Page 107 of Wild Sanctuary

“I’m Tom Monroe’s daughter, Daisy.” I let that land before adding, “And this is Wyatt Hartley.”

Alma goes still. It’s brief, just a beat before she recovers, but I’ve interviewed enough people to know what a flinch looks like when someone’s learned to swallow it.

“What can I do for you?” she asks. The practiced smile has vanished, and what’s left is polite and closed.

“I’m a journalist, based out of Denver, and I’m working on a feature about ranch families in the Blackstone Creek valley. I’ve been doing some background research into land records and property transfers over the last decade. Your father’s name came up.”

“My father is in the hospital.” Alma starts unpacking the box of books, hands moving with purpose, and generally giving herself something to do that doesn’t involve looking at us. “I don’t handle his business affairs.”

“Of course. I’m very sorry to hear about his health.” I keep my voice easy and unhurried. “It’s really just a small thing. His name appeared as a notary on some property transactions, and I’m trying to understand the pattern. Mountain West Acquisitions, for instance.”

Her hands stop on the books for half a second. Then she picks up the next one and slots it onto the shelf behind the counter.

“I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

Too fast. Too flat. The same nothing-to-see-here I’ve heard from every source who knows more than they’re willing to say.

“I understand.” I pull a card from my back pocket and set it on the counter between us. “If you ever come across anything in the shop records like some old files or correspondence, I’d love to hear from you.”

Alma doesn’t look at the card. She shelves another book, then another, her rhythm bordering on mechanical.

Behind her, on a shelf beside the register, there’s a framed photograph I almost miss of a young man in his early twenties. He’s dark-haired, with the same sharp jaw as Alma and a grin that’s trying too hard. When she notices my line of vision, her body angle shifts, putting herself between us and the photo without seeming to realize it.

“Alma.” I try once more, gently. “If someone pressured your father into notarizing documents he shouldn’t have, we can help⁠—”

“You need to leave.” Her voice drops, but it’s not angry. Instead, her words are laced with fear. “Please. I can’t help you.”

I can’t help you. Not I won’t.

“You don’t know what you’re asking me.” She’s even quieter now, and I watch her hands grip the edge of the counter. Her eyes flick toward the door as though she’s expecting someone to walk through it. “I have family to think about.”

The way she says family carries a weight that goes beyond the old man in the hospital. She means the young man in the photo. Maybe she means herself, too.

“I understand,” I reply gently. “I do.”

I leave the card on the counter and turn to leave. She doesn’t pick it up, but she doesn’t push it back either.

We’re almost at the door when she speaks again. Her words are so low, I nearly miss them.

“Miss Monroe.”

I stop as Wyatt’s hand finds the door handle but he doesn’t open it.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for.” She’s not looking at me. She’s staring down at the box of books with both hands flat on the counter. “I truly do.”

The words follow us out the door before I know what to make of them. We walk back to the truck in silence, and Wyatt waits to speak until we’re both inside with the doors closed.

“She knows.”

My hands are steady even as adrenaline pumps through my body.

“She knows everything.” I buckle my seatbelt and stare at the bookstore’s front window, where Alma has already disappeared into the back. “That wasn’t a woman who couldn’t help. That was a woman who wanted to and couldn’t make herself do it.”

“She said she has family to think about. She wasn’t talkin’ about Danny.”

“You’re right.” I furrow my brow. “There was a photo behind the counter. Young guy, mid-twenties. She moved in front of it when she saw I noticed.”

Wyatt’s jaw works once. “That’d be her boy, Stanley. Some trouble a couple years back ran him out to Sage Harbor.”