LITMIR.BIZ

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Because I can’t go to dinner with you tonight?”

      “No,” she said swiftly. “Because I was married to a man who chose to keep secrets from me. I’m not willing to get involved with anyone who can’t be open and honest.”

      Silence.

      “I’m right, aren’t I?” she pressed. “You’re a man with secrets.”

      It took him forever to answer. “If it gives you any pleasure, then I’ll say it. You’re right—I have my secrets.”

      He replaced the receiver, and Olivia listened to the buzz droning in her ear. Jack should’ve known her better than that. She derived no pleasure from being right.

      The instant Grace pulled into the driveway, Buttercup bounded out the doggie door at the back of the house and raced to her side.

      “Hello, girl,” Grace said as she stepped out of the car. She leaned down and scratched the dog’s ears, then the two of them walked to the mailbox to collect the day’s offerings.

      Along with a couple of magazines and a few odd bills, Grace got the Bremerton Sun.

      “Are you ready for your dinner?” she asked Buttercup, unlocking the door that led to the kitchen.

      The golden retriever dutifully walked to her water bowl and lapped up a drink, then waited patiently while Grace opened the closet door and brought out the large bag of dog food. She filled the dog’s dish, then settled down to glance at the mail.

      Nothing important.

      She set the magazines on the table and as she did so, noticed that the message light was flashing.

      “Grace, it’s Roy McAfee. Give me a call when you get home.”

      Dan.

      Roy must have learned something about Dan. Her hand trembled as she looked up Roy’s number and immediately returned the call.

      Corrie, Roy’s wife and assistant, connected her right away.

      “Roy, this is Grace Sherman. Have you located Dan?”

      “No, but I got the report from the Assets Check and thought you might be interested in what I found out.”

      After running into nothing but dead ends, Roy had suggested they request a computer check for assets, but Grace had balked at forking over the extra two-hundred-dollar fee required for the search. Learning that Dan held title to a piece of land wasn’t going to help her locate him. In a community property state, any bank records would be open to her without cost.

      “So—anything interesting?”

      “Yup. The report listed a license application Dan made last June.”

      “A year ago.”

      “That’s right. You didn’t tell me you two owned a travel trailer.”

      “We don’t.”

      “According to state records, Daniel Clayton Sherman residing at 204 Rosewood Lane, Cedar Cove, Washington, applied for a license for a travel trailer.”

      “When?” Grace asked. “Exactly when?”

      “June sixteenth of last year.”

      The date was meaningless, and Grace felt numb. “I…I don’t know about any travel trailer.”

      “I called the private party who sold it to him and discovered he paid cash. It’s a twenty-four footer. The other person wasn’t likely to forget, since Dan arrived with the money in fresh one-hundred-dollar bills.”

      “How much?”

      “According to the seller, thirteen thousand dollars.”

      “Cash?” They didn’t have thirteen thousand dollars in cash. Any extra money had been invested. Nearly everything they’d managed to save over the years was in stocks and bonds.

      “The man made quite a point of telling me it was all one-hundred-dollar bills. Actually, he was quite shaken when he was handed that much cash.”

      “Where would Dan get that kind of money?”

      “I can’t answer that,” Roy told her.

      Neither could she. “Dan couldn’t have taken out an equity loan without my knowing, could he?”

      “He didn’t,” Roy said. “Not according to the bank records I have.”

      And surely she would’ve received some sort of statement for any other kind of loan.

      “This doesn’t make sense.” But then, very little of what Dan had done in the last year was logical.

      “So you don’t know anything about this travel trailer?”

      “Not a thing. Do you think Dan’s traveling around the country?” she asked, searching desperately for answers.

      “I really don’t know. Haven’t come across any evidence of that—no credit card charges, for instance. None in his name, anyway.”

      “Then what’s he using for money?”

      “If he had thirteen thousand dollars in cash you knew nothing about, there’s no way of knowing how much money he had squirreled away.”

      “Where could he have kept this money?”

      “Do you have a safety-deposit box?” Roy answered her question with his own.

      “Yes…no. I don’t know anymore.” They did have a box at some point, but she hadn’t seen the renewal application in years.

      “Tell me this,” Roy said. “Who brought in the mail every day?”

      “Dan.”

      “That’s what I thought. Another possibility is that Dan has a post office box you know nothing about.”

      All the secrets Dan had kept from her. Grace didn’t know how she could have lived with him for more than thirty years and not known the man who was her husband.

      “The report didn’t show a safety-deposit box?” she asked.

      “No, but if Dan has one strictly in his name, the bank isn’t legally obligated to report it. Some banks will as a matter of course, and others only if a court order is issued.”

      “Will we need a court order?”

      “We’ll face that when we come to it.”

      “All right.”

      As if she understood that her new mistress was feeling anxious, Buttercup walked over to the phone and stood next to Grace. She leaned down and stroked the dog’s head, which calmed both of them.

      She spoke with Roy for a few more minutes. When she hung up, Grace experienced a new sensation. Considering the range of emotions she’d already become familiar with, she wouldn’t have thought that was possible. Since Dan’s disappearance, she’d felt disbelief, shock, grief and outrage. Lately she’d discovered a certain peace that came with resignation and acceptance. Roy’s latest news didn’t infuriate her. Instead, she was left feeling stupid.

      Sitting at the table, she leafed through the latest issue of Sunset Magazine. Something must be wrong with her, she mused. Her life was falling apart and she was reading a chicken enchilada recipe.

      The phone rang and for an instant Grace hesitated, uncertain she wanted to talk to anyone. But it was bound to be one of her daughters, and if she ignored the call they’d both worry.

      “Hi, Mom.”

      Grace was right. “Hello, sweetheart. How are you feeling?”

      “Pregnant,” Kelly complained. “Six weeks to go.”

      The time had passed quickly for Grace, but she doubted her daughter would feel that way.

      “Any

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