Chapter 49
Chapter
Forty-Nine
Wren was sweeping up the hair around her chair and trying unsuccessfully to forget about her conversation with Cody when the bell went off over the door.
A man wearing a suit stepped inside, his jacket folded over his arm. His gaze swept the shop as if he’d accidentally come through the wrong door.
It took her a second to recognize him. It was Jacob, Nora’s boyfriend. What was he doing here?
“Jacob . . .” She stepped toward him. “I wasn’t expecting to see you. You here for a haircut?”
“Wren.” A slight look of relief crossed his face. “I’m not staying.” He held up a paper bag. “Nora was worried you’d skip lunch and asked me to bring this to you while I was in the area.”
Wren blinked, unsure if she’d heard him correctly. “She sent you?”
“I had a claim out this way. Hail damage on a roof in Gatlinburg.” He set the sack on the counter by the register. “I mentioned my schedule to her this morning, and she asked if I’d swing through the square.”
“That sounds like Nora . . . but you didn’t have to.” Nora was forever the nurturer, the one who had to make sure everyone was okay.
He shrugged. “It’s just a sandwich, not a really big deal.”
Wren should have thanked him and gone back to sweeping the floor. Instead, she stood there holding the broom and staring at him.
He squinted as he stared back. “You look like you’ve had a morning.”
“I have,” she admitted. “Mason’s father wants to keep him. He called a lawyer this morning.”
As soon as the words left her lips, she slapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I have no idea why I just told you that.”
She didn’t even know this man. He’d happened to show a smidgen of empathy at just the right—or just the wrong—moment.
Embarrassment swept over her. She was usually much more tight-lipped and private than this.
“No, it’s okay. I . . . I’m actually divorced. My ex-wife and I had some pretty heated arguments about who got custody of our daughter, so I understand. She’s three now.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. These things are so hard.”
“They are.” He glanced around before stepping closer. “If you don’t mind me asking, what kind of custody arrangement did he threaten you with?”
“He said he wants to keep Mason until we have things resolved . . .” She lowered her voice and glanced around to make sure no one was listening. “With my brother. I’m sure Nora told you about what’s been going on.”
“She did mention a few things.” He shifted and glanced around before saying, “Listen, I don’t want to overstep here, but can I give you some advice? You can ignore anything that’s not applicable—or just plain stupid. You can even call me out.”
“Go ahead.”
“Don’t agree to anything on the phone. Not one thing. If your son’s father wants something, tell him to put it in writing. People say all kinds of things on a call, and later they remember what they said in a way that best suits them.”
“Cody wouldn’t do that.” The words slipped out. The truth was, she hadn’t thought Cody would try to take Mason. “Except . . . he is talking to Sondra Pike.”
“So he would do something like that.”
She wanted to argue, but she couldn’t. Because Jacob was right. Cody—the man who’d wanted nothing to do with his son for years—was now playing dirty. At least, that’s how it felt.
Wren leaned the broom against the wall. “You sound experienced.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Unfortunately, I am. I know two attorneys in Sevierville who work family law. I can pass along their names to you if you’d like.”
Her throat tightened. She hated the thought, but . . . “It’s probably not a bad idea.”
He wrote two names on the back of a business card and left it face-up on the counter next to the sandwich.
“Eat that.” He nodded toward the bag. “Nora will ask me.”
“Thanks for the food—and the advice.”
“Anytime.”
Nash had been in Luke’s SUV ten minutes when the road turned to gravel, then into two ruts with rebellious grass rising in the middle.
Luke dropped the SUV into low gear. “No one has cleared this in a long time.”
“No, they haven’t.”
The ruts stopped at a chain-link gate hanging off one hinge. Past it, a house stood. From the SUV, Nash could see a tin roof and cinder-block piers.
Even from this distance, it looked like a place that had given up.
Luke put the SUV in Park at the gate. “Stay behind me.”
“Will do.”
They climbed out and walked toward the house.
Closer up, Nash could see the porch had rotted through on the left side, and two planks had been laid across a hole there.
Luke pushed the front door with two fingers, and it swung open—unlocked. “Sheriff’s department!”
There was no response.
Luke and Nash stopped just inside. The dust on the wood floor lay undisturbed except for a single line of tracks running straight from the front door to the back. Nothing branched off.
No one had moved through this place to sit down or to open a cabinet. The only thing they’d done was pass through.
He and Luke followed the trail out the back door.
The yard had gone to brush, but a path cut through it, worn to bare dirt by enough trips that the ground had given up growing anything there. The path ran forty feet to a low mound with two wooden doors set into it at an angle.
The padlock on the root cellar hasp was open.
And worse—it was new.