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trouble he’s caused.”
    â€œNo harm done,” Lydia said.
    â€œThe man’s got a good heart, it’s just that his head gets in the way sometimes. And don’t listen to the island gossip. He’s more than paid for his sins. Listen, I’ve got to go, the limousine’s ready to leave for the hotel. I’m praying for you, Lydia. Call you in a day or two.”
    Lydia hung up the phone. Unlike her own lukewarm attitude toward the Almighty, Katherine seemed on fire with the love of the Lord. Maybe He’d listen to her prayers.
    Matt stood and walked around his desk as Lydia returned to the couch. “The electricity should be on by now. I’ll drive you and Tyler back to the house.”
    She nudged her sleeping child. “Wake up, honey.”
    Tyler rubbed his eyes. “I’m thirsty, Mom.”
    Matt dug into his pocket, pulled out some change and pointed to a side door. “There’s a soda machine down that hall. Connects with the Community Center.” He dropped the coins in Tyler’s outstretched hand.
    â€œThank you,” Lydia said, following Tyler through the doorway.
    Tyler ran to the machine. “Can I get a cola?”
    â€œAn orange drink or lemon-lime. You decide.”
    While Tyler studied the selection, Lydia glancedat a glass-covered bulletin board filled with photographs that hung on the wall.
    Island Life, a sign read, thumbtacked to the center of the grouping on the wall. Joel Cowan, photographer.
    Although she and Sonny had never been to Sanctuary, the four-by-six glossies seemed to capture the casual lifestyle of coastal living. A few photos showed pleasure crafts docked at a marina. Others were of fishermen hauling in their catch and men and woman enjoying the sun and the surf.
    Wonder if she’d find Katherine’s face in the collage.
    One photo caught her eye. A group of seagulls hovered in midflight, snagging morsels of bread thrown aloft by someone out of camera range.
    She smiled at the birds’ frenzy as they vied for food. Two figures stood in the background of the photo. One man watched the gulls while the other—his face cropped off the picture—draped his arm around the first man’s shoulder.
    Tyler inserted the coins into the slot. A can dropped to the bottom of the machine. “I got an orange soda.” He ran back to where she stood and popped the top.
    The phone rang in the security chief’s office. Lydia glanced through the open door. “Busy place,” she muttered watching as Matt picked up the receiver.
    â€œLawson.” He paused for a moment. “Why’d you leave the gatehouse, Sam?”
    The chief’s body tensed. “How bad is it?”
    Matt nodded. “I’ll contact the mainland sheriff.”
    Tyler took a long sip of the cold drink, then skipped toward the office, can in hand. “Come on, Mom. Time to go to Aunt Katherine’s.”
    â€œBe there in a second.”
    Lydia glanced back at the bulletin board. Something seemed familiar. She bent closer, squinted her eyes. The man in the photo—
    â€œSonny?”
    Lydia sucked in a lungful of air. Her husband was the man in the photo.
    But Sonny never had wanted to visit Sanctuary with his wife and son. Whenever Katherine invited them to visit, he would adamantly refuse, claiming he couldn’t spare the time.
    Yet, his face had been captured in vivid color next to a sign that read, Help Keep Sanctuary Island Clean.
    A picture might be worth a thousand words, but Lydia was speechless. Another lie. Another deception. There had been so many.
    She shook her head and thought for a moment. Maybe the photo could be the clue she desperately needed.
    If she found out what her husband had been doing on the island, she might find information that would lead her to the men in Atlanta who had killed Sonny.
    The men who were now after her son.

THREE
    â€œT hat wraps it up.” Wayne Turner, the mainland