Katie took a long pull from her bottle of soda. A lot of people had been questioned about Isaac’s disappearance. Ray Dean, a local thug who had been in and out of prison several times, was the most current “person of interest” in the case. Ray had recently been paroled, but most of the people in Bittersweet believed it was only a matter of time before he was arrested again for some kind of crime. So how could he be involved? She decided it was time for her to find out.

After letting Blue back into the house, she spent the next couple of hours at her desk writing the story about receiving the letter. She polished the text, then reworked an article about the new school-district administrator and another on the making of applesauce using other fruits and berries to change the color and flavor of an old favorite.

“Not exactly Pulitzer material,” she muttered under her breath, because though the community was interested in the warm folksy articles that the Review was known for, she preferred something meatier, something with a little flash. When she’d completed her work, she e-mailed the columns to the office, then reviewed her notes on Isaac Wells again.

“Who knows?” she said, snapping off her computer as she heard Josh stirring. Rubbing a crick from her neck, she made her way back to her son’s room and found him dozing again. She folded her arms under her breasts, leaned against the doorjamb and watched him sleeping so peacefully. The sleep of the innocent.

In repose Josh looked a little more like Dave than was usual. Or maybe it was her imagination working overtime. Ever since learning of Dave’s death, she saw flashes of him in their boy. Which was ridiculous. Everyone who met Josh thought he was the spitting image of his mother.

Still, Katie saw the resemblance to his father in the shape of his eyes, the slight bump in his nose, even the way he walked.

And now Dave was gone. Her throat grew thick with memories she’d repressed for over ten years. She’d been young and foolish, anxious to grow up. Dave, just a little older than she was, had had the same wide brown eyes and thick eyebrows he’d given his son. He’d been a quiet boy who had moved from Texas with his mother and father. The first friends he’d made in town had been her half-brothers, Nathan and Trevor, two hellions if ever there were any.