Page 60 of Echoes at Driftwood Cottage

“You’re amazing, much better at everything than Kiki was.”

“You miss her, don’t you?”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because she’s seventeen and I think you worry about her traveling with that boyfriend who’s four years older.”

“He’s not right for her. She’s like the little sister I never had.”

“Speaking of family, did you contact your grandmother?”

“I called her a couple of days ago. She’s excited about visiting and seeing the town. She wanted to drive but I suggested she fly. I got her a ticket to come down this weekend.”

“Great. I can make myself scarce.”

“Why?”

“You should spend some quality time with her by yourself.”

“Now who’s trying to get rid of whom?”

“Not me. I have paint to pick out. Troy says it will take three days at most for them to paint the living room, hallway, and dining room, and then resurface the doors. I need to stay busy while Brent does his thing. He asked me to write up a list of places I remember going with Gwynn.”

“I don’t like the sound of that. Making a list might bring back bad memories for you.”

“Could be cathartic. Flipping through my memory, recalling all the places Gwynn dragged me, might give me insight into those two bodies in that grave.”

“About that. Do you really believe one of your grandparents put them there?”

“Who else could’ve done that?”

“Your mother.”

“Come on, not by herself. Gwynn would rather delegate than dig a hole. She’d be too afraid she’d break a nail. Technically, I suppose the cemetery did all the work, readying the gravesite. But she’d need someone to help her dump them in that hole. That’s where Jim and Lynette enter the picture. If—and I stress the word if—they aren’t the ones who killed the couple themselves. At least one of them could be the guilty party. Let’s be clear here. Gwynn is not my real mother. Jim and Lynette are not my real grandparents.”

“I think we’ve established that much. This is where Brent works his magic. I hope he finds the answers soon.”

When a group of tourists came in, the speculation ended. The talk of burying bodies turned to serving up hot fudge sundaes piled high with whipped cream and cherries on top.

Chapter Sixteen

That evening, Rowan sat patiently on her new sofa while Eastlyn swabbed her mouth, then capped the test tube and labeled it with her name.

“All done,” Eastlyn declared. “I’ll get this to the lab first thing in the morning. The Chief should be here any minute. He’s just finished at Sage Crossing.”

“Did you have a chance to check out the circumstances surrounding Tamsin Southwick’s drowning?”

Eastlyn smiled. “Not yet. Del Rio’s been trying to get fingerprints off the empty coffin while Woodsong keeps track of the bones the forensic team lifts out of the burial site. It’s been a hectic day for our little police department. Finding two bodies was not what we expected. None of us have had the time to sit in front of a computer today.”

“Sorry,” Rowan said. “Of course, murder is your priority.”

“Double murder,” Eastlyn corrected. “It’s on my to-do list. Speaking of lists, the Chief mentioned you were creating one from memory about where Gwynn might’ve crossed paths with our two victims. How’s that going?”

“Wow. When you put it like that the pressure is on me,” Rowan realized. “I thought these two were most likely killed around November 27th, 1999. Am I wrong about that?”

“Hmm. I see the problem. You were only four years old then.”

“Bingo. I was too young to remember much until I was six. I remember getting dragged to parties with a lot of loud rock music and drunk adults. I thought Brent wanted me to recall the places Gwynn liked to hang out. You know, like a beach rather than a specific hotel. I’m not sure I can come up with the kind of useful information that would help identify the people buried in the grave.”

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