Carrie, she had also learned that Chief Tanner was considered the best catch in town. Apparently every unmarried female between the ages of twenty and forty had set their sights on him.
As she walked up the stairway, Savannah rubbed her neck to relieve the tension of the morning. First aspirin and then work. Becoming entangled in the news and goings-on in Midnight was pointless, even if that included learning more about Zach. Not that she was that interested. She mentally rolled her eyes. Who was she kidding? Love him or hate him, Zach had always fascinated her. And the way it was going, every person she met was going to want to talk about him. Might as well soak up all she could. When she returned to Nashville, she’d have to go cold turkey.
After downing three aspirin tablets, Savannah headed into her grandfather’s room. The instant she opened the door, the scents she always associated with her granddad—Lagerfeld cologne and pipe smoke—brought the memories back so vividly, she could almost imagine he was in the room with her.
She took a moment to walk around the room, touching a comb on his dresser, opening a music box that had been her grandmother’s, picking up his favorite pipe that he always kept beside his bed.
He had stopped smoking cigarettes when her grandmother got sick. After she died, he’d developed a pipe-smoking habit. No, actually, come to think of it, he’d started smoking the pipe only after her parents’ deaths. The stress of raising three granddaughters and losing his son and daughter-in-law had probably had a lot to do with that.
However stressful it had been for him, she couldn’t imagine anyone doing a better job.
She gazed around the large room he’d once shared with her grandmother. Camille Wilde had passed away when Savannah was five. Though she barely remembered her, Daniel Wilde had done what he could to help his granddaughters realize what a phenomenal person his wife had been. One of the many reasons she’d admired her grandfather so much was how he had loved his wife. And despite the fact that he’d only been in his early fifties when she’d passed away, he had never remarried. As far as she knew, he’d never even dated again. She smiled as she remembered how she and her sisters had tried to come up with women he might be interested in so he wouldn’t be alone. They’d played matchmaker for a couple of months until he had caught on and had gently explained that no one could replace Camille in his heart and he was perfectly content to stay single for the rest of his life.
She went to the bureau at the far end of the room. First she’d empty the drawers and then call the churches to see if they wanted his clothes. If not, she might have them shipped to a homeless shelter in Mobile. She opened the first drawer and was immediately swamped with the memory of her first piano recital. She hadn’t wanted to take piano lessons. She had been eleven years old, and by then, all she had wanted to do was bury herself in her books—they were the only things that made sense to her in a world that had become so chaotic. Her grandfather had insisted she try, promising her if she didn’t like it after the first month, she could quit. Six years later, she had still been taking piano. And despite her intense shyness, she had enjoyed playing in the school recitals.
Taking out the program of that first recital, she opened it to the first page and was surprised to see her grandfather had written a note beside her name. His handwriting was a bit scratchy but it looked something like You would be so proud of her, son.
She dropped the program and closed the drawer, vaguely disturbed by the words. They had rarely talked about her father after her parents’ deaths. Any mention of his name usually ended up with her or one of her sisters crying. Her grandfather had respected their wishes and avoided bringing him up. Savannah suddenly felt guilty for that. Even though he had killed their mother and destroyed their happy family, Beckett had still been her grandfather’s only child. How he must have grieved for him.
Unsettled by her thoughts, she turned away. Maybe the closets first. Then later, when she wasn’t feeling so emotionally raw, she’d sort through his dresser and bureau for the more personal things. She crossed