The Last Sister (Columbia River)(77)

“Sorry.” Isaac stared at his shoes. His hair was windblown, and he wore a heavy coat. He smelled of the outdoors.

“It’s no problem. You just coming to work?” Zander asked, wondering what the quiet kid wanted.

“Returning. I already worked this morning. They called me back in since the power went out and half the town showed up. Happens every time.” He continued to stare at his shoes.

Zander waited but finally spoke. “Did you want to ask me something?”

Isaac finally made eye contact. “Are you still looking for Billy Osburne?”

Every cell in Zander’s body went on alert. “Absolutely. You’ve seen him?”

“Yeah. I think he’s staying with a girl.”

Zander controlled his impatience. “Can you be more specific?”

Isaac grimaced. “I swear I saw him in this girl’s car. She lives three houses down from us. Before I came to work just now, I walked over there to check, and he was outside clearing some branches out of her driveway.”

“That’s pretty cocky on his part.”

“It’s a long driveway, and this was right in front of the garage. All the houses there are set way back in the trees with a lot of space between them. You can’t see your neighbors. I didn’t get too close.”

“What if he saw you?”

“He didn’t.” Isaac was confident.

“How long ago was this?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“Here’s your BLT, Zander.” Leo slid over a white box.

“Thanks.” Zander grabbed the box and turned back to Isaac. “Why didn’t you call the police when you saw him?”

“I’m telling you.” Isaac flushed, and his gaze went back to his shoes.

“You didn’t know I’d be here.”

The teenager squirmed. “I didn’t want to talk to the police.”

Zander let it go. Whatever the kid’s reason for avoiding the police didn’t matter now. He tucked his sandwich box under an arm, picked up his coffee, and walked out of the kitchen, dialing the sheriff with one hand as he left.





31

Madison found Emily in the diner’s office. She’d seen her sister come in with Zander Wells and then head down the side hall.

She watched Emily dig through files for a moment from the doorway. A wide white bandage was visible on the side of her head, under her hair.

She could have died.

She’s the heart of our unusual family.

Madison had never appreciated the many things Emily did to keep all their lives on track. Until now. “Are you okay?”

Emily started, jerking her head up from her work. “I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. I talked to Janet at the hospital. Your injury could have been very serious.”

“You need to inform your nurse friend about HIPAA regulations.”

“I’m sure she knows.”

Emily humphed. “Everything running smoothly?”

“Yep. Vina and Thea are keeping everyone company and filling their coffee cups. Dory is on her way in. It sounds like three-quarters of the town doesn’t have power—including the mansion.”

“I figured. Seems like we’re always the first to lose it.”

“What’s that?” Madison pointed at a thick file on the office desk.

Emily’s face brightened. “Simon gave me that yesterday. He put together pictures and documents that relate to the Bartons.” She sat at the desk and flipped it open.

Curiosity and some glossy black-and-white photos drew Madison closer. The first photo was labeled Barton Lumber Mill in crooked writing across the bottom. She touched a familiar man in the image. “That’s our great-great-grandfather.” He stood with a dozen other men, looking rugged and proud as they posed. “This has to be in the early 1900s.”

“Yep. That’s George.”

Madison scanned the other men, wondering who they were and if some of their descendants still lived in Bartonville. Heck, maybe some were eating in the diner right that minute.

“I haven’t seen this picture before, have you?”

“No,” said Emily. “It’s not among any of the photos I’ve seen at the mansion.”

Madison flipped through a few more logging photos. George Barton leaning against a felled fir that had a trunk wider than he was tall. A log truck with the Barton name on the door and a single humongous log on its trailer.

“It’s all gone,” Madison said under her breath, feeling a small pang for the family business that she’d never known. At the end the mill had cut wood only for other companies, its own supply of lumber gone. The mill was sold in the 1980s, and the new owners shut it down, intending to use the property for something else that never came to fruition. Now it was a small, rusting ghost town of buildings. Madison quickly flipped through more black-and-white photos, stacking them neatly, wanting to see the color ones deeper in the file.

The first color photo was a formal picture of the mansion. Emily sighed, and Madison understood. The mansion shone. It was a summer day, and the landscaping was immaculate. The paint perfect and the rails on the porch intact. Someone had set glasses and a large pitcher of lemonade on a table on the porch, waiting for the owners to sit and relax.