Chris had suggested Pier Café for lunch. His uncles were already sitting at a booth when he arrived.
“That waitress has purple hair,” Loyd told Chris when he sat down at their table.
“Yeah, well, that is Carla. She’s also had pink hair and green hair…and, well…she’s a regular rainbow.” Chris shrugged, picked up a menu, and started looking through it.
“I believe a confession is in order,” Simon announced.
Chris set his menu on the table and looked at Simon. “Confession?”
“You know we hired an investigator to see how you were doing. I know it wasn’t right, but to be honest, I can’t truthfully say I wouldn’t do it again. We only want what’s best for you,” Simon told him.
“Yeah, that’s what you keep saying,” Chris said wearily.
“According to the investigator, you’ve made Danielle Boatman the executor of your will.”
Chris’s eyes widened. “Wow. I guess you got your money’s worth.”
“We just want to make sure she’s worthy of the faith you’ve put in her. After all, we don’t know anything about her.”
“Didn’t your investigator tell you all you needed to know?” Chris smirked.
“That’s not what I mean,” Simon said.
“All you need to know, Danielle is someone I trust with my life. I know she would never discuss my business with anyone. She isn’t after my money. Like I said, I trust her.”
“Alright, if you honestly believe that, then that is good enough for us.” Simon reached across the table and patted Chris’s hand.
“We just want you to be safe, son,” Loyd told him. “A young man in your position needs to take precautions. You can’t always trust people.”
“I can trust Danielle,” Chris repeated.
“It’s not just the people you get close to we worry about. It’s people who force themselves into your life. You have a lovely office, but I do wonder how safe it is. I noticed it has an alarm system. I assume it has security cameras?” Simon asked.
“Funny you should mention that. I recently purchased some security cameras,” Chris told him.
“I’m glad to hear you’re taking your security seriously. Are the cameras monitored by a security company?”
“At the moment they aren’t even up,” Chris told them. “I plan to have them installed after Christmas.”
Simon nodded. “Just as long as you take the necessary steps to secure your office.”
“What you don’t realize, Chris,” Loyd told him, “we loved our little brother dearly. I know you lost your parents, but we lost something too. We lost our baby brother. You’re all that’s left of him.”
“Even though I’m adopted?” Chris asked, his face devoid of expression.
“You were their son,” Loyd told him.
Standing on the end of the pier, Noah by her side, Zara looked out to sea. It reminded her of a painter’s canvas—a painter using one color—gray. A little white had been added to brighten the gray, and in other areas black to darken the clouds. Yet there were no shades of blue or true white on the canvas.
Noah shivered, pulling his jacket closer around him.
Zara looked to him and said, “We should go back. You’re going to freeze.”
“I’m fine,” he said with a shiver.
Zara laughed. “Yeah, right.”
“Maybe I should go to the police,” he suggested.
“Seriously? And what are you going to tell them?”
“Okay, not the police, but Chris—even Danielle.”
“Not yet, Noah. Not until we have more details for them.”
“I just hate this waiting game.”
“I understand.” Zara glanced to the diner briefly. “Maybe you aren’t freezing your butt off, but we should probably head back before they come out of the diner and see us.”
“They just went in; they aren’t going to be out for a while. But now that you mention it, there are places on my body that I can’t feel anymore, so maybe we should head back. I’d kill for a cup of hot tea. Or better yet, one of those brandies Walt likes.”
“Okay, let’s head back before we run into someone we don’t want to.”
Together Zara and Noah started down the pier toward the diner and street. They were about ten feet from the diner when Noah whispered, “Speak of the devil.”
Walking in their direction were two police officers. Noah guessed the older gray-haired one was in his fifties, while the younger, dark-haired officer looked to be in his late thirties. Both officers looked their way, and by their scrutiny Noah suspected the pair was trying to figure out if he was a tourist or a local they should recognize.
Just as they passed by the two men, Noah said, “Good afternoon.”
“Afternoon,” they both returned.
Chris spied Joe Morelli and Brian Henderson the moment they walked into the diner. As they passed by their table, Chris said hello. Both men stopped.
“Afternoon, Chris,” Brian said, glancing over at the two older men.
“Joe, Brian, I would like you to meet my uncles,” Chris began, introducing the officers to Loyd and Simon. The men exchanged brief pleasantries before Joe and Brian continued on to an empty table on the other side of the dining room.
“Are they good friends of yours?” Loyd asked when the two officers were out of earshot.
“Good friends? I wouldn’t call Joe and Brian good friends. Not even sure I would consider them friends. Acquaintances.”
“They seemed friendly enough,” Simon said.
Chris shrugged. “This is a small town.”
“Are they aware of your true identity?” Loyd asked.
“Yes.”
“I suppose that’s smart,” Loyd said. “It’s always helpful to have the local police in your pocket.”
Chris frowned. “In my pocket is not the way I would describe my relationship with Joe and Brian.”
Loyd laughed. “Come on now, Chris, surely you’ve learned by now a young man of your position is wise to have a close relationship with local law enforcement. It’s vital they understand your best interest is their best interest.”
“Not sure Joe and Brian would see it that way,” Chris said under his breath.
After lunch, Chris left the diner first, leaving his uncles, who told him they wanted to sit a few minutes and enjoy the view. After Chris was gone, Loyd stood up.
“I’ll be right back,” he told his brother. He walked across the diner to the table with the two police officers.
“Excuse me,” Loyd said, standing by their table. “Could I speak to you gentlemen for a minute?”
“Certainly,” Brian said, scooting over to make room for him. “Sit down.”
Once Loyd was seated, he asked, “Are you familiar with Heather Donovan, the woman who works for my nephew?”
With a snort Brian said, “Yeah.”
Loyd arched his brow. “Is there something you know about her?”
Brian shrugged. “She’s just a little—different.”
“What is it you wanted to know?” Joe asked.
“I’m just a little concerned about my nephew. Please don’t say anything to him about me talking to you. We’ve made some horrible mistakes regarding Chris after his parents died. All we want to do is make it all right and have him back in our lives. We’re old men, and we don’t have much time left. We just want to spend that time with our nephew.”
“What are you concerned about?” Joe asked.
“This Heather Donovan, we think she’s manipulating our nephew—that she’s trying to weave herself into his life. Is there any way you might be able to check into her past? Something is not right with her. I can just feel it.”
Joe and Brian returned to the police station after lunch. They went straight to the chief’s office, where they found him behind his desk, sorting through his mail.
MacDonald looked up when they walked in the office. “How was lunch?”
“It was okay. But we had an odd encounter,” Brian said as he took a seat in front of the desk.
“Yeah? You said you were going to Pier Café. Carla always makes it interesting.” MacDonald snickered.
Joe took the seat next to Brian and said, “Chris was there with his uncles.”
“Ahh…” The chief dropped the envelope he was about to open on his desk and leaned back in the chair. “Danielle told me they were here. Did you meet them?”
“Oh yes, we had an interesting conversation.” Brian then went on to elaborate, telling the chief of their private exchange with Chris’s uncle Loyd.
MacDonald chuckled. “I suppose I can understand how a quirky person like Heather might set off red flags to someone like the Glandon brothers. I imagine people from their station are always suspect of us little people trying to take advantage.”
“I read a little about them after we found out who Chris is,” Joe said. “They have their own money, but nothing like Chris’s estate. I have to admit, the man did seem sincere, in spite of what I’ve read about them.”
“I always found it odd that Chris hired Heather,” Brian said.
The chief shrugged. “She needed a job. He was just helping her out.”
“True. But they deal with a lot of money, and I can see how that might be tempting for someone like Heather, who has been struggling financially. I can understand why his uncle is concerned,” Brian said.
“Yes, it is understandable. But what you forget is we already know about Heather’s character—quirkiness aside,” the chief reminded them.
Joe frowned. “What do you mean?”
“If you’ll remember, not only did she save Danielle and Lily from that fire, she gave the stolen emerald her grandfather had to Danielle, when she could have kept it without anyone knowing. And then later, she returned the missing jewels to the Eva Aphrodite.”
“That was weird in itself,” Brian snarked. “She paid to have someone put valuable gems on a sunken boat. Who does that? I say Heather is paddling with one oar. I don’t blame Chris’s uncles for being concerned. The fact he actually hired her makes me question his judgment.”
“That’s not our call to make—nor is it Chris’s uncles,” MacDonald reminded him.
“I understand what you’re saying.” Brian nodded. “Anyway, I need to remember what I read about the uncles. They did try to cheat him out of his inheritance.”
“I suspect that much money can make even good people do things they later regret,” Joe suggested.
“Which is why you both need to be a little less judgmental when it comes to Heather. Yeah, she may be a little quirky—” the chief began.
“She can also be bitchy,” Brian said under his breath.
“But two times when she was tested—when she could have kept something of value that would have improved her situation, she resisted the temptation. I suspect when Chris was looking for someone to hire for the foundation, that was the one trait he found most critical.”
Brian let out a sigh. “I suppose.”
The chief turned his attention back to his desk. He picked up a photograph of a woman and handed it to them. “Have a look at this.”
Brian took the photo and studied it. He then handed it to Joe.
“Who is it?” Joe asked.
“It came in today’s mail. Does she look familiar to either one of you?” the chief asked.
They both shook their heads no. Joe tossed the photo back on the desk and asked his question again.
“A missing woman from Southern California. I received it in today’s mail. It’s not from law enforcement, but from the missing woman’s roommate, a Corky Summers. The woman went missing over six months ago. Summers isn’t happy with the efforts—or should I say the lack of effort—in trying to find her.”
“What about her family?” Joe asked.
MacDonald picked up the roommate’s letter from his desk and tossed it to Joe. “According to the letter, the missing woman doesn’t have any family. She spent her youth in the foster care system, which is why no one from her family is on the local police to find her. She’s self-employed as a photographer, so there was no employer reporting her not showing up for work.”
“Maybe she just moved?” Brian suggested.
“That seems to be what the local police think. But according to Summers, if she moved, she did so without taking her cameras with her—or any of her personal belongings.”
“Why does Summers think she might be here?” Brian asked.
“We’re not the only police department she reached out to.”
“Why were we on the list?” Brian asked. “Did she just send it out randomly to any police department?”
MacDonald shook his head. “According to Summer’s letter, the missing woman was obsessed in some sort of internet search. She had borrowed Summer’s computer a few times. But she never confided in the roommate what she was looking for. Summers believes she was searching for her birth family. After she went missing, and the police were no help, the roommate started checking out some of the sites on her computer that her missing roommate had visited. Apparently, Frederickport websites came up numerous times.”
Brian picked up the photograph and studied it for a minute. Finally, he tossed it back on the desk and said, “She doesn’t look familiar to me.”
“If she is here, then it would seem to mean she left without telling her roommate where she was going, and maybe, for whatever reason, she doesn’t want her roommate to know,” Joe suggested. “After all, she is an adult, free to go wherever she wants without telling her roommate.”
The chief nodded. “That’s apparently what her local police department seems to believe.”