Page 33 of Tessa's Trust

“Okay,” I murmured. I couldn’t believe this. I had saved for years to compile that amount of money, and now that time and effort could all be down the drain. I had to figure this out. “Anna, we need to find Sadie.”

“I know. I’ll come over and help you now.”

I couldn’t do anything until we found the woman. “No, wait. Don’t you have court today?” I thought she’d mentioned that she had a stupid trial between Christmas and New Year’s that was irritating her.

“I do, but I can ask my partner to handle it.”

“No, no, don’t do that. There’s nothing to do right now,” I said. “The sheriff is on it, and we all have work to do. I’m coming back over the pass.”

“Do you need a place to stay tonight?” she asked. “I know you gave up your apartment.”

It was a kind offer, but no way. “Thanks, but I’ll stay with Donna. She should be home later this afternoon.” I smiled. “Last thing I want is to watch you and Aiden Devlin flirt.”

“We don’t flirt.”

“Oh, you flirt,” I countered. “He is smooth about it, and you’re just dorky.”

She laughed, probably because it was true. “All right. Call me when you’re over here. Maybe we can grab lunch,” she said. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.” I hung up and turned the heat on full blast. I didn’t have to be across the pass for a few hours, and my mind was absolutely reeling. So I drove down to the local coffee shop—well, the only coffee shop.

I noted several big rigs in the parking lot. Perfect. Jumping out, I smoothed my hair and then strode inside, instantly assailed by the smell of coffee and burnt toast.

Sunshine Eats had been a staple in town for years, and I had no intention of truly competing with it. Oh, I’d offer a breakfast menu for tourists, but I would be geared more toward the lunch and dinner crowds. At least in my head, I would be. If I ever got to open the restaurant.

Freddy Sunshine smiled from behind the counter. “Hey, Tessa. Find any dead bodies lately?”

I shook my head. Freddy was actually Freddy Junior and was only a year older than me. His family had owned the small diner for a century. We’d been pals in high school and then had stayed in touch. He was a decent guy who had married Franny Abernacky, and they were working on their seventh kid. It was impossible not to like Freddy.

“No, but the day’s young,” I murmured, glancing around to see who was in the area. The mah-jongg and bridge players wouldn’t show up until later in the afternoon, but the old political crowd—and I mean old—sat over in the far corner. They were a mixture of men and women who’d been involved in politics in the area for decades, and they met early to talk about the day and drink the too-strong coffee.

Today, there were only three of them, and I headed their way. “Hi.”

“Hey, Tessa,” Mrs. Canterbury said. She had been a librarian in my grade school before retiring twenty years ago. She had to be at least ninety and didn’t look a day over a hundred.

“Hi, Mrs. C,” I said. “I came to ask you folks if you knew anything about Sadie or Jonathan or where they might be.”

The three senior citizens shook their heads.

The other two were men who used to work in local business or government. Bert Grizzly, a former mayor, rubbed his thick jowls. “No, and it’s quite concerning. They just disappeared. We haven’t heard a thing.”

Mrs. Canterbury sighed. “However, did you know that Sadie had taken in a tenant at her cottage?”

“No.” I perked up. “The sheriff didn’t mention that to me.”

“It’s probably a big clue,” Mrs. C said, her faded blue eyes widening. “What do you think? Should we check it out?”

Oh, no. Definitely not. I did not want her help. “Actually, I think we should let the sheriff do his job,” I advised. “Do we know anything about the tenant?” There were no secrets in Silverville, so I was surprised I hadn’t heard anything.

“No,” Mrs. Canterbury said. “I only know what I do because I saw a vehicle going to and from her place every few days or so. I used my binoculars, but all I could see was that the person in the truck was a woman. I never saw the truck around town, though, so my guess is they were working either in Montana or over in Timber City.”

I looked at the other members of the gossip crew. “Does anybody else know anything about this?”

They all shook their heads.

“No,” Timmy Phillips, another eighty-year-old and a retired banker, cast a wary glance at Mrs. C. “Sometimes, you imagine things. I think it’s because you’re such a good writer.” He hastened to say the last bit.

“I don’t imagine things. I know I saw that vehicle on more than one occasion,” she protested. “I saw it at least twice.”

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