He inhales deeply and slowly shakes his head. “Wow. You lost both your parents in the span of only a few months.” He leans back and lifts our adjoined wrists. The handcuffs clink together. “Kind of makes all this seem petty.”

I consider. “Not really. Believe it or not this”—I jangle our restraints—“is the most exciting thing I’ve done in a long time.”

He laughs under his breath. “Then you need a life.”

“God, tell me about it.” I smile. “It’s on my To Do list, trust me. I’ve just been so busy these past few years with my mom that I’ve hardly had time for myself.” I flash back to the bank statements from earlier, and anger simmers in my chest. Those Chicago withdrawals had to have been my mother. No one aside from my parents would have had access to an account opened in my name. I mutter a curse and shake my head. “I still can’t believe my mom knew about the trust fund and didn’t tell me. And then she drained it completely? Ugh.” The simmer becomes a low boil as I think about the money. I know what she did with it and the idea makes me sick to my stomach. Especially since that money could have bought us—bought me—a better life.

Daren frowns. “She probably didn’t tell you about it because she spent all the money.”

“No doubt. But God.” I exhale through my nostrils. “Steal someone’s money and keep it for yourself? What a shitty thing to do to your own daughter.”

“Very shitty and very low.” He flexes his jaw. “You really didn’t know?”

I shake my head again. “We were dirt poor, Daren. I mean, we had a little money when my dad was still sending alimony and child support, but once those payments stopped we were nearly destitute. Meanwhile, he was back here swimming in money.”

He studies me for a long moment then looks away. “Hmm.”

I stare at him. “What?”

He shrugs. “Obviously, your dad knew your mom was dipping into the trust fund, right? So he probably assumed you and Gia were living comfortably. Which means…” He leans in. “He didn’t purposely leave you and your mom broke. He thought he was taking care of his family—or at least taking care of you. So maybe you should cut him some slack on the money front.”

I start to argue but stop when I realize Daren’s right. Mom was making large, consistent withdrawals from the trust fund, so my dad had every reason to believe we were financially secure.

“You’re right,” I say as guilt weighs down on me. “I guess I got so used to blaming my dad for everything tough in my life that I just directed all my financial bitterness toward him. Wow.” I bite my lip. “I’m a brat.”

“No. Your mom is a brat,” he says, shaking his head.

I slowly nod. “Yeah.”

We sit in easy silence for a few moments as I think about my mom and all the trouble her selfishness has caused me. I loved her. Dearly. But she made it hard sometimes. And now this? I wish I could say her stealing from me is a shocking revelation, but it’s not. It pretty much falls in line with her behavior these last few years.

I look up at the statue of the town founder, Lewis Copper, just a few yards in front of us and wonder if he ever had a crazy mom—or a nutty dad, for that matter. Probably not like mine.

I shift on the bench and glance down at our locked wrists. It’s nice sitting beside Daren. Easy. I can’t remember the last time I was so relaxed around a guy. Then again, it’s been a while since I’ve been around a guy at all. But Daren feels different. He’s too pretty for his own good, probably, but he’s not a bad guy. I’d even go as far as to say he might be one of the good ones.

He looks over and smiles at me with a piece of cotton candy stuck to his lip. He’s handcuffed to me on a park bench in public, while we feast on all things unhealthy, and he seems perfectly content. Yeah. He’s definitely one of the good ones.

“Right here.” I brush a finger over my lip to show him where the cotton candy is stuck on his mouth.

“Are you asking for a kiss? Again?” He sighs and leans over. “Okay, fine…”

I laugh and push away his face. “No, you arrogant weirdo. You have cotton candy on your lip.”

He darts his tongue out and swipes the sugary goodness from his mouth. I stare at his lips.

“Did I not get it all?” He licks his lips again.

“What? No. Yes. It’s gone.” I cut my eyes away and stare at anything other than his lips. Or tongue. My eyes settle on the statue. “Why do you think they do that?”

He follows my gaze. “Erect giant stone replicas of old white men who demanded things be named after them? No idea.”

I toss some popcorn in my mouth. “I bet Lewis Copper wasn’t even a cool guy. I bet he was a grumpy old man with a drinking problem.”

“And a wife who hated him,” he says.

“And an irritable bowel.”

“And really bad body odor.”

I shake my head. “But yet he got a friggin’ statue made of himself.”

“With a plaque.” Daren tips his chin at the foot of the statue.

On the plaque is an engraved picture of a steam engine, which brings my thoughts back to the clue at the train station.

“Bust out that clue again,” I say. “Let’s see if we’re any better at deciphering it when we’re hopped up on sugar and carbohydrates.”

He pulls the note from his pocket and we stare at it.

“Are you sure you don’t remember what you liked more than stickers?” he says.

“I don’t even remember liking stickers,” I say. “My dad once bought me a sticker book when I was like six, but instead of decorating the pages with the flower stickers inside, I stole a roll of stamps from his office, licked every last one of them, and stuck them to the pages.” I laugh thinking back to how his eyes bulged when he saw what I’d done. “He was so mad.”

Daren scratches his jaw. “Maybe that’s the clue.” He looks at me. “Stamps.”

I consider for a moment. “Maybe… but what would that mean for your part of the clue? Are there special February stamps that you looked forward to getting in the mail each year?”

He shakes his head. “The only thing I ever looked forward to getting in the mail was the swimsuit issue of Sports Illustrated.”

I roll my eyes. “Of course.”

He pauses. “But it did come out every February.”

“Really?” I say. “Huh. Do you think that’s the clue then? A magazine?”

He shrugs. “I can’t think of anything else it would be. And if the clues are stamps and a magazine then we need to go…”

My mind races. “To a magazine store.”

“A magaz—in Copper Springs? You’re not in the big city anymore, Blondie.” He shakes his head. “Maybe we need to go to a stamp museum or something.”

“Oh sure.” I sneer. “A stamp museum in this tiny town makes total sense, but a magazine store? Preposterous.”

He squints at me. “God, you’re sassy. I’m just trying to draw a connection between stamps and magazines here.”

I gather all our junk food trash and toss it in the garbage can beside the bench as I shrug. “Well, they both come in the mail.”

We whip our heads to face each other and say, “The post office.”

He says, “Turner probably left the money in a postal box for us.”

“Yes!”

Quick as lightning, we dart up from the bench and take off in opposite directions—only to be whipped back into each other by our linked wrists. My chest slams into his rib cage as his knee pushes into my thigh.

“Seriously?” I pull back from him and huff. “Where are you going?”

He points behind him. “The post office is that way.”

“Since when?” I make a face.

He juts his jaw. “Since the old one burned down and got moved from Main Street to Langley Drive.”

“Oh.” I straighten my skirt, which has once again ridden up my thighs. I don’t know why I even bother.

He looks up at the sun hanging low in the sky. “It’s almost closing time. We need to hurry.”

As we speed walk through the park toward my car, people everywhere turn and stare.