for clues about my mother’s death. They’d only contained business information that had meant nothing to me.
Hayle plopped a stack of folders on the desk. “These are all of the deals Sharpe Shipping is currently negotiating. Though the bulk of the research is stored at the office, Dad has always kept a synopsis of the deals here as well. If there are any new clients or negotiations that would take him away over the holidays, they’d be here.”
He removed a folded sheet of paper from the inside pocket of his jacket and opened it before laying it on the desk. “Here’s a list of all the deals I already know about, so we can compare.”
“When did you do this?”
“Last night. I couldn’t sleep.”
My gaze roamed over his face, and I detected dark circles I’d missed before. “You’re really worried about your dad, aren’t you?”
“Not in the way you’re thinking. I’m just tired of all the secrets, and the most effective way to get the truth out of my dad is to confront him with the closest version of the truth I can come up with.”
He had a valid point. Vincent had been known to come clean with me when I confronted him head-on with an issue, and Hayle had undoubtedly experienced countless such instances.
Handing me a pen and his list, he said, “Check off the names as I read them aloud. If you can read my handwriting.”
I chuckled as I took a closer look. It looked more like chicken scratch than anything I would consider handwriting, but if I really worked at it, I could make out the words well enough. “Why is it that girls generally have better handwriting than boys?”
Though I’d meant it as a rhetorical question, I wasn’t at all surprised when Hayle had an answer for me. “There are different factors, including cultural stereotypes, at play. But the most compelling answer is that the nerve fibers responsible for the fine motor skills in girls’ brains mature quicker than in boys’ brains. Thus, when young children are first learning how to create letters, girls are naturally more adept at doing so correctly and neatly.”
“Should I even ask why you know that?”
He shrugged. “I read.”
He read what? Articles on child development? For fun? I hadn’t even read a novel for fun since starting at Harbor U.
My attention switched gears as Hayle began reading off the names of businesses Sharpe Shipping was currently in the middle of negotiations with. When he was finished, there were only three that hadn’t made it on his list.
After studying the remaining three folders, he tossed them aside and leaned back in the oversized office chair. “None of these help. One of those companies is headquartered in Moss Harbor, and the other two are out of Seattle. Dad only ever stays overnight in Seattle if he has an early morning meeting. There’s no way he’s been there for two weeks. And all of these other negotiations are far enough along that they would require a day of meetings, at most.”
“So, what are you thinking?”
He sat up straighter, his expression grim. “I’m thinking there’s nothing here that explains why he would need to be out of town over the holidays. And, now that I think about it, there’s nothing that explains his increased absences over the last few years. He’s always traveled a lot for work, so I didn’t even notice when the trips became more frequent.”
Hayle pushed back the chair and stood, walking around the desk to lean against it in front of me. “I went back through our family calendar for the last five years, and the change is dramatic. His business trips have tripled in the last two years. Yet, the number of new clients has decreased and keeps decreasing.”
I put my hands on his thighs, more worried about him than anything he’d said. “Were you up all night doing this?”
“Pretty much.” He gave me a sheepish smile. “Is my obsessive nature a turn off?”
I stood and moved between his legs, looping my arms around his neck. “Not at all. But I am concerned about you.”
He pressed his mouth to mine in a slow, tender kiss. “No need to be. This is what I do. Once I get something in my head, that’s it. And I know there’s something to this thing with my dad. I just don’t know what I’m missing.”
“And that’s driving you crazy,” I stated rather than asked.