else, but I wasn’t sure I’d want to up and move there. It wasn’t just me now. Whatever decision I made involved Marco. And Hank. We had a lot to work out.
Besides, my work wasn’t done here. I couldn’t leave Bart to be someone else’s problem. He’d threatened to have Hank arrested if I ever tried to leave town, and I was certain he or Emily had something to do with Jerry’s murder. Then there was my father. Even if his wings had been clipped, he was still dangerous, something that drove home the need to start investigating him.
I stared at the screen, debating how to respond, and then typed,
Rose,
I miss you all too, and I’m thrilled to hear the happy news about Daisy! She’s one lucky baby to have Neely Kate and Jed as parents.
I’m not sure when I’ll make it back to Henryetta. So much has happened since I left you last October, but I found a man I love with everything in me. He knows about my past and wants to help me. We’re still trying to figure out what to do and where to go next.
Because one thing is certain—Hardshaw might be gone, but that doesn’t mean my father is no longer a threat. We’re still working on things on our end. I’ll be sure to let you know when we make progress.
Give everyone my love, especially those sweet babies!
Love,
C
Better to play it safe and not give her specifics like Marco’s name, where I was living, or even what I was doing to make ends meet. I hated holding back, but I still felt like my father was watching and waiting, a rattler curled up in Texas, waiting to strike.
If that made me paranoid, so be it.
After I sent the email, I stared at the computer screen, still numb from the news about Hardshaw. I knew I should be happier. Had Marco been disappointed by my reaction?
No, that was Caroline speaking in my head. Not Carly. Marco wasn’t disappointed in me. He loved me. He understood. He was worried that I’d leave him behind, and I’d do everything in my power to assure him he was wrong.
I tapped the keyboard, my mind shifting back to my mother. Had she loved my biological father? Was he really Uncle Will? While I remembered him being a part of our lives when my mother was alive, I couldn’t recall seeing him again after she died. He’d left Dallas, and as far as I knew, he’d never returned.
Grabbing my notebook out of my purse, I opened it to the page of notes I’d taken about William Blakely. My father made the news because he was Randall Blakely, the head of Blakely Oil, but how could his younger brother disappear without anyone noticing or commenting on it?
For the umpteenth time, I searched for William Blakely, coming up with the usual hits—old mentions of him at occasional charity events in Dallas. The last mention of him was from a few months before my mother’s death. After that, there was nothing. No obituary. No missing person’s report. Could I contact the Dallas or Highland Park Police Department and find out if one had been filed? Could Marco find out without calling attention to me?
This was getting me nowhere. I needed to focus on a more productive lead. Like my mother’s friend, Tiffany.
I remembered my mother having multiple friends, but Tiffany was the one I could recall best. While I knew they’d gone to college together, I was fairly certain their history went back further—high school and maybe even middle school. Tiffany hadn’t lived in Dallas, because she’d always arrived with suitcases and stayed in the guest room. I knew we’d gone to visit her once—flying on a plane to get there—but I didn’t remember any details beyond that Tiffany lived in a house with a big yard. It had been hot there, like Texas, and I vaguely remembered a huge aquarium.
Maybe I could find her if I googled my mother’s name with hers. I did a search for Mary Caroline Henderson plus Tiffany plus Auburn University. My mother’s name popped up, but not in conjunction with her friend.
I squeezed my eyes shut and struggled to remember her last name. Nothing. Then I searched for my mother’s married name and Tiffany, and the first hit was an article about a Tiffany Olson creating a scholarship at Auburn in memory of her best friend, Mary Caroline Blakely.
Tiffany Olson. I wrote her name down.
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