Sophie Joy Clarkston climbed another rung on his admiration ladder.
“Have you looked through all your belongings?” Cain asked. “There must be something I can follow up on.”
Sophie’s eyes widened and she flapped her hands in excitement. “I almost forgot. Wait here.”
She dashed from the room and returned almost before he noticed she’d left. “Look.” She shook a photograph in front of his face. “I found this tucked away in my mother’s Bible when I was cleaning up last night.”
He took the faded, badly wrinkled photo from her hand and stared down at the aged image. The picture had been taken at a distance so the women’s facial features weren’t distinct. He studied the photo and could instantly see they were probably in their late teens. They stood, grinning ear to ear, in their bathing suits, their arms strewn across each other’s shoulders.
He glanced up. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s so exciting about this picture?”
“Don’t you see?” Sophie grabbed a chair and scooted up beside him. She tapped the picture. “That’s my mother. I recognize her from a photo my dad always carried in his wallet.”
Cain’s eyes followed the direction her finger pointed. He was immediately drawn to the woman standing in the middle of the photo. She was beautiful. The same long ebony hair. The same physical build. The same warm, friendly smile. And even though it wasn’t a good quality picture he instinctively knew that those large, expressive eyes were sea-foam green.
“She’s beautiful,” Cain said.
“Duh, of course she is, silly.” Sophie playfully elbowed him in the ribs. “But that’s not why I wanted you to see this. She pointed her index finger to the background. “Look, that’s this house. See. Recognize the front porch?”
Sophie sat back and grinned at him, apparently very pleased with herself.
“Don’t you see? This picture proves this house belongs to my family. Besides, there are other people in the picture. Maybe they still live around here and can tell us something more about my mother.”
Cain knew this photograph would not substantiate her claim to this property but preferred not to disappoint her. The sheriff would do that soon enough. Instead, he asked Sophie if she had a magnifying glass. He’d been raised in Promise. Even though he hadn’t been born when this picture was taken, he knew almost everyone still in town. Maybe he’d be able to study the facial features and connect it with someone at church or someone he’d seen coming into Holly’s Diner.
Sophie scampered into the living room and slid her hand down the flat side of a desk. Within seconds a hidden drawer popped out from the bottom.
Cain jumped up, quickly crossed the room and peered inside. He saw a magnifying lens and a stamp collection album inside. “I don’t understand.” Cain continued to stare at the drawer.
Sophie tilted her head to the side, a quizzical expression on her face. “Dad collected stamps. Is that important?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. But that’s immaterial at the moment.”
Cain squatted down, mindful of the sharp jab of pain in his leg but doing his best to ignore it. He pushed the drawer back into place. The etchings on the wood hid the drawer and made it appear like nothing more than decorative embellishment.
“I’ve never seen anything quite like this. I would never have known a drawer was here.” He admiringly ran his hand along the wood.
Sophie’s shoulders puffed up with pride. “Dad made this desk. He put a hidden compartment in every single piece of wood he carved. It was like his signature. He developed quite a reputation on the craft circuit for that skill.”
Every piece he carved.
Cain straightened and took a second look around the cottage. Maybe that’s why someone had broken into the house. Maybe they knew about the secret compartments. Obviously the thief had been searching for something. What if he hadn’t found it? What if it was still hidden in one of the many pieces of hand-carved wood in the home? Cain felt his first inkling of hope since Sophie had walked into his office. At least now they had a place to start. A bread crumb to follow.
“Have you checked all the hiding places?” Cain couldn’t curb his enthusiasm.
Sophie’s eyes widened and then she grinned. “I will now.”
Slowly, piece by piece, Sophie opened the hidden compartments on each carved piece within the home. Cain watched in fascination as picture frames slid apart, sofa legs sprang drawers and boxes revealed false bottoms. The carvings were all pieces of art. The hidden additions to the etchings were simply amazing. Unfortunately, nothing sinister or helpful showed up in any of the pieces.
Cain snapped his fingers. “What about the jewelry box?”
“Jewelry box? I don’t own a jewelry box.”
“The box. The one we found on the floor. The one you said was a gift from your dad.” Cain’s voice rose with excitement. He gently clasped her arms. “If your dad tried to hide a secret or a message for you, wouldn’t he put it in that box?”
Sophie’s eyes lit up. She nodded and hurried into her bedroom. When she returned, the way she cradled the object against her body and stroked the intricate carvings on the lid revealed her emotional attachment to this particular piece. She gently placed it on the kitchen table.
“It’s not a jewelry box,” she said. “It’s a treasure chest.” Her smile lit up her face. “Dad made it for me when I was a toddler.”
He studied the carvings. It was a tiny replica of this house with toys scattered around the yard. Dolls. A ball. Even a tire swing. “It’s beautiful, Sophie.”
“I used to keep all sorts of things in here. Different shaped rocks. Especially smooth, shiny ones. Once I even kept a live frog until my dad found out and made me let it go.” She threw her head back with laughter. “You should have seen his face when the frog jumped out. He chased it all over the cabin before he caught and released it.” Suddenly, she sobered. “I miss him so much.”
Cain paused, allowing her a moment with her memories before he said, “Show me. Where’s the hidden compartment on this chest?” He held his breath in anticipation. Could it really be this easy? All the answers hidden right here in a child’s treasure chest?
Sophie smiled. Slowly, she traced a finger along the top of the box, pushed down on the tire swing and a drawer ejected from the lid like a knife from a switchblade. Inside on a velvet-lining rested a cameo.
“I guess it’s a jewelry box after all,” Sophie said. “That cameo belonged to my mother. I’ve had it since I was a baby. Almost forgot it was there.” She withdrew the locket, holding it in her hand and running her thumb along its surface.
Cain picked up the box. Surprised by its weight, he turned it upside down. Ran his hand inside the hidden drawer. Nothing. No clues. No secret notes or letters. Nothing.
He tried to hide his disappointment. He’d been certain if Sophie’s dad had wanted to hide something that would lend a clue to his disappearance, it would have been in the box he knew his daughter cherished.
Cain didn’t know what surprised him more, realizing his gut instincts weren’t as sharp as they had been when he was on the force, or the surge of anger he felt toward Sophie’s dad for leaving her in a world of unanswered questions and hurt.
“Is there anything else?” He asked through gritted teeth. “Anywhere we haven’t already looked?”
Sophie gently placed her mother’s locket back in the chest and pushed in the compartment lid. “Sorry, Cain. I’ve shown you everything.”
Cain’s heart clenched when he looked into her eyes and saw the deep sadness residing there. He wanted to help her. He wanted to see her eyes sparkle with laughter, not cloud with tears. But how?
Please, Lord, where do I go from here?
“Think, Sophie. If your dad wanted to hide something that he
didn’t
want you or anyone else to see, where would he put it?”
Sophie absently tapped her foot. Her eyes lit up and she grinned. “His tool box. No one, not even me, was ever allowed near his tools. I brought them with me when I came to Promise. The box is in the shed.”
They both hurried across the porch and out to the shed in the backyard. The wooden box, large and cumbersome, took a bit of effort to lift to the table. Cain was amazed that petite, fragile Sophie had been able to do it previously. But then again, Cain was learning quickly that Sophie’s tiny size might give her the appearance of fragility but nothing could be further from the truth. She had a backbone made of steel.
Sophie ran her hand across the lid. She hesitated before opening the secret panel, almost as if she wouldn’t be able to face the disappointment if it was empty. She popped the lid, looked inside and grinned. But then her expression twisted with pain and confusion.
Cain came around the side of the box, eased Sophie away and looked inside. There were a dozen packets bound with rubber bands. Maybe two dozen. A picture of Sophie’s father stared back from each packet. Cain unwrapped the top one and spread the contents on the table. Driver’s license. Social security card. ATM card. A couple of credit cards. All in the name of Arthur Green. But the picture IDs beared the likeness of Sophie’s father.
Then he opened a second packet bearing the missing man’s likeness. Driver’s license. Social security card. ATM card. All in the name of Jonathan Burke.
Third packet. Albert Covington.
Fourth packet. Anthony Trafficante.
Cain could barely stand the look of embarrassment and pain in Sophie’s eyes.
“I don’t understand.” Her words were a mere whisper. She studied the identifying information. “It looks like my dad had a packet for each state on our craft circuit. Everyone on the circuit called him Woody, sort of a nickname because of his craft. I’d have had no way of knowing he had identification in different names.” As the impact of this information hit her, she dropped the packet she was holding into the box. Her eyes welled with tears. “Excuse me.” She turned and hurried into the house.
Cain gave her a few minutes and then followed her. He rapped lightly and leaned against the doorjamb. “Are you okay?”
Sophie paced back and forth. In her left hand she held a small wad of clay. He watched as she squeezed and turned and squeezed the material in a punishing grasp. She offered a tremulous smile and waved her right hand in the air. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be? My dad didn’t have just one fake identity. He had a dozen of them. But, hey, if you’re going to tell one lie, why not a dozen—or a hundred—or a million more?” Her cheeks flamed.
Cain hurried to her side. “Sophie.” She continued to pace. When she swooped past him a second time he grasped her arm. “Stop.”
She looked at him, her eyes haunted, lost.
“I can’t imagine how hard this must be,” Cain said. “To be forced to question everything you thought you knew about your dad and have him missing on top of it all.”
She hitched a breath.
“But you’re not alone. I’m going to help you. Holly will help you. Even the sheriff will help us run down some leads. So hang tough. You’ve been doing great and I am proud of you.”
Her eyes clouded with hesitation. He sensed her body tense as though steeling her mind for his answer and then she asked, “Do you think my dad is dead?”
He took a step back and raked his fingers through his hair. He knew she’d been lied to so many times that she needed to start hearing the truth. No matter how much he didn’t want to be the one to tell her.
“Probably.”
Her eyes widened but she said nothing.
“Look, all the facts lean that way. He leaves you enough money to take care of your needs for quite some time. Leaves you a note stating someone is trying to kill him. Then he disappears without a trace.” He held his hands at his side when everything in him wanted to wrap her in his arms and comfort her. “You tell me, Sophie. Who has fake IDs? Teenagers, maybe. Trying to pretend they’re older than they are to obtain alcohol.” He took a step closer as though his nearness could soften the blow. “Who else, Sophie? People on the run? Hiding. Slipping quietly from one town to the next, never setting down roots in one spot.”
Sophie paled. Her lower lip trembled but she kept control and stood tall, not speaking, just staring at him with those wide sea-green eyes, until he felt like dirt for hurting her.
“You told me that the two of you had been inseparable since your mother’s death,” he continued. “Don’t you think that if your dad was lucky enough to escape whoever was trying to kill him, he would have contacted you by now—some way—somehow?”
He studied her quietly for a moment, letting his words sink in.
“Sophie, I promise I will always tell you the truth, even if I know the truth will hurt. People have lied to you long enough.” He paused for just a moment. “I’m sorry. I really am. But the evidence leads me to believe your dad is dead.”
She stood quietly for a few moments and then nodded. “Thank you, Cain, for being honest. The truth means everything to me right now.” She transferred the clay to her right hand and continued kneading. Cain surmised it was something she did to calm her nerves when she was under stress.
“I need to know what happened to my father. I need to find my dad, dead or alive. I won’t be able to put any of this behind me until I find out what happened to him and what this is all about.” She walked over to the kitchen counter, hesitated for a few moments, her head bent, her shoulders stooped. Then pulling on that inner resolve he so admired, she squared her shoulders, poured two mugs of hot coffee and turned to face him. “We have work to do. Let’s get at it.”
Cain sat down at the table and Sophie placed a mug at his elbow. He nodded, offered a quick thanks and took a sip. Placing the mug back down, he picked up the photo they’d discarded when they’d run out to the shed and lifted the magnifying lens.
“I’m not giving up,” he said, trying to keep his voice light and encouraging. “You don’t know it yet but you’ve hired the best detective in Virginia.”
Sophie tried unsuccessfully to return his smile.
Cain pulled the photograph in for a closer look. He held the magnifying glass above the image of the young girl standing on the left of Sophie’s mother. She was a cute girl. About sixteen, seventeen maybe. He slowly studied her facial features. Try as he might, he couldn’t get a clear picture in his mind of what the girl would look like today. Granted, knowing that Sophie was twenty-two meant this picture was anywhere from twenty-five to thirty or more years old. These three women would be in their late fifties, maybe early sixties. So he didn’t have to imagine snow-white hair, wrinkles and stooped shoulders. They still should resemble their teen pictures enough for recognition. Cain ran the lens over the figure on the left again. Nope. He couldn’t ever remember seeing this person in Promise.