“I told her.” That was a lie. Tommy was so sad the day of Bella’s party that Austin brought over a piece of cake and told him that Bella saved it just for him. In truth, Bella had missed Tommy for about five minutes until all her little friends showed up and the man with the ponies came.
Tommy had said one thing that got Austin thinking. “I wish we knew who hurt Ivy so Paula will let me be in the family again.”
Austin told everything to Emma earlier that summer. It came out in a rush the night the police wouldn’t talk to him and Tommy a year after Ivy was murdered. They were sitting in the park late at night down the street from Emma’s house. She’d snuck out, but they weren’t doing anything wrong. Just talking.
“I don’t know what to do,” Austin said. “I want to help, but I can’t force my mom to stop being a stupid bitch. I can’t force Bill to see how sad Tommy is all the time.”
“I know,” Emma said. “Max would help. I know it.”
“Who’s Max?”
“Maxine Revere. My dad works for her. She’s a reporter, and this is what she does—solves cold cases. She has a television show where she talks about crime and stuff. She’s like a private investigator, sort of, but not really. She’s a reporter, but not like the newspaper or anything. She’s written four books about murder and stuff.”
“Your dad works for her? Can you see if she’ll help us?”
Emma frowned. “It’s just—my mom and dad don’t get along, and my mom and Max had a big fight last summer when I visited my dad in New York. I don’t want my mom finding out that I’m doing this. Does that make sense?”
In a twisted way, yeah, Austin understood. “You think your mom will get mad at your dad or something.”
“She hates that I like spending time with him, and one time I told her that Max took me shopping and she had a total meltdown. I really don’t know why—she knows Max and my dad aren’t together or anything.”
“Maybe you can get her phone number and I can call her?” He had no idea what he would say.
“I know what I can do—my dad and I are going up to visit Max and her boyfriend in Lake Tahoe next week. It’ll ask her a bunch of questions about her cases, she likes talking about them. I’ll find out how she picks which cold cases she investigates, and then we’ll know how to get her here.”
“You think that would work?”
“My dad says that Max has a compulsive need to solve puzzles, and she looks at unsolved murders as puzzles. I just have to figure out how she decides which unsolved murders she investigates.”
“You’d do that for me?”
“Of course. Tommy didn’t hurt anyone.”
“I wish everyone else believed that.”
When Emma came back from Lake Tahoe, she said she’d figured out what Max looked for in the cases she wanted to investigate, and thought the best way to get her to come was if Tommy asked because he was eighteen. At first, Tommy was skeptical, but he sat down and wrote the letter. Austin and Emma helped—Emma had some great advice on what to say, insisting that if Max was curious, she’d definitely come—and they mailed it the next day. Austin asked why not e-mail, and Emma said that Max got hundreds of e-mails every day, but only a few letters in the mail.
“She said she’s supposed to see everything that comes in that doesn’t fit into specific categories, but that her staff sometimes makes decisions for her. And e-mails often get lost or misdirected. So we need to send a real letter.”
That was August first.
Two weeks later, Max called Tommy. And now she was here.
Austin parked his bike around the side of Tommy’s house because he didn’t want the nosy neighbor down the street to rat him out again. Corte Madera wasn’t a big town, and everyone knew everyone else and stuck their big fat noses in everyone else’s business.
He ran through the backyard and called up into the tree house. “Tommy! You up there?”
Tommy’s blond head poked through the window. He grinned and waved. “Hi, Austin! What’s the code?”
Austin sometimes tired of Tommy’s games, but Tommy would sulk if he didn’t give him the code. “SpongePants SquareBob.”
Tommy laughed. Even though only Tommy and Austin used the tree house, Tommy changed the code the first of every month.
Austin climbed up the ladder and pushed open the door. The tree house was pretty cool and large enough for both him and Tommy to haul up sleeping bags and a portable DVD player and watch movies until midnight. Jenny never allowed Tommy to sleep in the tree house overnight; she was afraid he’d wake up and not know where he was and fall out. Austin promised he’d sleep over the door so Tommy couldn’t fall out, but Jenny still said no. She worried too much.
Bill had made the tree house for Tommy just before the divorce. Austin thought that Bill had built it out of guilt. Based on the timing, Bill had started construction on it about the same time he started screwing Austin’s mom up in Seattle. When Bill started dating his mother, Austin didn’t know he was still married to someone else; a year later, Bill and Jenny filed for divorce. Paula moved the family to Corte Madera and she and Bill got married.
“When do you have to be home?” Tommy asked.
“Six.”
Tommy looked carefully at his watch. He set the timer. “I don’t want you to get in trouble again because of me so I set my alarm to go off in one hour.”
Austin’s fists clenched. “It’s not your fault, Tommy. I told you that!”
Tommy didn’t say anything. He just looked out the tree house window.
Austin took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I yelled.” He was trying hard not to get mad at Tommy. He wasn’t mad at Tommy, he was mad at everyone else. His stepfather for letting his mother banish Tommy from the house; his mother for being a snobby bitch; Tommy’s mother for being such a worrier and treating Tommy like he’d never grow up; and Ivy. Ivy, his dead sister. He’d always hated her, and he felt like shit because she was dead and he still hated her.
“I saw the reporter today,” Austin said.
Tommy’s eyes widened. “She’s here? For real?”
“Yes. She told you she was coming.”
“I know, but people say a lot of things and sometimes they aren’t true.”
“She’s here. I saw her. And Emma’s dad.”
Tommy leaned forward, his pale blue eyes wide and inquisitive. “What’s she like? Did she—”
“I didn’t talk to her.”
Tommy frowned again. “Why not?”
“She said she’d contact you when she arrived. Did you check your e-mail today?”
“Yes, just like you told me to. And I have my phone with me, I’m not going to forget it. And I’m going to try not to answer my phone if my mom is around.” His brow furrowed. “Why will my mom get mad about the letter? I think my mom will be very happy if Ms. Revere finds out who killed Ivy. Everyone will be happy.”
Everyone except the person who killed her, Austin thought. The scary thing was that it had to be someone they knew. Austin had been thinking about it for more than a year, and that was the only logical conclusion. Everyone hated Ivy, but who hated her enough to kill her?
“Do you really think Ms. Revere will find out what happened?” Tommy asked.
“Yes.” She had to. Tommy had been so sad since Austin’s mom kicked him out of the house. Austin missed him. Bella missed him. But more than anything, Tommy was regressing back to his simple ways. Austin had known him since his mother married Tommy’s dad, when Tommy was eleven and Austin was six. Tommy’s mom did everything for him. She didn’t want him to get his driver’s license, she didn’t want him to go away to college—didn’t even want him to go to community college. But Tommy wasn’t stupid. Sure, he learned slower than most people, but he wanted to learn. He wouldn’t be a doctor or lawyer or work on Wall Street, but he could do something he liked. Tommy wanted to be a teacher—and Austin would do anything he could to help make that happen. He wasn’t sure if Tommy would be able to teach in
a school, but maybe he could be an assistant. Tommy loved kids, especially little kids like Bella. He had patience and he liked the structure of school. He’d once said if he couldn’t be a teacher, he wanted to work at AT&T Park so he could see every baseball game.
“I’d do anything, Austin. I can clean the seats and mow the field and help people find their seats. I memorized the whole stadium. It’s on the computer, a map of every seat! I know where all of them are. But I won’t clean the bathrooms. Remember when we went to that game two years ago? And we went to the bathroom? And someone had peed on the floor? And I almost got sick? I don’t want to clean up someone else’s pee.”
Tommy had his own ideas and dreams and he wanted to take care of himself. But it would never happen if Austin couldn’t get him out from under Jenny’s thumb. When Tommy had come to visit and live at Austin’s house, two weekends a month—and more often during the summer—he’d become more independent. More capable of doing things on his own. Austin had been working with Tommy on learning to read better. He was really good with numbers and basic math but his reading was slow and labored. Austin found an online test and in one year Tommy went from reading twenty-five words a minute to forty words a minute. Why didn’t his own mother see that he was smart and he could learn, it just took him longer than most people?
Austin would never understand adults. He definitely didn’t want to be one. Not that he liked being a kid, either.
He and Tommy played Crazy Eights. Austin didn’t want to go home a minute before he had to, but five minutes into the game, his phone vibrated with a message from Emma.
Can you meet?
Austin looked at the time. It was nearly five. Emma lived in Larkspur, the small town next to Corte Madera. It’d take him twenty minutes to bike there. He’d be late getting home.
Screw his mother.
Sure. Now?
Emma responded: Anytime. I have to get out of the house. I’m so mad at my mom.
Join the club, he thought. He wrote, I can meet right now, or later tonight.
“Who is it?” Tommy asked.
“Emma. Her parents don’t get along.”
Tommy nodded sadly. “Like mine.”
“Exactly.”
It took Emma a minute, but then she sent him back a message.
I have to be in by seven. How about the bookstore at five thirty? That’s like halfway between you and me.
I’ll be there.
Austin got up. “I’m going to see Emma.”
“You’ll be late getting home.”
“I’ll tell my mom I’m going to the bookstore. I’ll come home with a book. It’s cool.”
“Are you sure?” Tommy was worried. “Do you want me to come? I like Emma. She’s nice.”
“Maybe it’s better if you stay here. Check your e-mail every hour.”
“Okay, I’ll do that.” Tommy hugged Austin. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Austin climbed down the ladder and sent his mom a text message.
I’m meeting Emma at the bookstore in Corte Madera. She needs help with her homework. I might be a little late, is that okay?
He didn’t wait for a response, or even care if his mom said yes or no. He’d found that if he asked her—even if she didn’t respond—she was more willing to overlook anything he did. Another thing he’d learned was that the best lies were shrouded in truth. His mother knew Emma because they went to the same school. Emma’s mother came from a wealthy family so Paula Wallace was just fine with Austin hanging out with her. As if having money made Emma better than other people. Paula would have a shit fit if she knew that Emma’s dad was gay and her mother never got married, but she didn’t need to know everything.
If Emma hadn’t helped them write the letter, Austin didn’t think they’d have captured the attention of a New York reporter. But Emma had made Austin swear that he wouldn’t tell anyone that she’d helped because her mother hated her dad and therefore hated everyone associated with her dad, including Max Revere. Once, when they were at the library, he’d asked her why.
“Is your dad a jerk or something?”
Emma shook her head. She was pretty, with blond hair and big green eyes. And she wasn’t stuck on herself like other middle-school girls. “He was an Army Ranger. A real hero—my granddad told me how he saved a whole bunch of people when he was in Afghanistan. A school of girls. They don’t let girls learn anything over there.”
“That’s fucked.”
She frowned.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
She touched his hand. A little jolt rushed to his stomach. He really liked Emma. She listened to him. She got it.
“My mom doesn’t like my dad because he’s gay.”
The librarian shushed them and Emma leaned forward so she could whisper. “Well, not because he’s gay, but because he didn’t tell anyone and they dated in high school. He told me once that he wanted to prove that he was, like, normal so he tried to act like all the other guys.” She paused, looking at him but not really seeing him.
“You like your dad?”
“Yeah. I love him. Sometimes he’s sad and won’t talk to me about it because I’m a kid. I wish my mom wasn’t so mean to him. She’s not like that most of the time … well, she has her moments, I guess. She dates jerks. It’s like she thinks she has to have a boyfriend or she’s not pretty or something. I don’t get it.” She frowned, then continued. “I just think she’s more hurt than anything because she really loved my dad and was surprised when he told her the truth. And that was after she got pregnant—after they were engaged—and he said he couldn’t go through with getting married and everything because it wouldn’t be fair to her. They’d just graduated from high school. My mom is super emotional about everything. She goes up and down, that’s what my nana says—my mom’s mom. My mom loved my dad, but he couldn’t love her back and she’s never forgiven him.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.”
“Is it weird that he’s gay?”
She shrugged. “I don’t really think about it. I mean, he’s my dad first, you know?”
He nodded. He did know, because that’s how he felt about Tommy. Tommy was technically retarded, but Austin didn’t think about him like that, he was his brother—stepbrother, but Tommy always called him his brother.
Emma said, “I just wish my mom could forget about my dad and find someone who’s nice to her, because she always dates assholes.” She put her hand over her mouth. “You’re a bad influence on me! Nana would wash my mouth out with soap.”
Austin locked his bike outside the bookstore and went inside. When he saw Emma, all the frustration and anger he’d been holding inside all day just disappeared and he smiled.
Chapter Three
Max’s working relationship with cops was unusual. Since she only looked at missing persons and cold cases, she wasn’t a traditional reporter. Her goal in any investigation was never to dig up dirt on law enforcement but too often they stymied her pursuit for the truth, and that’s when she dug deeper, to determine if there was another reason for their hostility. Some cops simply didn’t like outsiders, reporter or not. Some cops actually despised reporters. Others were indifferent. A few were friendly, and usually only after having worked with Max. And some were bad cops. She told the truth, always. And law enforcement never liked it when one of their own was proven to be incompetent—or worse.
Detective Grace Martin of the Central Marin Police Authority didn’t fit any mold. Even cops who were willing to talk to Max rarely invited her to meet at the police station, but Grace told her to stop in near the end of her shift. And when the desk sergeant informed Martin that Max had arrived, she promptly came out and extended her hand.
“Grace Martin.” Her handshake was brief but firm. The fifty-year-old detective had short gray hair and gray eyes. She wore dark slacks with a crisp white polo shirt, a little loose on her as if she’d recently lost weight, though she was sturdy. Max always looked at shoes—she had a
thing for footwear. Grace wore high-end black Nike tennis shoes. Comfortable, practical. “I reserved a conference room so we will have a bit of privacy.”
“I appreciate your time,” Max said.
While Max towered over the cop, she suspected Grace could take her down without much effort. She very much looked like a woman who could take care of herself. Max immediately liked her. Even though she was usually right, Max’s snap judgments about people sometimes got her in trouble. And liking the cop on sight wouldn’t benefit her if Grace decided not to help Max.
Grace led her through the police station. The two-story building looked and smelled new. Its interior was bright and airy, with functional workstations and some private offices.
“Didn’t you say you were bringing a colleague?”
“He’ll meet me here. He had a personal matter to attend to. His family is from Mill Valley and his daughter lives in Larkspur.”
“Local boy.”
“Um-hmm.” Max didn’t say more. When David called her to say he’d meet her at the station, he didn’t say anything about his meeting with Brittney. David rarely showed his emotions, but he sounded more than a little irritable on the phone.
Grace had a cubicle in the far back corner of the building. While she spoke to another officer in a low voice, Max casually looked around her space. It was devoid of clutter, with files neatly labeled. The only photos were framed—a young man and woman with two young kids. It appeared that Grace was a grandmother. It also looked like she wasn’t married—she wore no ring and had no photos of a spouse. Divorced? Possibly.
“I’m on call,” Grace said when the cop walked away, “so if I have to leave, I have to leave.”
“Of course.”
Grace led Max upstairs to a small windowed room. A clean whiteboard covered one wall and a round table could comfortably seat four. She motioned for Max to take a seat. “Coffee? Water?”
“I’m good, thank you,” she said.
Grace walked over to a small minifridge in the corner and pulled out a Diet Coke. She sat across from Max, opened the soda, and sipped.
“I won’t take too much of your time,” Max said. She slid over one of her business cards even though she’d e-mailed Grace all her contact information. “The information you sent me helped tremendously. I have only a few follow-up questions.”
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