Letters from Peaceful Lane (New Americana 3)

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Allison rolled the windows down and opened the sunroof for the drive back to Peaceful Lane. She drove with the wind in her burning eyes and Mick Jagger’s raunchy baritone blasted “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” from the stereo. Fighting the black undertow that threatened to drag her down, she sang along at the top of her lungs.

By the time she’d parked the car in the driveway, left a message on Brianna’s cell phone, showered, dressed in gray slacks and a black T, and twisted her hair up with a silver clip, it was after 7:00 A.M. She would find the missing contracts, then force down a bite of breakfast. After that it would be back to the war zone that Burke’s hospital room had become. The day was bound to be hellish, but no matter how much he tried to hurt her, she would be there for him.

Burke’s study had not been greatly changed by the remodeling. He’d allowed Allison to replace the curtains with shutters and the worn-out carpet with colorful kilim rugs over hardwood flooring, but he’d refused to part with the battered walnut veneer desk, the shabby leather chair, or the outdated brass reading lamp that hunkered beside it. The bookshelves lining the inner walls were stocked with a lifetime of treasures—books, photos, travel souvenirs, and models of boats and planes. These Allison had known better than to touch.

Burke had tactfully boxed up the pictures in which Kate appeared. Still it was here, in this very masculine room, that Allison most strongly felt the woman’s presence.

Walking to the desk, she glanced around its cluttered surface for the manila envelope containing the contracts. There was no sign of it, nor could she find any loose pages that matched Garrett’s description. Allison sighed. She had hoped this task would be simple. She was in no mood for a long search.

One by one, she opened the desk drawers and pawed through their contents. Common sense told her she was wasting her time. Burke would never have stowed a vital contract in the center drawer with its clutter of pens, pencils, sticky notes, string, tape, and paper clips. Nor would he have put it in the drawer that contained nothing but household bills, receipts, and unused checkbooks, or the drawer that held the instruction books and spare cables for his computer. But at least, if she failed to find it, she’d be able to tell

Garrett she’d gone through the desk.

The large file drawer was next. Allison riffled through the folders, knowing that the missing envelope wouldn’t be there. Why would Burke file away the documents he’d planned to take back to work? Maybe he’d left the envelope in the foyer, the kitchen, or even the garage on his way out of the house. She should have checked there first.

Only one drawer—the small lower right one—remained. Sliding it partway open, Allison saw a box of powder-blue linen stationery with matching envelopes, an assortment of flowery all-occasion note cards, several pens, and a roll of unused 33-cent postage stamps. Kate’s things, most likely. They looked as if they hadn’t been touched in years.

Pushing on the drawer to close it, she felt a slight but stubborn resistance. Something in the rear had caught on the inner frame of the desk. Not wanting to do any damage, she worked the drawer the rest of the way open. There in the very back, crumpled at one corner, lay a large, plain manila envelope.

As soon as she lifted it out of the drawer, Allison knew it wasn’t the envelope she was looking for. The contents, whatever they were, felt too thick and lumpy to be flat legal documents. She was debating whether to return the envelope, unopened, to the drawer when the phone jangled. She answered on the second ring.

“Allison? Garrett again.”

Her pulse slammed. “What is it? Burke—?”

“Relax. That’s not why I’m calling. I’m at work, and I just found the contracts under some papers in Burke’s office.”

“So I can stop looking.”

“Right. Sorry, I hope you didn’t spend too much time.”

“Only a little. I’m glad you found them.”

“Are you holding up OK?”

“Fine,” she lied.

“You’ll call me if there’s any change in Burke’s condition?”

“Of course.” Allison hung up the phone without saying goodbye and sank back into the worn leather chair, feeling as if every ounce of energy had been sucked from her body. With the contracts in Garrett’s hands, there was nothing to keep her from returning to the hospital. But she lacked the strength to face the war of wills that would erupt as soon as she stepped into Burke’s room.

The manila envelope lay on the desk in front of her. In her present condition, the mere thought of putting it back in the drawer made her feel tired. But given the chance that Brianna might come rushing home and see that her stepmother had been snooping, Allison knew it would be prudent to leave things as she’d found them.

Willing her hand to move, she picked the envelope up by its nearest end—the bottom. As she lifted it, the flap at the top fell open, spilling the contents onto the desk.

Allison stared at the scattered heap of letters, folded into pretty envelopes that made a rainbow of pastel shades on the desktop. Except for one that was sealed, they’d been torn off at one end, the way Burke tended to open his letters. They were addressed to him, at the far-flung locations where his work as a talent agent had taken him.

The labels in the upper left corners bore the return address of this house—6314 PEACEFUL LANE. And above the address, the name on each one was KATE CALDWELL.

Realizing what she’d found, Allison scooped up the letters. She was stuffing them back into the manila envelope when she was seized by a thought so stunning that it stopped her hands in midmotion.

Maybe she was meant to find these letters.

Maybe, in this time of shattering crisis, there was something here that would help her understand the proud, impossibly stubborn man she’d married.

Or maybe not. The letters were private and precious. She had no business touching them.