Jake (37 page)

Sierra nodded. “And local stone. I want it to look like it grew right out of the mountains.”

Big Jim glanced at Meg, who had been strangely silent throughout the meal. “It seems like everybody’s busy making plans, Meg. What are yours?”

She shrugged. “I wish I knew. I’m still taking it a day at a time. But I do think it’s time that Cory and I went home and started dealing with our future.”

“You know you’re welcome to stay here as long as you—”

Cole looked up at the sound of a car’s engine, and the others did the same. Minutes later Everett Fletcher knocked on the door and stepped inside.

Even before he had time to greet everyone, Phoebe was on her feet and fetching another place setting at the table.

Everett lifted a hand to stop her. “I know that it seems I always time my visits to your ranch so I can sample all your fine cooking. But this time, I’m here with news that won’t wait.” He glanced around the table. “It’s nice that you’re all here, so you can hear this together.” He turned to look at Cory and Meg. “The state lab has sent back the test results of your DNA.”

Everyone fell silent.

Without realizing it, Meg reached out and caught Cory’s hand. The boy squeezed her hand hard and stared at the tabletop, afraid to look at anyone.

Everett reached for an envelope in his breast pocket and carefully unfolded the document inside. “It says after extensive testing, they’ve proved that there is zero chance that you are in any way related to”—he looked over at Cory—“Blain Turner.”

The little boy let out the breath he’d been holding, and Meg did the same.

Everett went on. “From the DNA provided by Meg, and the things of Porter’s that were available for testing, there is no doubt—in fact, there is a ninety-nine percent probability—that you and Meg had the same father: Porter Stanford.”

Meg was crying as she enveloped Cory in a fierce hug. The others had jumped out of their chairs to gather around and embrace them.

Everett stood back, watching the celebration with a huge smile on his face. He blinked hard as he said, “You know, folks, there are days when being in law enforcement just makes me so damned proud. This is one of those days.”

With handshakes all around, he grabbed the little boy by the shoulders and said, “I’m so glad I could be the bearer of good news for a change, son. Now I hope you and your sister have a good, long life together.”

Chapter Thirty-One

The celebration for Meg and Cory went on throughout the day, with Phoebe and Ela making a special dinner in their honor and, later, a gloriously decadent strawberry shortcake shared by everyone in the great room.

The following day Meg knew that she’d been putting off making any decisions about moving forward, but she couldn’t seem to focus. She felt…twitchy. She couldn’t seem to settle, flitting from helping Jake and his brothers in the barn to helping Phoebe and Ela in the kitchen.

When her cell phone rang, she saw Raven’s name and knew that this had been what she’d been waiting for so impatiently.

She answered quickly. “Raven. Do you have news?”

“I don’t know if it’s what you were hoping for.” He spoke in short, staccato bursts, filling her in, before adding, “How soon can you get the Conway family together?”

“I don’t believe any of them are up in the high country. I think most of them are around the barns and outbuildings, so it shouldn’t take any time at all to get them here.”

“If you’ll ask them to meet with me at the house, I can be there within the hour.”

She agreed before tucking her phone away and hurrying out to the barn.

Puzzled by Meg’s unexplained summons, the Conway family came from the fields, the barns, the kitchen, to assemble in the great room.

Jake hurried across the room to close a hand over Meg’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

She stood wringing her hands. “Oh, Jake, I hope I’ve done the right thing.” She seemed to gather herself before saying, “Raven is on his way with some important information.”

“I thought the DNA tests were conclusive.”

“They are. But he asked that I bring everyone together before he arrived to share some news.”

“News? I don’t underst—” He looked up at the sound of a truck’s engine, and the crunch of gravel, announcing the arrival of their guest.

When Raven walked in, he was followed by Chief Everett Fletcher.

Cole looked from one man to the other. “What’s this about, Everett?”

“Raven asked me to come along in my official capacity as chief law enforcement officer of the county. For now, I’ll just stand back and let him explain everything.”

The chief chose a seat apart from the others, while Raven stood in the center of the room facing the Conway family, who sat sprawled on sofas and chairs, with Josh and Sierra snuggled together on the floor at Cole’s feet.

Raven began in a clear, controlled voice. “On the day Blain Turner was caught, Meg was feeling more than a little overwhelmed, and grateful just to be alive. When all the excitement ended, she asked me if I would keep my team here in Wyoming to follow a twenty-five-year-old cold case to whatever conclusion we might find. She asked me to use all my resources, and that meant several dozen operatives poring over hundreds of hours of newspaper articles, radio and TV news bites, and police and FBI files, to find out what happened to Seraphine Cramer Conway.”

“You would do that for us?” Cole shot Meg a look of pure astonishment before another thought struck. “Wait. You’ve found her?”

He sat very straight in his chair and looked from Meg to his family, and then to Raven, before gripping his hands together tightly in his lap.

“In order to handle such a cold case, we first had to gather the facts that had been reported and verified. This is what we know for certain. Seraphine was home on the morning of her disappearance. She’d had breakfast with her husband”—Raven looked at Cole—“and her three sons.” He looked directly at Quinn, Josh, and Jake. “She was in high spirits, planning to celebrate her youngest son’s fifth birthday. She’d asked him what he wanted, and he’d told her he wanted balloons. Lots and lots of balloons.”

Jake smiled and nodded. “I think I remember asking for them. But after all these years, I can’t be certain.”

“I deal only in facts.” Raven passed around copies of the depositions taken in the days following Seraphine’s disappearance. “According to their sworn statements, Big Jim and Cole had finished barn chores and had headed up to the north pasture to tend a herd. Ela, the family housekeeper, was busy in the kitchen. Seraphine and the three boys had gone to the playroom, and had spent more than an hour painting and coloring. When the boys grew restless and went outside to play, Seraphine remained behind. All of this has been corroborated.”

He took in a breath. “What we’ve learned has been pieced together carefully to form a more cohesive picture of Seraphine’s day. She didn’t drive.” He looked at Cole. “Is that correct?”

Cole nodded. “Seraphine was a city girl and a dancer. She was obsessed with dancing. She grew up in New York City, and joined a professional dance troupe at sixteen, by lying about her age.” He shrugged off her lie. “She never learned to drive. Actually, she had no reason to. She took the subway everywhere she went. She said it was done all the time. She traveled by bus with the other dancers. They were never in a town or city for more than a day or two. A gypsy, she called herself.”

Raven smiled. “That’s the information I got, as well. But despite her tender age, her fellow dancers described her as inventive, creative, and fearless.”

That had Cole chuckling. “That’s my Seraphine.”

Raven read from his notes. “On the day she went missing, Seraphine had it in mind to go to Paintbrush and get a dozen helium balloons.”

Cole’s head came up. “I never heard her say that. How would you know such a thing?”

“Hearsay evidence. I discovered it in my research.” Raven went on: “Paintbrush is an hour away by car. Impossible to walk. But Seraphine was determined to get to Paintbrush and buy those balloons. Knowing her husband and father-in-law were up in high country, she crossed the hill out back and walked out to the highway. We know this, because there was a witness. A trucker from a logging company in Canada was just passing by. The driver’s name is Sean McInnis, retired now from the Lapham Forest Farm in Saskatchewan, Canada. Though he’s over eighty now, he’s of sound mind and was willing to give sworn testimony as to the passenger he picked up that day.”

“How could you find someone that the authorities couldn’t find?” Cole demanded. “I’ve never heard of this Sean McInnis.”

Raven read from his document. “We checked the records of every known company that had regular runs through this part of Wyoming, and the Lapham Forest Farm was just one of dozens. But since their truck was recorded as having passed this way on that particular day, we checked further and found Sean McInnis. As I said, he may be elderly now, but he was more than happy to try to help. He said the woman gave him the name Seraphine, an unusual name that stuck in his mind, and she was wearing some kind of long, gypsy skirt in rainbow colors that covered her ankles, and she had ‘platinum blonde hair that fell around the face of an angel.’ He said he would have stopped for anyone needing a ride, but it was easy to stop for a woman that stunning.”

No one spoke. No one seemed to be breathing. They were in another place now. A place that brought with it a sense of dread. Finally they would learn the answers to a lifetime of questions.

“Mr. McInnis said he couldn’t take her all the way to Paintbrush. He explained that he could only take her as far as the turnoff that led to the new highway.” Again, Raven referred to his notes. “I checked with the highway authority, and I’ve learned that the ‘new highway,’ which is now twenty-five years old, was built to replace the old road that curved over several foothills and had been the site of dozens of fatal accidents.”

Because the others had gone silent, it was left to Big Jim to say, “I remember that. A lot of grumbling by folks around here about the federal government spending money on a highway that led to the same place as the old one. Once the new highway was built, the old one was abandoned and left to fall into disrepair and rot until it wasn’t even navigable anymore. A lot of folks wanted to know why we needed a brand-new highway.”

Everett Fletcher cleared his throat. “According to statistics, that old road was a death trap. The new highway has probably saved thousands of lives in the last twenty-five years.”

Raven set aside the first page of his report and began to read from the next. “Mr. McInnis pulled over at the turnoff to let his passenger out. About that time the sky was growing dark with a coming storm. He warned his pretty passenger, but she laughed and said she loved the rain. As Mr. McInnis was pulling away, he saw a panel truck coming up behind him. Seraphine waved at the driver of the panel truck, and it slowed and then pulled over. As Mr. McInnis was driving away, he watched in his rearview mirror as Seraphine got into the truck. He couldn’t recall the name on the panel truck, but he did remember that the letters were green, and there was a shamrock somewhere in the words. He remembered it for all these years only because he’s of Irish descent, and his daughter had given him a big plastic shamrock for luck. A shamrock that he always kept on his dashboard.”

Raven’s gaze moved over the family, all of whom were staring at him intently, concentrating all their energy on him, as if to pull everything from his brain.

“I’m sorry if this seems agonizingly slow. It’s just that I need to give you every detail as I’ve learned it. My team has been working nonstop on this since Meg first asked me to look into it.”

He returned to his notes. “This was the tough link in the case. This panel truck turned out to be privately owned. It wasn’t a company truck, which made it nearly impossible to track. But that shamrock turned out to be our good-luck charm. In our research, we discovered a welder by the name of Patrick Flannery who had retired after thirty-five years working with a fabricating company in Cheyenne. Flannery was a widower with no children, and on his final day he told his coworkers that he intended to drive up to Canada and spend the rest of his days fishing, hiking, and living the life of a hermit. His old panel truck was stocked with all his worldly goods, and had the words Go Irish, and a shamrock, all in green, on one side. And it was Patrick Flannery who stopped to pick up Seraphine.”

Sensing that this could be very hard news for Cole, Phoebe walked up behind him, her hand gently resting on his shoulder. Jake quickly joined her. Seeing them, both Quinn and Josh followed suit, along with their wives, with Ela joining them. Big Jim reached over to grab his son’s hand.

The entire family was joined, in an effort to lend each other their strength.

“Patrick’s work records describe him as always going the extra mile for friend and stranger alike. It’s no surprise, then, that he stopped and offered a pretty lady a ride, even if it would take him out of his way. After all, Paintbrush wasn’t that far off the beaten track. The trouble is, the old highway had been closed, and the new one had only recently opened. With Seraphine never driving, and Flannery a stranger to this part of the state, neither of them was aware of the change. We’ll never know if the darkening sky was the reason that Patrick Flannery mistakenly drove past the barricade and took the old highway. We surmise that a sudden downpour may have turned the highway slick. Whatever the reason, he apparently skidded and lost control. From our records we can only deduce that his truck went over the embankment and was swallowed up in a deep gorge. We believe both he and Seraphine were probably dead on impact.”

There was a collective gasp, though no one spoke.

“The authorities who were searching for Seraphine spent most of their time searching the rangeland around here, suspecting that she’d been on foot. And, of course, no one was looking for Patrick Flannery, who had no immediate family to miss him.”

Raven set aside his notes. “Because the old highway was abandoned, there were perhaps a few dozen, probably no more than a hundred or so people, who passed that spot. Without a guardrail showing damage, or any sign of an accident other than skid marks that were probably washed away by the rain, no one saw even a hint of what lay deep below the highway’s edge, covered by foliage in the gorge. We would have never checked there ourselves. But after learning that Seraphine had been picked up by the driver of a panel truck, my operatives decided to go over every inch of the land alongside both the old and new highways with metal detectors. Even then, they almost missed the site, because the gorge was so deep.”