Chapters (61)
- Praise for USA Today bestseller Pamela Crane’s psychological thrillers:
- To Talia, for letting Mommy take a million pictures of you for my cover. I know you love the attention.
- Author’s Note
- The Pittsburg Press
- Prologue
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- The Pittsburg Press
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- The Pittsburg Press
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- The Pittsburg Press
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- The Pittsburg Press
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- The Pittsburg Press
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35
- Chapter 36
- Chapter 37
- Chapter 38
- Chapter 39
- Chapter 40
- Chapter 41
- The Pittsburg Press
- Chapter 42
- Chapter 43
- Chapter 44
- Chapter 45
- Chapter 46
- Epilogue
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Enjoy what you read?
“I didn’t think that at the time. I assumed everyone would tell me to help her find her family. Who knows if the dad had a brother or a cousin who could take care of her? But I didn’t want to consider that option. I’m sorry for lying. It was selfish of me to want to give a little girl a better life.”
Oliver rolled his eyes, because he knew a pity party when he was invited to one.
“So the license plate number is gone?”
“I don’t know. I thought I had put it in this nesting doll in case I ever needed it, but it was so long ago. I remember coming up here with Vera a time or two to dig through ancestry records for her school project, but I don’t remember checking for it. Last I saw it was fifteen years ago, when we were moving. God knows where I might have misplaced it over the years.”
Oliver scratched his chin, smearing dirt into his day-old stubble. “Do you think maybe Vera found it?”
“Even if she did, it was just letters and numbers. I highly doubt she could have made any sense of them, or knew what they meant.”
My gaze skimmed across the gaping mouth of the chest, glancing at the relics from Alvera’s past. A flawed hero. In her own way, a dark horse of a woman who had done so much for women’s suffrage, and likely died for it. I picked up the stack of newspaper clippings chronicling her life.
“What’s that?” Oliver asked.
“Alvera’s life and death, summed up in a few pieces of paper.”
“Oh, wow, look at this.” Oliver lifted a loose article from the trunk and read it. “Her work in the women’s rights movement. This one is talking about her fundraising work.” Oliver gently handled it, set it down, and picked up another. “And here’s her marriage announcement in the newspaper. Can you imagine being forced to marry a man twice your age and having to produce his heir?”
I examined a picture of Alvera and Robert, noticing their stiff postures, and the misery etched across both of their faces. “Just because something’s the norm doesn’t make it right.”
“My mom told me that supposedly her personality changed after the baby was born.”
“Isn’t that when she disappeared?”
He nodded solemnly.