He squinted to see if that would help him to see them as Christmas lights, but it was a waste of time. Lights were lights, not fairy tale sparkles or holiday decorations. However, they did draw the eye, kind of like a river full of stars. For a while he stared at them, letting his thoughts wander back over the party. He’d tried to catalog each person’s name as he met them, equating them to what his granddad had said about them, as best he could remember. And while he did that, he worked on remembering who he might have seen that didn’t seem to belong. Cara Lynn’s father, Robert, was a wheelchair-bound man who had difficulty speaking. His grandfather had told him about the older of Con Delancey’s two sons, both of whom had been young men with new families when Granddad had known them twenty-eight years ago. He’d called Robert angry and bitter, incapable of holding his whiskey or his temper. It hurt Jack to think that Cara Lynn had been brought up in such an angry, hostile home.
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