Grant looked at the three names on the page. Detective Bert Stuart, Anatoly Markov, and Clinton Stern. Anatoly Markov’s name had a line drawn through his name. As did Stuart’s and Stern’s. All with dates. The date next to Detective Stuart’s name matched up to the obituary’s account of the day he’d died. “I’m pretty sure he is.”

Cora stifled a sob. “Oh my God, Grant. Who was it?”

“You remember Detective Stuart, the one who said he’d filed the missing person report for Laurel? He didn’t.”

“What do you mean? You mean that he lied? Why would he?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he was bribed. Maybe he was in on it.”

“And Wesley killed him?”

With the unregistered gun in his safe, missing three bullets. Three names with lines through them. Three bullets. “Yeah.”

“Grant.” Cora was sobbing openly now. And so was Grant.

“I know, baby,” he whispered. “I know. I need to give this information to the . . .” He almost said police, but he wasn’t sure who was trustworthy. That detective who’d managed Laurel’s missing person report hadn’t been. “To the right people,” he decided, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “But I’m going to take photos of the documents I found and upload them to a cloud account. Username is where we had our first date. Password is the date you first told me you loved me.”

“I love you now.” Desperation filled her tone. “Don’t tell me things like usernames and passwords like you’re not coming home. Come home now!”

“I will come home. But I have to get this information to the right people. Cora . . .” He faltered and cleared his throat, his voice hoarse and shaken. “Laurel was my little sister.” And Wes was my big brother. Because now, Grant was pretty sure that Wesley was dead, too.

Cora’s sobs were breaking his heart. “Your children need you alive. I need you alive.”

“I’ll be okay.” It was an empty promise. He knew that. So did she. “Send me Dr. Novak’s phone number. I’ll call her.”

“Okay,” Cora said through her tears. “Please come home, Grant.”

“I will. I promise. I love you. Kiss the kids for me.”

He ended the call and turned to the next page in the book he’d found in the globe. It was actually a diary, bound in green leather and decorated with purple flowers. Grant knew instantly why Wesley had chosen it—the purple flowers were Texas mountain laurel. Their sister’s favorite.

The next page was filled with another list of names. This one longer. All of the names were recorded in Wesley’s chicken-scratch scrawl. There were columns of names, dates, and . . . items. All kinds of items. One name stood out over the others.