Shay felt a little shiver of fear as she looked at the covers and thought of all the dangerous people who must hate Mitch Prescott enough to kill him. She was trembling a little as she laid the books on the counter and paid for them.

At home, she did housework, ate a light supper and took a bath, then curled up on the couch with one of Mitch’s books. The one she’d selected to read first was an account of the capture of a famous Nazi war criminal, set mostly in Brazil. It was harrowing, reading that book, and yet Shay was riveted to it, turning page after page. In the morning, she awakened to find herself still on the couch, the open book under her cheek. Groaning, she raised herself to a sitting position and ran her fingers through her hair.

This was the day that she would meet Alice Bretton, her grandmother, for the first time. She was determined to think of that and not the horrors Mitch had to have faced in order to write that book.

After showering and dressing, she wolfed down a cup of coffee and half an English muffin and drove to work to find the usual chaos awaiting her. At least Richard Barrett wasn’t around, wanting to film the last commercial. That was a comfort.

Shay delved into her work and the hours passed quickly. Soon it was time to drive to the airport and meet Mrs. Bretton’s plane.

She wondered how she would recognize her grandmother and what she would say to her first. There were so many things to tell and so many questions to ask.

As it happened, it was Alice Bretton who recognized Shay. A tiny, Helen Hayes–type, with snow-white hair done up in a bun and quick, sparkling eyes, Mrs. Bretton came right up to her granddaughter and said, “Why, dear, you look just like Robert!”

Shay was inordinately glad that she resembled someone; Lord knew, she looked nothing like Rosamond and never had. It was that gladness that broke the ice and allowed her to hug the small woman standing before her. “I’m so happy to see you,” she said, and then she had to laugh because, looking down through a mist of tears, she could see that Alice was wearing bowling shoes with her trim, tasteful suit.

“They’re so comfortable, don’t you know!” Alice cried in good-natured self-defense.

Shay looked forward to telling Mitch that Mrs. Bretton did indeed wear bowling shoes, though she obviously wasn’t a bag lady and it was doubtful that she had bunions.

Talking with her grandmother proved remarkably easy, considering all the years and all the heartaches that might have separated them. The two women chattered nonstop all the way back to Skyler Beach, Shay asking questions, Alice answering them.

Shay’s eyes were hazel because hazel eyes ran in the Bretton family, she was told, and yes, Robert had wanted to marry Rosamond, but she’d refused. He had tried to see Shay many times, but she had always been away in some school, out of his reach. Rosamond had never allowed any of his letters or phone calls to Shay to get through.