Page 55 of Echoes at Driftwood Cottage

“The death certificate says she did, though,” Rowan pointed out. “Do legit funeral directors make a habit of coming up with fake deaths?”

Brent twisted in his seat. “Not usually. We’ll check out the death certificate’s authenticity. If we believe they dummied up your birth certificate, then it’s not a stretch to question it as well.”

“So the prevailing theory moving forward is that Gwynn kidnapped me from someone, somewhere? If that’s true, then why did they need a death certificate?”

“We need to stop speculating at this point,” Brent suggested, growing tired of the guessing game. “It’s not helping. Trying to put together this puzzle without all the pieces is pointless. First thing tomorrow, we’ll dig up the grave, get the body over to the medical examiner’s office, and see where we stand by tomorrow night. Agreed?”

“Sure.”

“I promise that no matter what we find, I’ll keep you informed. Deal?” Brent said.

“Deal.”

“Okay, then,” Brent muttered getting to his feet. “Thanks for the coffee. Eastlyn will take both your statements about the break-in. I’m headed home to my wife and kids. Tomorrow will likely be a very long day.”

After they’d gone, Rowan helped Daniel tidy up. “Let’s forget about me for now. That letter from the lab meant you finally got your answer. How do you feel about them lying to you all these years?”

“That’s a good way to put it.”

“We have that in common.”

“We do, yeah. It explains why I always felt closer to Uncle Bobby than I ever was to his brother who pretended to be my dad and did a lousy job of it. No wonder he never wanted to do anything together. He knew from the beginning that I wasn’t his. And now, there’s no point in confronting anyone because my real dad died already. What good would it do to ask my mother about it? Finding out the truth has to be the end of it.”

“Do you think your grandmother knows the truth?”

“Yeah. I do. Maybe that’s why she always treated me better than my own mother did.”

“And why she doesn’t particularly like Valerie,” Rowan cited. “You should invite Mamie down here and get everything out in the open.”

“You’re right,” he said, checking his watch. “But it’s too late to call her tonight. And I’m exhausted.”

“Same here. Your place or mine?”

“Maybe we should head back to your place, make sure the guy who was here didn’t make a second stop.”

“Great. Are we certain it was a man you saw head out the front door?”

“Not a hundred percent sure. It could’ve been a tall woman for all I know. All I caught is a blur of someone running, always running.”

“Were they taller than me?”

“Yeah. But not by much. Maybe five-eight. I didn’t get a good look at the face because they wore a hoodie. Why do all burglars wear hoodies?”

Rowan chuckled at the question. “Hoodies in the States. Balaclavas overseas. Our mystery man doesn’t steal anything. Or hasn’t so far.”

She exchanged a panicked look with Daniel. “When we rushed out earlier, did I lock the back door behind me?”

“I don’t think so. No.”

“Damn. Then we’d better go check the house. With my luck, they messed up my new couch.”

Chapter Fourteen

Rowan’s house was exactly as they’d left it—papers scattered on the living room floor in stacks of organized chaos. With her hands on her hips, she stood surveying the mess before stooping down to gather up the stuff, careful to keep each document in the same order. After carrying the papers into the dining room, she began to transfer each one onto the table.

“Is that wise? We could just leave them on the floor, so we’ll know where we left off.”

“We’re almost done anyway. You know what this tells me, this kook who keeps reappearing?”

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