Rosewood, Texas
Whitaker Woods. Like the box Leah clutched in her hand,
the native pine storefront was simple. Pushing open the
door, she expected to find small, similar pieces inside.
She was surprised instead by the array of large furniture.
Dramatic armoires, one-of-a-kind chairs, trunks, chests.
"Can I help you?" An older woman emerged from the back,
the wood floor creaking beneath her.
"Yes." Hope crowding her throat, Leah showed her the
box. "I'm trying to locate the sales record for this."
The woman wiped her freckled hands on the industrial apron
she wore. "That I can't do."
Leah fought her disappointment. "Matt only makes these for
friends or family," she continued, picking up the box. "He
doesn't sell them."
"Oh?"
She turned the box over. "Yes. They're special." Leah
seized the new information as if were gold. "Do you by
chance know Kyle Johnson?"
"Kyle? No."
Leah hadn't really expected that she would.
Still... "Could I speak to Mr. Whitaker?"
"Matt's not here right now. He'll probably be back in a
few hours. I could have him call you."
"That would be great." Leah handed her a card.
"This has my cell number. I'm staying at Borbey House just
down the street."
"Annie's place. I know it."
Leah smiled. "Thanks for your help."
"Welcome to Rosewood."
Matt whistled as he unloaded the pickup truck. He was
especially pleased with the custom hall tree he'd just
finished. The concept was Victorian. The contemporary
design, however, was all his own. He loved working with
his hands. Always had. Bringing the wood from one life to
another.
Easing the hall tree through the back door of the store,
Matt was careful not to scratch the multiple layers of
varnish. "Boss, that you?"
"Yeah."
Nan walked through the swinging doors that separated the
display area from the back room and spotted the hall
tree. "Oh, that's nice!"
He stood back, surveying the piece. "I'm happy with it."
"Bet it doesn't last long. And you'll have a dozen
requests for more."
"You're better than an ad in the Houston Chronicle."
Nan grinned. "Glad you noticed."
"How's the day been?"
"Steady. Cindy Mallory wants to talk to you about ordering
some new furniture for the triplets. Sounds like a pretty
big commission. And I sold that rocking chair I've had my
eye on for my youngest daughter. Should have bought it
myself when I had the chance."
He chuckled. "I told you to put it aside."
"Sold it to a tourist for full price, Matt."
"Not everything's about the bottom line."
"Good thing I take care of the books," she chided. "Oh,
and a pretty young woman came by to see you."
"Ah...wish I'd been here."
"She had one of those special little boxes you make,
wanted to see if I could trace it." Nan handed him Leah's
card. "And she wanted to know if I knew a Kyle Johnson."
Matt froze. "Told her that you just made them for special
friends. She's staying over at Annie's place. Card has her
cell number on it, too. Seemed nice enough. Funny though.
Her having the box and not knowing they're special. But I
told her I'd ask you to call." Nan paused. "Matt? You
okay?"
"Yeah...sure."
"You never used to sell the little boxes, did you?"
"No. Uh...I'd better get back to the house."
"Well, okay. You sure everything's all right?"
"Yeah. Just been a long day."
Nan glanced at her watch. "It's just after two. You want
some coffee?"
"No. You go ahead."
Back in his truck Matt studied the card. And eight years
crashed away.
Sitting in an overstuffed chair that was so comfortable it
should have lulled her into a nap, Leah stared at the
phone in her room. A few hours, the clerk had said, before
Matt Whitaker would return to the store. She'd unpacked
and tried to fiddle away as much time as she could but she
still had too much left on her hands. It would be awhile
before he called. She pictured her mother back in L.A.,
anxiously waiting to hear if she had any news. Might as
well let her know not to sit by the phone.
Rhonda picked up on the first ring. "Leah?"
"Hi, Mom."
"Have you found out anything?"
"Not yet, but I'm working on it."
"Maybe you should have let the investigators —"
"Not this time, Mom." Leah's jaw tensed. "I have to do
this one on my own."
There was a pause. "Maybe you're right. The detectives
never found out anything despite all their searching."
No. And though Leah had believed Kyle would bring Danny
back, he hadn't. She sighed.
"We could contact the FBI again," Rhonda reminded her.
"It didn't work the last time."
Rhonda's silence told Leah her mother didn't appreciate
the comeback. But the silence was short-lived. "How you
could have been married to a man who left absolutely no
record of his name...and for you to not have his social
security number..."
Leah didn't have an answer. Kyle hadn't held a job while
they were married and her mother knew it. And the FBI
found that the background he'd told her was fiction — a
fairy tale to make a gullible girl fall in love. Which
gave them nothing to trace. "What do you want me to say?"
Rhonda must've tapped her rings against her desk, the
sound coming clearly through the phone. "I don't suppose
there's any point in going over old wounds."
What did it matter now? They'd already been scraped open.
Leah rolled her eyes. She knew her mother was just anxious
about Danny. But the woman was cranking her own anxiety
level even higher. She struggled to keep her voice
calm. "Is everything okay at work, Mom?" Hunter Design was
a thriving L.A.-based design firm with an international
clientele. Kyle had seen only dollar signs in the family-
operated business. Her parents had been willing to hire
him, but he hadn't wanted to work. He just wanted the
money.
"Jennifer's keeping an eye on your jobs. She's competent,
even if she doesn't have your touch."
Jennifer was Leah's assistant. "She'll be fine."
"Leah? Don't be too disappointed if this doesn't...well,
turn into the lead you're hoping for."
"I won't, Mom."
Once she'd said goodbye to her mother, Leah glanced around
the storybook room in the quaint bed-and-breakfast. She
had been on hyper-speed since she'd found the secret
compartment in the box and decided to pursue this long
shot at finding Danny. On edge, she'd flown to Houston,
rented a car and driven more than three hours to this
small town, hidden in the heart of the Texas hill country.
She'd heard it was a beautiful region, but she'd barely
seen anything she'd driven past.
The thought of just sitting, without anything to do, was
making her crazy. Maybe she could walk off some of her
nervous energy.
Stopping at the antique breakfront that served as a desk,
Leah rang the bell. Annie, the B and B owner, popped out
of the adjoining kitchen, wiping her hands on a cloth. She
was more than happy to forward any messages to Leah's cell
phone.
The air was clear, delivering early spring's promise of
new life, as Leah walked down the old-fashioned boardwalk.
Tall elm trees shaded the street. The buildings belonged
to a different era, she realized. Enchanting Victorian
structures, which all housed working businesses.
She passed a quaint drugstore, hardware store, costume
shop and newspaper office before reaching Whitakers Woods.
She lingered in front of the wide-paned window, but didn't
see a man inside. The door opened and a customer stepped
out.
The woman Leah had met earlier called out to her. "Hi,
there!"
Leah walked inside. "Hello..."
"I'm Nan," she said with a smile. "Should have introduced
myself earlier. Matt was here sooner than I thought and I
gave him your card."
"Great! Then I guess I'll be hearing from him soon."
Nan nodded. "Oh, my, yes. Matt's real good about getting
back to people."
Relieved, Leah smiled. "That's wonderful. Thanks for your
help."
"Glad to do it. You settling in at Annie's?"
"Yes. It's a charming place. Like the town."
"Thing is, it's a real town, not put on for tourists like
some places. No T-shirt and souvenir shops. Not that we
don't welcome visitors, but this is our home."
"I got that sense right away."
"Good. Hope you have a nice stay."
Leah crossed her fingers. "I'm counting on it."