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“Just nostalgia.” Bryce would never mention anything to his father that might lead him to believe there was any kind of treasure.

His father pointed to Kira. “Who’s this? I heard you got divorced. I knew you’d wind up just like your old man. Divorced and broke. And now you come crawling back home—”

Kira strode over to his father’s chair. “Hi, I’m Katrina. I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Bryce’s wife.”

Divorced? Bryce had been married? The man had a heartless father, a mother who had abandoned him, and now an ex-wife. She’d jumped in without a second thought, and now Bryce’s father stared at her with his mouth hanging open. “You must have heard wrong. Bryce and I are happily married.”

The man shook his gray head. “My mistake.”

“And we didn’t come here for money.”

She surveyed the room, noting the piles of clothes and other debris scattered across the dingy carpet. Then she turned her attention to the man in the chair. He might seem physically frail, but he made up for it with his feisty attitude. “I know you don’t know me, but I’m very interested in art history. Bryce told me so much about growing up and hiking with his grandfather. There have been great Civil War–era finds all around the area, and I was hoping to read some of his grandpa’s journals to see some of the things he discovered with his metal detector.”

The man swatted his hand across his face like he was shooing a fly. “Oh, that old thing? My pa used to spend hours searching around and finding nothing. Seemed like a pretty useless hobby to me.”

She bit her tongue to keep from saying anything inappropriate. “I know he didn’t find a lot of things that were important to you, but a few things he located had some historical significance. Mind if we take a look?”

“Whatever.” Bryce’s father turned the television up as if to dismiss the conversation.

Bryce wouldn’t meet Kira’s eyes as he surveyed the messy room. “Pa, I thought Aunt Janice was checking on you. Has she been around lately?”

Mr. Lambert snorted. “She died a year and a half ago. Her son came by a few times. I chased him away. He was stealing from me.”

Bryce walked away without a response and headed to a back room. She followed, and Bryce’s dad continued to sit in his chair. What kind of life did Mr. Lambert have? No one checked on him, and he seemed to have zero friends, so . . . not much of one?

Her heart ached that Bryce had grown up in a house without love, friendships, and joy. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and let him know that she appreciated the man he’d become. Thank God he’d had his grandfather.

Maybe there was something to faith, because she couldn’t fathom how Bryce hadn’t let bitterness become his constant companion. He’d left, setting his life on a better trajectory. It was admirable and she was proud of him.

She followed Bryce into a bedroom and made sure to not touch anything. The bed against the far wall held a bare mattress. An end table next to that. She bit her tongue to keep from squealing at the cockroach that climbed the wall in the far corner.

Bryce dug through the closet, pulled out a box, and set it on the mattress. “I’m sorry you had to see this place. I tried to get him help. I spent my teenage years bailing him out of trouble more times than I can count. But I’ll admit, I had no idea things had gotten this bad. I tried, Kira. So many times. I hired cleaners to come and he’d throw them out. I used a grocery delivery service to deliver food, but he’d refuse to take anything from me. I finally gave up. And now I feel guilty for not trying harder.”

She put her hand on his shoulder. “What more could you do? He threw you out. You had no control over the situation. And maybe God is bringing you back into his life now for a reason.” Had she really just attributed circumstances lining up to some sort of act of God?

Interesting. Unexpected, but interesting. Bryce might be rubbing off on her.

He nodded. “After this investigation, I need to come back and try to convince him to accept help. And find a way to forgive him.” He frowned like he couldn’t believe those words came out of his mouth. She couldn’t either, to be honest.

“Forgiveness will be the toughest challenge of all,” she said. “He’s just as mean as you described.”

Bryce opened the box and riffled through the contents. “These are just some of Grandpa’s clothes and personal papers. Let’s try another one.” He moved back to the closet and pulled out the next cardboard box, placed it on the mattress, and opened the top. “Bingo. Old journals and notebooks. The Lamberts are quite the hoarders, but in this case, it’s paid off.”

Bryce removed the first book and flipped through it. “I knew Grandpa had these, but I’ve never gone through them. As far as I know, it was just times and dates of the treasures he found. Well, treasures to him.” He added the journal back to the box and folded the top over. “I don’t want my dad to catch wind that we’re investigating buried treasure. But I do want to question him about Grandpa’s connection to the Young family. I think our best bet is to take these and go through them back at the brownstone.”

The sooner they left this place, the better. “Works for me.” She grabbed the box while Bryce put away the other and headed back to the living room.

Bryce followed. “I’m going to call around to see if there are any organizations that cater to seniors who live alone. And figure out a way to get the man some help, whether he wants to accept it or not.”

They walked through the living room. Kira marched past Mr. Lambert and headed outside to put the box in the car. He didn’t even glance at her, so maybe he wouldn’t complain about them taking the items from the bedroom.

After dropping the box in the back of the SUV, she returned to the house, where Bryce was trying to get through to his father. The old man’s expression made it clear he resented the intrusion—anything that pulled him away from his rigid routine of sitting in front of the TV, glued to endless reruns of 1970s game shows. “Pa, please, just listen a minute, will you?”

The man huffed but turned his attention to Bryce. “What is it?”

“Do you remember a man named Fenton Young?”

His father perked up and some of his hostility fell away. “I do. Is he in some kind of trouble with the FBI? Are you investigating him? I never liked the man. Way too secretive. I ran into him a couple of times. He hung out with my pa a lot. Riley isn’t that far away.”