May as well work.
She moved to the desk chair, booted up her laptop, and dug in.
Three hours of intensive research and writing later, her brain finally balked.
No surprise.
She’d been at it since nine o’clock this morning, beginning with a two-hour translation session followed by an afternoon of more research and writing.
Maybe she’d cuddle up in bed with her laptop and read through Marie’s journal. Their daily word-by-word translations were more about sentence integrity than overall flow, and it would be helpful to read it in one fell swoop for continuity.
After taking care of her nightly bedtime routine, she flipped off the lights in the cottage and retreated to the bed. The screen would provide sufficient illumination for her purposes.
Once she’d stacked the pillows behind her, she began on page one and went straight through the journal, lingering over the entries from this week. More and more, Marie’s jottings were filled with mentions of the mysterious man—who could be Paul Coleman’s grandfather, according to the story Nataliehad told her on Monday morning. A prominent politician in his day, known throughout the state and in Washington.
Also very married, with a son.
Marie’s reluctance to use his name suggested he could, indeed, be the man who’d turned her head with pretty talk and made her dream of a life he never intended to offer her.
So far, however, their dalliance seemed to be comprised of stolen moments of conversation, nothing more.
Whether that changed remained to be seen.
She could always suggest that they look ahead, skip to the final entries, and translate those. Surely they’d contain answers.
But Natalie had said from day one that she preferred to go through the journals in the order they were written, and she was the boss.
Whatever they found, though, Cara agreed with Natalie. Telling the world about any scandal that may have occurred almost a hundred years ago would serve no purpose. If a crime had been committed, it was too late to prosecute anyone. Why ruin lives in the present for sins in the past? The best outcome would be to find answers for the ancestors about a death that had left questions with both families.
Cara tipped down the screen of the laptop and leaned her head back against the pillows. Yawned. After she rested her eyes for a minute, she’d power down for the night and indulge in her secret addiction.
Reading romance novels.
The brand-new release she’d picked up in Cape last weekend was calling to her.
That wasn’t a pastime most people would attribute to a university professor, perhaps, but as far as she was concerned, reading uplifting stories about people who overcame daunting odds to find their happy ending was soul soothing.
Of course, it was even better when happy endings occurred in real life.
An image of Brad filled her mind, and she sighed, letting her eyelids flutter closed. Now there was a man worthy to be a hero in any romance novel.
The world around her melted away as sleep tugged her into dreamland, and she let herself drift off. How could she resist being swept away to a fantasy world dominated by a sheriff who might be destined to play a starring role not only in her dreams but in her life?
When Cara’s eyes at last flickered open, she clung to the sweet dream as long as she could. But as it faded away, she flipped up the laptop screen beside her and checked the time.
Eleven forty-five? She’d been asleep for more than two hours?
It was definitely bedtime.
She powered down, swung her legs to the floor, and carried the laptop back to the desk, the dim nightlight in one corner of the room the sole source of illumination.
As she returned to the bed, she detoured to close one of the curtains that was partially open.
Froze at the window.
Was that a light in the distance, flickering through the woods?
She sidled to the side of the glass, out of sight, and squinted through the darkness.
