Bitterroot Lake

“Oh, it’s not fiction, big sister. It’s real.” A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “And you own it.”

29

Turned out Jeremy had been savvy as well as secretive. He’d set up a company called KB Properties, named for Knuffle Bunny, a book Abby had adored and the name she’d given her favorite stuffed animal until she discovered princesses and cast all other toys aside. KB then lent Deer Park Lumber—Connor had resurrected their great-grandfather’s original business name—the money to buy Porcupine Ridge, including Lynx Mountain. And Sarah owned KB, in trust for Abby and Noah. She would retain sole control of the company and its only asset—the loan to Deer Park Lumber, in reality McCaskill Land and Lumber—until Abby, the younger of the two kids, turned thirty or Sarah died, whichever happened first.

Lucas had been clever and capable, if a bit conniving.

The low rumble of heavy equipment that had been droning in the background since she arrived faded away. Employees waved through the window as they paraded by. Steph at the front desk turned out the lights and left. Sarah and Connor sat in the office, alone with the ghosts of the past.

Connor laid out his plans for the expansion, investing in new equipment and processes for using small-diameter trees and developing new markets. “We’re expanding and diversifying. Focusing on sustainability will keep us competitive. And, I hope, profitable.”

“You convinced Jeremy,” Sarah said, “and you’ve convinced me.” Then she finished telling him what they’d found in Caro’s trunk, who she now believed H to have been, and what she suspected of his role in Anja’s death.

Connor opened the manila folder and slid out a receipt for a single burial plot, dated January 4, 1922. “I always meant to track down who this plot was for, but never got around to it.”

“Apparently log walls are more than good insulation. They’re good at keeping secrets, too.”

“Now I understand why George didn’t want to sell us that land,” Connor said, rolling his chair back and resting his big feet on the corner of the desk. “If you can understand holding a grudge for three generations and a hundred years. George resented Dad and Grandpa Tom for succeeding when business got tough forty years ago. But well before that, G.T., which I assume also stood for George, resented Con for forcing him out of the company in 1922.”

“Give Con and Frank Lacey credit for listening to their wives,” Sarah said, then switched gears. “How much of this does Mom know? I mean, about the loan and you buying the Hoyt land.”

“She knows I bought the land, but I didn’t tell her where I got the money. She never would have agreed to keep that from you.”

“She’s better at keeping her mouth closed than you think. Not one peep about the dreams, until today. Or the paintings—have you seen her new work?” Sarah described them to her astonished brother.

“If it were just Mom,” Connor said, “and you know I love her, I could call those dreams woo-woo and wave it off. But not you. And not twice.” He glanced at the brass clock on his desk, a gift to their grandfather from some association or another. “I gotta go. Almost dinner time, and I promised Aidan I’d watch the NBA playoff game on TV with him later. You’re coming to their soccer games tomorrow, right?”

“You bet. We’ll bring Mom.” Sarah started to rise, then stopped. “Basketball. Do you have any idea who’s been tending the roadside memorial for Michael Brown? It’s all done up in Griz colors, UM keychains, his picture.”

“Wow. No. No idea.”

“One more thing. You told Leo all this, right?” Sarah asked. Her brother’s face went blank. “You know, our cousin the sheriff. Investigating your lawyer’s murder. You did tell him, didn’t you?”

But she knew the answer before she asked the question. Leo wouldn’t have kept the secret, either. He’d have quizzed her, hunting for any facts, no matter how trivial, that might point to a suspect.

“There was no reason to tell him, Sarah. George doesn’t know about the ruse or the loan. Even if he did, he wouldn’t have gone after Lucas, who made plenty of enemies on his own. George would be coming after me, screaming bloody murder and yelling about fraud.”

“Why? He got his money. He got his grandfather’s revenge.”

That should have been enough. Unless there were ghosts haunting him, too.

* * *

Twilight in the mountains was a magical time of day, and it came on quickly. Sarah stayed on alert for whitetail and other wildlife as she drove down Mill Road. You never knew what might jump out at you in these woods.

Or anywhere else.

“Oh, Jeremy,” she said out loud. He’d been protecting her and her family, making a business deal she would have refused because of an old resentment. A valid one—Lucas had caused deep pain and had not been punished for it. And some of that was Sarah’s fault.

Grateful as she was for Jeremy’s willingness to help Connor save the business, she was furious over the deceit.

Whoa, girl. He hadn’t actually lied. He just hadn’t told her what he’d done. It wasn’t the same thing.

The irony was that she and George Hoyt were caught in similar binds, not wanting to do business with someone they resented, though any sensible person would have jumped at the opportunity.

She liked to think she was a sensible person. But here she was, holding the past in a death grip. And believing in ghosts.

At the edge of town, she made a left. If she was going to keep digging for secrets in her family’s archive, she needed reading glasses.