Reckless Hours: a Romantic Suspense novel (Heroes of Providence Book 3) (12 page)

There were moments when he would look at Tammie and feel her gaze lock with his. It did things to him. At the diner, she’d looked so vulnerable. So beautiful. And he hadn’t believed her. He’d been drawn to her and yet was so angry with her for what he thought was a game. He’d read her wrong and couldn’t trust his own reaction. That’s why he couldn’t look at her.

Dylan shook off the feeling that had consumed him instantaneously. He needed to focus right now on finding his brother. Not a woman. And Tammie needed to unravel the mystery of what had happened all those years ago and how that connected to the accident that killed her parents. And why her face was so strikingly identical to Serena Davco’s, a woman she’d never met. Was she actually Serena’s sister?

After clearing her throat, she said, “I think Serena was telling the truth yesterday.”

“About what?”

“I think... I think I am her sister.”

He gave her a crooked grin. “You’re just figuring that out? I think it’s obvious there’s some family connection going on there.”

“Aurore insisted that the baby Eleanor Davco was carrying died in the fire.”

“She also pretended not to know you or your parents until you called her on it. She’s lying. I think it’s safe to say everything she tells you from this point on is suspect.”

Tammie pressed her fingers to her temple as if her head was throbbing. “I don’t know when the fire was, but given the age Serena was in the picture, I’m guessing I’m only a year or two younger.”

“I think you’re right. How they could have missed a baby is beyond me. Someone must have questioned it. Surely your father...”

* * *

Tammie’s stomach coiled. It was hard to think of any man other than Aaron Gardner as her father. “Eleanor was pregnant. Maybe they didn’t look for a baby. Maybe they just assumed the baby died in utero.”

“No reputable medical examiner would miss something like that, Tammie. The medical examiner would have questioned not finding the baby. If he didn’t, he was paid off.”

“Maybe there was no autopsy. Maybe people just assumed the cause of death was this fire and…I don’t know.”

She pressed her fingers to her temples again.

“People talk. Especially in small towns. Someone has to know something.”

“If they do, no one is talking. At least not to me. This fire had to have been thirty years ago, give or take a few years?”

She closed her eyes as the sun poked above the line of trees and shone in her face. “Twenty-seven.”

When he spoke again, Dylan’s face was sympathetic. “Then that’s a start, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“If you are Serena’s sister, as she claims, and the baby was born, then the fire had to have happened twenty-seven years ago. I’m sure there is a record of the fire in the newspaper. And for a mansion that big, I’m sure some old timers in town will remember.”

She covered her face with her fingers. She wasn’t sure if it was to cut out the images going through her mind or to shield her eyes from the sun.

“I’m going to get rid of that trash bag,” Dylan said. “I think there’s still a cup or two left in the coffeepot. Why don’t you polish it off, and I’ll meet you inside, where the bright light won’t bother you? You look tired.”

Tammie nodded as he grabbed the trash bag and began to walk down the path toward the Dumpster. It wasn’t fatigue that was dragging her down now. It was defeat. She’d come so far, and yet there was so much more she needed to know. She’d foolishly thought she’d come to town, talk to a few people and get some quick answers. That seemed impossible to her now. She’d lived a lifetime outside of Eastmeadow. But there was a whole lot of catching up to do on a life she’d never lived here.

She grabbed her coffee mug, as well as the one Dylan had left on the picnic table, and went into the camper. The dregs of the coffee looked disgusting, so she turned off the power and drained the hot coffee down the sink. She was just rinsing out the pot when Dylan stepped into the camper.

“What about people who aren’t from Eastmeadow?” she asked.

“You mean the auctioneers?”

“Yeah. From what the man at the motel said, there are a lot of out-of-towners that come here every year for the auctions. It’s their livelihood. If they’ve been coming here long enough, they might have known the Davcos. Someone might remember what happened the night my— The night Eleanor died in the fire.”

Tammie couldn’t quite bring herself to say the word
mother
when referring to Eleanor Davco. In her heart, Connie Gardner would always be her mother. No DNA test would ever change that.

“I’m sorry. You must be sick of listening to me go on about my parents when you have your brother to worry about.”

Dylan frowned. Even then he was handsome. Not the pretty-boy handsome you see in magazines. He was rugged and strong and sexy. Unlike any man she’d ever met. He was determined and fierce at times, and kind other times.

“I think they’re connected in some way.”

Surprised, she asked, “You do? But my parents lived here nearly thirty years ago.”

“And it seems they took you with them to Oregon on the night that Serena Davco’s mother died in a fire, leaving everyone to believe the baby she was carrying was killed, as well.”

“What are you saying?”

“I don’t know yet,” Dylan said. “But I think it’s time to clean up here and do a little antique shopping.”

The auction grounds were littered with cardboard boxes and wooden crates cracked open to reveal their goods—everything from fine linens to china. The backs of flatbed trucks had furniture roped down—everything from dressing tables to armoires. The grounds ran along Main

Street, from the old white church on the hill and the stone-faced library, farther than Tammie could see. The streets were crowded with vendors hauling their wares off their trucks to display under tents.

With all the people milling about, and all the white tents popping up in fields that had been empty the day before, the scene reminded Tammie of a refugee camp. But no one was there to live. The auctioneers would only stay for the week and then pack their crates back onto their trucks and head to their next auctions.

“There have to be a few hundred dealers here,” Dylan said, looking around.

“The motel clerk said they get somewhere in the neighborhood of seventeen-hundred dealers.”

“By the looks of it, I’d say he’s right.”

Tammie blew out a quick breath, puffing her cheeks. “I don’t know where to start. We can’t talk to all of them.” “No, but we won’t have to. Just concentrate on who’s been around the longest. I’d say that’s our best bet. Otherwise, we’ll just be spinning our wheels.”

Tammie pulled a small notebook out of her purse. “What’s that for?” Dylan asked.

“To take notes. You know, names, phone numbers...?”

He raised an eyebrow. “If anyone tells you anything important, you can get their card and jot something on the back. If you walk around with a notebook, someone will think you’re a reporter. Or why not just use your cell phone?”

She hadn’t thought of that. “Do you want to split up?”

“It makes sense. We’ll cover more ground that way. Although, depending on where you are downtown you might not get a good cell phone signal so it might be hard to find each other afterward if we split up.”

They walked a few minutes, looking at the workers
breaking open crates and lifting furniture onto the ground under the tents.

Tammie smiled, but didn’t say much. Instead, she looked at their faces. Most of the men hauling boxes were young, maybe even still in high school. Some looked younger than the students in her class. Others didn’t look much older than Dylan. She doubted any of them would have information to help her.

They found a tent where an older gentleman was setting up antique toys. On the table was a sign that read Fragile. In front of the sign was a red velvet cloth. On top of it was a fixed toy train with a metal frame.

“I think I had one of these when I was a kid,” Dylan said, smiling. That got the owner’s attention and he turned around and came over to them.

He was cordial when he spoke. “The fairgrounds don’t open to the public until tomorrow. We get a hefty fine if we start dealing before then.” He pulled a business card off the stack on the table and handed it to Dylan. “I’ll be happy to help you if you want to come back when we’re open.”

“We’re not here to shop just yet,” Dylan said, glancing at the business card before pocketing it. He glanced at Tammie and gave her an I-told-you-so smile. Tammie dropped her notebook back in her purse.

“Ah, it’s a smart thing to scope out the goods ahead of time,” he said, giving a wink to Tammie. “It’s hard to move along these walkways when the crowds get here.

“That toy is twice as old as you are,” the man said to Tammie. “I don’t mind if you want to handle it. I don’t let the kids. They all love to play with it, but it’s too delicate a piece for little hands.”

“It’s beautiful,” Tammie said, picking it up and turning it in her hand. She wasn’t really interested in the toy train, but she had a feeling the dealer was flattered by the attention. “You must have people clamoring to get these pieces every year.”

“I send out a mailing to the regulars. I don’t have a website like some of the other dealers. Never did learn to use the Internet. I just learned to text so I can talk to my grandkids. I prefer selling face-to-face.”

“Have you been coming here long?” Dylan asked. The seamless way he transitioned the question impressed her. She’d been walking past the tents, trying to figure out how to ask questions without looking like she was fishing for information. Dylan had her beat.

“Going on twenty years now.”

She suppressed a sigh and smiled instead. “I imagine there aren’t too many vendors who were here longer than you.”

He laughed. “There are a few diehards who practically started the auctions. Old man Jackson started with a tent just like this, and now has that pretty building on the end of the strip that’s open all year long.”

“What about people from out of town?”

The man made a face like he was thinking. “John Beaumont and his people have been coming around for a while now. I’m pretty sure he was here before me. He sells all that antique china. I wouldn’t want to be handling those pieces with a basket full of kids. Who ever heard of a gravy boat for eight hundred and fifty dollars?”

Tammie’s mouth dropped open. Then she laughed at the comical face he made. “My, that’s a bit out of my price range.”

The man had been working alone, and seemed to like the company. Part of her felt bad for fishing for information and moving on, but if he’d only been coming here for twenty years, he probably wouldn’t have known her parents.

The man lowered his voice and leaned forward over the table. “Truth be known, some of these dealers will rob you blind. They’re passing off reproductions at authentic piece prices.”

“Really? Maybe we should stop by here for some advice before making any purchases,” she said.

The man laughed and pointed a finger. “That’s a wise thing to do. But I’m hoping I’ll be too busy selling my own items.”

“Fair enough.”

Dylan had walked over to the next tent, and was talking to a man in his early twenties who looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but there.

“My friend has run off without me. Did you say John Beaumont has been here a while? Despite the prices, I do love good china. I’d love to see what he has.”

“Yes, he’s a few tent lanes down. Almost near the food court set up on the motel lawn. You can’t miss him if you go round back here.”

“Thanks. It was nice chatting. And good luck.”

“Make sure you come on back on tomorrow,” he said as Tammie walked away.

As she approached the next tent, she could hear Dylan talking to an older woman. The woman looked as if she was almost flirting with him, laughing and winking until Tammie walked up beside him. Then her expression collapsed. “Well, now, who’s this?” the woman asked.

“Tammie Gardner, I’d like you to meet Mrs. Trudie Burdett, owner of the Auction Acres.”

Tammie extended her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Burdett.”

The woman nodded, her gaze holding steady to Tammie’s face before she said, “Likewise. You can call me Trudie, dear. I feel so old when I hear my mother-in-law’s name.”

“Trudie has been selling her antiques in this very spot for over thirty years.” He looked at her and raised his eyebrows, as if to say, now was her chance.

“Really? Then maybe you knew my parents.”

“Knew? If they lived in Eastmeadow, I knew them. I know just about everyone in this town. If not by name, I know them by face. I never forget a face,” she said, looking straight at Tammie.

“Aaron and Connie Gardner?”

Trudie shook her head. “Gardner? Can’t say as I recall them.”

Tammie popped open her purse and pulled out a picture of both of her parents that had been taken on Tammie’s sixth birthday. If anyone were to recognize her parents, it would be easier with a photo that was taken closer to the time they lived in Eastmeadow.

But before she had a chance to show it to Trudie, the woman was off to the other side of the tent, yelling at the young man who was sitting on a sofa table.