They passed through a doorway. “Close the door behind you,” Pearl said over her shoulder.

Jolene did as she was told, noticing that the other women were staring after them, but none had moved.

Suddenly Pearl turned to face her and Jolene saw that she was furious.

“What has possessed you to come in here and demand—”

“I have every right if I’m Angel Beaumont.”

The rest of Pearl’s words died on her lips.

“I am, aren’t I?” The words came out a whisper.

Pearl leaned into her cane, swaying slightly. She took a step toward one of the chairs next to a small table and dropped into it.

As Jolene stared at the woman, she thought of the baby quilt the women were making—and the tiny embroidered flowers along the edge and had to sit down in one of the chairs herself.

“I have a quilt like that one out there you’re making,” she said, her voice breaking. The Whitehorse Sewing Circle had made her a quilt when she was a baby? Or when she’d been secreted away and adopted by parents in Seattle?

“You didn’t know when I got the teaching job that I was Angel?”

Pearl shook her head. “The name was Thompson.”

Why hadn’t Jolene thought of it? Her adopted father had died when she was six. Her mother, Marie Thompson, had remarried and changed her name. Larry Stevens had adopted her.

Pearl met her gaze and Jolene saw the compassion in those pale blue eyes. She felt tears burn her own eyes.

“You can’t stay here. It isn’t safe.”

“It never was safe, since I believe my mother’s killer is the one who got me back here.” She brushed away her tears, angry that so many people had lied to her. She didn’t need a DNA test. She’d seen the truth in Pearl’s face. “Have you been protecting my mother’s killer?”

“Of course not,” Pearl snapped.

Jolene got to her feet. “You must have had your suspicions twenty-four years ago about who murdered her. Or maybe I told you.”

“You weren’t...talking. You didn’t talk for months afterward. I don’t know who was responsible and I’m certainly not going to speculate.”

“But you do know who found me that night on the road.”

Pearl’s gaze widened. “You remember being found on the road. If you’re starting to remember—”

“Just tell me who found me.”

Nina Mae Cross was a tiny gray-haired woman with twinkling blue eyes and dimples. Russell had been warned that Nina Mae was tough as nails and quite outspoken.

But he hadn’t been ready for this little waif of a woman.

“Nina Mae Cross?”

“Who wants to know?” the wiry little woman asked, one hand on her hip as she stood in the middle of her room.

“My name’s Russell Corbett.”