“What?”

“You don’t row a canoe. You paddle. Oars are attached. Paddles aren’t.”

“Fine. Then will you paddle me back to shore?”

“No.”

Christy-Lynn’s eyes widened. “No?”

“I have some questions first.”

“Such as?”

“Such as, what do you plan to do with the information you’re asking for?”

She scowled at him, confused by the question. “I don’t plan to do anything with it. I just want to know who she was. My husband died with a half-naked woman in his car. I have a right to at least know her name, even if the police don’t agree.”

“And how will her name change anything?”

“It won’t. But at least I’ll have some closure.”

“Knowing the name of your husband’s mistress will give you closure?”

Christy-Lynn squirmed on the narrow cane seat. He was doing it again, studying her, probing for more than she wanted to tell. And he was good at it. “I’m not planning on causing trouble if that’s what you’re asking.”

“It is, in part. You’re asking me to do something I normally wouldn’t consider. But I do think you have the right to know her name, even if I don’t understand your need to know it. If I agree to do this, I have to know you’re not going to use the information to hurt someone.”

Her chin came up a notch. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just want to close the door on that chapter of my life. I thought that was what you wanted me to do.”

“Where does what I want come into it? I just asked a question. But I’m starting to think there’s something else going on, something you’re not telling me.”

“Like what exactly?”

“I don’t know, but it’s there. And this isn’t just the journalist in me talking. I can feel it. What’s really going on?”

“A dream,” she said grudgingly. But the words were almost a relief as they left her lips. “Almost every night. It’s her . . . under the water. Her eyes are open like they were in the morgue photos, only she isn’t dead. She’s blinking and her mouth is moving like she’s trying to talk to me, only I can’t hear what she’s saying.” Christy-Lynn closed her eyes, trying to keep the quaver from her voice. “I want it to stop.”

“And having a name will make it stop?”

“I don’t know. I just thought . . .” She shrugged, wiping at her cheek with the back of her hand. “I honestly don’t know what I thought. Never mind. It was a stupid idea.”

“I’ll make a call.”

The canoe rocked lightly as Christy-Lynn jerked her head up. “You will?”

“There’s a guy I used to work with at Review—Glen Hoyt. He’s a crime beat writer. The old-school type with plenty of contacts. He might be . . . helpful.”

“Thank you.”

“You do know you’re probably not going to like what you find out, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

She returned his gaze frankly. “Honestly? I can’t imagine learning anything worse than what I already know.”

Wade grunted darkly as he began to pack up the food containers. “First rule of journalism—never assume you’ve seen the worst.”

TWENTY-THREE

Sweetwater, Virginia

May 9, 2017

Christy-Lynn juggled an armload of cookbooks, nearly dropping them all as she reached for the phone. “Good afternoon. The Crooked Spine.”

“Since when does the boss answer the phone?”

The sound of Wade’s voice caught her off guard. “Since Aileen’s out having a root canal and next Sunday is Mother’s Day. They’re running me ragged around here.”

“Sounds like it. Are you getting any sleep?”

“Here and there,” she said, trying not to sound evasive even as she avoided the question. “What’s up?”

“Actually, I had a phone call this morning. I have some information.”

“Oh . . .” The news nearly knocked the breath out of her, but it was what she wanted, wasn’t it? All the gritty details?

“If you’ve changed your mind—”

“No. No, I haven’t changed my mind. I just . . . didn’t expect to hear back so soon. It’s barely been a week.”

“I told you, my guy has connections.”

“Oh . . . right.” Christy-Lynn pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“I’m not sure doing this over the phone is a good idea, especially with you at work. Come by the cabin after you close up.”

Christy-Lynn felt her stomach clench, like the sensation you got when you looked down from the top of the Ferris wheel and realized just how far the drop was. He wouldn’t tell her over the phone? What had he found out?

“Is it that bad?”

“I just think it would be better if we do it in person, when you’ll have time to process.”

“All right then. I’ll see you as soon as I lock up.”

It was nearly seven by the time she pulled into Wade’s driveway. He was already at the door when she stepped onto the porch, a kitchen towel over one shoulder, a wooden spoon in his hand. “I thought you forgot about me.”