Page 47 of Echoes at Driftwood Cottage

“The publishing house? They hired me to design book covers for their authors and illustrate a children’s book.”

“There you go.”

“But that contract doesn’t kick in until July 1st. Until then, I’ll just tighten the old purse strings, stop splurging on furniture, and eat bread and water.”

“Three weeks shouldn’t be a problem. You could always paint more landscapes.”

“Oh, please. I’m embarrassed enough to have that thing hanging up in the store. I should go back and buy it.”

“Now, now, think of your budget.”

“Keva has it marked down to a paltry fifteen dollars. I’d say that’s a bargain to get it out of there.”

“No one knows who painted it. No one cares.”

“You’re right about that.”

“But we’re circling back to the water landscapes, the boats. If Keva is correct in her description of the paintings, then the question is why did you feel so free to paint back then what gives you nightmares now?”

“Good question. The answer is I have no freaking clue. But you know something, Daniel. I’m beginning to think Lynette Dewhurst was keeping a treasure trove of secrets, secrets she took to her grave.”

“You need to go through every single piece of paperwork in that house, everything you found in the safe deposit box, organize it by category or by chronological order, maybe both. It’s the only way to get a sense of what the woman was hiding.”

“You’re right. I didn’t give everything to Eastlyn.”

“What did you hold back?”

“Mostly the documents I found in the closet. I figured it was easier for Eastlyn to find out anything else she needed from background checks. These days, law enforcement can tell what you had for breakfast at the turn of the millennium.”

“Which, as it happens, isn’t that far from the time period in question. November 1999. How about we go through all that stuff tonight, dedicate the entire evening to sifting through your gran’s papers?”

“Sounds like a dull and boring waste of an evening. What if we do all this, and the DNA comes back fine?”

“What if it doesn’t? Maybe there’s something in those papers you need to know about before someone else decides to show up and toss the cushions off that brand-new couch you just bought.”

Rowan made a growling sound in her throat. “I’ll fight tooth and nail if anyone lays a hand on my Crate & Barrel sofa.”

“That’s the spirit. Out of curiosity, can I ask why you had to buy a sofa? What happened to the furniture you had in the loft?”

Rowan cracked with laughter. “Oh, Daniel. I thought you knew I rented that stuff. I didn’t own the furniture any more than I owned the loft. It was a package rental deal when I moved in, and I never bothered to change it. This is the first time I’ve ever owned a house and now I have my own couch.”

Daniel gobbled down his food, eyeing a group of tourists who streamed through the door toward the counter, all talking at once. “I need to go help Kiki.”

“Hey, if you decide you’re short-handed, I’ll work cheap.”

“You got it,” he said, grinning and dashed off.

Chapter Twelve

Two men delivered the sofa and its matching chair as promised. They picked up the old furniture and carted it out of the house. Rowan didn’t care where. She was too elated. And she realized how hurt she felt that Gran had gotten rid of all her landscapes. Correction. She was disappointed that Gran hadn’t told her about it. Grandmother and granddaughter had been close. Rowan probably talked to her at least four times a week. She made a point to come home for visits during Thanksgiving and Christmas and usually once during the summer. She slipped Gran money in the cards she sent for her birthday and Mother’s Day. She sent little gifts for no reason. And yet, Gran had kept her mysterious side well hidden. She’d always admired Gran’s strength and independence. But now, she felt like there was a whole other side to her grandmother that she hadn’t known existed. She couldn’t help but wonder what other secrets Gran had kept from her.

She plopped down on the couch and ran her hand over the soft, chenille-like upholstery as she sunk down into the cushions. She realized this negativity was sucking all the joy out of the room.

Maybe it wasn’t entirely Gran’s fault.

She thought back to a few conversations. A lot of times, those calls had been hurried, just checking-in types of short chats. Back then, she’d been juggling so many different projects during the week that it was sometimes hard to keep them all straight. Maybe Gran had tried to talk to her, but she had missed the signals or hadn’t taken the time to really listen.

Rowan let out a sigh. She suddenly felt a pang of guilt for not having been more attentive to Gran’s needs. She had been so caught up in her own life that she had often put the woman who had raised her on the back burner.

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