“Oh.” Amanda paused, checked her front two teeth and looked disappointed that neither was loose.

Megan hid a smile as Jeremy rolled his eyes. She greeted Jess and Kate. “Thanks for bringing the boat.”

“Here’s the folder,” he said, handing over the information she’d requested. “So you want to check over the sailboat? Are you going to try to bring it up?”

“Well, I’m not sure about that. I mean, how would you go about it?”

Jess pushed a lock of unruly hair off his forehead. “Use a compressor to blow air into the hull and force out the water. That’s what we did on marine rescue.”

Megan was startled by this information. “Kyle Herriot was asking about a compressor at the feed store last week.”

Jess looked more than a little interested. “Hmm, maybe he’s going to try to float her to the top. With two boats, you could probably pull her in to the dock if you get her up, even if the hole is below the waterline.”

“Oh, really?”

This possibility hadn’t occurred to Megan. However, it obviously had to her close-mouthed neighbor. Now all his “fishing” trips made sense. He was after the wreck, too, and she didn’t like his sneaky way of going about it.

But, in all fairness, his father had been involved. If he was searching, too, then maybe they should join forces. Later, when they found out the truth, or all that they could about the tragedy, then they could part ways and forget each other’s existence.

Uneasiness washed over her. Kyle Herriot might be a hard man to forget. Their lives were entangled on an elemental level that involved their families over two generations. Maybe it was unwise to add a third generation to the mix.

For the next hour, she and Jess and Kate discussed the known facts concerning the sailing incident, plus ways and means to bring the vessel to the surface so they could study it up close. Jess wanted to be in on the latter part.

Megan promised him that if she succeeded, he would be the first to know. After all, Bunny had been his beloved older sister, the one who had practically raised him while his mom had had to work to support the family. His father had been an alcoholic and drifter.

After driving them home in the old station wagon, Megan returned to her house. Its loneliness rushed out to greet her when she entered the door to the mud room off the kitchen. Seeing the envelope on the counter, she picked it up and hid it in a kitchen drawer.

The key to her past might lie in that envelope. She realized she was ready to face it, whatever it might be.

The air was hot and listless on Sunday afternoon when Kyle turned the key on the powerboat. The engine caught, and he eased out on the mirror-smooth surface of the lake. With the engine at half throttle—because he hoped not to attract his neighbor’s attention—he pointed the bow toward the far end of the cool waters.

He wasn’t having much luck in finding the wreck. He’d searched the dark depths in a grid pattern, but a whole week had been spent in futile exploration.

Had he known who’d done the original diving, he would look them up, but he didn’t. He could ask the sheriff, who had been the investigating officer on the case at the time, but the sheriff might mention it to Shannon, a former cop, who would surely mention it to her cousin, Megan.

He didn’t want any interference from the Windom side of the lake.

Following his grid plan, he slowed when he came to the boundary of the last search area.

“What the hell?” he muttered.

Another boat was three hundred yards away, anchored next to a huge slab of granite that jutted from the water like a monolith to some ancient god. Angling around, he glided over to it.

“Hey,” he called.

His voice echoed off the cliffs at the edge of the lake and came back to him. With an irritated curse, he pulled alongside the slab. He tossed the anchor out, then tied a line around a handy boulder. He climbed out of the boat and walked along the granite slab to the other boat that had a small motor mounted on the recently replaced transom.

Looking over the old dory for clues to its ownership, he spied a cooler and a backpack. Sneakers and socks lay on the bottom of the fishing boat. A long-sleeved shirt lay on the plank seat. They were on the small side.

Probably a boy exploring on his own. What was Kate’s stepson’s name? Jeremy. Yeah. Jeremy Fargo. But he’d never seen the boy out without other members of his family.

Where the hell was the person?

Bubbles preceded an answer to that question. A head broke the surface of the water. Through a snorkeling mask, Megan Windom’s eyes locked with his.

She removed the mask. “Speak of the devil,” she murmured, “and look who’s here.”

“What are you doing?” he asked, ignoring her snide attempt at humor.