Page 35 of Echoes at Driftwood Cottage

Brent took out his phone and began taking photos of each article. “No. You have every reason to question things. I’ll assign this to Eastlyn. She’s the best online researcher I have on the payroll. And she’s like a dog with a bone. She might drop by later with a few questions of her own. Sort through this stuff before she gets here and pick out anything you find suspicious. Pick out what you want to turn over to us for further digging.”

“That’s fine.”

“In the meantime, I want to assure you we’ll get some answers. And when you get the DNA results back, I hope you’ll share those with me, in confidence, of course.”

“Sure. I’ll do that.”

“Good. Then we’ll talk soon.”

After leaving Rowan’s, Brent headed back to the police station. But he wasn’t happy. Sitting behind the wheel of his cruiser, he wasn’t sure if his disappointment was directed at Theo Woodsong and the way the newest recruit had handled last night’s complaint or his own lack of direction and leadership. Maybe he’d misjudged Theo’s eye for detail. It wasn’t like a seasoned cop—especially one from a big city like Seattle—to overlook mentioning a second attempted break-in one street over by laying the groundwork for what might be considered a crime wave on his new turf. His team needed to share details like that. Reports from one shift to the other were vital—standard operating procedure—used to update co-workers on what happened the night before in case a follow-up became necessary.

Aside from that misstep, a good officer should never make assumptions or make accusations. It wasn’t illegal for anyone to drink inside their own home, So why bring it up on a burglary call?

All Brent knew was that the issue required a conversation with Theo to find out the reasoning. He had to make sure they were on the same page going forward. And the talk needed to take place before tonight.

He pulled into the parking lot behind the station and took out his phone. After hitting speed dial for Theo’s home number and getting a voicemail, he left a succinct message. “I need to see you in my office as soon as you get this. We need to talk before your shift starts.”

Brent took a deep breath and got out of his cruiser, walked up the familiar steps to the back door, and down the rear hallway. Before heading into his office, he stuck his head into the lobby. He waited for his most experienced officer to end her phone call before getting her attention. “Eastlyn, my office now.”

Dressed in the department’s latest fashion statement, a dark blue uniform with matching shirt and pants, Eastlyn Parker gathered up her iPad and followed him into his office. Recognizing the serious tone of Brent’s voice, she was either in trouble or it indicated a major update in the car theft ring she’d been pursuing for the better part of six months. Since she hadn’t recently done anything stupid, she figured it was about the case.

With a Beretta holstered at her waist, her golden-wheat hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, she leaned her weight against the doorframe. “What’s up?”

“Shut the door.”

“Is this a sit-down talk or a friendly chat?”

“We’re not exchanging recipes,” Brent snapped. “I have a job for you. You’ll need to take notes.”

He waited for her to take a seat before ticking off the details and then shoving his phone across the desk. “Take a look at those newspaper articles. You’ll need to retrieve the real clippings from Ms. Eaton this afternoon and make copies for our file. Before heading there, try to find out everything you can about that shipwreck.”

Eastlyn squinted at the screen, trying to read the small print. “This says the boat sunk maybe fifteen miles north of Smuggler’s Bay. Kids drowned. And before Christmas. How sad is that?”

“And I have a feeling it plays into Rowan Eaton’s mysterious history. How? I’m not sure yet.” He swiped through the photos to the one taken at the gravesite, then detailed more of Rowan’s theory. “How often does something like that occur? A woman returns basically to what she considers her hometown and discovers something like this. She’s so concerned about the child with her same name and date of birth that she did a DNA test this morning to find out if her grandmother is really her grandmother. Let’s face it. Rowan Eaton is a walking mystery. That mystery encompasses her very existence. It isn’t just the names that are the same, but the dates of birth. Think about it. What would you do if you saw your name and birthday on a headstone that indicated you died at four years of age?”

“I suppose I’d freak out. Didn’t this woman grow up here? That can’t be a coincidence.”

“She certainly spent enough time here as a kid before leaving for San Diego. After that, she came back to visit her grandmother. The woman left her everything she had. But for me, it’s not knowing who’s buried there or how the girl died. I want to know what happened to that four-year-old child back in 1999. And if it’s not Rowan Eaton, then who is it? And who signed the death certificate? What was the cause of death?”

“You got it. Mind if I ask another question, though? If nothing was taken, why was this thing at Rowan Eaton’s house classified as a burglary on the log sheet?”

“You let me worry about that. You focus on searching vital statistics statewide for a baby girl named Rowan Avery Eaton with that birthdate. I want details on her short four years on earth. I also need you to run down any missing children’s reports, females, from around the time of death, anywhere within the state. Narrow it down to within a three-month period after November 27th, 1999. Also, check the cemetery records and find out when that headstone went up and who ordered it. I want exact dates. Pull Colt off patrol to help you track down any leads you turn up.”

“What about a warrant to exhume the child buried there?”

“We’ll put that on hold for now, depending on the results of Ms. Eaton’s DNA. But I’ll probably type one up just in case it comes to that.”

“Anything else?”

“I want the usual deep background check done on Rowan just to cover all our bases.”

“You think Eaton might be fabricating this?”

“No, I don’t. But it won’t hurt to make sure we know who we’re dealing with from start to finish. Maybe take her fingerprints when you visit her this afternoon. If she resorted to taking a DNA test, she shouldn’t object to fingerprinting.”

“Sure. What about Woodsong? He could do that. He’s been itching to take on more responsibilities other than night patrol.”

“All of us work nights when the situation warrants it. Keep me posted on updates every step of the way.”

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