“That those other times she disappeared were Dad’s doing, that he…” Roy cleared his throat.

No one responded for a minute. How could we? We all knew exactly what he meant.

“I don’t think I can ever forgive myself,” Roy continued. “How were we so blind to what was going on, Reid?”

Reid shook his head. “I don’t know. We hated the bastard, and we hated her for being his favorite.”

“I never hated her,” Roy said.

“You know what I mean.” Reid shook his head. “We had our own issues.”

“If you want to blame someone,” Rock said, “blame me. I knew what was going on, and I stayed away.”

Lacey touched Rock’s arm. “Honey, you were stuck in military school.”

“Not once I turned eighteen. I hated the bastard so much that I vowed never to return to New York again. I didn’t stop to think about what I was leaving behind, the life I was condemning my baby sister to.”

“You were angry,” Lacey said.

“Hell, yes. Still am. But I put myself above my baby sister. That will never happen again. If it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to figure out who killed that motherfucker father of ours so this shadow over all our heads disappears.”

“Right there with you, bro,” Reid said.

“Me too,” Roy said, his dark eyes on fire.

I knew that look. I’d seen it when he and I were passionate.

It meant one thing.

He was passionate about solving this mystery. For his sister. For his brothers. For himself.

For us.

I smiled at him.

“I love you,” I mouthed.

50

Roy

Warmth surged through me.

Charlie loved me.

Her love gave me strength I never knew I had. Never dreamed I had. This was important. I believed with all my heart and soul that none of my siblings were responsible for my father’s death. I didn’t have a clue who was, but I knew without a doubt four people—five, including Lacey—who weren’t.

I’d leave Zinnia to Rock, Reid, and the PIs. I had other fish to fry, namely, my therapy session this evening.

I’d made it through the forest. I’d uncovered the key.

Now all I had to do was open the door.

I entered the forest already clad in the down parka.

I danced over the twigs.

Two obstacles down.

But the trees…

They still popped up everywhere. Just when I thought I’d made it back to the clearing, another tree stood in my way.

Tall pine trees, whose needles pricked my skin, causing red bumps to erupt.

I gazed at my hands. They itched and burned. Damn! I rubbed furiously at them, my skin peeling away.

No. I loved pine trees! I loved visiting upstate New York where they flourished in the Adirondacks.

I wasn’t allergic. Why were they making my skin red and swollen with pricks and boils?