Free THE SECRET OF CHEROKEE COVE by Paula Graves Page A

that T.J. fancies himself a man of the world, and there’s a really good Lebanese place that’s opened in Purgatory near The Gates, that new detective agency where Ivy’s husband works.”
    T. J. Spencer turned out to be a tall, barrel-chested man in his mid-sixties. His thinning red hair was liberally streaked with silver, and his face was lined by the years, but he had a masculinity and vitality that reminded Dana of her father. She liked him immediately and liked him even more a half hour later, when he’d filled in a lot of the gaps in what she knew about her mother’s ordeal three decades earlier.
    “It’s a shame, how people treated that poor girl,” T.J. said with a shake of his head as he dipped a sliver of pita bread into the baba ghanoush he’d ordered as an appetizer. “She never did tell anyone who the father was. I hear it was a surprise she was pregnant at all—she’d been the only one of the Cumberlands around these parts who’d managed to stay out of trouble for any length of time.”
    “Did you know her?” Dana asked.
    “Not really. I went to school with her uncle Royce, whose claim to fame around here was that he ran a big moonshine still in an old barn off Pepperwood Road, but I guess you’d say the Cumberlands and I ran in different circles.” He didn’t sound apologetic, just matter-of-fact. “There were a ton of those kids in these parts back then. Before what happened, I mean.”
    “And afterward?” Dana asked.
    T.J.’s eyes narrowed. “Bitterwood became a bad place for Cumberlands.”
    “In what way?”
    “Well, for instance, a few days after Tallie tried to steal the baby, Royce’s still blew up. And when he rebuilt it, it blew up again. Cumberlands were being rounded up by local law goin’ and comin’, for stuff they deserved to be arrested for, sure, but also a few things that seemed pretty petty, if you want my opinion.”
    “So the Cumberlands figured they’d worn out their welcome around here?” Rachel asked.
    “I reckon that’s exactly how it went.”
    “And it was all because of what my mother did?”
    T.J. gave her a long, considering look. “I suppose it wasn’t so much what your mama did as who she did it to.”
    “You know who the baby’s parents were?”
    “I do,” T.J. answered with a nod. “Paul and Nina Hale.”
    Next to Dana, Rachel reacted with a soft gasp. “You’re kidding.”
    “I take it that’s bad?” Dana guessed.
    Rachel blew out a long breath. “Well, yeah, since about half of anything worth owning in Bitterwood belongs to either his family or hers. My family was comfortably well-off, but these people could have bought and sold everything we owned twice over and never even given it a thought.”
    Money equals power, Dana thought, especially when the opponent has no assets at all. Her mother had messed with the wrong family.
    “How’d they manage to keep their names out of the papers?” Dana asked. “I mean, several people have told me the story, but you’re the first person who could name the family, which means it never got written up. Did they pay off the newspaper?”
    T.J. laughed. “Not exactly.”
    “Nina’s father is Pete Sutherland,” Rachel said, as if that would mean something to Dana.
    It didn’t. “And Pete Sutherland is?”
    T.J. grinned, though there wasn’t a lot of humor in his expression. “Pete Sutherland is my boss. He owns and publishes the Bitterwood Town Crier. ”
    * * *
    “I T STILL DOESN ’ T explain how he managed to keep his daughter’s name out of the Maryville newspaper.” Dana’s voice sounded equal parts excited and frustrated over the phone.
    Nix zipped his leather jacket and pondered what she’d told him. The Sutherlands and Hales were Bitterwood’s version of the Morgans and the Rockefellers. Smaller scale in terms of wealth, of course, but their level of influence was formidable. The Hales owned land and resort properties from Chattanooga to Cumberland, Maryland, choosing to