A smaller, opaque plastic sleeve was inside, a pink envelope taped to it. There was also a short typed note.

Curious.

He pulled out the note first and checked the signature.

Huh. Not a reader after all, but a vague name from the past.

He returned to the top of the sheet and began to read.

Jack:

We’ve never met, but my sister Natalie asked me to contact you and pass on the enclosed in the event of her death. Three weeks ago, she was killed by a hit-and-run driver while crossing the street to her car after a late-night shift at the restaurant where she worked. The perpetrator hasn’t been caught.

The enclosed should be self-explanatory. I’ve jotted my contact information at the bottom of this note. I’ll wait to hear from you.

Erica West

The woman had provided an email and phone number.

Jack called up a fuzzy image of Natalie. He and the waitress at the diner he’d frequented for a handful of months had been nothing more than casual acquaintances, but still. To die that young was tragic. She’d have been . . . what? Forty?

Strange that she’d wanted her sister to contact him after all these years.

He pulled the pink envelope off the plastic sleeve, extracted the much longer note, and began to read.

Three sentences in, his heart lurched, and he groped for the edge of the chair. Lowered himself into it as he skimmed the rest of the letter.

Could this be legit?

A low growl of thunder rumbled in the distance, suggesting unsettled weather was ahead.

No kidding—especially if this note was for real.

And it could be, despite the slim odds. After all, he’d thought the chances of ever running into Christi again were low too—and look how that had turned out.

As for the odds that two events from his past would come back to haunt him within the same twenty-four hours? They had to be minuscule.

All at once, the skies opened and a gust of wind whipped past, flicking raindrops his direction.

He stood, let himself into the apartment, and leaned back against the closed door, envelope clutched in one hand, letter in the other, waves of shock rolling through him.

This could change his life.

This would change his life if it was true.

And that would be easy to determine. All he had to do was open the opaque sleeve and take the appropriate steps.

Another boom of thunder rolled through the air, vibrating the walls of the apartment.

A squall was definitely brewing in Hope Harbor.

But no matter how fierce the approaching gale, it would never come close to matching the intensity of the storm already raging within.

Peanut butter, an apple, an orange, beef jerky, several protein bars, crackers, tuna fish, and a bag of nuts.