LITMIR.BIZ

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came out more under his breath than out loud. “We have a lot of production factories. A supervisor in one of those factories was trying to unionize.”

      “And you didn’t want it,” Abby guessed.

      “I was five, going on six—what I wanted was probably cookies and candy and to play outside. But no, H.J.—along with my grandfather and my dad and my uncle, who all ran the Superstores together—didn’t want unions in the factories.” Dylan’s eyebrows arched toward his hairline in reluctance to say what he was going to say. “They wanted the labor leaders discouraged—”

      “And Gus Glassman—my father—was the discourager?”

      “Yeah. But that discouragement got pretty heated. It turned into an all-out fight between Gus and the supervisor, and in the course of that fight the supervisor fell back, hit his head and died.”

      “So my father was a thug? He was your family’s bully or henchman or something, and he killed someone?” The fantasy of learning about her family had never included that and Abby was beginning to feel slightly knocked for a loop by the reality.

      “I don’t know that your father was a thug or a bully or a henchman,” he said as if those terms were too harsh. “But he was involved in a bad situation, following orders that he probably shouldn’t have been given. We—my grandmother, my siblings, my cousins and I—read about it in my great-grandfather’s journal. We checked to see if the supervisor had left family or someone we should compensate—he hadn’t. But when it came to Gus Glassman—”

      “He was nothing but the guy who did your family’s dirty work?”

      It wasn’t as if Abby felt any kind of affection for the man Dylan Camden kept calling her father, but she had too much experience being in positions where she’d been looked at as a nothing herself and he’d touched a nerve.

      “No. What I was going to say was that when it came to Gus, we could contact him directly. So that was what we did—GiGi wrote to him, asking if there was anything we could do for him and if he’d left anyone behind who he might like us to reach out to.”

      “And he didn’t say me,” Abby said quietly.

      “He didn’t answer the letter at all. So GiGi found his attorney, who said that Gus had been a widower with no kids so we shouldn’t worry about it. I guess not even the attorney knew about you.”

      Because she’d been a nothing even to her own father?

      That thought didn’t boost her spirits.

      More and more feelings were coming at her but they were all jumbled and indecipherable as Dylan continued. “Like I said, telling the chaplain was the first time he’d so much as spoken of you since the supervisor’s death. He told the chaplain that that was because he wanted to spare you having to grow up with the disgrace of a dad who had taken another person’s life, who was convicted of manslaughter and sent to prison. He didn’t want that following you around. The chaplain said your father was ashamed of what he’d done, that he’d never forgiven himself and that he didn’t want to pass that shame on to you. He thought that you’d be better off just left somewhere—somewhere safe, because he knew you’d be taken care of in a hospital—without a last name or any information that could link you back to him.”

      So he had cared about her? He had thought about her welfare in whatever skewed fashion?

      More feelings came, bringing with them more confusion.

      It must have shown on her face because out of nowhere Dylan said, “I know it’s kind of hard to reconcile things that don’t seem to go together. I loved my great-grandfather, my grandfather, my dad and my uncle. They were unfailingly good to me. But I can’t say I’m proud of all the things they did outside of the family. It’s something we’re all having to come to grips with. For us, we never forget that those same men who didn’t always behave honorably were still people we loved, who loved us, so we have to separate things. And it seems like—in spite of what your dad went to jail for doing—he really did care about you. Maybe that’s something to hang on to.”

      “Maybe...” she parroted, struggling with it all. Struggling, too, with the fact that this was so completely different than any of the romanticized thoughts she’d always entertained about where and who she’d come from, about why she’d been left.

      But here she was, with Dylan Camden at the moment and she wasn’t sure where this was supposed to go.

      So she asked. “I guess, then, you’ll tell me where to find the lockbox and that’s it?”

      “Well, if you’ll let me, I’d like to help you piece together what we can of your background,” Dylan said. “Figure out more about where you came from and the kind of man Gus Glassman was—because I have hope that he might have been a loving dad to you, despite what he did. Maybe we can figure out who your mom was, what happened to her and any family she might have had. It just seems like you should know as much as you can from here.”

      Should she? Abby wondered.

      She wasn’t sure.

      In some ways she wanted to deny that this could actually be her background and step away from it as if it wasn’t really hers.

      It had been difficult enough growing up a foster kid. She’d been vigilant about being a good girl in order to live down preconceived notions about what that might mean.

      And now to learn that she really was what some people had assumed—if not bad herself, then at least the child of a criminal? The daughter of someone who had killed someone else? Someone who had died in prison?

      A part of her did not want to embrace it.

      But it didn’t seem as though that was possible.

      “How would we do those things you said?” she asked, buying herself more time to think while her head was swimming.

      Dylan nodded toward the key on the table again. “Gus told the chaplain that the lockbox that that key opens is hidden in the store—meaning one of our Superstores. We’re trying to figure out which one he might have worked out of and locate the box. Hopefully that will give us more to go on. Plus, I run the security department for the Camden Superstores, and part of my job is to do background checks on people we hire. I have full access to our employee files, even the ones from before my time. If Gus was married to your mother I can find record of it and get your mother’s maiden name—that would give us a starting point to looking into that side of your family.”

      “What about the chaplain? Where did he go in all of this?” Abby asked.

      “He’s from the prison in Canon City so he went back there. When GiGi heard what he had to say, she swore to him that we would take care of this.”

      “By hiring me to fix your sister’s hair for her wedding?” Abby asked because she was trying to fit the pieces together.

      “No. This and the wedding are not connected. Your reputation for your work preceded you. Or, at least, the work of the special occasions team from Beauty By Design preceded you. Then it just happened that the same name GiGi finally put to Gus Glassman’s daughter was one of the names included on that team.”

      “So it’s only a coincidence?”

      “It honestly is. My haircut today was my chance to meet you, but even if you had turned down the wedding, you and I would still be here right now and I’d still be asking you to let me help you find out about your family. The fact that you agreed to do what you’re doing for Lindie—on such short notice—is a whole separate thing.” Under his breath, he muttered, “One that I’m hoping will get me some much-needed brownie points.”

      She didn’t know what that meant so she didn’t comment.

      Then he said, “So, what do you think? I’m sorry I haven’t brought you a happier story, but will you let me help you, anyway?”

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