Page 58 of Weight of Guilt

Wren glanced at Nash, waiting for his response.

He frowned before saying, “I don’t know. But we’d rather you be careful than comfortable.”

“That’s not a no.”

“No, ma’am. It isn’t.”

Chapter

Twenty-Nine

Wren had her hand up to knock when the door opened. Luke Wilder stood there in his uniform with a dish towel over one shoulder. He looked as if he’d just gotten home from work.

“Wren.” He took in her face then Nash behind her, and whatever had been easy in him disappeared. “Who’s this?”

“Nash Hendricks. I’m renting the Pruitt place.” Nash put out a hand. “I’m TBI. On medical leave.”

“Nice to meet you.” Luke stepped back from the door. “Come in.”

Inside, a cartoon blared from somewhere past the kitchen, and Harper appeared in the hall doorway with a toddler on one hip and a cracker in her free hand. Her face opened up at the sight of Wren.

“Hey, you.” She looked at Wren a second too long as things clicked in place. “I’ll get these two in the back.”

She took her four-year-old by the hand and disappeared as if she’d been through this routine before.

Luke pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and leaned toward them. “All right. I know you’re not here for a friendly visit. What’s going on? Is this about Roy?”

Wren had built a dozen versions of how to say this on the drive over. Every one of them left her. “Kind of. Partly. But the truth is that Christian came home yesterday morning.”

Luke blinked. “Say that again.”

“My brother walked out of the woods behind our house. On the very date he disappeared ten years ago.”

Luke leaned back hard, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Did he say where he’d been? What he’d been through?”

“He said he can’t remember,” Wren said. “He can’t remember anything really. He doesn’t even remember how he got away. Amnesia, I guess. Maybe caused by trauma. Of course, those are just guesses. I have no idea.”

Luke grunted and nodded slowly. “You’re sure it’s him?”

“No.” She didn’t bother to sugarcoat the word.

He tilted his head in surprise and waited for her to continue.

“I’m not sure of anything, Luke. That’s why I’m sitting in your kitchen.”

“You said yesterday morning.” Luke glanced at his watch. “It’s four o’clock Sunday. It’s been over twenty-four hours. Why am I just hearing about this now?”

“Christian begged us not to go to the police. He’s terrified of reporters. He terrified of being looked at, of all of it.” She knew how thin the reasoning sounded but kept going anyway. “I told myself if we called it in and Christian turned out to be some imposter, my mother wouldn’t survive that.”

“I suppose I can see where you’re coming from. Okay.” He pulled the dish towel off his shoulder and set it on the table. “Then let’s not lose any more time. Who else knows?”

“My sisters. Nash. That’s it.”

“Not your mother. Not your father.”

“Not yet.” She blew out a breath. “But there’s more.”

She told him her theory about Roy.