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Chapter Thirty-One

I washed my hands at the kitchen sink before noticing condiments and a box of tin foil left on the counter, but no chicken. Figuring Alan had decided to grill while he kept an eye on Sean and Sophie, bless his heart, I gazed from the window to see him talking with Clare. Both had glasses of wine in their hands, with an empty glass next to the bottle on the picnic table.

I brought out napkins, a box of crackers, a knife, and a wedge of cheese. “Are we celebrating?” I questioned, taking a seat next to Alan. Sophie sidled up to me.

My husband shook his head before pouring me a glass of wine. “No, we’re brainstorming while our supper is cooking. Hope you don’t mind barbecued chicken and baked potatoes.”

“That sounds marvelous,” I said, slicing the cheese. “Did you invite Clare to join us for supper?”

“Yes, and she’s planning on it. So you know, we didn’t find anything too alarming with Ed’s accounts. Either he did a lot of finagling or he was as honest as his obituary implied.”

“That’s good. A few ladies waiting for me to ring up their purchases talked about Ed as their tax accountant, and they were sorry to hear of his death. They thought maybe Liz just needed some time to get away.”

“Did they read the article in the paper?” Clare asked.

“Yes, and I’ve rarely heard such chatter as I did today. Ryan did a great job raising awareness.” I hoped my words brought her comfort, but worry emanated from her eyes.

“Alan and I went through the sticky notes I’d found in the kitchen again,” she said, “and he thinks we should make J.W. the hinge for our search.”

I turned to face him. “Haven’t we done that?”

“As far as we know, none of the J.W.s we’ve identified have any grudge against Liz, or even Ed. There must be another J.W. we don’t know about.”

I took a sip of my wine, trying to recall the words on the pieces of paper. “One of them told Clare to use the money she found, and another had River Mill written on it.”

“Right,” Alan agreed, placing a slice of cheese on a cracker. “Others said For You , Be Careful , and J.W .”

“Okay,” I nodded. “Lydia Perkins, who happens to be a full-blood descendent of the Lenape, once told me to look below the surface whenever I became stuck on something. I think we need to do that here.”

Alan waited for my theory, but I didn’t have one because I needed to talk it out.

“Bear with me,” I said, giving Clare a glance. “You assumed Liz left you those notes, but you don’t know that for sure.”

“I guess not.” She nibbled on a piece of cheese .

“What if J.W. was the signature. In other words, J.W. left the notes and money for Liz.”

“Does that really matter?” she asked. “We’ve spoken to three J.W.s, but none of them knows where Lizzie went.”

“But we didn’t ask if they gave her money and told her to be careful.” The more I mused about the possibility, the clearer it became.

Alan raised an eyebrow. “Why would Liz have hidden the notes and money in the kitchen cabinets?”

“She might not have been hiding it.” Ideas took shape. “We know she kept a tidy house, and her mother used to keep things in sugar bowls or coffee cans. So, let’s say she gets these notes from J.W. that he or she wants her to have money, but she should be careful.”

Alan stifled a laugh. “She receives lots of cash, then hides it before disappearing? I don’t think so, honey.”

“Look below the surface,” I repeated. “I have a feeling we’ll see the indentations of J.W.s writing on the sticky pad, if you still have it,” I told Clare.

“I can go get it,” she offered.

Before Alan could tell her not to bother, I encouraged her to bring it to us—mostly because of my curiosity. “I’d also like to look through Liz’s address book, if you could bring that, too.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back.”

When she scurried off, Alan rose to check on our supper. “This is a wild guess, isn’t it?” he teased.

I gave him a quirky grin, then shrugged. “Yes, but I could be on to something.”

He laughed, and I picked up the bottle and my glass to take inside. “I’ll set the table in case you want to eat before we test my theory.”

He thought that was a good plan.

^^ ^

Clare helped by clearing the table while I stacked the dishwasher, and Alan wiped off the grill. During supper, she asked about our decision to start a detective agency, and that became the topic of conversation. She seemed most interested in the stories about the cases I’d helped to solve.

No one wanted dessert, so we settled in the living room to test my theory. As I’d suspected, we could see the faint outline of the initials, J.W., on the top sheet of the sticky pad.

Alan, the skeptic, reminded me that it didn’t mean J.W. wrote all of the notes. Clare agreed with him since she still felt her sister had left them for her to find.

I accepted the criticism and moved on to search for other J.W.s in Liz’s address book. Nothing popped out, so I returned it to Clare with a sigh. “I guess that was a silly theory.”

She offered me a conciliatory smile. “No worries. We’re grabbing for straws, as my father once told me.”

“Have you ever heard from him?” I asked.

She firmly shook her head. “No, but he broke my heart when he left us. My poor mother thought he’d return, yet he didn’t.”

“You were young, and that makes it worse.” My husband had done something similar, though he kept in touch with my two children.

“I was thirteen,” she said, “and Liz was only three years old. For so long, I blamed myself.”

I understood completely since I thought I’d caused the rift in my first marriage. “You weren’t to blame. You were a child.”

“Ah, but I was stubborn. Sometimes I’d do things just to irk him, although I don’t know why.”

Alan smiled, thinking back to his early-adult years. “Typical teenager behavior. I have two sons and a daughter who tried my patience, but I’d never have left them.”

“It takes a long time to get over feeling abandoned,” Clare stated. “I’m no longer angry, and I’ve forgiven my father, but he missed all of the special occasions of two wonderful girls who loved him dearly.”

I could hear the hurt in her voice and see pain in her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” I murmured. I thought, perhaps, talking about him might help. “What’s his name?”

She blinked to clear her blurry eyes. “John Dolan. I don’t know if he’s still alive, but I hope he’s found peace.”

I had no idea what made me ask, “What’s his middle name?”

She stared at me, taking a deep breath. “John William Dolan. Oh, my gosh, J.W.”

Alan caught my eye. “Honey, if you’ve solved this mystery, I’ll eat my hat.”

I laughed nervously. Could Liz have gone to help her father? If so, why would her car have ended up at lover’s lane. “I might have just muddied the waters,” I mumbled.