Silent Fall

wanted to punish you in a similar way by sleeping with someone you’d been with."
    "That’s sick."
    "I agree. That doesn’t make it untrue."
    "Erica wouldn’t have slept with both of us." He let out a sigh, knowing that he really had no idea what Erica would have done. "Maybe she would have if the price was right."
    "Well, if it’s any consolation, he’s not your real father."
    "That’s going to take a while to sink in."
    "Do you want me to find out if anyone is home?" Catherine offered.
    "No, this is my deal. I’ll do it." He got out of the car before he could change his mind, but his steps slowed as he drew closer to the house. It was inevitable that he would eventually get there. He finally had no choice but to ring the bell. He heard it peal through the small house, followed by silence. He felt an intense and immediate letdown. "No one’s home. We’ve come all this way, and no one’s here." He shook his head in disgust. "I’m getting in even if I have to break the door down."
    "Maybe it won’t come to that. There might be an open window." She turned the knob. "Or an open door. It’s not locked."
    Dylan was surprised. It was too easy. "This isn’t right."
    "You think it’s a trap?"
    "It sure as hell could be." He glanced around, considering his options. Was it possible that whoever owned the house now had simply left it open? Were they just down at the beach, out for a bike ride? There was no way to know, and he hadn’t come all this way to turn around now. "We might as well check it out. I’ll go first." After a momentary hesitation he entered the house, feeling as if he were stepping back in time. Then the feeling passed.
    The furniture was different. Gone were the old couch and love seat, replaced by sleek sofas in warm burgundy leather, antique lamps and tables. He didn’t recognize one piece. The kitchen had been remodeled with granite countertops and oak cabinets. He opened the refrigerator. It was empty save for a carton of milk, its expiration date today. Someone had been here recently. Who?
    He walked over to the bedroom he’d once shared with Jake. A queen-size bed had replaced the twins. A cream-colored comforter covered the mattress. Did the house still even belong to his mother? Or had his father taken it over? He had to have been the one to give Erica the key.
    When Dylan returned to the living room he found Catherine rifling through the drawer of a desk. She pulled out a piece of paper, her eyes narrowing.
    "What did you find?"
    "A rental agreement. It looks like Farrington Realtors handles the vacation rentals for the owner."
    "Who is... ?" Dylan asked, taking the paper from her hand. He skimmed the memo, which simply recapped the open rental periods, one of which covered the current week, but there was no clue as to who actually owned the house. Was it Richard Sanders? Had he held on to the property all these years? It seemed unimaginable. "Is there anything else in that drawer?"
    "A local telephone directory, restaurant menus, local churches, tourist activities," Catherine muttered as she ran through a file folder. As she set it back into the drawer, she pulled out an old newspaper.
    Dylan’s pulse quickened at the sight of the yellowing paper. "That’s from the past."
    "Yes," Catherine agreed, her gaze skimming the page. When she looked at Dylan there was pain in her eyes. "Oh, God!"
    "What is it?"
    She handed him the newspaper. It took him a moment to realize he was looking at the obituaries. A name jumped out at him: Olivia Sanders.
    Olivia Sanders was dead.
    His heart stopped. His breath caught in his chest. He couldn’t make a sound.
    His mother was dead.
    She’d died twenty-three years ago. His gaze fixed on the date. It couldn’t have been more than two months after she’d left them. She’d come here, and she’d died here. How? He read through the brief notice, which listed the cause of death as accidental drowning. The notice said that Olivia was survived by her husband and two children. There was nothing else.
    How could that have happened? His mother had been an excellent swimmer. She couldn’t have drowned. She’d grown up on the island. She’d taught swimming lessons. Something was wrong.
    "This can’t be right," he said, looking at Catherine.
    "I’m sorry, Dylan. I know you wanted to find her alive."
    "But she knew how to swim. She wouldn’t have