The power of his attention affected her like a flame licking her belly.After we kissed on Valentine’s night, he said it meant nothing. Never forget that. “I’ve narrowed it down to three that I think are most likely.”
“I’m listening.”
“In one of the stories, the author mentioned riding bikes with his brother when they were young. My dad often rode bikes with Robbie. In fact, Dad’s childhood bike is hanging in the garage at his house. If we go there, and search the bike and its vicinity, we might find a clue.”
Luke set the book aside.
“It feels unlikely,” she admitted. “All of these feel unlikely.”
“You said you narrowed it down to three possibilities.”
“In another essay, the author talks about playing in an abandoned mine. My dad loved history. Over the years, he took me to every one of the old mines in northern Georgia that are open to the public. His favorite was the Big Cedar Mountain Gold Mine near Dahlonega. It’s the only one we visited twice.”
“You’re thinking that if we go to the mine, something there will hold meaning for you.”
“Yes. Again, it’s a stretch.”
He didn’t look hopeful.
She gave a long-suffering sigh.
“What’s with the sigh?” he asked.
“I was just thinking that you don’t look hopeful. But then I thought,When has Luke ever looked hopeful?And that made me sigh.”
“At my despair?”
“Cut me some slack. I’m a heroine for putting up with your despair as well as I do.”
“What’s the third possibility you found in the book?”
“One author wrote about pancakes. Buttermilk pancakes were special to my dad and me. Holidays, birthdays, long weekends ... pancakes were our go-to celebration breakfast.”
“Where should we look for a clue associated with pancakes?”
“My dad’s kitchen.”
“We can test both the bike and pancake clues at your dad’s house, so I vote we try that first.”
“I second that.”
“Can we go Saturday?”
“I have plans Saturday.”
His jaw set. “Sunday?”
“I’m headed to church Sunday morning. But after that, yes.”
Finley’s Saturday plans amounted to one very important event. A visit to the Carla Vance Memorial Auction.
A short road trip through the Blue Ridge Mountains brought her to the town of Toccoa. Carla, her father’s deceased girlfriend, had grown up in the historic town of about eight thousand, where her three brothers still lived.
Every year, Carla’s brothers and mother honored her with a fundraiser at their church. They kicked things off with a potluck lunch, followed by bingo for the adults and kid games for the littles. Then they held silent and live auctions. They finished with a concert by local musicians. All the money raised went to support the church’s food pantry and soup kitchen.
Finley, who’d timed her arrival for the start of the auction, slipped in the back of the fellowship hall and took an empty seat at one of the round tables. She’d stay for a handful of minutes, then leave before anyone recognized her.
Carla’s ninety-year-old mother had grown wobblier since last year but made her way to the podium on stage unassisted. Behind her hung an enormous sign emblazoned withIn Loving Memory of Carlanext to a picture of Carla’s smiling face. Mrs. Vance thanked everyone for coming and led a prayer.
