I studied the woman’s face. She had kind eyes and a look that suggested she wasn’t someone you messed with. For a second, I almost felt like she was looking right back at me.
A knock on the door made me jump. My hand instinctively reached for where my sidearm usually was before I remembered I wasn’t on duty. I peered through the window. An older man stood on the porch holding a casserole dish.
“Mrs. Whitmore,” he called out.
I opened the door cautiously.
“It’s Captain Whitmore. Who are you?”
He gave a warm smile.
“Name’s Jack Reynolds. I live two cabins down. Marine Corps, retired. Your father asked me to check in when the time came. He said you might need a friend out here.”
Marine Corps. That explained the straight posture and the haircut still sharp at 70.
He held out the dish.
“Beef stew. Figured you’d be hungry after the drive.”
I hesitated, then took it.
“You knew my dad?”
Jack nodded.
“Knew him well enough. He came up here a week before he passed. Spent three days organizing things. Told me his daughter might show up one day looking like the world had turned on her. Said I should remind you that sometimes the most valuable treasures are hidden in unexpected places. His words, not mine.”