I close the door behind us and he heads straight for his laptop, typing before he’s totally seated.
“What if Smitten Kitten is a name pun too? Kitten, kitten, here, kitty-kitty.”
His head shoots up again. “Kitty, like short for Katherine.”
“Katherine Dailey!”
He mumbles as he searches. “Buck Hart MIT 1965, no. William Hart, no. Buck Aerospace Corporation MIT …”
He stops talking to read. The longer he’s silent, the tighter my nerves stretch until I can’t take it. “Did you find him?”
He lifts his eyes from the screen to meet mine. “I found a William who went by Buck who graduated from MIT in 1966 and worked for the Aerospace Corporation before starting his own extremely successful aerospace company in the mid-1980s.”
“That’s him, right? That has to be him. We found Dear Heart? Did he marry Katherine Dailey?”
“He died last year. His company was called Crawford Technologies, and his obituary says he is survived by his wife?—”
“Cathy,” I finish. “His wife, Catherine McCormick Crawford.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Jay
Phoebe slidesinto the chair beside mine. “Cathy McCormick was Smitten Kitten.IsSmitten Kitten. Cathy McCormick became Catherine Crawford. How is this possible?”
“This is …” I don’t know what word to use. “A huge coincidence?”
Phoebe’s eyes lock with mine. “No coincidence is this big.”
She’s right. “Isthisserendipity?”
“Ahappyaccident?” She presses her fingers to her temples. “My mind won’t stop racing.”
“I get it.” My voice sounds shook, and I don’t care. “But …”
She shoots me a glance. “But what?”
“What do you hope the letter says?”
She picks up the envelope on the table. “We can’t open it.”
“Right, no. We can’t.” I’m still dealing with every hair on my body standing on end, so I can’t make the dots connect. “Why can’t we?”
“Because we know it belongs to Catherine Crawford. It’snone of our business anymore.” She pauses, then adds, “Right?”
“Right,” I say, making my voice firm.
She picks it up again, holding it by its edges, lightly running her thumb over the corner with the stamp. It’s a map of the Mississippi River labeled “Great River Road” with a five-cent mark. It’s pristine, no postmark. “The woman I’ve been rooting for in these letters, the person I was offended on behalf of, is Catherine Crawford. All these weeks, and I’ve been trying to help my actual nemesis, except it turns out …”
“Your villain has an origin story?”
She gives a small laugh. “Worse. She might not even be a villain.”
That makes me smile. “Sheisscary.”
“She is now,” Phoebe says. “Or maybe that’s how her grief comes out. Maybe the picture we get of her through Dear Heart—Buck—is the real one. Which makes me feel awful about all the vengeful thoughts I’ve had toward her.”
“You’re giving her grace. I admire that.” When Phoebe looks like she’s about to argue, I add, “Give yourself grace too.”
