Page 22 of Echoes at Driftwood Cottage

“It’s always a good idea. Mop now and save the windows for a lull.”

“You got it. You remember I’m taking the weekend off next week, right?”

“I remember,” Daniel said absently, already thinking ahead to Rowan. Maybe he should make her lunch. He took out his phone. By the time Rowan replied, Daniel had the Vanilla Bean Machine living up to its name. The whole place smelled like a combination of sugar and vanilla.

After Scott’s vanishing act, Rowan tried to unpack a few boxes until she became distracted when she came across a dusty carton containing papers tucked away on the top shelf of Gran’s closet.

She dumped the contents onto the floor and started organizing everything into piles by their importance. The deed to the house was in there, a document that proved Jim and Lynette had paid off their mortgage in 1990. Other papers showed Gran had taken out a thirty-thousand-dollar loan in November 1999, using the house as collateral, and paid it off ten years before she died.

She went through the stacks, looking for anything that didn’t add up. Not having a clue what she was looking for, it took forever. She even had to go through everything a second time, then a third. But then her eyes fell on a thick brown envelope, worn from years of handling.

She undid the clasp and tipped the contents out into a pile of old photographs.

Her phone dinged with a text.

How about lunch? Meet me at my house. I’ll throw together a pasta salad. You in?

She smiled. Absolutely. What time?

I’m finishing up here in twenty. Give me until one-thirty.

Sounds like a plan. I have something to show you.

Great. See you in an hour.

Chapter Five

At the corner of Seagrass Lane sat a 1930s Spanish-style, one-story bungalow with a red tile roof and terracotta-colored walls made of adobe. Built from water-resistant clay that kept the house cool in summer and warm in winter, Daniel had doted on the upkeep. He’d filled the front lawn with lava rocks instead of grass. The no-grass environmentally friendly option worked because Daniel had used native grasses and drought-resistant succulents to soften the landscape. The eye-catching covered entryway focused on its arched front door painted dark blue, accentuating the otherwise dull, earthy exterior.

When Rowan rang the doorbell, she heard Daniel on the other side of the door humming to himself.

“Aren’t you in a cheerful mood?” she cracked when he answered the door. Standing in the entryway, she noticed the place smelled like a mixture of orange blossoms and lemony citrus. “It smells like an orchard in here. My house could use a bottle of that Febreze stuff or one of those plug-in air fresheners.”

“It has been sitting vacant for the better part of a year,” Daniel pointed out with a grin. He led her into the den. “I figured this time I might as well make an effort to make a better impression than the first.”

“I don’t remember complaining. We were distracted, as I recall. You took down the Christmas tree.”

“Around the middle of February,” he quipped. “I decided to switch to a sesame ginger chicken salad for lunch. I hope that’s okay.”

“Sounds great. This is what’s new,” she noted, waving her hands up and down his frame. “I don’t remember this culinary side to you back in December.”

“Over the winter, I found that I liked to cook. Who knew? Or rather, I throw things together in a pan and see what happens. Earlier, I sliced a few mandarin oranges to toss on top.” When she gave him a blank stare, he added, “On top of the salad. And when I got home, I made fresh orange juice. I guess that’s what you’re referring to—the orchard thing.”

Looking around, Rowan decided the place was just as charming as the outside. He’d decorated his living room with earthy tones and rustic touches that made it feel warm and inviting. The main room was cozy, with a cream-colored sofa and a matching armchair facing the fireplace. The walls were painted a warm beige, and there were a few framed paintings of landscapes and photographs of what she could only guess was family. A vase of fresh flowers sat on a small round table by the window.

As he led the way to the kitchen, Rowan spotted the round dining table in the corner next to a sunny window set with what looked like delicate dishes on an elegant white linen tablecloth. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble for me.”

“It’s no trouble. I wanted to make up for—I might’ve been kinda, sort of an ass about the boat thing—it bordered on insensitive.”

“You sounded disappointed that I wasn’t into boating. It’s okay. I might’ve overreacted.” Rowan took a deep breath and looked at Daniel. She tried to ignore that pull in the belly and tried to remember what she’d been about to say. When the thought came back to her, she opened her bag. “I’m not sure how your morning went making ice cream, but I think I might’ve found something in a box of Gran’s stuff that might be useful.”

She pulled out a weathered brown five-by-seven envelope. “For starters, I couldn’t find any baby pictures of me or any pictures before the age of five, so I went looking. The only thing I found was this envelope buried in the pile I dumped on the floor. Long story.”

She slid out a stack of old photographs and placed each one in a row down on the kitchen counter. “Most of these are of my mother—school photos, some taken in the backyard. Like this one. It’s my mother at the age of nine or so. It has her name written on the back and it’s dated 1980. But these other pictures are of a newborn girl taken right after birth and a toddler up to the age of four. She doesn’t look like me. This child has lighter hair—a blondish-brownish color. Mine’s more copper colored. I have freckles. She doesn’t. And the nose and mouth are different. That’s what I think, anyway. Here, take a look. A second opinion would be invaluable right now.”

Daniel studied each photograph, even holding one up to Rowan’s face. “You’re right. These aren’t you unless you had plastic surgery.”

She held up her hands. “Not me. I don’t like needles. Another phobia,” she admitted. “How about something to drink?”

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