Lydia's Hope by Marta Perry Page B

and she took it in a quick, cool grasp.
    “No problem. Not many people seek me out at the museum, appointment or not.” She nodded
     toward his business card. “I’m just a lowly assistant to the curator, and I don’t
     deal with the museum’s computer needs. If you’d like me to refer you to one of our
     tech people . . .”
    “I’m not here on business for the software design firm.” He might as well admit that
     up front and get on with it. Either Chloe knew of the existence of her sisters and
     chose to ignore them, or she’d never been told. Either way, this was going to be a
     tricky conversation. “I had to be in Philadelphia on business, and I was asked to
     contact you on behalf of a friend of mine.” He sucked in a calming breath. “Your sister,
     Lydia Weaver Beachy.”
    Chloe stared at him, forehead crinkling, and pulled off the glasses, tossing them
     on her desk. “Sister?” Those green eyes expressed nothing but confusion. “I’m afraid
     you have me mixed up with someone else, Mr. Miller. I don’t have a sister.”
    A slight shadow crossed her face as she said the words. Was it regret?
    So she’d never been told, then. He wasn’t sure if that fact made this easier or harder.
     “Actually, you have two sisters, Lydia and Susanna, daughters of Eli Weaver and Diane
     Wentworth Weaver.”
    That was blunt, but he couldn’t imagine any other way of telling the woman something
     so shocking. He took an instinctive step toward her, not sure how one offered comfort
     in a situation like this, but stopped dead when Chloe stiffened.
    Seth eased himself back until he leaned against the worktable, trying to look as nonthreatening
     as possible. “I’m sorry to just come right out with it. I know that information must
     be a lot to absorb. But the truth is that Eli and Diane Weaver had three daughters,
     not one.”
    She glanced down at his card again, seeming to be a little reassured by the name of
     the firm. Then she shook her head.
    “You’re mistaken,” she said, her tone flat. “Those are my parents’ names, but your
     friend is not related to me. There must surely be more than one Eli Weaver in the
     world.”
    “Quite a few just in Pennsylvania,” he admitted with a wry smile. “Weavers are common
     among the Pennsylvania Dutch, as are men named Eli. But I suspect only one of them
     married Diane Wentworth, daughter of John and Margaret Wentworth. And I doubt that
     any other couple with those names died as a result of an accident on an Ohio highway
     twenty-five years ago.”
    He could see he’d hit home with that string of facts. Chloe’s eyes darkened. He’d
     better follow up while he could, so he slid the photocopies from the file he carried,
     letting them fall on her desk.
    “Here’s a copy of their marriage license and a copy of a newspaper article about the
     accident. I haven’t been able to get birth certificates yet, but—”
    “But you no doubt can produce something convincing, given enough time.” Her voice
     snapped like a whip, yanking him around to face her.
    “You think these are fakes?” Funny, but that reaction had never occurred to him. “I
     can assure you—”
    “I can assure you that this is not the first time someone has attempted to get to
     my grandmother’s fortune through me.” Chloe cut him off again. “Please leave.” She
     reached for the phone, no doubt intending to call security.
    “Look, I’m not a con man.” He put his hand out and just as quickly withdrew it. He’d
     better not add assault to the list of complaints she was probably creating in her
     mind. “Lydia and her husband are neighbors of my mother out in central Pennsylvania.
     Lydia was injured in the accident that killed her—your—parents and only recently learned
     the truth.”
    Chloe lifted the phone and pressed a button. “Your story is even less likely than
     most I’ve heard. I’d suggest you leave unless you prefer to be escorted out. Security
     will