Cradle Of Secrets (9 page)

“I'd called my mother's cell phone to tell her I was going to be a little late. To save time, the captain decided to fuel the boat while they waited for me. The boat was at the fueling station when I got there.”

She laughed without humor, shaking her head at the memory. “I remember looking at that boat, thinking my parents had to have spent their entire retirement to afford this stupid trip, and how angry I was that they did it. At the same time, I was scared out of my wits, because the only way I could figure my parents would do something so out of character was if someone was dying.”

She dug her heel into the dirt, stared at a rock to keep control of her voice. “And then the boat just blew up.”

“
What?”

“Just like that. Flames and a million pieces all over the harbor. The boat exploded, and they were on it. My parents were killed, along with the captain.”

Dylan blew out a quick breath. “I'm so sorry. It must have been horrible to see.”

“Actually, I remember very little of the actual explosion. I was blown back into the water by the force of it, and was fished out by someone who'd seen the whole thing happen from the parking lot. If there hadn't been someone there who'd seen me go into the water, I would have drowned. The wind had been knocked out of my lungs. At first I couldn't breathe because of the force of the blast, and then later because I couldn't believe my eyes. Couldn't believe what had happened.”

“You were lucky, then,” Dylan said, placing his hand on her shoulder.

She shrugged. It hadn't felt that way when she woke up. Still didn't.

“What caused the explosion?”

“Officially? A fuel leak. But even the detective who investigated the explosion had his doubts.”

“Why?”

“The boat my parents had chartered was a diesel. Diesel engines don't explode when taking on fuel, not like gas-powered engines. It takes a lot longer for the diesel fuel to fire. If there had been a leak, the captain would have recognized the signs, and they would have all been able to get off in time before it exploded. But they didn't. It just went up.”

“Did the detective find any evidence the engine was tampered with?”

“There was no evidence to support it, even after a thorough investigation. But it was enough to cause suspicion.”

His hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans, Dylan stood there, no more than three feet from her, just looking at her. “You would have been killed on that boat—”

“Yeah, if I hadn't been late. I would have been on that boat with my parents.”

“The Lord was watching over you.” He spoke the words as if he were trying to drive the point home.

She closed her eyes. “He spared me, and I've had a hard time accepting the reason why. Especially since…”

“Don't stop. Since what?”

She swallowed, trying to find the strength to put her thoughts in words. “Since I found out they weren't my biological parents.”

His face registered surprise. “You mentioned that yesterday. Are you saying they never told you that you were adopted?”

“No,” she added in a low voice. “I found out quite by accident a few weeks ago.”

Admitting the truth out loud hadn't been as hard as she thought it would be. Until today, Tammie hadn't spoken a word about it to anyone except Bill. None of her other friends knew. She had no other family to speak of out west. Her aunt Betty had died a few years before her parents, and she'd barely known her grandparents. There was no one to call up and interrogate about why her parents had made the decision not to tell her.

But for some reason, it was easy to talk now. To Dylan.

“That's the reason I had to come here. It wasn't like them to keep a secret like that.”

Tammie saw the compassion in Dylan's eyes, but before their gazes could hold for more than just a brief moment, he looked away.

“You do that a lot, you know,” she said as he walked to the camper.

He opened the door, pulled out a half-full bag of trash and tied the ends into a knot. “Do what?”

“You're having a hard time looking at me. Don't try to deny it.”

“Really? I wasn't aware of that.”

She walked toward him. “Well, I am. Is it because when you look at me, you see Serena?”

D
ylan was still holding the bag of garbage in his hand. He dropped it to the ground and gave Tammie his full attention.

“The resemblance is striking. I can't deny that it took me off guard yesterday. But why should that make a difference?”

Tammie folded her arms across her chest. “Because it's clear you blame Serena for Cash's disappearance.”

She wasn't surprised that he didn't deny it. “I'll admit that for the month I've been in Eastmeadow, I've built up a fair amount of anger toward the woman, without having any reason, other than the fact that she has something to do with Cash's disappearance.”

Tammie closed her eyes briefly, and sighed. His fear over his brother's disappearance must be overwhelming. Under the same circumstances, she might react the same way.

Still, she felt the need to defend Serena. “After meeting Serena yesterday, I wonder if she is as much a victim as Cash.”

Dylan didn't look convinced. “Do you really believe that?”

Tammie sputtered. “Serena could hardly stand up on her own. Something is going on with her. And last night she was so incoherent. How could you blame her for anything that happened to Cash?”

His expression showed remorse. “Anger isn't an emotion I'm proud of. As you saw yesterday, I let my frustrations get the better of me sometimes. But I also know that any anger I have toward Serena is wasted energy. It'll only detract me from my real purpose here, and that is to find Cash. If it's His will, the Lord will help me find the right path to make it happen.”

In that moment, Tammie realized what it was she found so appealing about Dylan. After all, given the way they'd met and the way he'd behaved, she had every reason to fear the man. And yet, even when he let his temper get the best of him, he quickly reined it in.

She envied the way he took control of himself. She wondered if it was his military training or his faith in the Lord that was at the core of it. Or maybe it was just Dylan. Even when he was full of frustration and anger, he had a sense of calm about him that radiated to her.

Looking around the campsite, Tammie realized it hadn't been that way for her. When her parents had been killed, she'd drifted farther and farther from the Lord. It just didn't seem possible that they'd been taken from her without reason. Deep down, she knew she'd been wrong to think that way. God was merciful. But no matter how hard she'd fought to let it go, she couldn't shake her feelings.

She'd always pictured herself with a faithful man in her life. Just like her father had been. Under different circumstances, she would have been attracted to Dylan. If they'd met on the street or at church, she would have allowed herself to act on the attraction she felt now.

She'd met Dylan under strange circumstances. How could she possibly entertain the thought of getting involved with a man like him, or any man, when she still had no clue about her past?

Besides, Cash was still missing; the only thing Dylan needed to focus on right now was finding his brother. And she needed to unravel the mystery of what had gone on all those years ago, when she was born. The last thing either of them needed was to distract themselves with the idea of romance.

It had only been twenty-four hours since they met, and he'd given her no indication of interest beyond what she could do to help him find his brother, she told herself. She didn't know the man. Those gazes he cast in her direction could mean anything.

She pushed the notion aside, feeling foolish that the thought had even entered her mind. There was more at stake here than what either of them
might
be feeling.

After clearing her throat, she said, “I think Serena was telling the truth yesterday.”

“About what?”

“I think…I think I am her sister.”

He gave her a crooked grin. “You're just figuring that out? I think it's obvious there's some family connection going on there.”

“Aurore insisted that the baby Eleanor Davco was carrying died in the fire.”

“She also pretended not to know you or your parents until you called her on it. She's lying. I think it's safe to say everything she tells you is suspect.”

Tammie's head was throbbing. She placed a finger against her temple to ease the pain. “I don't know when the fire was, but given the age Serena was in the picture, I'm guessing I'm only a year or two younger.”

“I think you're right. How they could have missed a baby is beyond me. Someone must have questioned it. Surely your father…”

Her stomach coiled. It was hard to think of any man other than Aaron Gardner as her father. “Eleanor was pregnant. Maybe they didn't look for a baby.”

“No reputable medical examiner would miss something like that. People must have known Eleanor was pregnant. The medical examiner would have questioned not finding the baby. If he didn't, he was paid off.”

“Maybe people just assumed.”

“More likely they didn't ask. And no one in this town is talking. At least not to me.”

She closed her eyes as the sun poked above the line of trees and shone in her face.

When he spoke again, Dylan's face was sympathetic. “I'm going to get rid of that trash bag. I think there's still a cup or two left in the coffeepot. Why don't you polish it off, and I'll meet you inside, where the bright light won't bother you? You look tired.”

Tammie nodded as he grabbed the trash bag and began to walk down the path toward the Dumpster. It wasn't fatigue that was dragging her down now. It was defeat. She'd come so far, and yet there was so much more she needed to know.

She grabbed her coffee mug, as well as the one Dylan had left on the picnic table, and went into the camper. The dregs of the coffee looked disgusting, so she turned off the power and drained the hot coffee down the sink. She was just rinsing out the pot when Dylan stepped into the camper.

“What about people who aren't from Eastmeadow?” she asked.

“You mean the auctioneers?”

“Yeah. From what the man at the motel said, there are a lot of out-of-towners that come here every year for the auctions. It's their livelihood. If they've been coming here long enough, they might have known the Davcos. Someone might remember what happened the night my—The night Eleanor died in the fire.”

Tammie couldn't quite bring herself to say the word
mother
when referring to Eleanor Davco. In her heart, Connie Gardner would always be her mother.

“I'm sorry. You must be sick of listening to me go on about my parents when you have your brother to worry about.”

“I think they're connected in some way.”

Surprised, she said, “You do? But my parents lived here nearly thirty years ago.”

“And took you with them to Oregon on the night that Serena Davco's mother died in a fire, leaving everyone to believe the baby she was carrying was killed, as well.”

“What are you saying?”

“I don't know yet,” Dylan said. “But I think it's time to clean up here and do a little antique shopping.”

 

The auction grounds were littered with cardboard boxes and wooden crates cracked open to reveal their goods—everything from fine linens to china. The backs of flatbed trucks had furniture roped down—everything from dressing tables to armoires. The grounds ran along Main Street, from the old white church on the hill and the stone-faced library, farther than Tammie could see. The streets were crowded with vendors hauling their wares off their trucks to display under tents.

With all the people milling about, and all the white tents popping up in fields that had been empty the day before, the scene reminded Tammie of a refugee camp. But no one was there to live. The auctioneers would only stay for the week and then pack their crates back onto their trucks and head to their next auctions.

“There have to be a few hundred dealers here,” Dylan said, looking around.

“The motel clerk said they get somewhere in the neighborhood of seventeen-hundred dealers.”

“By the looks of it, I'd say he's right.”

Tammie blew out a quick breath, puffing her cheeks. “I don't know where to start. We can't talk to all of them.”

“No, but we won't have to. Just concentrate on who's been around the longest. I'd say that's our best bet. Otherwise, we'll just be spinning our wheels.”

Tammie pulled a small notebook out of her purse.

“What's that for?” Dylan asked.

“To take notes. You know, names, phone numbers…?”

He raised an eyebrow. “If anyone tells you anything important, you can get their card. If you walk around with a notebook, someone will think you're a reporter.”

She hadn't thought of that. “Do you want to split up?”

“It makes sense. We'll cover more ground that way. Although it might be impossible to find each other after, since cell phone service is spotty in the center of town.”

They walked a few minutes, looking at the workers breaking open crates and lifting furniture onto the ground under the tents.

Tammie smiled, but didn't say much. Instead, she looked at their faces. Most of the men hauling boxes were young, maybe even still in high school. Some looked younger than the students in her class. Others didn't look much older than Dylan. She doubted any of them would have information to help her.

They found a tent where an older gentleman was setting up antique toys. On the table was a sign that read Fragile. In front of the sign was a red velvet cloth. On top of it was a fixed toy train with a metal frame.

“I think I had one of these when I was a kid,” Dylan said, smiling. That got the owner's attention and he turned around and came over to them.

He was cordial when he spoke. “The fairgrounds don't open to the public until Tuesday. We get a hefty fine if we start dealing before then.” He pulled a business card off the stack on the table and handed it to Dylan. “I'll be happy to help you if you want to come back then.”

“We're not here to shop just yet,” Dylan said, glancing at the business card before pocketing it. He glanced at Tammie and gave her an I-told-you-so smile. Tammie dropped her notebook back in her purse.

“Ah, it's a smart thing to scope out the goods ahead of time,” he said, giving a wink to Tammie. “It's hard to move along these walkways when the crowds get here.

“That toy is twice is old as you are,” the man said to Tammie. “I don't mind if you want to handle it. I don't let the kids. They all love to play with it, but it's too delicate a piece for little hands.”

“It's beautiful,” Tammie said, picking it up and turning it in her hand. She wasn't really interested in the toy train, but she had a feeling the dealer was flattered by the attention. “You must have people clamoring to get these pieces every year.”

“I send out a mailing to the regulars. I don't have a Web site like some of the other dealers. Never did learn to use the Internet. I prefer selling face-to-face.”

“Have you been coming here long?” Dylan asked. The seamless way he transitioned the question impressed her. She'd been walking past the tents, trying to figure out how to ask questions without looking like she was fishing for information. Dylan had her beat.

“Going on twenty years now.”

She suppressed a sigh and smiled instead. “I imagine there aren't too many vendors who were here longer than you.”

He laughed. “There are a few diehards who practically started the auctions. Old man Jackson started with a tent just like this, and now has that pretty building on the end of the strip open all year long.”

“What about people from out of town?”

The man made a face like he was thinking. “John Beaumont and his people have been coming around for a while now. I'm pretty sure he was here before me. He sells all that antique china. I wouldn't want to be handling those pieces with a basket full of kids. Who ever heard of a gravy boat for eight hundred and fifty dollars?”

Tammie laughed at the comical face he made. “My, that's a bit out of my price range.” The man had been working alone, and seemed to like the company. Part of her felt bad for fishing for information and moving on, but if he'd only been coming here for twenty years, he probably wouldn't have known her parents.

The man lowered his voice and leaned forward over the table. “Truth be known, some of these dealers will rob you blind. They're passing off reproductions at authentic prices.”

“Really? Maybe we should stop by here for some advice before making any purchases,” she said.

The man laughed and pointed a finger. “That's a wise thing to do.”

Dylan had walked over to the next tent, and was talking to a man in his early twenties who looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but there.

“My friend has run off without me. Did you say John Beaumont has been here a while? Despite the prices, I do love good china.”