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Jo’s brain was whirling. “Wait a minute. How hard is it to change your name?” Jo had never run across that in her investigations to date.
Holden shrugged. “Not too hard. I mean, you have to go to court to do it legally. And then there is a whole process to keep that out of the public records. That’s what your babysitter did, so it was hard to find out where they went. Of course, you can’t blame them after that notoriety.”
“Of course.” Jo tapped her finger on her beer. “So then if someone did that, their new identity would appear as if they just came out of nowhere.”
Holden nodded.
Jo put her beer down. “Well, that’s interesting. Maybe that’s why I can’t find anything on April Summers.”
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
Bridget and Jo turned off their engines in unison, headlights fading to darkness in front of the cottage. The night was still, save for the chorus of crickets and the soft rustle of wind through the trees.
Bridget’s gaze swept the shadows that clung to the edges of the porch, half-expecting them to coalesce into the figure of the man from her past. Her muscles tensed, the laughter and warmth of Holy Spirits fading into a cold prickling at the back of her neck. She scanned the perimeter. Every snapped twig or rustle in the underbrush could be him, waiting, watching.
But the night yielded no threats. The only movement was the gentle swaying of branches in the autumn breeze. Pickles, unconcerned with human fears, purred softly, rubbing against her leg. It was enough to loosen the knot of anxiety in her stomach. No one rushed out at her. No ghost from her past appeared.
“Everything okay?” Jo’s voice pierced the stillness, her silhouette framed by the doorway.
Bridget’s laugh, a little too sharp, too quick, scattered the tension. “Just jumpy, I guess.” She dismissed the question, turning to see Jo’s brows knitted in concern.
She offered her sister a reassuring smile, a silent plea not to probe further. The last thing Bridget needed was Jo’s detective instincts kicking in, unraveling threads best left untouched.
In the shadowed light of the porch, Pickles greeted them with a tentative stare. Bridget was happy to divert the focus to the tiny cat. “Look, he’s on the porch.”
They approached cautiously, but this time Pickles didn’t bolt. He even let them both pet him.
“Wow, this little guy is really making progress,” Jo said.
“He is.” Bridget checked to make sure Pickles had enough food and water in his little area on the porch then stood and unlocked the door. “He’s starting to trust us. Maybe he really will be ready to stay on the porch once it gets cold.”
Jo stood and brushed her hands on her jeans. “All the more reason to make sure Garvin sells this place to me.”
Bridget, halfway in the house, turned to look at her. “Yeah, with the help of my pies.”
Jo grimaced. “I hope you don’t mind.”
Bridget shook her head. “Not at all,” she reassured her. “I love making pies. It’s therapeutic.”
As they moved into the living room, the ambient light from the fish tank cast a soft glow that seemed to dance across the walls, reflecting the gentle rhythm of life beneath the water’s surface. Bubbles meandered upward, and Finn zoomed around, his golden-orange color vibrant under the lights.
He darted to the top as they approached, and Jo sprinkled a few flakes into the tank that Finn gobbled up.
“Tea?” Bridget asked as she headed toward the kitchen.
“I’d love some.”
Tea in hand, they sank into the chairs. Bridget blew across the steaming surface of her mug, curiosity alight in her eyes. “So, what did Mr. McDaniels say that had you wanting to give him pies?”
“He’s not ready to sell yet, but he seemed like he could use some company. He kept mentioning his late wife, and he barely had anything to eat there. I thought bribing him with pie might be worth a try.”
A laugh escaped Bridget, then she leaned forward, her expression turning serious. “And this business with Marnie Wilson wanting to buy it?”
Jo shrugged, the motion loose, nonchalant. “Garvin mentioned she’s got her eye on the place. No idea why.”
Bridget’s distrust was palpable. “I don’t really know her well, but something about her rubs me the wrong way.”
“Yeah,” Jo agreed, her voice dropping a register. “Join the club.”
