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Praise for the novels of
New York Times bestselling author
SHERRYL WOODS

“Woods is a master heartstring puller.”

– Publishers Weekly on Seaview Inn

“Compulsively readable…Though the serious issues raised are handled with honesty and integrity, Woods’s novel easily rises above hot-button topics to tell a universal tale of friendship’s redemptive power.”

– Publishers Weekly on Mending Fences

“Redolent with Southern small-town atmosphere, this emotionally rich story deals with some serious issues and delivers on a number of levels.”

– Library Journal on A Slice of Heaven

“Sherryl Woods always delivers a fast, breezy, glamorous mix of romance and suspense.”

– New York Times bestselling author Jayne Ann Krentz

“Woods’s latest entry in her Sweet Magnolias series (after Stealing Home ) is sure to please fans and entice new readers with…flesh-and-blood characters, terrific dialogue and substantial stakes.”

– Publishers Weekly on A Slice of Heaven

“Sherryl Woods…writes with a very special warmth, wit, charm and intelligence.”

– New York Times bestselling author Heather Graham

“Sherryl Woods gives her characters depth, intensity, and the right amount of humor.”

– Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“Sherryl Woods is a uniquely gifted writer whose deep understanding of human nature is woven into every page.”

– New York Times bestselling author Carla Neggers

About That Man
Sherryl Woods

www.mirabooks.co.uk

Dear Friend,

I’m so excited that the TRINITY HARBOR series is back in print. If you didn’t have a chance to read it when it first came out, I hope you’ll enjoy your first visit to this charming seaside town and the chance to get to know the Spencers. Any time I get an opportunity to write about the part of Virginia where I spent so many happy childhood summers, it feels like going home to those lazy, sultry days again.

As for Daisy, Bobby, Tucker and, of course, King, there is nothing I love more as an author than writing about families and about small towns. I think in this day and age, when so many of us have scattered around the country, far from our own families, books about families and tightly knit towns remind us of the way things used to be. They give us a sense of the kind of connectedness we long for. I hope you will come to think of the Spencers and all the residents of Trinity Harbor as family and that you’ll find that Anna-Louise provides a moral compass in today’s increasingly complex world.

After you’ve read Daisy’s story, I hope you’ll move right on to Bobby’s story in Ask Anyone. The best part of these reissues is that all three titles are available now. And in Ask Anyone, I guarantee that there’s an incredible woman waiting in the wings to spice up Bobby’s life and that there will be yet another test of wills between him and his father over just about everything. Just thinking about it puts a smile on my face.

All good wishes,

For Relda and Kyle,

with thanks for all the boating background,

and for the friends–old and new–in the “real”

Trinity Harbor (aka Colonial Beach, Virginia).

You all keep me inspired.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Epilogue

Prologue

T he whole town of Trinity Harbor–probably the whole state of Virginia–was buzzing like a swarm of bees, and whose fault was it? His daughter’s. Robert King Spencer slammed down the phone for what had to be the fifteenth time that morning and rued the day he’d ever bred such an ungrateful lot of kids.

Daisy, of all people, his beautiful, headstrong, but previously sensible thirty-year-old daughter, was stirring up gossip like a rebellious teenager. It was exasperating. No, King thought, it went beyond that. It was humiliating.

He had half a mind to go charging over to her place and put a stop to things before she tarnished the Spencer name with her shenanigans, but he’d learned his lesson on that score. A father interfered in his children’s lives at his own peril. Better to handle things from the sidelines, subtly.

King could all but hear the laughter of his family and friends at that. It was true, subtlety wasn’t exactly his style. Never had been, but for once he could see the value in using other people to do his dirty work. His sons, for instance.

Tucker and Bobby ought to be able to straighten out this mess. Tucker was the sheriff, for goodness’ sakes. Maybe he could wave that badge of his around and get Daisy to see reason.

King sighed. Not likely. Tucker took his duties seriously. He wasn’t likely to use his office to carry out his daddy’s personal wishes. And Bobby…well, Bobby was an enigma to him. No telling what he would do–probably the exact opposite of what King wanted.

That was the way it had been lately. Not one of his children paid a bit of attention to him, or to their Southern heritage. What kind of respect could a man expect in his golden years if his own children went around stirring up the kind of trouble Daisy had gotten herself into?

Respect was important to a man. King had always liked being a mover and shaker in Trinity Harbor. He figured he deserved it, since his very own ancestors had wandered over from Jamestown to start the town. That pretty much gave him the right to have his say about everything that went on, from raising Black Angus cattle or growing soybeans to politics. Most people actually listened. Being a Spencer in this town still meant something. Or it had until a few hours ago.

Nope, it was clear that Daisy didn’t give two hoots for tradition or bloodlines or any of the other things that made the South great. She was just hell-bent on getting her own way, no matter what it did to her daddy, her brothers or the family reputation.

It was her mother’s fault, of course. Mary Margaret–God rest her soul–was the one with the modern ideas. Let her shoulder the blame for Daisy’s behavior, even if she had been dead for twenty years. She should have done something–though he couldn’t say what–before she went and abandoned them all.

Since Mary Margaret wasn’t around to fix things, though, it was up to King to save Daisy from herself. He prided himself on being clever when clever was called for, and today certainly seemed to be one of those days. He had the headache to prove it.

1

D aisy Spencer had always wanted children. She just hadn’t expected to wind up stealing one.

Okay, that was a slight exaggeration. She hadn’t exactly stolen Tommy Flanagan. The way she saw it, nobody wanted the boy. His father was long gone and his pitiful, frail mother had had the misfortune to die in the recent flu epidemic. The story was the talk of Trinity Harbor and had been for weeks now.

While they searched for relatives, Social Services had placed Tommy with three different foster families in as many weeks, but Tommy wouldn’t stay put. He was scared and angry and about as receptive to love as that vicious old rooster Daisy’s father insisted on keeping over at Cedar Hill.

Despite all that, Daisy’s heart just about broke when she thought of all the pain that ten-year-old had gone through. She figured she had more than enough love to spare for the little boy who’d been one of her brightest Sunday school students, a boy who was suddenly all alone in the world, a boy who’d lost his faith in God on the day his mother died.

Daisy’s own faith had been tested half a dozen years ago when she’d been told she would never have children of her own. The news had almost destroyed her. It had destroyed her relationship with Billy Inscoe, the only man she’d ever loved.

All Daisy had cared about was having children she could shower with love. Adoption would have suited her just fine.

But Billy hadn’t been able to see beyond the fact that his fiancée was barren. Billy had wanted sons and daughters of his own. He’d wanted his blood running through their veins, proof of his manhood running through the streets. He’d wanted to start a dynasty as proud as the Spencers’. When Daisy couldn’t give him that, he’d taken back his ring and gone looking for someone who could.

With the exception of Daisy’s minister, nobody knew the truth about what had happened between her and Billy. Daisy kept quiet because she’d been so humiliated by the discovery that she wasn’t woman enough to give Billy what he thought he needed from a wife. Billy had been discreet for his own reasons.

Her own father thought the broken engagement was the result of some whim on her part, as if she’d turned her back on marriage because she thought someone better might be waiting around the next corner. He couldn’t conceive of the possibility that his handpicked choice for her had been the one to walk out, and Daisy had let him have his illusions.

And so, until this morning Daisy had pretty much considered her dream of a family dead and buried, right along with every bit of respect and love she’d ever felt for Billy Inscoe.

The last few years she’d thrown herself into her job teaching history at the local high school. She was advisor for the yearbook, the drama club and the 4-H. She taught Sunday school classes. She took her friends’ children fishing on the banks of the Potomac River and on outings to Stratford Hall, the birthplace of Robert E. Lee, or Wakefield, the birthplace of George Washington, both of which were nearby. She gardened, nurturing flowers and vegetables the way she’d always wanted to nurture her own babies.

Heaven help her, she’d even brought home a cat for company, though the independent Molly spent precious little time with her mistress unless she was hungry. And as if to mock Daisy, she’d just had her second litter of kittens.

In another era, Daisy would have been labeled a boring spinster, even though she’d barely turned thirty. Frankly, there were times when that was exactly what she felt like: a dull, dried-up old lady. The role she’d always envisioned herself playing–wife and mother–seemed totally beyond her grasp. She was on the verge of resigning herself to living on the fringes of other people’s lives, to being Aunt Daisy once her brothers married and had families of their own.

Today, though, everything had changed. Early this morning she’d gone to the garage and found Tommy, cold and shivering in the spring chill. He’d been wearing a pair of filthy jeans, a sweater that had been claimed from the church thrift shop even though it was two sizes too big and a pair of sneakers that were clearly too small for his growing feet. His blond hair was matted beneath a Baltimore Orioles baseball cap, and his freckles seemed to stand out even more than usual against his pale complexion.

Despite the sorry state he was in, the boy had been scared and defiant and distrustful. But eventually she’d been able to talk him into coming inside, where she’d fixed him a breakfast of eggs, bacon, hash browns, grits and toast. He’d devoured it all as if he were half-starved, all the while watching her warily. Only in the last few minutes had Tommy slowed down. He was pushing the last of his eggs around on his plate as if fearful of what might happen once he was done.

Studying him, for the first time in years Daisy felt a stirring of excitement. Her prayers had been answered. She felt alive, as if she finally had a mission. Mothering this boy was something she’d been meant to do. And she intended to cling to that sensation with everything in her. Even Molly seemed to agree. She’d been purring and rubbing against Tommy since he’d arrived.

“I ain’t going to another foster home,” Tommy declared, allowing his fork to clatter against his plate in emphasis.

“Okay.”

He regarded her suspiciously. “You ain’t gonna make me?”

“No.”

“How come?”

“Because I intend to let you stay right here, at least until things settle down.” Even as she said the words, she realized she’d made the decision the minute she’d seen him.

His gaze narrowed. “Settle down how?”

Daisy wasn’t sure of that herself. Her heart had opened up the instant she discovered Tommy in her garage, but she was smart enough to know that she couldn’t just decide to keep him. Frances Jackson over at Social Services was looking for relatives, and there were probably a thousand other legalities to consider. All Daisy knew was that if she had anything at all to say about it, this boy had run away for the last time. Maybe for once, being a Spencer would be a blessing. People might like to gossip about the family, but they tended to bow to their wishes.

“You’ll just have to trust me,” she said eventually.

He scowled at that. “Don’t know why I should.”

She hid a grin, wondering what made her think this smart-mouthed kid was a gift from above.

She gave him a stern look. “Because I have been your Sunday school teacher since you were a toddler, Tommy Flanagan, and I don’t lie.”

“Never said you did,” he mumbled. “Just don’t know why I should think you’re any different than all those other people who promised I’d get to stay, then kicked me out.”

“Nobody kicked you out. You keep running away,” she reminded him. “Isn’t that right?”

He shrugged off the distinction. “I suppose.”

“Why did you do that?”

“They just took me in because they had to. I know when I’m not wanted. I just made it easy for ’em.”

“Okay, then, for however long it takes to find your family–or forever, if it comes to that–you are going to have a home right here with me. And I’m going to see to it that you don’t have any reason to want to run away. Don’t take that to mean I’m going to be a pushover, though.”

She said it emphatically and without the slightest hesitation. Her gaze locked with his. “Do we have an understanding?”

“I guess,” he said, apparently satisfied for the moment that she meant what she said.

Relief washed through her. This was going to work out. She could feel it. Daisy didn’t even consider the fact that she’d caught him trying to hot-wire her car as a bad omen. Hopefully Tommy wouldn’t mention that little detail to anyone. She certainly didn’t intend to.

She did worry ever so slightly about the repercussions once word got back to her father, but she was convinced she could handle that, too. She just hoped it would take the grapevine a little longer than usual to reach Cedar Hill. King wasn’t as easily won over as a scared kid.

In the meantime, she knew she did have to call Frances Jackson. Frances took her job at Social Services very seriously. Tommy’s disappearances were wearing on her nerves. Daisy reached for the portable phone.

“Who’re you calling?” Tommy demanded, scowling.

“Mrs. Jackson. She needs to know that you’re with me and that you’re okay.”

“Don’t see why.” He gave her a pleading look. “Couldn’t we just keep this between us? You tell her, and the next thing we know she’ll have the sheriff over here hauling my butt away.”

“The sheriff won’t lay a hand on you,” Daisy reassured him fiercely, but she put the phone back on the table.

“How come?”

“Because the sheriff is my brother and he’ll do what I tell him to do.” At least she hoped he would.

Tommy still looked skeptical. “Have you got something on him?”

Daisy chuckled. “Not the way you mean. Just leave handling Tucker to me. It won’t be a problem. Besides, when you go back to school on Monday, people are going to want to know where you’re staying. We might as well be up-front about it.”

“I thought maybe I wouldn’t go back,” he said, looking hopeful. “It’s almost summer, anyway.”

“Not a chance,” Daisy said firmly. “Education is too important–you can’t take it lightly. And there are weeks to go before summer, not days. You will go to school and that’s that. Now go on upstairs, Tommy, take a bath and then get a little rest. I’m sure you didn’t sleep much last night. There are clean towels in the closet, and you can have the guest room at the end of the hall. If you need anything, just ask. We’ll talk some more later.”

Tommy nodded and started out of the kitchen, then paused. “How come you’re being so nice to me?”

For an instant he allowed her to see the vulnerable, lost little boy behind the defiant facade. “Because you’re worth being nice to, Tommy Flanagan,” she told him.

He seemed a bit startled by that, but he gave a little bob of his head and took off, thundering up the stairs, Molly trailing after him.

“And because I need you as much as you need me,” she whispered when he was out of earshot.

Once again she reached for the phone and made the call to Frances.

“Oh, Daisy,” the social worker murmured when she’d heard what Daisy had to say. “Are you sure you want to do this? Tommy’s a real troublemaker. Not that it’s not understandable, given what he’s been through, but he needs a firm hand.”

“He needs love,” Daisy retorted. “And I intend to see that he gets it.”

“But–”

“Is there some reason I’m not a fit foster mother for him?” Daisy demanded.

“Of course not,” Frances said, as if the very idea that someone would consider a Spencer unfit was ludicrous.

“Then that’s that. Tommy stays here.”

“Until I find a relative,” the social worker reminded her.

“Or not,” Daisy said. “You’ll take care of the paperwork, then?”

Frances sighed. “I will. I’ll drop it by later for you to sign, though I can’t imagine what King is going to say when he hears about this.”

“Then you be real sure not to tell him,” Daisy retorted. “Or I’ll make him think this was all your idea.”

Frances was still sputtering over the threat when Daisy hung up. A little grin of satisfaction spread across her face. It was about time she gave the residents of Trinity Harbor something to talk about besides her long-ago broken engagement and her pecan pie.

“Sis, you are out of your ever-loving mind,” her brother Tucker, the local sheriff, told Daisy when he arrived within an hour of her conversation with Frances.

Obviously the instant he’d heard what she was up to–probably straight from the social worker–Tucker had hightailed it over to lecture her as if she were sixteen instead of thirty. Hands on hips, he was scowling at her as if she’d committed some sort of crime, instead of simply seizing the opportunity that had been presented to her.

“That boy’s going to land in juvenile detention,” he declared in his best doom-and-gloom tone. “You mark my words. Doc’s caught him stealing comic books. He broke Mrs. Thomas’s window. And he rode his bike through Mr. Lindsey’s bean patch and mowed down most of his plants. Something tells me that’s just the things we know about. There could be more. He’s headed for trouble, Daisy.”

Daisy stared right straight back into Tucker’s eyes, ignored his stony expression, and countered, “Well, of course he is…unless someone steps in and does something.”

“And that has to be you?”

“Do you see anybody else who’s willing?” she demanded. “He’s already run through half the foster families in the area. As for those pranks of his, you and Bobby did worse and nobody did more than call Daddy to complain.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

Tucker squirmed uneasily. “It just was, that’s all.” He tried another tack. “When Dad hears about this, he is going to go ballistic.”

She shrugged off her brother’s assessment as if it was of no consequence. “Dad is always going ballistic about one thing or another. Usually it’s you or Bobby who gets him all worked up. It’s about time I took a turn. Being King Spencer’s dutiful daughter is starting to wear thin.”

“You’ll get your heart broken,” Tucker predicted, his expression worried. “You can’t just take in some stray kid and decide to keep him. That’s no way to get what you want, Sis.”

Her big brother knew better than anyone how desperately she wanted a family. He had been the one to console her when Billy had walked out, leaving her convinced she would never marry. Even without knowing anything more than the fact that Billy was the one to break the engagement, Tucker had wanted to throttle the man. Daisy had persuaded him not to, assuring him that Billy Inscoe wasn’t worth another second of their time, much less the risk of an assault charge that could ruin Tucker’s career in law enforcement.

“Sooner or later, they’ll find Tommy’s family,” Tucker warned, regarding her protectively.

“I don’t know what makes you so certain of that,” she said. “There’s been no sign of anyone so far, and you know how dogged Frances is when she’s working a case.”

“That’s exactly what makes me believe she’ll eventually get results. When she does, you’ll have to let him go.”

“And until then, he’ll have me,” she insisted stubbornly, not wanting to consider what she would do when that day came.

“Where is he now?” Tucker asked.

“Upstairs.”

“Cleaning out your jewelry box, no doubt.”

She scowled. “Sleeping,” she contradicted.

“Wanna bet? If I prove otherwise, will you forget about this?”

Without responding one way or the other, Daisy marched to the stairs, then waved Tucker up ahead of her. “See for yourself, smarty-pants.”

Unfortunately, just as they reached the top of the stairs, Tommy bolted out of her bedroom, pockets bulging, Molly trailing along behind him in a way she never did with Daisy. Tucker snagged Tommy by the scruff of the neck but kept his gaze on her. He plucked a favorite antique necklace out of the boy’s pocket and dangled it in front of her. Great-grandmother’s diamonds sparkled mockingly.

“I rest my case,” he said.

Daisy refused to let her brother see that she was even remotely shaken by the discovery. “Tommy,” she said sternly, “you know perfectly well that doesn’t belong to you.”

“No, ma’am,” he said, his expression defiant. “But I was taking it anyway.”

Avoiding a lecture on the Golden Rule and the Ten Commandments, all of which they had studied thoroughly in Sunday school, she instead asked, “Why?”

“To buy me some food.”

Molly meowed plaintively, as if to lend her support to Tommy.

“There’s plenty of food downstairs in the kitchen, if you’re hungry,” Daisy said.

“That’s now. Sooner or later you’ll send me packing. I need to have the money for backup supplies. I figured I could pawn this stuff over in Colonial Beach or maybe even down in Richmond. Then I could head someplace brand-new where nobody would be on my case all the time or tell me how sorry they are that my mom is dead.”

She brushed aside Tucker’s restraining hands and rested her own against the boy’s cheek. “We’ve been over this. I will not send you packing,” she said very firmly. “However, nor will I tolerate you stealing from me. You’re grounded until we can discuss this further. Go to your room.”

She wasn’t sure who was most surprised by her pronouncement, Tommy or her brother. But Tucker had known her longer. He heaved a resigned sigh and stared at Tommy. “I’d get a move on, if I were you, son. My sister generally means what she says. Take it from someone who knows, don’t mess with her.”

Relief washed over Tommy’s face, though he was quick to duck his head to hide it. He started to scoot down the hall, but Tucker halted him with a sharp command.

“Aren’t you forgetting something, son?”

Tommy’s gaze rose to clash with his. “What?”

“Empty those pockets.”

Tommy dug his hands into his pockets with obvious reluctance, producing more of her jewelry. Most of the rest had more sentimental than monetary value, but its glitter clearly had appealed to Tommy.

Tucker took the baubles and handed them to Daisy. “Costume jewelry or not, I’d get this stuff into your safety deposit box if you ever expect to wear it again.”

Daisy met Tommy’s gaze. “I don’t think that will be necessary, do you, Tommy?”

He looked for a moment as if he might make some sort of defiant retort, but Daisy’s gaze never wavered, and he finally wilted under the stern scrutiny. “No, ma’am.”

When he had gone, the cat on his heels, she turned a smile on her brother. “Satisfied?”

“Far from it, but I can see you’re not going to listen to a word I say.”

She patted his cheek. “Smart man. And don’t try sending Dad over here to raise the roof, either.”

“I won’t have to send him. Once he hears about this, you’ll have to bar the door to keep him out.”

“Well, he can rant and rave all he wants, but it won’t work. For once in my life I am going to do exactly what I want to do, what I know is right.”

Not that her declaration would stop her father from trying to interfere when he finally found out what she was up to. Despite the precautions she’d taken by warning Frances off, Daisy predicted it wouldn’t take long.

Trinity Harbor was a small town. Cedar Hill, the Spencer family home for generations, was the biggest Black Angus cattle operation in the entire Northern Neck of Virginia. Her neighbors would probably fight for the chance to be the first to tell Robert “King” Spencer that his sensible spinster daughter had just taken in a stray troublemaker.

The story would be even juicier if anyone found out Tommy had already tried to steal her jewelry and her car. She was pretty sure she could keep a lid on the attempted car theft, but Tucker might not be so discreet about the jewelry. In fact, since that necklace had been in her father’s family for generations, he might feel obliged to tell their father that it had come very close to heading for a pawnshop.

And then, she concluded with a resigned sigh, this little squabble with Tucker was going to seem like a romp in the park.

2

W ashington, D.C., detective Walker Ames had just finished investigating his fifth drive-by shooting in a month. This had been worse than most–a five-year-old girl who’d done nothing more than sit on her front stoop playing with her doll on a pleasant spring evening. She’d caught a stray bullet meant for a gang member who’d been walking past her run-down apartment building in southeast Washington. The intended victim hadn’t even stopped to see if he could help.

This kind of incident was not the reason Walker had become a policeman. He’d wanted to make a difference in people’s lives, not just clean up after the tragedies. Innocent babies dying, grandmothers shot without a second glance, kids on school buses killed over a pair of sneakers…there was something seriously wrong with the world when a cop had to spend his days working crimes like that. His stomach churned with acid just thinking about it.

He’d been at it for fifteen frustrating years now, and not a day went by anymore when he didn’t wish he’d chosen another profession. Unfortunately, law enforcement was the only one he cared about, and he happened to be good at it. His arrest-conviction ratio was the best in the department, because he refused to give up until he had the right suspect in custody. Few of his cases were ever relegated to some cold case file left for others to solve years from now.

“You get a line on those punks that did it?” his boss asked when he spotted Walker crossing the squad room and heading straight for the industrial strength coffee.

“Half a dozen people on the street at the time of the incident,” Walker told Andy Thorensen, the caring, compassionate chief of detectives who’d also been his best friend since he’d joined the department. Andy was fifteen years older and going gray, but pushing papers hadn’t dimmed his street smarts or his indignation over crime.

“Four people claim they never saw a thing,” Walker added as he poured a cup of coffee and took a sip. “The two who admit they did aren’t talking. The girl’s mother is too upset to question. I’ll go back when things have settled down and try again. Maybe when it sinks in that it was a five-year-old who got caught in the cross fire, their vision will improve.”

His boss gestured toward his office, then waited till Walker was seated before asking, “What about the guy the bullet was meant for?”

“Vanished. He has to live in the neighborhood, though. We’ll find him. I’m not letting go of this one, Andy.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes, battling exhaustion and the sting of tears. He tried not to let these things get to him, but that was impossible. He had kids of his own, boys he thought about every single time he had to handle a case like this. He might not be raising them since his divorce, but they were never far from his thoughts.

To buy himself a minute, he gazed out the window and finished his coffee, then said, “You should have seen the kid, Andy. She was just a baby, still clutching her doll. Somebody’s going down for this, if I have to drag every gang member in D.C. in here for questioning.”

Andy Thorensen nodded, his expression sympathetic. “Stay objective. That’s one of the first things they teach you in the police academy. I’d like to see one of those classroom cops stay objective when they find a kid’s blood splattered all over the sidewalk in front of her own house. It never gets any easier, does it?”

“I don’t think it’s supposed to,” Walker said. “If we get used to it, we’re as bad as they are.”

“Let me know if you need any help. We’re short-staffed, but I’ll see what I can do to free up some additional units,” Andy promised. “There’s going to be a hue and cry all over town until we close this one.”

Walker didn’t care about the headlines or the calls from the mayor’s office. He’d stay on it because that little girl deserved justice. He didn’t envy Andy’s need to balance justice with politics. He just respected his friend’s ability to take the heat while letting his men do the job they were paid to do.

“I’ll try not to leave you on the hot seat too long,” he promised.

“You can’t know how much I appreciate that,” Andy said wryly. “By the way, before I forget, you had a call earlier, some woman by the name of Jackson. When she heard you were out, she demanded to speak to me.” He grinned. “Tough lady. Seems to have something on her mind.”

Walker shook his head. “Don’t know her.”

Andy fished the message out of a pile of papers on his desk. “Says she’s with Social Services down in Trinity Harbor, Virginia.”

“Never heard of it.”

“I’ve been there. It’s a great little town on the Potomac a couple of hours from here. The sweetest crabs you’ll ever taste. Victorian houses. A bunch of little froufrou shops. You know, the kind women love. Antiques, crafts, all that artsy crap. Gail was in heaven. She wants me to buy a place down there so we can spend weekends and summers away from D.C. Says she could support us by opening a shop of her own.” He sighed. “To tell you the truth, after a day like today, it’s beginning to sound real good to me.”

“You’d be bored to tears in a week,” Walker predicted.

Andy grinned. “Maybe less, but I’m willing to give it a try. Give the woman a call. She said it was important.”

“Whatever,” Walker said, tucking the message into his pocket. Strangers took a back seat to the immediacy of this investigation.

Two hours later, the message was still in his pocket, untouched, when the phone on his desk rang.

“Ames.”

“Walker Ames?” an unfamiliar voice asked.

“That’s me.”

“This is Frances Jackson. I left you a message several hours ago,” she said, a note of censure in her voice.

Andy might have found her tough attitude amusing, but prissy women like this always got Walker’s back up. “So you did,” he agreed, tilting his chair back on two legs as he prepared to enjoy himself a little. On a day like this, any amusement, however slight, was welcome.

“Then you did get the message?” she asked.

“I did.”

“I believe I mentioned it was important. Didn’t your boss explain that?”

“He did.”

“Then why haven’t you returned the call?” she asked impatiently.

“I’ve had some important things of my own to deal with.”

“Such as?”

“A dead five-year-old, shot right through the chest.”

Her dismayed gasp gave him a certain measure of satisfaction. “Okay, then,” he said, ready to end his little diversion and get back to work. He wanted to hit the streets again before dark. It was destined to be another fourteen-hour day. “You’ve got me now. What’s on your mind?”

“Are you related to Elizabeth Jean Flanagan?”

Oh, hell, he thought, as the front legs of the chair hit the floor with a thud. What had Beth gone and done now? His baby sister had always been troubled. She had taken off at sixteen with a worthless piece of trash named Ryan Flanagan, who’d eventually gotten around to marrying her, gotten her pregnant two years later, then dumped her on a highway somewhere outside of Vegas when he concluded the responsibility for a kid was more than he’d bargained for.

That was the last Walker had heard from her, ten, maybe twelve years ago. She’d called him in tears, saying she couldn’t live without that jerk. Walker had badly wanted to tell her she was better off without him, but he’d managed to keep his opinion to himself.

Instead, he had overnighted her some money for a ticket back to D.C., but she’d never shown up. Nor had she ever called again. He’d tried every way he knew how to trace her, but if she was working, it was for cash. There wasn’t a Social Security number in the system, probably thanks to the gypsy lifestyle she’d led with Flanagan. The man had thought the government was evil and that the less it knew about him, the better. Some of that must have rubbed off on Beth. She didn’t own a car and hadn’t registered for a driver’s license. There was no trail of credit card debt he could follow. He’d been stymied. He didn’t even know if she’d had the baby or gotten an abortion the way she’d been talking about doing.

“Detective Ames?”

The woman’s testy voice snapped him back to the present. “What about my sister?”

“Then she is your sister?”

“You wouldn’t be calling unless you knew that,” he said tightly.

“Not with certainty,” she said. “I discovered the names of Beth’s parents through her birth certificate. Then I ran into a dead end finding them.”

“They died several years ago.”

“That explains it, then. At any rate, I checked at the hospital where Beth was born and discovered that an older brother had been born to the same parents, one Walker David Ames.”

“Maybe you should be the detective, Ms. Jackson.”

“I’m just persistent,” she said. “Besides, once I finally had your name, you were much easier to locate.”

No one went to that much trouble without a really good reason. Walker was beginning to get the uneasy sense that he should have taken a page out of Flanagan’s book and maintained a lower profile.

“And now you’ve found me,” he congratulated her. “Why?”

“When was the last time you heard from your sister?”

“Years ago.”

“Are you her closest relative?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, sounding suddenly sympathetic. “I really am.”

“Sorry about what? What the hell is going on?”

“Your sister is dead.”

Once the blunt words were spoken, he realized he should have expected it. He’d been on the other end of enough calls like this to know exactly how they went, but Beth? Dead? It just didn’t compute. For all of her reckless ways, he couldn’t imagine her dead. She’d been beautiful and full of life before she’d gotten mixed up with Flanagan.

“How?” he asked in a choked voice, fearing the worst. In his line of work, homicide and drug overdoses came to mind quicker than anything else.

“She caught the flu a few weeks ago. She didn’t get to a hospital until it was too late. It turned into pneumonia, and the antibiotics didn’t work. There was nothing else the doctors could do. We’ve been trying to locate her family ever since.” She paused, then corrected herself. “I mean the rest of her family.”

The implications of her remark made his blood run cold. “Don’t tell me she was still with that scum Flanagan.”

“No, he died before she ever came to Trinity Harbor. A motorcycle crash, I believe. But there is the boy. Her son. Your nephew, ” she stressed in a way that suggested she had specific expectations.

“What are you telling me, Ms. Jackson?”

“I think you’d better come to Trinity Harbor, Detective. You and I need to talk.”

“About what?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

“There’s a little boy here who is desperately in need of a family. Unless there’s someone you haven’t mentioned, it appears you’re all he’s got.”

Walker’s heart thudded dully as he considered that. If it was true–and there was little question that it was–then the kid was in one sorry mess. According to his ex-wife, he was a lousy father and a worse husband. He had no reason to dispute her. He was a workaholic, always had been. His family had taken a back seat. He regretted it now, but he doubted if he could do things any differently.

“Ms. Jackson, there must be–”

“What? Another solution? Do you have one in mind?”

Walker’s spirits sank. He was it. Heaven help the kid. “I’ll be there,” he said without enthusiasm.

“When?”

“When I can get there, Ms. Jackson. I’m in the middle of a homicide investigation.”

“And given the state of things in Washington, I’m sure there will be another one after that and one after that,” she said, her tone wry. “Meantime, your nephew needs you now.”

Walker sighed at the accuracy of her assessment. “I hear you. I’m off on Thursday. Is that soon enough to suit you?”

“I imagine it will have to be, Detective Ames.”

“Damn straight,” Walker muttered in one last display of defiance as he hung up.

Why did he have this sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach that solving a few homicides was going to be a piece of cake compared to the turn his life was about to take?

Daisy had fully expected to be confronted by her father before that first day was out, but when that day passed and the one after without a visit, she thought maybe he was going to keep his nose out of her plan to keep Tommy. Not for a single minute did she believe he might not know what was going on.

Not only did her father stay away, so did everyone else, aside from Tucker, who’d been poking his nose in on a regular basis, most likely to count the silver behind her back.

At any rate, after the better part of a week she was beginning to believe that everything was going to work out just as she’d intended. Tommy was settling in. He was back in school and behaving himself, according to his teacher. He was still eating her out of house and home, but she assumed that was to be expected from a growing boy who’d gotten it into his head that his next meal might be in doubt. Daisy hadn’t cooked so much in years. Nor had she ever enjoyed it more.

Even now, the kitchen was filled with the scent of chocolate chip cookies baking. Tommy had already grabbed a handful and headed outside, swearing that his homework was done as he grabbed his cap and let the screen door slam behind him. Molly meowed indignantly at the disruptive sound, but Daisy just smiled. One of these days she’d get around to breaking him of the habit, but for now she liked the way he was filling her too-quiet house with noise.

When the doorbell rang, she froze. For a second, she consoled herself with the fact that her brothers or her father would have knocked once and walked right in. So would most of the neighbors, for that matter. Unfortunately, that left one possibility, and it wasn’t a good one. The chiming of the bell meant someone was paying a formal visit and that usually meant trouble.

“Please don’t let it be Frances,” she whispered with a quick heavenward glance. She didn’t want anything to rock this new life she was creating for herself and Tommy.

Wiping her hands on her apron, she took her time going to the door. When she found her minister, Anna-Louise Walton, on her doorstep, a welcoming smile spread across her face. The redheaded pastor had already made a huge difference in town with her blunt talk and warm compassion. Daisy had liked her from the instant they’d met. She also liked her husband, a former foreign correspondent who had taken over the town’s weekly newspaper. With his liberal editorials, Richard had already become a thorn in King’s side, which had endeared him even further to Daisy.

Now, however, when Anna-Louise returned her smile with a somber look, the likely implication of this unexpected visit sank in. Apparently King, who’d been among those on the committee to select a new pastor, was even sneakier than Daisy had imagined. He’d evidently sent Anna-Louise to do his dirty work for him. No doubt his backing of a woman for the job made him feel entitled to use Anna-Louise as his personal representative in what should have been a family matter.

“Here on a mission?” she inquired tartly as she and Anna-Louise settled at the kitchen table with a pot of tea and a plate of the freshly baked chocolate chip cookies still warm from the oven.

“Why would you think that?” Anna-Louise asked, her expression suddenly as innocent as a lamb’s.

“Am I wrong? Are you just here to pay a call on one of your flock?”

“Absolutely,” Anna-Louise said.

“A preacher shouldn’t fib.”

A grin spread across the other woman’s face. “Okay, I did get a call from your father a few days ago. He seemed to think you required counsel.”

“I imagine what he said was that I needed to have my head examined.”

Anna-Louise chuckled. “Words to that effect.”

“And you agree with him?”

“Actually, I’m on your side on this one,” Anna-Louise said. “Which is why I didn’t rush right over. Naturally I neglected to mention my opinion to your father. No point in making his blood pressure shoot up any higher. Richard’s last editorial about the need for a riverfront development plan has already sent it into dangerous territory. King spent an hour after church last Sunday trying to convince me that I needed to look closer to home when it came to saving souls. He apparently feels Richard’s is in danger.”

“You’re right. He wouldn’t have appreciated your opinion a bit, if it disagreed with his own,” Daisy told her. “You can see that I had no choice, can’t you? Tommy needs to have someone in his life that he can count on.”

“No question about that.”

“And I can give him a good home.”

“Of course you can,” Anna-Louise agreed.

Daisy’s gaze narrowed at all the ready agreement. Despite what she’d said, Anna-Louise wouldn’t be here now if Daisy’s actions had her full blessing. “But?”

“What happens to you when he leaves?” Anna-Louise asked, her expression filled with genuine concern.

“Who says he’s going to? His mother is dead. So is his father. None of the foster families worked out. Where would he go?”

“Frances found his uncle today,” the minister said quietly.

Daisy felt a cry of dismay sneaking up the back of her throat, but she managed to keep it from escaping. She forced a smile. “That’s wonderful! Is he coming here?”

“Next Thursday.”

“Has he agreed to take Tommy?”

“Not exactly.”

Relief flooded through her. She was willing to seize any reprieve, however temporary. “Well, then, we’ll just have to wait and see what happens, won’t we?”

Anna-Louise put her hand on Daisy’s. “I know how much you love children. That was evident to me from the minute I got here. And you’ve told me about the doctor’s opinion that you’ll never have children of your own. You’re the best Sunday school teacher we have, as well as the best history teacher at the high school. The kids adore you. You’d be a terrific mother to Tommy, and you deserve this, Daisy, you really do, but it might not work out. I just want you to be prepared to let go.”

“God would not bring Tommy into my life and then snatch him away,” Daisy countered.

“We don’t always know or understand what He plans for us,” the minister reminded her. “We just have to accept that He has our best interests at heart.”

How could losing Tommy be in her best interests? Daisy felt the sting of unshed tears at the back of her eyes. “What do you know about this uncle? He and Tommy’s mother can’t have been close. He didn’t come for the funeral.”

“He’s a cop in D.C. Beyond that, I don’t know much. Frances was fairly stingy with what she considers to be confidential information. She just wanted me to prepare you.”

“Is he married?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then why would he be any better suited to care for Tommy than I am?”

“It isn’t a matter of ’better.’ It’s a question of family. He and Tommy are related.”

Daisy wanted to argue that a loving stranger might be better for Tommy than a bad relative, but until she met this man and knew the whole story, she had no cause to stand in judgment of him. Anna-Louise was likely to tell her she didn’t have the right even then. Judgment was God’s business.

And so it was, Daisy thought. But just in case He had other things on His mind besides Tommy Flanagan, she intended to look this uncle over very carefully before she relinquished Tommy to his care.

3

D riving into Trinity Harbor, Walker shuddered. It was exactly the way his boss had described it. Quaint. Picturesque. Charming. Slightly faded, like a fancy dress left hanging in the closet too long, but with a hint of past glories. Lawns were well-tended. There were churches every few blocks, some of them clearly quite old. And every now and again there was a glimpse of the Potomac, shimmering in the bright sunlight.

He hated places like this. Give him a little grit and grime any day. Give him bustling sidewalks and clogged highways. Give him skyscrapers and run-down neighborhoods. He knew the rules of survival in a city like D.C. He liked the anonymity. He didn’t know beans about getting along in a town where everybody knew your name and your business.

He followed the directions Frances Jackson had given him, drove on through the town of Trinity Harbor, then past open farmland just sprouting green, through the county seat in Montross until he came to what looked more like a remodeled school building than a government agency. The discreet sign on the front door proved otherwise. Westmoreland County Social Services, the sign stated in neat letters.

Once he’d turned off the engine, he sat perfectly still, unsure whether he could go through with this. It wasn’t just the thought of having Beth’s death confirmed in black and white in the form of a death certificate. It was all the rest–his nephew, the expectations, and the regrets that he hadn’t found his sister before any of this had happened.

Because of all that, Walker had taken his own sweet time leaving home this morning. He’d stopped by the station, had a chat with Andy, looked through some paperwork, then, finally, when he could delay no longer, he’d hit the road. He’d managed to delay his arrival till midafternoon–much later, no doubt, than the imperious Mrs. Jackson had been expecting him. He braced himself for her displeasure along with everything else, took a deep breath and headed for the door.

Inside, he discovered that Frances Jackson was nothing at all like some of the social workers he’d come across in D.C., dedicated, but wearied by their caseloads. Nor did she fit the image he’d conjured up on the phone–a starchy woman, mid-fifties with a perpetually down-turned mouth. No, indeed, Frances Jackson was nothing like that.

Sixty if she was a day, she had unrepentantly white hair, round cheeks and rounder hips, and eyes that twinkled behind rimless glasses. She reminded him of picture book illustrations of Mrs. Claus. He smiled despite himself, felt himself finally beginning to relax. He could get around a woman like this. He’d be out of here and back to D.C. in no time. Alone.

“You’re late,” she said briskly, but without censure. “Let’s go.” She grabbed her purse and headed for the door.

Once again, Walker was forced to reassess the woman. He’d allowed himself to forget for just an instant that appearances could be deceiving. Right now he had a panicky feeling that she intended to take him straight to wherever this nephew of his was, introduce them, then abandon them to fend for themselves, her duty done. He was nowhere near ready for that. He would never be ready for that.

“Whoa,” he said, standing stock-still in the middle of the corridor. “Where’s the fire?”

“It’s almost dinnertime in these parts and I’m starved, Detective. I missed lunch waiting for you. We can talk over food.” She gave him a thorough once-over. “Besides, next to music, I hear it’s the best thing for soothing a savage beast.”

He chuckled, caught off-guard by the display of humor. “And that would be me?”

“You do pride yourself on it, don’t you? I could tell that when we talked on the phone.”

“In my line of work, it’s helpful,” he said, feeling defensive about his initial display of rudeness when she’d called.

“I’m sure it is,” she agreed. “But down here we like to think we’re more civilized.”

Outside, she gestured toward her car, a brand-new Mustang convertible that surprised him yet again. “I’ll drive,” she said.

He regarded the car with envy. “I’ll be even more agreeable if you’ll let me.”

“Because you don’t trust a woman behind the wheel?”

He heard the unmistakable challenge in her voice, but he didn’t need to lie. “Because I’ve been dying to test-drive one of these babies and haven’t had the chance,” he countered with absolute honesty.

She tossed him the keys. “In that case, it’s all yours, Detective.”

She directed him back onto the highway and into town, then down a side street past the stately old courthouse with its square of grass in front to the Inn at Montross. Walker regarded the historic facade and little flower-lined brick patio doubtfully. Places like this gave him hives.

“Isn’t there someplace we can get a basic burger and some fries?”

“I’ll refrain from commenting on your deplorable eating habits,” Mrs. Jackson said. “I’m relatively certain you’ll find something on the menu here that will do. And they’ve done me a favor by keeping the kitchen open past their usual lunch hour.”

Walker remained skeptical as they climbed the brick steps into the white building that dated back to the 1600s, according to a sign by the front door. He stepped into the wide foyer, glanced around at the antiques and the open, airy rooms and began to revise his opinion. The place had big-city class, he’d give it that.

Without waiting for a hostess, Mrs. Jackson led the way onto a closed-in front porch and settled at a table by an open window. “Sit down, Detective. I promise you the chef can offer more than tea sandwiches.”

Duly chastised, Walker sat. The social worker regarded him with amusement.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t offer you a fast-food place. The nearest one is miles away, and I got the distinct impression that you’re in a hurry.”

“Always am.”

“Well, then, as soon as we order, we’ll get right to it.”

Ten minutes later, Walker had a beer in front of him and the promise of a blackened chicken wrap sandwich that would bring tears to his eyes. When it came, Mrs. Jackson watched with amusement as it did just that.

“Too spicy for you, Detective?”

“No,” he insisted, gulping half his beer to tame the taste. “Best sandwich I ever had.” He nodded toward the piping hot potatoes accompanying it. “Best fries, too.”

“Better than a fast-food restaurant?” she inquired, eyes twinkling.

“Are you teasing me, Mrs. Jackson?”

“Just trying to make a point.”

“Which is?”

“The big city doesn’t have all the advantages over us country folks.”

“No,” he agreed. “I can see that.”

She paused in eating her own sea bass bisque. “You know, Detective Ames, it hasn’t escaped my notice that we’ve been together for a half hour or more now and you still haven’t asked about Tommy.”

Walker sighed and put his sandwich down. “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure what to ask. Until you called, I didn’t even know he existed.”

“You and your sister weren’t close?”

Walker recalled a time when they had been. Beth had trailed him around adoringly, pleading to be allowed to play with him and his friends. He had tolerated his younger sister because no one knew better than he that they received little or no attention at home.

“She was a beautiful little girl,” he said, recalling her huge blue eyes and halo of strawberry blond curls that had later darkened to a golden hue. “She was always laughing. Then she got involved with Ryan Flanagan, and the laughter died.”

The social worker regarded him sympathetically. “How old was she?”

“Sixteen, still a girl, really, but we couldn’t stop her. My parents tried in a halfhearted way. I tried, but I was away at college and Beth was starved for attention. When Ryan asked her to run away with him, it was too much for her to resist, I guess. When our parents died, I couldn’t even locate her. I had to tell her about their deaths the next time she checked in, which was three or four months later, around the time she and Flanagan got married. She called to give me the big news.”

The anger and dismay he’d felt back then was still alive in him today. “I wanted to grab her and shake some sense into her, but it was too late.”

“Was that the last time you heard from her?”

“No, she called again after he’d abandoned her. She was all alone, scared and pregnant. I wired her some money and begged her to come home. I was married by then. I told her she could stay with us until she had her baby.” He shrugged. “She said she might not even have the baby, and she never did show up. And that was the last time I heard from her. She was somewhere outside of Las Vegas.”

“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Jackson said. “That must have been very difficult for you.”

“It drove me nuts,” he said honestly. “Here I was, this big city cop with all sorts of investigative skills and a lot of high-tech resources at my disposal, and I couldn’t even find my own sister. Turned out she was a couple of hours away and I didn’t even know it.”

“You should know better than anyone that a person who wants to drop out of sight can pull it off if they’re clever enough. Maybe she was making her way back to you when she ended up here. Maybe she just wanted to be back on her feet by the time she saw you. She and Tommy had been here a few years. They were doing well. She worked a variety of jobs, since much of the work around here is seasonal. She cleaned houses from time to time, waited tables, helped out in several of the shops.”

“Why not just one job?”

For an instant Mrs. Jackson looked uneasy. “I suppose it’s of no consequence now, but she seemed to have this fear of getting ’caught up in the system,’ as she put it. Several people offered her full-time work, but when it came time to fill out the paperwork she balked.”

Walker uttered a curse. “That was Flanagan’s paranoia at work. No Social Security number, no taxes, nobody tracking his every move. The man liked living on the fringes of society, picking up odd jobs whenever he could, always for cash. I thought Beth was smarter than that.”

“I’m sure she was. In fact, she’d been offered work right here at the Inn, and I think she’d almost convinced herself to take it. Anna-Louise–she’s a minister here in town–said Beth had been talking a lot about taking that final step so she could get back in touch with her family. She must have been talking about you. It was the only clue we had that she had anyone in her life other than Tommy.”