Page 61 of Echoes at Driftwood Cottage

Eastlyn nodded in sympathy and patted Rowan on the hand. “Anything you can remember could be helpful.”

“There is this one dream I keep having about drowning. At first, I thought I was splashing around in the ocean or maybe a lake, trying to swim but now I’m convinced that I was in a swimming pool. There was this strong smell and taste of chlorine. It was overwhelming.”

“Ah. That’s why you’re so interested in this Smithwick drowning? You think you were the kid she was trying to save?”

“I thought so after reading about it.”

“I’ll check it out the first chance I get.”

Brent arrived a few minutes later, looking stressed and tired. "Sorry for the delay, ladies. It’s been a long day," he said, dropping into the chair across from Rowan.

Daniel entered the room and handed him a bottle of water. “You look like you could use something stronger. There’s whiskey or bourbon nearby. Just say the word. Take your pick.”

“Thanks. This’ll have to do for now,” Brent said, twisting off the cap and guzzling down half the bottle. “Look, I took Gwynn’s DNA. But her condition is looking bad. According to her doctor, she’s going downhill by the hour. Which makes this entire mystery feel like the clock is ticking. I had a lengthy conversation with Muriel Strafford on the drive back to town. She tells me the two people in the grave suffered gunshot wounds to the head. She knows that because she found a small bullet hole in each of the skulls. She’s still looking for other bullet wounds.”

“Shot?” Daniel echoed, looking at Rowan. “Is there a gun in the house?”

“That’s what I want to know,” Brent parroted. “Did you ever see Jim or Lynette with a weapon?”

“No. But you might want to check this weird metal locker I discovered in the storage shed last week. It’s hidden from view behind a bunch of crates and boxes. You’ll need to bust the lock on it because I can’t find the key, which is odd. It’s not on Gran’s—I mean Lynette’s—key ring.”

“Show me the shed.”

“It’s not hard to find. It’s at the side of the garage to the right.”

“Okay. I’ll take a look.”

“I’ll tag along,” Daniel offered. “And I’ll grab the hammer to break the lock.”

“You’ll need a flashlight,” Rowan called out. “The shed isn’t wired for electricity.”

The men soon discovered the weathered garden shed held more than shovels and rakes. They managed to crack open the locker using a crowbar.

As Brent pulled on a pair of latex gloves, Daniel shined the light on six different rifles, varying in caliber. “There must be half a dozen weapons in here.”

“Don’t forget the handguns,” Brent said, pointing to two nine-millimeters—a Luger and a Beretta 92—on an upper shelf.

“What’s this?” Tucked away behind the rifles was a smaller pistol—a Walther TP model manufactured in Germany around 1961. “Well, well, well. What have we here? This little gem uses two different types of ammo—.22 caliber for a long rifle and .25 ACP. This could be a winner.”

“ACP?”

“Automatic Colt Pistol, designed for a Browning. This right here is a very versatile little firearm,” Brent detailed, weighing the weapon in his hand. “Nothing better for up close and personal with a concealed hammer. See? And less than six inches in length makes it a perfect gun for a woman to carry in her purse.”

Daniel surveyed the haul. “This is a lot of firepower for a guy living in a small town. So, you might not be looking at a rifle after all. Is that what you’re saying?”

“I’m looking for anything that uses .22 caliber ammo,” Brent replied, eyeing the weapons. “Looks like we have three possibilities, including the Marlin and the Mossberg.” He picked up the Marlin Rimfire first and looked for the serial number on the left side of the barrel before hefting the Mossberg. “Interesting. It seems Jim owned two different rifles without serial numbers.”

“Scratched off?”

“No. See these letters on the barrel? AB indicates it was manufactured around 1966, predating the 1968 requirement. Same with the Mossberg. I’d say this is a 351K with a Weaver scope manufactured between 1960 and 1961.”

“You know your guns.”

“I’ve been around a lot of firearms, seen a lot of gun safes owned by a variety of people. Some would scare the crap out of you while others are just plain folks.”

“Who would’ve thought Rowan’s grandfather would have this kind of arsenal? And without serial numbers. I’m surprised.”

“I’m not. It’s obvious to me that Jim and Lynette were keeping a big secret, one they wanted to stay hidden forever. Might have worked, too, except Rowan came back here to live.”

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