thanks.”
The course of her action already determined, Charlotte walked out of the courthouse. Troy Davis nodded at her, and Charlotte quickly looked away, certain the sheriff would guess she was a felon on the run. Thankfully he didn’t and merely strolled past. Really, it was a wonder that guilty people didn’t give themselves away.
Later that same afternoon, Charlotte arrived at Roy McAfee’s office a full thirty minutes before her scheduled appointment. She had her knitting with her and sat in his waiting room, her needles clicking at a furious pace. Illegal activities were one thing, but confessing them to a former policeman—well, that really tried her nerves.
Corrie was busy on the phone and apologized when she’d finished. “Roy won’t be back for another twenty minutes.”
“Oh, that’s fine. I’m early,” Charlotte returned. Olivia would protect her from the long arm of the law—or so she assumed—but she had no such guarantee with Roy. Well, so be it. Her resolve bolstered her spirits, although she didn’t exactly savor the possibility of jail.
“Fiddlesticks,” Charlotte muttered. It was a chance she had to take.
Corrie glanced up. “I beg your pardon?”
“Nothing,” Charlotte said with a sigh. Roy arrived five minutes before her appointment time, and by then Charlotte had worked herself into a frenzy of worry. Corrie was aware of the reason for the visit, but Charlotte eluded her questions, preferring to speak to Roy alone.
Perhaps a minute later, Corrie announced that he was ready to see her. Stuffing her knitting needles and yarn back into her quilted bag, Charlotte stood up.
Roy sat behind a large oak desk littered with files. His computer was off to one side, and what files weren’t on his desk were stacked around him on the floor. Charlotte had no idea a private investigator would have this much business, especially in a town the size of Cedar Cove.
“What can I do for you?” Roy asked in a crisp, professional tone.
Now that she was here, Charlotte wasn’t sure where to start—probably not by confessing she’d recently committed a felony, if indeed that was what she’d done. “Did you ever watch Saturday cowboy shows as a boy?”
Roy grinned. “You bet.” He held up his index finger and blew on it as though it were a smoking gun barrel.
“Do you remember Tom Houston?” she asked next.
“The Yodeling Cowboy?”
Charlotte brightened. “Yes. Well, you’re going to be surprised to learn that until his death last month, Tom lived right here in Cedar Cove.”
Roy leaned forward and his eyes widened. “You’re joking.”
“It’s true,” she said, beaming with pride that she knew this fact before anyone else. “We were good friends.”
“You and Tom Houston?” Roy looked impressed.
“Well…” She released a deep sigh. “I didn’t know he was Tom Houston at the time. He went by the name of Tom Harding.” She explained the circumstances that had led up to their meeting and everything that had happened since his death. Including her raid on the storage unit.
“You have all the memorabilia at your home now?”
“I do.” She’d avoided mentioning Olivia’s name, but she could see that Roy had several questions. “I realize that what I did is flirting with civil disobedience,” she began.
“Not quite.”
Charlotte had trouble remembering all those fancy legal terms. “But…” Then she decided that if he wasn’t worrying about the illegality of her activities, she wouldn’t, either.
“What would you like me to do?” Roy asked.
Charlotte had thought that should be obvious. “I need to find out if Tom has any living heirs. Can you do that for me?”
Roy didn’t hesitate. “I’m sure I can. Did you see anything in Tom’s things that gave his Social Security number?”
“No, but I can get it.” Janet Lester was sure to have it in the accumulated paperwork she had for Tom. She frowned, wondering exactly how to ask. As much as she liked and trusted the social worker, Charlotte hadn’t told Janet any of this, including the fact that she’d taken things from the storage unit. No sense dragging her friends to jail with her, if it came to that.
“Does anyone else know Tom’s true identity?”
“Only Olivia.”
Roy nodded approvingly. “Keep it that way until you hear from me.”
It hadn’t been easy staying quiet about all this, but Charlotte feared that once the story became public, long-lost relatives would be popping out of the woodwork, all eager to claim their inheritance.
“How long will it take?” Charlotte asked. Now that she’d officially hired Roy, she was ready for results.
“I can’t promise you a definite time line,” Roy told her. “If you’d like to make an appointment for two weeks from now, I’ll give you a progress report.”
“Can’t you just look it up on the computer?” she asked, waving her hand in the direction of his monitor.
“I’ll start there.”
Charlotte had taken a basic computer class last summer. Using Olivia’s old computer, she’d typed up her columns for Jack—because he’d insisted on it. But the best part about a computer was playing games such as solitaire, although the contraption made it impossible to cheat. What fun was that?
She planned to buy a new computer soon, with the money she’d earned from her contributions to the Seniors’ Page. She had all kinds of ideas for future columns; once this was all settled, she might even write about meeting Tom….
“Two weeks, then?” Roy asked.
“I’ll look forward to it,” she told him.
As Charlotte walked out, she felt as though a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders.
Cathy laughed at Cecilia’s caricature of a ditzy hairdresser. Cecilia was going to help her add do-it-yourself highlights to her hair on this rainy Wednesday afternoon. Since that first video-and-popcorn evening they’d found reasons to get together often. Neither one could afford much, so they took turns having each other over for various kinds of low-budget fun—like movies or dinner. Gradually Cathy had drawn Cecilia into a circle of other Navy wives. On the night of her wedding anniversary, the whole group had shown up at The Captain’s Galley. Last weekend, Cecilia had met Carol Greendale, another Navy wife who’d had a baby girl the same month as Allison. She’d found it hard—more than hard—to see Carol with her daughter. She’d made excuses to leave, but despite her vague protests and paper-thin excuses, Cathy had patiently convinced her to stay. In the end, Cecilia was glad she had.
Cathy headed for the bathroom to wash her hair while Cecilia read through the package directions. “Did you bring a crochet hook?” she asked when
