"No, not at all." He paused. "I just finished talking to my dad and he wants to see us right after work."

Mary Jo waited. "Did he find out anything?" she prodded. "About Jacob?"

"He must have."

Mary Jo was too excited to sit still. "I knew we made the right decision when we asked him for help." They'd tried to track down Jacob Dennison on their own. Roy, however, was the one with experience. People hired him to do this; he was the expert and they were amateurs.

"I'll pick you up at the house after work, okay?"

"I'll have to get Noelle before we go over to your father's."

"Can I get her? That'll save time."

"Okay, I'll phone Kelly and let her know."

"Thanks."

The rest of the afternoon dragged by. Mary Jo didn't think she'd ever been more anxious for a workday to end. At precisely five, she leaped out of her seat like a jack-in-the-box and reached for her purse.

"See you in the morning, Mr. Harris," she called out.

Her boss came to the doorway between their two offices. "You seem to be in a hurry this evening."

"I am," she said. "I think Mack's father might have some information about that World War II soldier I mentioned a while back. Roy offered to help us."

"Interesting. Update me when you can."

"Will do," she promised. True, it might be another dead end, but she had a feeling there was more.

Mack was in his truck, waiting for her, as she pulled into the driveway at home.

"Where's Noelle?" she asked immediately.

"Mom has her. She claims she needs grandma practice. You don't mind, do you?"

"Not at all." Actually, she was touched that Corrie wanted to spend time with Noelle.

They rode in silence for a couple of blocks. "Aren't you excited?" she asked.

Mack grinned. "Yes, what about you?"

"Oh, Mack, I can hardly stand it. Did your father tell you anything?"

"No, he just said he'd uncovered some information he thought we'd want to hear."

"How did he sound?"

"Sound?"

"Was he happy? Sad? Did his tone of voice give anything away?"

"Not really. But that's my dad. Always keeps his cards close to his chest." Mack parked in front of the office. Mary Jo jumped out, not waiting for him to open her door or give her his hand. He met her on the sidewalk. "You ready?"

"O-o-oh, yes. You?"

"Ready," he said, and held open the door.

Mary Jo entered the investigator's office and glanced curiously around. She'd never been inside before. The reception area had a sofa and a chair, with magazines neatly fanned out on the adjoining end tables. The door leading to Roy's private office was ajar and he waved them in.

"What've you got, Dad?" Mack slipped into a visitor's chair and Mary Jo took the one next to him.

Roy tipped back his own chair. "The other night Mary Jo pointed out that Jacob might not be Dennison's given name."

"So he had another name?" Mary Jo asked breathlessly, leaning forward in her eagerness.

"No. His name's Jacob. That was an excellent theory but it didn't go anywhere."

"Dad!" Mack warned. "Just tell us what you found."

Roy grinned sheepishly. "I was right. He was taken captive by the Germans."

"He was a POW?"

Roy nodded. "Apparently Jacob was captured in the first few days after the invasion and sent by train into the heart of Germany."

Mack was leaning forward now, too. "Did he survive the war?"

Roy nodded again. "Amazingly, he did."

Mack and Mary Jo exchanged glances. Next came the question that burned inside them both.

"Is it possible that...he's still alive?" she whispered.

The wide grin that broke out across Roy's face was answer enough. "He is-alive and kicking."

"Wow," Mack said. He reached for Mary Jo's hand and squeezed it hard.

"Where's he living? Is there any chance we can meet him? I'd love to ask him about Joan. Can we talk to him?" Mary Jo stopped to take a breath.

She wouldn't have thought Roy's smile could grow any wider, but it did. "That's the best part. I don't know how to describe this. Call it luck. Call it coincidence. Call it whatever you like, but I think it's pretty darn close to divine intervention."

Mack's eyebrows gathered. "What do you mean?"

"Jacob Dennison is living here. In Cedar Cove."

Mary Jo gasped.

"Get out of here!" Mack said exultantly.

Mary Jo couldn't believe their luck. "He must be...how old now?" she asked.

"Mid-eighties for sure, maybe older," Mack said.

"Where is he?"

"Reveille," Roy told them.

"The veterans' home on the hill?" All this time Jacob Dennison had been practically under their noses!

"He'd like to meet you."

Mary Jo nearly fell out of her chair. "You mean you've already talked to him?"

"No," Roy said. "I called their office to be sure I had the right Jacob Dennison. The manager confirmed it and she gave me some useful information. From what she said, he's only been at Reveille House since March. Before that he lived in Seattle and his three children are still there." Roy shook his head. "I learned that he's a widower but I don't have any details."

"Oh, no..." Mary Jo was saddened by that. "I'm so sorry." It felt as if she'd just learned that a close friend had died.

"He doesn't know about the letters?" Mack asked.

"No, no," Roy assured them. "I told the manager, a Ms. Roberts, but she promised not to say a word about that to him. Besides, you two found those letters and the diary. You should be the ones to tell him."

"Do you think we should bring them with us?"

"I do," Mack said, answering for his father. "It's what we've wanted to do from the moment we read them."

Mary Jo agreed.

"We'll get them and head up to Reveille now," Mack told his father.

"Roy," Mary Jo said, coming to her feet. "Thank you, thank you very, very much." She walked around the big desk and hugged her soon-to-be father-in-law. He'd managed what she'd thought was impossible-and with apparent ease.

They stopped at the duplex first, then drove toward Reveille House, a few miles away. The winding road to the facility went up a steep hill that overlooked the cove. The view of Bremerton and the naval shipyard against the backdrop of the Olympic Mountains was breathtaking, but for once Mary Jo barely noticed.

The receptionist met them, and Mack explained that they were there to see Jacob Dennison. They were asked to wait and paced anxiously in the reception room until the woman reappeared ten long minutes later. "Mr. Dennison will be with you shortly," she said. She led them down the hall to a cozy lounge, fortunately not in use at the moment.

There were bookshelves and a fireplace that looked inviting. A piano stood in one corner, while a number of upholstered chairs and a sofa in matching fabric occupied the middle of the room.

They sat down, Mary Jo perched on the edge of her chair, with the cigar box resting in her lap. It held the diary as well as the letters.

About five minutes later, a young male attendant wheeled in a white-haired man. "Here we go, Mr. Dennison," he said cheerfully as he settled the wheelchair between Mack and Mary Jo, then left the room. The elderly man regarded them both with faded blue eyes.

He looked from Mack to Mary Jo and smiled. "Do I know you?" he asked shakily.

"No," Mack answered. "But we know you."

"How's that, young man?"

"We've read your letters," he explained.

"Your letters to Joan Manry," Mary Jo added. "From the war years."

Jacob frowned. "Where did you find those?"

Mack moved closer to the end of the sofa. "We're getting ahead of ourselves," he said. "I'm Mack McAfee and this is my fiancee, Mary Jo Wyse. We're thrilled to meet you, by the way."

"Thank you," Jacob said. "It isn't often I have a beautiful young woman come to visit." He clasped her hand between both of his. "That is, unless it's one of my granddaughters." He chuckled softly. "Now tell me about those letters. I have to admit you've piqued my curiosity. You say they were written during the war years? By me?"

Mary Jo nodded. "Mack and I live in a duplex on Evergreen Place in Cedar Cove," she said.

"Evergreen Place," he repeated.

"I believe that's the house where Joan once lived with her sister."

"You wrote Joan letters at that address," Mack told him. "Only it isn't a single house anymore, but a duplex."

"Evergreen Place," Jacob said again, and it seemed that the address had disappeared from his memory.

Mary Jo didn't know where to start, there was so much to tell. "I noticed a loose board in the closet one day. When I went to investigate, I discovered a cigar box full of letters hidden under the floorboards."

"My letters?" Jacob hardly seemed able to take it in. "From the war?"

"Yes." With infinite pleasure Mary Jo gave Jacob the box. She placed it on his lap and, as she started to move away, the old man reached for her hand and kissed it. Tears spilled from his eyes; embarrassed, he wiped them away, but his emotion brought tears to her eyes, too.

"I always wondered where these ended up. Joan never said. She wasn't close to her sister, and the two of them shared that house. Elaine was jealous of her, I think. At any rate they were estranged until near the end of Elaine's life, and then Joan went to her and they made their peace."

Mary Jo was interested to hear this and relieved that the two sisters had finally settled their differences.

"Joan's diary was hidden in there, too," Mack told him.

"What happened to Joan?" Mary Jo asked, anxious now for more of the details. "We know she died, but..."

Jacob opened the box and reverently pulled out the diary. "After the liberation of Europe, Joan and I were married." Jacob looked up from the treasure in his hands and shook his head sadly. "She died far too young. She was seventy-one. We had three children, a boy and two girls. Mark, Margaret and Marianne...." He paused as the reminiscence, the grief, overcame him. He withdrew a handkerchief from his shirt pocket and dabbed at his eyes again.

"Would you tell us about your experiences on D-day?" Mack asked.

"There's not much to tell. I was one of the fortunate ones. I was herded, along with other Americans, onto a train. It took us to a POW camp in central Germany, where I spent the rest of the war."

"That couldn't have been an easy time."

Jacob sighed. "War is never easy, young man."

"When were you released?" Mary Jo asked. His imprisonment was clearly a painful memory he'd rather not discuss.

"May 1945. American paratroopers dropped onto the field outside the prison camp," he said with a far-off look. "Those of us who'd survived were afraid the German soldiers would kill us rather than expose the conditions under which we'd been held."

"They didn't, thank God," Mary Jo whispered.

"No. Instead, they threw down their weapons and ran. Many of them were just boys, fighting a war they didn't want to fight. Like me, all they wanted was to go home to their families."