Little Girl Lost (Georgiana Germaine Book 1)

by Cheryl Bradshaw

  I hope wherever you are in life, you are happy, and I await your reply.

  Rebecca

  Rebecca Martin

  PO Box 51997

  Santa Barbara, CA 93101

  P.S. I was searching through boxes the other day and came across the pin I received in our yearbook class. I wondered if you still had yours. If not, I’ve sent it along as an example of a fond memory we shared in better times.

  “I know why Jack hired a private investigator,” I said.

  Phoebe poured a glass of water, sat down, and craned her neck to the side, searching the back yard for our mother who was still outside chatting with the next-door neighbor.

  “Oh...kay,” Phoebe said. “You better get to it. Once Mom sees you’re here, she’ll rush back inside.”

  “It’s just ... what I’m about to say will be a shock, Phoebe.”

  “With all that’s happened, I don’t think I can be any more surprised than I already am.”

  She was wrong.

  “A long time ago, Jack had a child with someone else,” I said. “A girl.”

  “He ... whaaaat?”

  “Her name is Maya. She’s eighteen. I assume you don’t know about her?”

  She shook her head. “If I had known, I would have told you.”

  “I hoped maybe he’d told you.”

  “You’re saying he knew about her? I don’t understand. Why would he find out he had a kid and never say anything to me?”

  I didn’t know.

  I guessed he’d hired a private investigator to make sure Rebecca was telling the truth first.

  “I checked the postmark on the envelope. Jack didn’t know about Maya until about a month ago.”

  Phoebe waved a hand in front of her. “Wait a minute. How do you know this?”

  “It will make more sense if I show you,” I said.

  I pulled the letter out of my bag and handed it to her. Phoebe pored over it, her eyes flickering with various emotions as she read through to the end. Once she finished, she folded it back up and tossed it across the table.

  “Wow,” she said. “I mean, I’ve read the letter now, and I still don’t want to believe it.”

  “Did Jack ever talk to you about Rebecca?”

  “A few times. He shared some experiences they’d had in high school. The way he talked about her, I took it she was nothing more than a crush.”

  I considered telling her about the comment Jack had made to Holly the night he died, but I decided not to bring it up. Jack was dead. Whether or not he’d rekindled an old flame no longer mattered. It didn’t seem right to tarnish his memory with my own speculations.

  “I’m sure you’re right,” I said. “If he wanted to be with her, he would have been. Instead, he broke things off, and the two of you met and fell in love.”

  “It’s weird to think about him having a child with someone else,” she said. “He wasn’t against kids, but after we got married, I wanted to try right away. He convinced me to wait. He wanted us to make our own memories together before we had kids. All that time, he already had a child and didn’t even know it.”

  “Andy Sanders was killed because of something he found out that the killer didn’t want anyone else to know. I need to track down Jack’s ex. Once I do, we’ll find Lark. I’m sure of it.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  I eyed my mother. She’d taken a few steps back from the fence, which meant her conversation was about to wrap up. I needed to take my leave before she came in and found a reason to keep me any longer.

  “Before Jack died, did he take any trips out of town?” I asked.

  Phoebe tapped a finger on the table, thinking. “I don’t think so. Not overnight.”

  According to the letter, Rebecca Martin lived in Santa Barbara, about one hundred thirty miles away from Cambria. Jack could have skipped out on work one morning and driven to see Rebecca. If he timed it right, and avoided rush-hour traffic, he could have gone there and back in a day.

  Rebecca’s letter had been sent to Jack’s work address, which was why Phoebe never knew it existed. I wondered if Jack had replied to Rebecca’s letter and whether or not they’d met. If they had, what had their conversation been like? Had he met Maya, or had Rebecca held off on the introductions like she’d suggested doing in the letter?

  I had more questions than answers, but for the first time, I was certain I was close to finding Lark.

  I dropped Luka off at Aunt Laura’s house, gave him a big squeeze, and promised her I wouldn’t be gone longer than needed. She shrugged and told me not to worry—Luka was always welcome. Aunt Laura loved me, even more than she loved my siblings, I suspected, but ever since I’d adopted Luka, I was convinced she loved him even more. I didn’t blame her. I loved him more than I loved most humans too.

  I arrived in Santa Barbara at dusk and headed straight for Rebecca Martin’s last known address. She lived in Montecito, considered one of the best suburbs in the area, and even though the condo she lived in seemed small from the outside, I was sure its price tag exceeded the million-dollar mark.

  Rebecca’s place was an end unit located on the bottom floor. The lights were out when I arrived. It didn’t seem late enough for her to have retired to bed. Perhaps she wasn’t home. I decided to find out.

  I knocked on the door. No one answered, and I heard no one stirring inside. I knocked again. Still nothing. I exercised four minutes of patience. I thought about exercising more. The idea didn’t appeal to me, so I walked around the back side of the house and hopped over the short wooden fence, pleased to find the back door wasn’t secured by a dead bolt. I made excellent use of a hairpin and showed myself inside.

  “Hello?” I said. “Is anyone home?”

  Not wanting to alarm Rebecca’s neighbors who might know she was away, I kept the interior lights off and resorted to a small flashlight I had in my pocket. The condo was a single level with three rooms. I checked out the master first. The bed had been left unmade and unfolded laundry was strewn all over it. None of the wrinkled clothes on the bed were for a woman. They were all for a man.

  I walked to the closet and found it full of clothes, shoes, and accessories belonging to both a woman and a man. I assumed the man’s items could have belonged to Rebecca’s husband, if she had one, or a boyfriend who lived with her. Whomever he was, it was clear they shared the house.

  I entered the second bedroom and aimed the flashlight at the wall above the bed. The name MAYA was at the top of a bulletin board in thin, pink, wooden block letters. Beneath it were photos of Maya and her friends, and I discovered she was or had been a cheerleader in school just like her mother.

  Maya was an attractive young woman. She was tall and slender with long, blond hair, and she had a kind, crooked smile that reminded me of Jack. The resemblance to him was obvious. I was convinced she was who Rebecca claimed. Most of the clothes in Maya’s closet had been removed, which told me she didn’t live there anymore. Given her age, it was possible she’d gone off to college already or lived on her own.

  The third room contained two desks, one on each side. The desk on the left was neat and tidy, and its minimal contents had all been positioned with perfect precision. There was a framed photo to the right that appeared to be Maya and Rebecca. Maya was dressed in a high school graduation cap and gown, and Rebecca beamed with pride like any proud mother would.

  The desk on the right was littered with paper, pens, and a few bowls which had once contained food and were now empty, for the most part. A bible found in the top drawer was inscribed with the name Anthony. It was dusty, like it hadn’t been removed from the drawer since it had been placed there.

  I left the bedroom and walked to the living area, surprised to find it almost devoid of furniture. There were no sofa or chairs, and the walls were barren. All that remained was a television resting on the floor on top of a diamond-patterned blue-and-white rug.

  The kitchen wasn’t much different than the living room. A few of the cup
boards had been left open, but there was nothing inside. Several flat moving boxes rested on the kitchen counter and next to them, a roll of packing tape. It appeared the residents of the home were moving, but when, and where, and why had they decided to do it? Even more pressing ... where were they now?

  A strange feeling of emptiness overcame me, a heaviness I couldn’t shake. Something was amiss, and yet, I wasn’t certain what it was. It was like one day they were here, and the next they’d all vanished.

  The following morning, I drove by Rebecca’s house again. It was the same as it had been the night before—deserted. Where was everyone?

  I called Harvey and checked in. He’d been in contact with the police departments in the surrounding counties to let them know I was in the area following up on an investigation. I then called Hunter, whom I’d texted the night before. She’d done some digging for me and learned Rebecca had gotten married in 2002, which meant Maya had been two years old at that time. Rebecca had also chosen to keep her maiden name and had not taken on her husband’s surname: Paine. Hunter had located the name and address of Rebecca’s parents, Stuart and Judith Martin. They lived in Carpinteria, a short drive from where I was now.

  I arrived at the gate of the Martins’ home soon after and found an enormous house with sweeping views of the ocean. It was the kind of house I imagined was equipped with a butler, maids, and gardeners to tend to the daily upkeep of the place.

  I pulled up to the front gate and pressed the buzzer.

  Seconds later a pleasant female voice said, “Can I help you?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m looking for Stuart and Judith Martin.”

  “I’m Judith,” she said, “but everyone calls me Judy. Who are you, and why are you here?”

  “My name is Georgiana Germaine. I’m a detective in San Luis Obispo. I wanted to ask you a few questions about a case I’m working on.”

  “All right. I’ll buzz you in and meet you outside.”

  I entered the driveway slow enough to admire the many hours that had gone into the gardens, which offered a meticulous, picturesque display of color. In a small way, it reminded me of my own garden, the one I’d had when I was married to Liam. He hadn’t kept it up after I’d left and now it was dead, much like our marriage. Taking in my current surroundings, the desire to dig my hands into the soil and garden again appealed to me. Maybe it was time to consider setting down roots.

  I pulled the Jeep up to the front of the house and got out. Judith walked toward me, raising a brow as she examined my Jeep and then the sparkling-white power-washed pavement it was parked on.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I know it’s old, but it doesn’t leak oil or anything.”

  She folded her arms and narrowed her eyes, which meant my assurance wasn’t enough to sway her opinion.

  “How can you be sure?” she asked.

  “I would know if it did. If it makes you feel better, I can park it on the street.”

  “Would you mind?” she asked.

  “Not at all.”

  “Why don’t you drive out past the gate, and we can talk there?”

  I complied with her request, waiting as she disappeared back inside her house to grab a floppy beach hat before walking down to meet me. Judy was impressive for her age. I guessed she was around seventy, even though she looked at least ten years younger. She was slender, toned and stylish, wearing an oversized pair of black Audrey Hepburn-style sunglasses and a white, fitted sundress.

  “What do I have to do with the case you’re working on?” she asked.

  “I’m trying to find your daughter,” I said.

  “Which one? I have five.”

  “Rebecca.”

  At the mention of Rebecca’s name, I noted a swift shift in Judy’s otherwise pleasant demeanor. Her face had soured. I wondered why.

  “What do you want with Rebecca?”

  “Do you remember Jack Donovan, a boy she dated in high school?”

  “Of course, I remember Jack. He came to our house all the time ... well, until he ran off to college. Nice boy.”

  “The breakup was hard on Rebecca, wasn’t it?”

  “I don’t suppose it was much different than any other break-up kids go through when they suffer the pain of losing their first love. It hurts, but after some time passes, they get over it.”

  “Rebecca thought Jack would marry her one day, didn’t she?”

  “She did. But she was too young to know who she was or what she wanted yet. She thought her world was over if she couldn’t be with Jack, but she got over him. Why are you here, asking me these questions?”

  “Jack Donovan was my brother-in-law. He was married to my sister Phoebe.”

  We locked eyes and stood there for a time, staring at one another in silence. She was thinking, contemplating what to say next versus what she thought she shouldn’t say.

  “I saw it on the news,” she said. “Couldn’t believe it when I heard. I’m sorry. My deepest condolences to your family. Did you find out who killed him?”

  “Not yet, but I’m close.”

  “What about your niece? I forget her name. Lara?”

  “Lark.”

  “That’s right. Any word on her whereabouts?”

  I shook my head.

  “Your family is going through hell right now,” she said. “I feel for you all.”

  The sentiment seemed genuine, like one she had experienced herself. And while it had been nice talking with her, it was taking too much time. I pulled the letter Rebecca had written out of my bag and held it in front of her.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Rebecca wrote a letter to Jack. She told him Maya was his daughter. She invited him to drive up to Montecito and meet her. I’m trying to find your daughter so I can talk to her about it. I need to know if Jack met with her and what happened when he did.”

  The sound of women’s voices echoed from behind. Judith craned her neck, smiling at two women walking on the sidewalk in our direction. Both women were dressed in track suits and baseball caps and appeared to be power walking. The woman in the gray track suit caught sight of Judith, and her eyes widened as she rushed over to her.

  “Oh, my goodness, Judy!” she said. “It’s nice to see you out of the house. We were just talking about how much we’ve missed you.”

  Gray Track Suit pointed at Lavender Track Suit and said, “Sally was just saying she hoped you’d decide to start walking with us again, and I agree.”

  “Soon,” Judy said. “I promise.”

  Gray Track Suit and Lavender Track Suit exchanged glances as if they knew they’d stumbled into the middle of a conversation they weren’t meant to be part of, and although it was obvious they wanted to stay, they seemed well aware we wouldn’t continue our discussion if they did.

  “We’ll be on our way,” Lavender Track Suit said. “We’re here for you whenever you’re ready. Just give us a call.”

  Judy assured them she would, and the women waved goodbye and kept moving, leaving me to wonder why Judy used to join them for walks but no longer did. She didn’t appear to have any injuries preventing her from daily exercise, and I could tell she missed them as much as they missed her.

  Once the women were a fair distance away, Judy said, “Why don’t we continue this conversation inside?”

  “I was hoping to get Rebecca’s phone number,” I said. “I need to talk with her.”

  Judy shook her head. “It’s not possible.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because ... my daughter is dead.”

  Rebecca was dead.

  I didn’t want it to be true.

  But it was true, and I had to accept it.

  I was sitting on an expensive yet uncomfortable turquoise, velvet chair in Judy’s sitting room, staring at a thirty-foot-high waterfall feature cascading down the wall. It was ridiculous and grandiose, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from it. It was soothing, making me forget for a moment where I was and why I was there.
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  Judy entered the room carrying a cheese plate like a waitress carrying a tray of food to a table at a restaurant. She set the spread down on the coffee table in front of me and said, “Eat some of this, would you? My neighbors keep bringing food dishes over, even though I’ve told them to stop. Stuart doesn’t even like cheese, and I can’t eat all of this myself.”

  Not one to turn down quality cheese of any kind, I sliced into a chunk of brie, pasted it onto a multi-grain cracker, and popped it into my mouth.

  “I didn’t know Rebecca had died,” I said. “How long ago?”

  “She passed eighteen days ago. It’s hard, you know. Some days, two weeks feels like a year. Others, it feels like I just saw her yesterday.”

  I knew the feeling.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “Breast cancer. I’ll never forget the day she found out. I couldn’t believe it. I thought we’d get through it, that she would get better, but by the time she was diagnosed, it didn’t matter what we did or how much money was spent fighting it. There wasn’t anything any of us could do to save her.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.”

  “Rebecca grew up here, didn’t she, in Carpinteria?”

  “She did. Right here in this house.”

  “How did she keep Maya a secret from those who knew her for so long?”

  “Before anyone could spot a baby bump, we sent her to my sister’s house in San Francisco. She loved it there. We bought her a house, and we flew to see her two or three times a month. She didn’t return to Carpinteria until Maya was five. By then, she was married to Anthony, and he’d been in the picture long enough for everyone to assume Maya was his daughter.”

  “What can you tell me about Anthony?”

  “We didn’t like him at first.”

  “Why not?”

  “I suppose we turned our noses up at him. We live a privileged life, and we wanted Rebecca to marry well.”