The sound of distant thunder rolled over them. Dark gray clouds smudged one corner of the sky.
“I distrust pretty much everyone I meet,” he said after a time. “I hold myself ... apart, because it’s easier to hide my emotions that way.”
“Is it necessary to hide your emotions?”
“It was in prison.”
“Go on.”
“I don’t have much tolerance for fake people or manipulators.I’m more paranoid about my surroundings than other people. And it’s hard for me to stop remembering some of the stuff I saw and experienced.”
She wanted so badly to fix his past for him, to reassure him the way she reassured abandoned puppies that everything was going to be okay. But she couldn’t. Finley set her pan aside, dried her hands on her jacket, then stuffed them into her pockets. “And how did it change you for the better?”
“I’d made so many bad decisions that I don’t think I would have found my way out of my situation on my own. Prison took me out of my situation. Inside, I couldn’t run away or sleep around. I couldn’t drink alcohol, do drugs, or steal cars. The thing I could do ... was change.” He shrugged—a tight gesture that attempted to minimize the enormity of what he’d been through. “I had to figure out who I was and find the strength to get through.”
“You also pursued college degrees while you were on the inside.”
“That’s true.”
Their tour guide poked her overbite between them. “If you’re finished here, I’ll escort you to the gift shop.”
They’d decorated the large gift shop with gold rush flair. Slowly, Finley made her way down the first row of goods, Luke following.
Ill-gotten gains indeed. He was going to get a piece of her mind about that. But not today. He’d unburdened himself more than she’d expected. She didn’t want to immediately make him regret confiding in her.
She came to a display of glass vials containing gold nuggets. Memories flickered at the back of her mind. She picked up a vial, recognizing its old-fashioned black-and-white sticker. Her dad had purchased one of these for her. She’d played with it in the woods, pretending to be a rich princess ruling a kingdom of animals. “I think I know where we’ll find the next clue.”
Aman watched Luke’s Chevy turn out of the gold mine in the direction of Highway 115.
He eased from his parking place. He’d tail them as long as he could, until he determined where they were headed. Or until he ran the risk of raising suspicion. Whichever came first.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ihave keepsake boxes,” Finley announced when they arrived at her home after leaving the gold mine.
Luke waited while she greeted her weird hedgehog, enthusiastic dog, and grumpy cat. Then he followed her to her hall closet. Inside, several large boxes with lids rested on shelves.
“One contains mementos from my baby years,” she explained. “Another from when I was a child, another from my high school years, another from my college years. I kept my vial of gold nuggets, and Ithinkit’s in this one.” She pointed to a box above her head.
He lifted it down.
In her kitchen, he set it on the table. She slid out of her coat, folded it over the back of a chair, and began digging through the box.
Luke worked to remain neutral because he was afraid to let himself hope that this hunch of hers might pay off. Once, he’d been very good at remaining neutral because he honestly hadn’t cared about most things.
Why did he find neutrality so hard to come by with Finley? She had a way of ripping that source of security from him and leaving him vulnerable.
She released a soft gasp. “Will you look at this,” she breathed. Straightening, she showed him the item she held between her thumb and forefinger. The exterior of the vial was identical tothose they’d seen earlier at the gift shop. The inside was different, though. At the shop, he’d been able to see straight through to the nuggets inside. This time, all he could see on the other side of the glass was white paper with black markings.
She unscrewed the cap and tipped nuggets onto the table. Once she’d slid the rolled-up paper free, she smoothed it flat.
Luke stepped closer, eyes narrowing.
“It’s a page from a calendar,” she said.
It looked as though it had been ripped out of a desk calendar. The rectangles for all seven days of the week were empty. How could they know if this had been placed here by Ed? Wasn’t it just as likely that Finley had stuck the page inside the vial when she was younger?
Finley turned the paper over. Words filled the space for Saturday, April 20.
