June tried valiantly to overcome the excitement coursing through her veins. Roland’s notebook was valuable to him, always had been. He’d never hiked without one, recording memories of what he’d seen, where he’d been, moments of value. Only then would he take out his camera and begin snapping pictures which sometimes correlated with his notes and at others veered off in another direction entirely.

He’d once said that he didn’t mind because both were monumental, capturing moments in time he could refer back to and he could then return and take a second set of pictures pertaining to his notes.

Roland was a true artist – his photography, world class. It came from an inner place and through innocent eyes, eyes that saw beauty first.

The notes in the margins of his book were unclear, vague and struck her as deceitful wondered at a double meaning since the notes fouled the purity of his intent. It angered June and as she threw more wood onto the fire, she seethed.

Although she should have contacted Nigel and informed him about her findings, and indeed she would, she wanted more time to think the situation through.

That time was instantly cut short as she jumped to her feet, taking a stance of self defense awaiting the arrival of the person she’d heard close by.

Nigel! Her eyes lit with frustration and relief, she stared at him with neither welcome nor revulsion. A sigh of resignation escaped her.

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