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When I explained this to my boyfriend, he laughed.“I live here now, but until a couple years ago I lived in California. That’s where I grew up, and it’s just about as far away as you can get and stay in the same country.”

Octo-Cat patrolled the room; his nose also twitched in disgust.“I wish I could say I like what he’s done with the place, but that would be a lie.”

“What’s he saying?” Charles asked me.

A wicked smile crept across my face.“That he wants to say hi to his old friends Jacques and Jillianne,” I said, referencing Charles’s two hairless cats. They’d been crucial to a previous murder investigation, which meant we had spent plenty of time in their company. Octo-Cat found them creepy and tiresome, though, especially since they only spoke in rhymes and riddles.

“That was uncalled for,” my cat hissed, then slinked off to hide beneath the dining room table. Although he was still in clear view, I decided to leave him alone. As he’d pointed out earlier, it was hard to search without fingers and opposable thumbs. I didn’t want to force him only for himto be frustrated and mopey the rest of the night. He’d help if he wanted to.

“Well, unless we can get the cats on board, that leaves three of us for the search,” I summed up for Charles. “Are you ready, Pringle?”

He rubbed his hands together and leaned forward.“Oh, yeah, baby. I’m off to find the attic. See you kids later.”

We both watched him scamper away.“You do know there’s a pretty good chance he’ll steal from you, right?”

Charles shrugged.“Small price to pay if it helps.”

“So where do we start?” I asked. Even though I’d grown up here, this was his place now and I worked hard to respect that.

“When I moved in, there were still a couple of boxes tucked away in the garage. I say we start there.”

I nodded and followed him out of the house.

“How are you taking this all?” he asked once we had the boxes pulled out and opened in front of us.

“Not well,” I admitted with a sigh, growing increasingly frustrated as I rummaged through the various gardening supplies that filled the boxes.

“This is hopeless,” I whined and sunk to the garage floor in a crouch. “Nan kept this secret for almost fifty years. Why do I think I have any chance of solving it now?”

Charles bent over me and forced my chin up so that we could look into each other’s eyes. “Because you’re Angie freaking Russo, that’s why. You’re the smartest, the prettiest, the best, and you’ve got this.”

My heart soared.“Charles, you’re—wait!”

His eyes crinkled around the corners with curiosity as he studied me.

“Turn around and look up. Look there!” I cried and pointed toward the rafters above. There, a dusty old box sat tucked into the corner. The aged cardboard had faded to the color of the wooden planks that held it aloft, making it almost impossible to spot unless you knew what you were looking for. Well, I’d seen it, and something told me it held important information.

“I’ll get the ladder,” Charles said, popping to his feet. “You spot me while I climb.”

With a bit of fancy maneuvering, we were able to hoist the box from its hiding place and wrestle it to the garage floor. Inside, we found the jackpot of memorabilia—an old letter jacket, school projects, a collection of homemade clay sculptures, and a photo album.

“Bingo,” I said on the wings of a happy sigh, wasting no time before I began flipping through the pages. I recognized pictures of my great grandparents and of little Nan. Normally, seeing these new family memories would give me special warm fuzzies, but we were on a mission here.

“Wait, look there!” Charles cried, slamming his index finger on the page before I could turn it again. He’d pointed to a young man wearing a light-colored suit and standing before a church sign that proclaimed:

Easter Services

This Sunday

8 AM 10 AM 6 PM

“Look familiar?” Charles asked, lifting his finger and pointing again in excitement.

I strained harder as I eyed the picture, finally noticing the dimples that lined either side of the man’s smile. The rest fell into place shortly after that. “It’s William McAllister.”

“And look at the sign,” he urged me.

When I read the service times aloud, he shook his head and pointed higher.“The name of the church, there.” More pointing.

“Faith Baptist Church, Larkhaven, GA. Est. 1903,” I read. “Do you think the church is still there? That they would have information on William or his heirs?”

Charles’s smile widened. “There’s only one way to find out.”

Chapter Eighteen

My hands shook as I punched in the number Charles and I had found on the church website. Sure enough, it was still standing, still serving the small community of Larkhaven, Georgia.

But would the people who worshipped there now remember my nan and her William from all those years ago?