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CHAPTER SIX

I t was dark by the time Garrett turned down the long tree-lined driveway to his aunt and uncle’s house, the place where Garrett lived from when he was fourteen through college. His uncle had texted while Garrett was at Aspen’s, but he hadn’t gotten the notification until he was a few miles down the mountain.

Aspen didn’t have cell phone service at the house. He’d forgotten that. That was a problem that needed to be solved soon.

Garrett’s uncle had asked him to stop by on his way home. Even though Garrett had bought a condo years back, when he thought of home, he thought of this little split-level in the woods.

As he parked his truck, Aunt Deborah pushed open the front door. She was still dressed for work in slacks, a purple blouse, and a black jacket. She’d put on weight over the years and was constantly talking about going on a diet. Not doing it, but talking about it. As far as he was concerned, she didn’t need to. She was as healthy and pretty as ever. She dyed her hair a tad lighter every year, and now what used to be dark brown was fully blond. She looked younger than her fifty-something age.

He’d just reached the walk when she said, “Hurry up before you let all the cold air in.”

He bounded up the concrete steps to the door, stepped inside, and kissed her cheek. “You could just leave the door shut until I get here.”

She squeezed his cold fingers. “Too eager to see you, kid.”

Thirty-five years old, and she still called him kid.

From the top of the half flight of stairs, Uncle Dean said, “What do you want to drink with dinner?”

“You don’t need to feed me.” But Garrett picked up the scents of ground beef and onions. “On the other hand…Salisbury steak?”

“With mashed potatoes and gravy.” Uncle Dean was the cook in the family, always had been. Aunt Deborah rarely got out of work before six, while Dean was a carpenter and worked from home. The bottom floor had been his workshop as long as Garrett could remember.

“You know that’s my favorite,” Garrett said.

Uncle Dean’s smile softened the hard lines of his face. Unlike his wife, he wasn’t wearing his work clothes. He ended most days covered in sawdust and sweat, so his first task after he closed up shop was to shower. Now he wore a pair of gray jogging pants and a black sweatshirt. He’d lost much of his hair and what was left was starting to turn gray. He peered through his wire-rimmed bifocals. “If I remember correctly, anything with beef is your favorite.”

“Good point.” Garrett gestured for Aunt Deborah to precede him, then followed her up the six steps to the main floor. There used to be three small rooms at the top of the stairs—living, dining, and kitchen. But years before, Dean and Garrett had remodeled it, making it one great room. They’d even removed the low ceiling and covered the rafters above with drywall to create a vaulted ceiling. The skylight was Garrett’s favorite part of the new space.

It’d been a huge undertaking, and he’d loved every minute of it. That was when he’d decided he wanted to be a general contractor, to restore dingy, ugly, and aged spaces and make them beautiful again. Sort of like what God had done in his heart when he’d trusted in Christ.

And like Dean and Deborah had done when they’d taken him in.

Dean patted him on the back. “Coke? Or we got some of those fruity, bubbly things you like. Some weird flavor.”

“Tangerine,” Deborah supplied. “I’ll get it. You have a seat.”

They were always like this, treating him like an honored guest, as if he’d done them a favor by coming by. As if he didn’t owe them everything.

Over dinner, they chatted and caught up. Deborah usually had an anecdote about the patrons and fellow employees at the library where she worked. The stories were amusing at the least, often downright hilarious. As usual, the three of them laughed their way through the meal.

When Garrett had eaten more than he should have, he started clearing the dishes. “The least I can do.”

Deborah settled back in her chair. “Not that I did anything but comment on the gravy, but I’ll let you.”

“You bought the groceries,” Dean said to her. “And worked all day.”

She shrugged. “Not as hard as Garrett, I’m sure. But he’s young and strong.”

“My day was easy,” Garrett said. “Met my new client and got her settled at the house.”

“How is the place?” Deborah asked.

“Could be worse. Furnace is barely keeping up, but the fireplace’ll keep it warm. Do you two still have that old kitchen table in the garage? The little one with the sides that fold down?”

“I think so.” Deborah turned to Dean.

“It’s behind a bunch of stuff, but it’s there.”

“Would you mind letting her borrow it? Except in the bedroom, she has no furniture.”

“Sure,” Dean said. “She can keep it.”

“And don’t we still have those old chairs?” Deborah asked. “You were going to refinish them.”

“Right. They’re ugly as sin, but she can have ’em. We’ll load them up before you leave.”

“You two are so generous. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.”

After Garrett finished the dishes, he and his uncle loaded the furniture in his truck, and Deborah excused herself to her room. Dean seemed ready to tell Garrett why he’d asked him to stop by.

He cleared his throat and nodded to the living area. “I heard you had lunch with your client today. The Kincaid girl, right?”

“Girl?” Garrett slid onto the soft cushions that’d been his spot since he was a teen. “She’s in her twenties.”

Dean set his glass of water on the table beside his recliner, sat, and lifted the footrest. “She’s thirty-one.”

Surprised by the detail, Garrett let his expression ask the question.

“I knew her mom pretty well.”

Garrett had decided he wasn’t going to drill his uncle for details about Aspen, but it seemed he was going to get some anyway.

“It’s a long story,” Dean said, “and not a particularly pretty one. Her mother… She was a little”—he tapped the side of his head—“mentally ill. Probably more than a little. Not that we realized that. She seemed perfectly normal when we first met her. But the older she got…”

When he didn’t finish the thought, Garrett asked, “How did you meet her?”

“Their family moved here Jane’s senior year. She graduated and went to Plymouth State, where your aunt and I went. I got to know her through Deborah, and even more when Jane started dating a friend of mine.”

“You were friends with Aspen’s father?”

“Uh. No. It was someone else.”

“So this was before Aspen was born.”

Though Garrett’s statement had seemed both obvious and innocuous, Dean didn’t confirm it. “Jane was passionate and charismatic. She had some pretty strong beliefs.”

“About?”

“The environment. Loved the forest, loved trees. I mean, she named her kid Aspen, for crying out loud. That’s how much she loved trees.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Garrett said. “In New Hampshire, trees are the canvas of our lives.”

Dean’s eyebrows lifted. “Thank you, Robert Frost.”

“I’m just saying, you’d be pretty miserable if you lived in this state and didn’t like trees. I mean, except when the leaves fall. Only an idiot likes that.”

“Gosh, how you used to complain when I made you rake.”

Garrett gestured to the picture window. “Do you know how many trees you have out there?”

“Why do you think we took you in? I haven’t raked since.”

Garrett chuckled. He used to hate the annual project, but as he got older and grew more and more to appreciate his aunt and uncle, he went out of his way to get the leaves taken care of for them—and manage a lot of the other more difficult chores around the house. It was the least he could do. “I was a pain in the rear.”

“You were a kid,” Dean said. “A normal kid.”

Far from normal, considering the trouble he’d gotten into before he’d moved in with Dean and Deborah.

Dean continued. “Aspen’s mother was obsessed with saving the trees. All the trees.”

“Ah.” Lumber was one of the biggest industries in New Hampshire. He imagined a lone woman carrying a sign and protesting the billion-dollar industry.

“If she’d become a lawyer or gone into politics, perhaps she could have gotten legislation that changed the way the industry worked, but she didn’t want to change it. She wanted to do away with it. She had a following, a bunch of fellow college students who practically worshipped her. Obviously, they had no real impact.”

“More Don Quixote versus windmills than David versus Goliath.”

“Exactly. But Jane was determined, and like I said”—again, he tapped his head—“not entirely sane. She’d discovered one company that she was convinced was destroying the earth, and when they refused to bow to her demands?—”

“She had demands?”

“That they stop murdering the trees.”

“Very rational.”

“In her defense, there are rules to protect the forest, and this company was not following them—and covering it up. But Jane was fierce. She did her homework. She became obsessed with proving their neglect.”

“Did she?”

“Yup. And they received a slap on the wrist and a fine and kept on going, business as usual. Though by all accounts, they started obeying the rules, so she did have an impact, albeit a small one. But it wasn’t what she wanted. She’d hoped they’d be put out of business, and when they weren’t, it pushed her over the edge.”

Dean lowered the footrest on his recliner, leaned forward, and propped his elbows on his knees. In that moment, he looked older than his years. His wrinkles more pronounced, his skin nearly gray.

Was his uncle healthy? Surely if he wasn’t, he or Deborah would tell Garrett.

He couldn’t imagine losing this man, who was more of a father than his own had ever been.

“Uncle, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Just…” He blew out a long breath and sat back. “Look, I don’t want to get into everything that happened back then.”

“You don’t have to.”

Dean obviously needed to rest, and the last thing Garrett wanted was to add stress to his uncle’s life. He’d done enough of that as a kid.

Dean rested his head against the headrest. “Like I said, it was an ugly story, and it brings back a lot of painful memories.”

Garrett didn’t understand, but as he’d reminded himself earlier, Aspen’s family history was none of his business. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

“Your client’s mother disappeared under a cloud of suspicion.”

“What was she suspected of?”

He shook his head at the question. “The point is, people got hurt.”

“Aspen isn’t her mother.”

“True. But a lot of people want to know what happened to Jane Kincaid.”

“You think she’s dead, right?”

Dean’s eyebrows lifted. “Why do you say that?”

“You’ve only referred to her in the past tense.”

“Yeah. I think she’s dead.”

“Why?”

“I can’t imagine a woman like her staying hidden for long.”

“What do you mean, ‘like her’?”

“Beautiful, charismatic, radical, and insane. Those characteristics don’t exactly fly under the radar. If she were still alive, she’d have turned up by now.”

Garrett lowered his head. Poor Aspen. No wonder her father had taken her away from New Hampshire.

Except he’d bought a house here. Why? What good could possibly come of Aspen learning this ugly story about her mother? Though how could her dad have known he’d die so young? Maybe he’d never thought Aspen would find out about the house.

But why buy it in the first place?

“Unless someone’s been keeping her hidden.”

Dean’s words had Garrett’s gaze snapping up. “What do you mean? Who?—?”

“I need you to do something.”

Aside from household chores, Dean never asked Garrett for favors. The thought of being able to repay, even in some small measure, what Dean and Deborah had done for him… “Anything. You know that.”

“I need you to keep an eye on Jane’s daughter. I need to know if she says anything about her mother or what happened back then. Let me know where she goes and who she talks to. Maybe ask some questions, see if you can get her to talk about what she’s doing.”

Garrett sat back, stunned. “You want me to spy on Aspen? On my client?”

“Not spy, son. Just… just listen and watch and let me know what you learn, that’s all. If she has any idea where her mother is or what happened to her, there are people in this town who need to know.”

“Why? What is it to any of them?”

“It’s possible Jane Kincaid was responsible for a woman’s death. If she’s still alive?—”

“Wait. You think she killed someone?”

“Not…exactly.” Dean heaved a deep breath and blew it out. When he lifted his glass of water, his hand was shaking.

Worry almost had Garrett asking again about Dean’s health, but he stopped himself. He would honor his uncle’s privacy.

“It’s okay,” Garrett said. “We can talk?—”

“If her husband’s been protecting Jane all these years... Maybe he hid her somewhere. Maybe he had her committed.”

Garrett was shaking his head before his uncle stopped talking. “Aspen has no idea where her mother is. She said as much to Bart Bradley?—”

“If she knows anything about what happened back then, she wouldn’t tell Bart.” Dean set the glass back on the table, nearly tipping it in the process. “It’s not like I’m asking you to betray a friend. You just met her. She’s only a client. You’re her contractor, not her attorney.”

Garrett swallowed hard. Aspen was only a client, despite how attracted he was to her. “That doesn’t change anything. I’m the only person she knows in town.” And she trusted him. How could he do what Dean was asking?

But how could he not?

“If you’re right and the girl knows nothing about her mother’s whereabouts,” Dean said, “then you’ll have nothing to report to me. But if you’re wrong…”

“You can’t be serious. I mean, how old was Aspen when this happened?”

“She’s an adult now.”

“Even if she knows what happened back then—and how would she unless someone told her—we’re talking about her mother .”

“I know where her loyalties lie. And I get that she might not know anything. The thing is, son, there are people in town who need to know what she knows. It’ll be much easier if you find out on the sly than if somebody else, somebody less patient and more invested than you, confronts her directly.”

“Who?”

“People. People whose lives were destroyed because of Jane.”

Destroyed?

What happened back then? Everything in him wanted to press his uncle for answers.

Deborah stepped into the room. “Sorry to interrupt.” She smiled at Garrett, then glanced at Dean. When she did, her eyes popped wide, and she hurried to him. “Are you all right? Do you need anything?”

He shook his head but didn’t speak.

“What is happening?” Garrett stood and looked from his aunt to his uncle. “What’s going on?”

Dean waved off the question. “It’s fine. I just get…” But he huffed as if he’d just run a race.

“That’s it,” Deborah said. “I’m making you an appointment tomorrow.” To Garrett, she said, “He’s been having these episodes where he can’t seem to catch his breath.”

Suddenly, Garrett felt the same way. “What is it?”

Dean sat back in his recliner and inhaled deeply, then blew the air out.

“We’ll figure it out,” Deborah said. “As soon as we know, we’ll tell you.”

Garrett gripped her forearm. “Is that a promise?”

She glanced at Dean, who said nothing, and turned back to him. “It’s a promise.”

Dean took Deborah’s other hand. “We’re almost done.”

Her lips were pressed closed, but she kissed his cheek and hugged Garrett. “Come back soon.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Two more minutes, okay?”

He nodded, and she grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and returned to her bedroom.

Garrett sat on the edge of the sofa. “How long has this been going on?”

Dean’s color was returning. He glanced at the hallway entrance. “She’s overreacting. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“You’re going to the doctor. You’re not going to get all stubborn and stupid on me, right?”

The older man smiled. “When have I ever?—?”

“I can make a list.”

Dean chuckled, but the sound died fast. “What I need is for you to do this for me. And don’t tell her we had this conversation or anything about me.”

How could Garrett do this to her?

“If she knows what her mother did or where she is,” Dean said, “just let me know. If she doesn’t know anything, then there’ll be nothing to report.”

Dean was right. If Aspen knew nothing—and he suspected that was the case—then what would it hurt to report that to Dean? Garrett could put his mind at ease. In fact, he could be doing Aspen a favor by convincing Dean, who could convince others in town, she knew nothing about her mother’s whereabouts or complicated history. He could be protecting her.

And anyway, how could he refuse his uncle?

This could be good for Aspen. As long as she never found out what he was up to, everything would be fine.