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desk to another. As far as I know, the police were never able to track down either the body or the person who took it. I don’t know if they even tried.”
    â€œI can believe that,” Shannon had said flatly, remembering when Eric had called the Port Antonio police about the robbery of a guest’s wallet. The policeman had told him to interrogate the workers himself and call them back. They had no vehicle to come to the hotel, the constable had said.
    Angie had shaken her head. “I seem to be the only person who even cares what happened. I tried to round up some of our former college friends to make inquiries, but they were either busy working or just didn’t want to get involved. I couldn’t go down because I had a young family to take care of, not to mention a job.”
    â€œWhat happens if I try but don’t find her?”
    â€œIf you don’t find her, there’ll be no money, I’m afraid. I’ll use it to hire a private detective or something.”
    Shannon, always equal to a challenge, had straightened in her chair, mentally dusting off her journalist’s hat. “There must have been a postmortem, some sort of coroner’s report. What did she die of?”
    â€œHer father said it was something internal, that’s what I remember. They were very private people and I didn’t know them very well. He didn’t seem to want to talk about it at the memorial service.” Angie had started counting off points on her fingers. “There are too many questions: Where did she go when she left Gordon Gap? What exactly did she die from? Was she murdered? Was the Rastafarian man responsible for her death? What happened to her body? If there’s one thing I want to find out before I die, it’s what happened to Katlyn—I owe it to her—and I’m willing to pay to find out.”
    In answer, the photographer (now photojournalist) and single mom, had stared at her employer wordlessly, the balance in Eve’s college-tuition account already increasing by C$16,000.

CHAPTER FOUR
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    J uly—the hectic month they’d all been waiting for—had arrived, the first week almost over. The closing on Miss Mac’s property next to the bar was to happen in less than a week, the wedding two weeks later, and the groundbreaking the week after that. Shad had already decided that the events were coming together in some heaven-directed schedule intended to change his life forever, and whether he liked it or not, he’d have to go along for the ride.
    The list of tasks seemed endless. The first one was moving Miss Mac and her possessions to her son Horace’s house. Shad’s best friend, Frank, had been corralled to help load up Eric’s Jeep and a truck rented by Horace on Thursday coming, the day before the sale of her nine acres to the new hotel company. The other tasks Shad would take on one at a time.
    Although the hotel was the priority for Shad (the turning point of his life, he’d decided), in the eyes of Beth and his four children, the wedding was by far the most important of the year’s events. Everyone was getting into the act. When he walked into his living room after his Saturday-morning shift, Joella, his eldest, was trying on the bridesmaid’s dress her mother had sewn for her. From one of the two bedrooms came the sound of a sewing machine roaring away, the vibrations shaking the small wooden house.
    â€œWhat you think, Dadda?” the seventeen-year-old asked above the noise. She twirled around to show off the full, pink skirt. “I think the top should be strapless, but Mamma say that the wedding is in a church and we must cover up. It look old-fashioned to me.”
    â€œI think you lucky to have a mother who can sew such a pretty dress, that’s what I think.” Shad patted her respectably covered shoulder.
    In the bedroom, squeezed between the wall and the foot of the bed, Beth’s nose was