn’t help but grin. She wouldn’t say the daughter was smarter than her dad, but she certainly had learned the rudiments of outfoxing the main male in her life. Sara pitied the men in Stacy’s social circle when the little scamp grew up.
“Huh,” her dad said, then added, “Sorry I’m late. Grandpa called at the last minute. You know how hard it is to get off the line when he wants information.”
Grandpa. That would be Walter Parks. Well, Stacy did have another grandfather, but according to Tyler, the families didn’t mingle much, except for delivering the girl for an occasional visit.
Stacy giggled, then held her face up. To Sara’s amusement, the big city lawyer solemnly rubbed noses with his daughter, then settled on the steps with her in his lap.
“Nice out today,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Did
