Page 31

He thought back to the reading he’d done for days on end. He’d been focused on the words, not the scribbles. But there had been some. And if Brooklynn was right, then they might mean something. “I wasn’t paying attention. We can look for them after we go through the ledger.”

She turned the page. “This is a list of letter pairings.”

“Yeah, I saw.” Similar to the notations on the previous page, these had not all been written at once.

They were in different ink colors and thicknesses, some more legible than others, as if his father had jotted them down over time.

“They’re not abbreviations for any weights or measures, as far as I can tell.

I doubt they’re federal agencies, since most of those have three or more letters. Maybe they’re state agencies?”

She tapped one of the pairings. “No states begin with B.”

“Are you sure?” He reached for his laptop to ask AI.

Brooklynn said, “Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas, California…”

She knew the states. In alphabetical order.

“Are you on the spectrum?”

She laughed. “We had to memorize them in grade school, and once I commit something to memory, it’s there forever.”

He’d memorized his share of useless stuff, but he’d let most of it go years ago. “Let’s say they’re people’s initials,” he said. “That eliminates hundreds of millions of people. In a world of eight billion, that’s not exactly helpful.”

“Right.” She bit her bottom lip. “If some are locals, then G.P. could be Graham Porter.”

The hotel owner. “Or George Parker. Or Gigi Perkins.”

Brooklynn ignored him. “Is that an E?”

“Looks like E.H. Could be your friend Elvis, the flower child.”

“She wouldn’t be involved in drug trafficking.”

“Not all bad guys wear black hats, Brooklynn. And not all bad guys are guys. ”

She flashed a glare. “I know that. I also know Elvis. She wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Maybe, but she could’ve been involved, not knowing the danger she was putting people in. We don’t even know what this list is about. Maybe it’s victims. Or customers.”

“So Elvis was a…a pusher?”

“It’s possible.” Forbes jotted both Graham’s and Elvis’s names in his notebook, then pointed at the next letter pairings. She couldn’t identify an N.P, an L.S., or a B.D.

The next pairing caught his eye. “O.T. Didn’t you say something about an Owen?”

“Owen Stratton, Delaney’s boyfriend. He would’ve been about five at the time.”

“Probably not our killer, then. What about…Taggart? His father’s name is…?”

“Leonard—Leo. Lenny is named after him.”

“No names starting with O? Lenny’s mom, maybe?”

“His mother left when he was little. Lenny respects his dad, but he told me once that he blames him for the divorce. Apparently, Leo was unfaithful, which doesn’t surprise me.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He’s kind of a player, Leo Taggart. His last girlfriend was younger than Lenny.”

“Nice.”

“Lenny’s no prince, but he’s nothing like his father in that respect. Anyway, last I heard, his mother lives out west somewhere. Lenny doesn’t have much of a relationship with her.”

“You don’t know her name?”

“No idea.”

“How about F.W.?”

“F.W.” Brooklynn tilted her head to the side. “If I remember correctly, Jewel’s father was named Frank.”

“Is that the one who owned Webb’s Harborside?”

“Good memory. His wife is Fiona. She and the kids own the restaurant now.”

Fiona was still alive, then. Forbes wrote the names in his notebook. Then realized… “Jewel’s your assistant.”

“She manages the gallery.”

“Her father could’ve been involved.” His heart thumped. “Her mother could be now. You’ve been communicating with her.”

“I trust Jewel.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t.”

“I have to trust somebody, Ford.”

He winced at the name, at the irony. “But you haven’t told her where you are or who you’re with, right?”

“And you have to trust me . I said I wouldn’t.”

“Just making sure.”

Brooklynn had no names to go with the rest of the initials. Maybe none of the people she’d mentioned were involved. Maybe they all were.

He’d look into every one, just to be sure.

The next page had notations, some referring to the initials on the previous page.

L.S. cryptic comment at CC mtg.

O.T. Coerced?

Steer clear of F.W. Dangerous.

G.P.? Greedy but involved?

They went on like that, notes about most of the initials, confirming Forbes’s guess that they referred to people.

So many people.

Had Dad been trying to figure out who all was involved in The Network? If so, why? To have something to use against them? Blackmail material?

Or maybe he was afraid he’d get caught and wanted to have information to turn over to the police to get himself out of trouble.

If so, then Dad was a drug smuggler and a back-stabber.

The thought was so distasteful that Forbes sipped his water, wishing he could wash away the flavor.

The next page of cryptic notes made no sense.

What were you up to, Dad?

More importantly, why?

Between what he’d earned and what he’d inherited, Dad had been worth hundreds of millions of dollars. Had it really not been enough?

Was the money more important than his family?

Beside him, Brooklynn made a low hmm . “I wonder if he was trying to extricate himself.”

He snapped his gaze to her. “What do you mean?”

“Maybe he wanted out. Maybe he was threatening to turn over everything he knew if The Network didn’t let him go. And maybe…maybe that’s why they killed him. Maybe they killed Grace and Rosie to make examples of them so nobody else would try to get out.”

Forbes thought back to that terrible day, to the moment before Dad was shot. “ The Network trusted you. You betrayed us.”

“That’s a good theory.” His heart was thumping. For the first time in the weeks since he’d arrived, he had real leads. And a possible explanation for what’d happened that day. Maybe the initials and the names they’d put with them would lead to something.

There was only one thing Forbes wanted, one thing he’d lived for since he was eight years old.

Justice.

* * *

Forbes was back on his father’s side of the desk, researching the names he and Brooklynn had come up with. He’d been at it for forty-five minutes but hadn’t found anything illuminating when her cell phone rang.

She looked at the screen, said, “It’s Alyssa,” then answered. “Hey, sis.” After listening for a minute or so, she reached for Forbes’s notebook, glancing at him for permission.

He slid it toward her, and she jotted something down.

“Perfect.” She listened for another few seconds. “You’re the best. Seriously. I’ll get back to you.”

She ended the call and looked at him, her expression bright. “Shane Dawson has a nephew named Bryce.”

“How do you know that?” He had a good idea what her answer would be, and frustration vibrated in his chest.

“Alyssa. I told you, she’s brilliant. She can find anything on?—”

“You had no right to ask her.”

Brooklynn’s lips twisted into a smirk. “Did you find that information on your own?”

“No, but?—”

“It took her about ten minutes. Even the Lone Ranger had Tonto.”

He’d heard of the Lone Ranger, but who was Tonto?

She must’ve read his confusion. “His sidekick. Like Robin to Batman.”

“Your sister is not my sidekick.”

“You’re right. And neither am I. We’re both capable of things you obviously aren’t, so stop being so stubborn about it and accept help.” Her phone dinged with an incoming text, and she glanced at it. “Unless you don’t want to see this.”

“What is it?”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Are you admitting you need help?”

“Whatever.” He shouldn’t sound so surly, considering Brooklynn and her sister had learned more in three days than he’d learned in three weeks.

That was exaggerating it a bit. He’d learned an awful lot, but he’d hit a wall, a wall that the Wright sisters had barreled right through.

He held out his hand for the phone and read the texts.

There was a photograph with a note.

Is this your guy?

He tapped to enlarge the picture. It was a mugshot of the so-called Bernie.

Another text came in.

Bryce Dawson. 27. Arrested in 2022 for possession and assault. Took a plea deal—probation and 90 days in rehab. Nephew of Shane Dawson.

The next text included Bryce’s address in Portland .

Shane has no arrests. His brother, Michael, Bryce’s father, arrested 2x for OUI, 1995 and 2002.

OUI… Operating under the influence of either alcohol or drugs.

Mother Laurie Renee Smith. Record clean. Bryce’s parents never married.

The next text included a document.

He flashed the screen to Brooklynn to let her read what her sister had said. “Mind if I open the attachment?”

“Go ahead.”

He scanned it, seeing a full report on everything Alyssa had learned about Bryce Dawson. Education, work history…

He forwarded the photograph and the document to his own phone, then handed Brooklynn’s cell back to her. “I could never have gotten that information on my own.”

“You admit it!” She flashed her million-dollar smile. “See? I’m more than just a nosy houseguest.”

She was so much more than that. Fun and happy and cheerful and helpful and…

And he couldn’t remember why he’d ever resented her presence.

He should say that, tell her how grateful he was that she was there, how much he enjoyed having her around. But he didn’t know how to do that without sounding…hokey or like a flatterer.

All he managed was, “Thanks.”

Her smile brightened even more, as if he’d made her whole day.

“You’re very welcome. Alyssa asked me if there was anything else she could help with, so I thought I’d pass along the rest of these names.

” She flipped back through the notebook to the list he’d made from the initials.

“She can check if any of them have a record.”

“How does she have time for this? Doesn’t she have a job?”

“This is her job.”

“Right. Find out what her rate is, and?—”

“She’s not going to charge us.”

“I am going to pay her. That’s nonnegotiable. And I expect confidentiality.”