The Last Sister (Columbia River)(44)

Many images of her mother and father sharing passionate embraces flashed through Madison’s memories. She was positive it hadn’t been a one-sided attraction.

“He was very possessive of that pocket watch,” Dory told her cup of coffee.

Their conversation’s backward leap startled Madison.

Is this what it’s like to be inside Dory’s head?

“I didn’t know what that watch was until Vina explained it to me.” The white head solemnly wagged back and forth. “She was glad it vanished.”

“It was just a watch.” Right?

Dory pinned her with a schoolteacher stare that pierced deep into Madison’s brain. “It was a link to his past. His grandfather was that way, and he passed it to his grandson. We didn’t need that type around here,” she lectured.

Madison had no words.

Pity filled her aunt’s features. “The hate and anger, Brenda. He’s feeding it with those meetings and won’t listen to reason from any of us. No good can come of it.”

She thinks I’m Mom.

Dory looked at the clock again. “You’re going to be late. That’s not fair to Leo.”

Madison grabbed her purse and stooped to kiss her aunt on the cheek. She lingered, full of questions but not knowing how to put them into words. “Love you, Dory.”

She darted out the door into the cold dark, pulling her hood up against the light rain. Once in the car, she pulled the pocket watch out of her purse and opened it, seeing nothing but the initials and the foreign phrase. Flipping it over, she closely scanned the back and then the front again, seeking any bumps or cracks. Nothing. Wedging a fingernail into a groove on the side, she tried to lever the clock side apart. It didn’t budge.

It was a watch. Nothing else.

She eyed the foreign words, remembering that she had accepted her father’s translation as truth. Grabbing her phone, she typed the words into Google. Non Silba Sed Anthar.

“Not for oneself, but for others,” she read aloud.

That sounds selfless and kind.

She scrolled further, scanning the results.

This can’t be right.

Her heart in her throat, she opened web page after web page, finding multiple confirmations.

The lovely-sounding phrase was a common slogan of the KKK.





18

Zander had been working at the Clatsop County sheriff’s office for an hour when Ava showed up. She walked in with a glare and a coffee holder with two cups. “Why didn’t you tell me you were starting at the butt crack of dawn?”

“Didn’t see the point of waking you.” He’d woken at 4:00 a.m., unable to go back to sleep. After doing what work he could from his laptop, he’d gone to the sheriff’s office and requested the murder book on Lincoln Mills, Emily’s father. He also hadn’t called Ava because he didn’t want to explain why he was looking at an old solved case when they had three unsolved deaths.

He was curious about what made Emily Mills tick. Understanding what had happened to her father might give him some insight into what made her so intriguing to him. Besides the obvious physical attraction.

Ava handed him one of the coffees, and he nearly dropped it, the extreme heat radiating through the cup. “Careful. You need to toughen up your hands,” she quipped. “Maybe do something else besides tap on a keyboard.” She pulled a coffee sleeve out of her pocket and passed it to him with a grin.

“Funny.”

“I bet someone would be willing to take you logging or fishing. That would help.”

He removed his lid, and steam gushed. “No thanks. I’m happy with my keyboard. Why is this so hot?”

“Dunno.” She tilted her head to see what he was reading. “Lincoln Mills?” The frown he’d fully expected appeared on her face. “Why are you—”

“Looking at a solved case when we have work to do,” he finished, unable to maintain her scrutinizing eye contact.

“Exactly.”

“You know why,” he hedged. “Our witness’s father was hanged. We agreed it was too big to be a coincidence.” He risked a glance at her, but her blue eyes still stared. Into his guilty soul.

“Uh-huh. Yep. That’s why,” she said.

“It’s a fascinating case,” he added, grasping at straws. And I’m curious about one of his daughters.

“You can tell me about it later. We have work to do.” She set her overflowing laptop bag on a chair and hauled out her computer.

Zander closed the thick three-ring binder and set it aside. “I called Dr. Rutledge this morning.”

“You didn’t mind waking him up?” She focused on her computer.

Zander understood he would pay for not calling her. “He told us yesterday that he starts early. I asked him to hold off on Nate Copeland’s autopsy.”

Her head snapped up. “Why?”

“I want to be there. I felt at least one of us should have observed the Fitch autopsies, but we were buried in the case. Copeland was law enforcement . . .”

Ava immediately got it. “We’ll both go.”

They shared a bond with the young deputy. All law enforcement did. As uncomfortable as it was to witness an autopsy, being present showed respect. It highlighted their commitment to finding the answers behind the man’s death.