“I was raised in California.”
“Ah.”
“You don’t like outsiders?”
“No problem with outsiders. But Beth is very … kind.”
“I’m not here to cause any problems for you or your family. I came to talk to your father about a police report sixteen years ago.”
He looked at her oddly. “Sixteen years?”
“My mother disappeared, and I think the last place she came was the Eastern Shore. I’m just trying to put together pieces of a puzzle, but I don’t have all the pieces yet.”
He shifted, and so did his demeanor. He wasn’t suspicious, but he still seemed protective. Of his wife? His family?
She shouldn’t read too much into the situation. She wasn’t here to cause problems, she was here because she wanted answers, and she would have to convince the Hendersons that they could talk to her.
“All right,” Gary said after a moment. He was a surprisingly difficult person to read. Max had no idea what he was really thinking, but suspected it would come out over dinner.
Beth returned with two bottles of wine. Gary took them from her and opened both, one white and one red, and placed them on the table. Beth opened a cabinet and retrieved wineglasses.
Molly ran into the room. She obviously did nothing in slow motion. Max liked the kid. She had never been so carefree. Everything Max had done had been methodical and with purpose. As a child, she didn’t run into rooms, but surveyed the situation so she knew what she was walking into. She did so to this day, the only difference being that she was much better at it. She could assess a room almost immediately and without hesitation. That skill came from maturity and lots of practice.
“Grandpop said you’re from New York!” Molly sat down and took a roll from a basket that Beth had just set on the table. “I love New York. My mom took me to see Hamilton for my sixteenth birthday. I don’t know how she got the tickets, but oh, my god, it was amazing. Have you seen it?”
“Yes,” Max said. “My producer can get tickets for anything.”
“Producer? What do you do? Are you on television?”
“I’m an investigative reporter, though that’s not why I’m here. Not exactly.”
Gary was still watching her closely, and she didn’t want him to think that she was obfuscating or lying. “I host a cable crime show.”
“Really? That’s cool. I’m going to be a prosecutor.”
“Good profession.”
Beth said, “The state attorney came to speak at her school last year for her brother’s graduation and ever since she’s wanted to be a lawyer.”
“A prosecutor,” Molly corrected.
“Same thing.”
“Mom, it’s not.” Molly rolled her eyes. “How’d you decide to be a reporter?”
“It sort of just happened—and I’m not a traditional reporter. I only investigate cold cases.”
“Really?” She took a second roll and bit into it.
“Wait until dinner,” Gary said.
“Can I have wine?”
“Are you driving to Bitsy’s?” Beth asked.
“Yes, but just half a glass?”
“No,” Gary and Beth said simultaneously.
Molly rolled her eyes again but she was smiling.
To have two parents who so obviously loved you … Molly was comfortable here. Comfortable and confident and loved. Max felt surprisingly emotional, thinking about everything she’d never had growing up.
“White or red?” Gary asked Max.
“Either is fine with me.”
“You must have a preference.”
“Well, with fish or by itself, I prefer white. But with a roast that smells this rich and delicious, how about red?”
“Red it is,” Gary said and poured glasses.
A woman walked in with a man who had to be Garrett Henderson. He looked just like his photo—a full head of white hair. The woman was also recognizable from the agriculture magazine—his sister, Madelyn.
After introductions, they sat at the table and Garrett said grace. It was short and sweet, but clearly heartfelt. The family chattered while dishing up their plates, then Beth said, “Dad, Maxine is looking for her mother who disappeared years ago. She believes the car you found might have belonged to her.”
“Oh?” Garrett said.
Max told him—in brief—about how she learned about the abandoned car and about talking to both the sheriff and Detective Lipsky. “You were mentioned in the police report. I know it’s been a long time, you might not remember much about it, but anything will help me because I know so little about why she was here and what might have happened.”
“I remember,” Garrett Henderson said. “We had some folks out of the area dumping their junk off our road. It got to be a problem, so I started patrolling, hoping to catch one of those scoundrels in the act.”
“Did you?” Max asked.
“A few people, and word got around to stop dumping over here. They just moved elsewhere. They can go to the dump and do it all legal and proper, but they want to save a few bucks. Well, as soon as they were hit by the fines, word got out. Anyhow, every week or so I’d saddle up one of the horses and stroll about. That’s when I found the car.”
He cut into his roast, put the piece in his mouth, and chewed while looking at Max. “Your mother’s car?”
“Yes. She was using another name. It’s a long story, but I’m confident she owned the car under a false name.”
“We’re in no rush,” Garrett said.
Max didn’t know how much to tell, but why hold back? None of this was secret. She had her biography on the NET website, including the information about her mother and that she’d abandoned Max a month before her tenth birthday, and disappeared altogether almost six and a half years later. Max had hoped once her show drew an audience that someone would come forward with information about Martha Revere, but it had never happened.
Still, this wasn’t about her—this was about Martha, and Max’s quest to find the truth. She gave an abbreviated version of the story. All the truth, there was no reason to lie, but as she spoke she was almost, well, embarrassed about her mother. These were good people, and she couldn’t imagine any of them leaving their children or conning people or frivolously spending money.
“When my private investigator learned that Martha took the name D. Jane Sterling—who is my aunt—I knew it was her car,” Max said in conclusion. “That, and the fact that one of her old boyfriends is from Cape Haven.”
“Who?” Beth asked.
This, Max realized, knowing that Jimmy didn’t have a terrific reputation, was beginning to tread into unknown territory. But if she lied, they would clam up, she was certain of it.
“When my mother left me with my grandparents, she was involved with a man named Jimmy Truman. I knew he was from Virginia, but I didn’t know where until I started looking into this abandoned car.”
“I am not surprised,” Garrett said.
“Pop,” Gary said quietly.
“That boy was trouble from the day he was born. Ike and Emily did everything they could. But she also had Gabriel, who made up for Jimmy. One saint for every sinner.”
“Dad, that’s not true,” Beth said. “You have eight grandchildren and not a sinner among them. At least nothing like Jimmy Truman.”
Gary cleared his throat. “Just gossip, pay it no mind.”
“Well,” Beth said, “not all gossip. Jimmy was in and out of trouble until he up and left when he was twenty. Good thing, because poor Em had to go back to teaching to pay off the mortgage Jimmy had her take out.”
“Elizabeth!” Gary said. “You don’t know that for a fact.”
Gary clearly didn’t like anyone talking about anyone else.
“Well,” Beth said, “Sue was Emily’s best friend, and Sue is also the organizer for the county fair, has been for twenty-some years. And I run the pie contest. I won ten years in a row and was no longer allowed to enter—which I think is
just the dumbest rule I’ve ever heard—and Sue told me that Jimmy had Em take money out of the house, which was paid off by the insurance when poor Ike’s fishing boat went down.”
“Enough,” Gary said. “I swear, Beth, small-town gossip is only ten percent truth and ninety percent imagination.”
Molly was very interested in the conversation and said, “I know Eve Truman pretty well. I mean, we don’t really do the same things, she’s a sophomore, but she’s really smart.”
“Molly,” Gary said sternly.
Eve Truman? “Who’s Eve?”
“Gabriel’s daughter,” Beth said. “Bless his heart, he’s taken care of her since she was a baby.”
“Gabriel’s a good man,” Garrett said. “Gary, I know, you don’t like gossip, but hear me out—I’ll tell you this as a fact. Gabriel and Jimmy had a falling-out years ago. I won’t speculate as to why, that’s none of our business. But as far as I know, Jimmy left the Eastern Shore twenty-some years ago and has never returned.”
“Amen,” Gary said, the final word on Jimmy Truman.
Molly ate quickly and begged to leave, which her parents granted. “It’s a school night,” Beth said. “Home at ten. Not ten-oh-one, but ten or earlier. And take a plate of cookies for Bitsy and Neil.”
Molly kissed her mom. “Thanks. Nice meeting you, Ms. Revere.”
“You can call me Max,” she said.
“Where are you staying?” Molly asked.
“At Havenly.”
Beth sighed and smiled. “I love that restaurant.”
“Too expensive,” Garrett said.
Gary took Beth’s hand and kissed it. “That’s why it’s for special occasions.”
Molly rolled her eyes and ran out of the room.
Madelyn, Garrett’s sister, hadn’t said much of anything during the conversation. Max said, “I saw in a recent agricultural magazine that you pioneered a new method of raising clams.”
Madelyn perked up. “Yes. My son and daughter helped—they did the hard work—but it was really a family vision.”
Madelyn was happy to talk about her aquaculture projects, and they enjoyed another glass of wine and seconds. Max found the process interesting—particularly since she loved clams.
When they were done, Max helped Beth clear the table. Beth waved her off. “Look, go talk to Pop. Gary is really the best of us—he’s a big believer that we don’t talk negatively about anyone. But I understand that you need answers. I couldn’t imagine not knowing what happened to my mother. She and my dad retired to Norfolk—my dad has some medical issues, needs to be close to the hospital—but I talk to her several times a week and they come out here for Sunday dinner almost every week. If she just up and vanished—I would raise Cain to find out what happened.”
“My mother is nothing like yours. Or you.”
“I didn’t think it was all wine and roses for you growing up,” Beth said. “Considering you call your mother Martha half the time. Did you mean earlier that you haven’t seen your mother since you were nine?”
Max nodded. “My childhood wasn’t bad. My grandparents are good people, they sent me to private schools and college and never made me feel less simply because my mother was wild and either didn’t know or wouldn’t tell me who my father was. They were simply … reserved, let’s say.”
“They did right by you,” Beth said. “I just can’t—well, let’s just say my kids know I’ll always be here.”
“Thank you for dinner. It was delicious.”
“Pop is out on the back patio, smoking his pipe. Why don’t you take him his cup of decaf? I also made fresh real coffee, if you’d like some.”
“Thank you.”
Max carried Garrett’s mug of black decaf and another cup for her and walked out to the back porch as Beth directed. The warm, subtle scent of vanilla and spices mixed with tobacco drew her to the older man sitting in a rocking chair in the far corner. The sun had set, leaving the cloudless sky a brilliant array of indigo, red, and orange.
“Beth asked me to bring out your coffee,” Max said. She placed it on the small table between two rocking chairs. “Do you mind if I sit?”
“Are you going to ask more questions?”
“Yes.”
“Go ahead.”
Max sat, sipped her coffee, and wished she could stay with the Hendersons all night. The peace out here was nothing short of breathtaking. Crickets chirped, owls hooted, and the sound of running water in the house made Max think that this was exactly what a home should be like.
“You have a wonderful family,” Max said.
“I’ve got no complaints.”
“I want to find out what happened to my mother.”
“Over dinner, you didn’t sound like there was much love lost between you two.”
“There isn’t. My mother was beautiful, cunning, and selfish. We moved all over the world at the drop of a hat, based on my mother’s whims. I didn’t go to school until halfway through fourth grade, when I started living with my grandparents. Martha left me there and didn’t come back. Sent me cards on occasion, said she’d come get me, but I suspected she was lying or if she was serious, she changed her mind. After a while, I just didn’t care anymore.”
“But you do.”
Yes, she did. She wanted the truth. She tried to explain.
“My mother hooked up with Jimmy Truman when we were living in Palm Beach. I didn’t like him, but that was typical of most of my mother’s boyfriends. They found me annoying and said I cramped their style, and I thought there were all jerks who used my mother. Until I realized that my mother used them just as much. I recently hired a private investigator, and we suspect that Martha and Jimmy were together for all or most of the six years between when she left me and when she disappeared.”
“Maybe she wanted to disappear. Leaving her car there, no luggage, nothing to suggest that she was injured—tells me she didn’t want anyone knowing where she was.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me if she did just that. But as I mentioned over dinner, Martha was extremely wealthy. She never accessed her bank account after that April. I believe in my heart—and based on the evidence—that she’s dead. That she died around here. Maybe she left the car in order to disappear, but why out here? She didn’t know this area. The only connection between Martha and Northampton County is Jimmy Truman.”
Garrett didn’t say anything for a long minute that extended to two and then into three. Max watched the light fade from the sky, and stars begin to appear in the darkness. There was a chill, but Garrett didn’t seem to care, and Max wasn’t about to get up when she sat next to her single best source of information. Garrett Henderson was a lifelong resident, he’d found Martha’s car, and it was clear he knew the Trumans.
“Have you talked to Gabriel?” he finally asked.
“Not yet. I wanted to gather more information before I spoke to him. I have sources in the FBI and learned of an inactive investigation into Jimmy Truman. I want more details about the investigation and my mother and Jimmy’s relationship before I approach Gabriel.”
“I’ll tell you this, Ms. Revere, Gabriel Truman is a good man. I knew his father. Ike wasn’t the man Gabriel is, but he tried. One of those things you hear about bad luck following a person, that was poor old Ike. He worked hard, I grant him that, but he never seemed to get on top. Made him bitter. Died young, trawler accident.
“Now Jimmy, he never worked as hard as his dad. I suspect he saw how much Ike labored and figured all that hard work and to get nothing? Well, not nothing, not really—they had a house, they had food, they weren’t impoverished. But Emily worked—a teacher—and some people, they always want more, and they want it easy.” He took a drag on his pipe and slowly let the smoke out. It blew away from them.
“Gabriel, on the other hand, was a good kid. Much younger than his brother. He was still in high school, I believe, when Jimmy took off—now, my son would say this is gossip, but it’s not gossip if it’s the truth. And the tr
uth is that Jimmy conned his own mother. The life insurance and accident insurance paid off the mortgage of their home and provided Emily with a nice nest egg so she could retire from teaching. And Jimmy came in and convinced her to mortgage the house again, give him the money for a scheme that never materialized into anything. Might have been a failed investment, might have been an outright lie. I think Gabriel was about fourteen or so then, and Emily had to go back to work. Gabriel worked two jobs, barely graduated from school because he skipped so many classes in order to help his mother. Then he enlisted in the navy and sent most of his paycheck to Emily every month. Gabriel, he’s a good man, a good father, and I haven’t decided if you’re going to be making trouble for him.”
“I don’t want to make trouble for anyone. I simply want to know what happened to my mother. And if Jimmy Truman had any part of what happened, I will prove it. But I won’t hold it against Gabriel Truman if his brother is a criminal or a killer. We don’t choose our family.”
“What is it you think I can help with?”
“I don’t think that Martha’s car was left here by accident. I think she was with someone, or that someone else left her car here. Sixteen years is a long time, but can you think of anything that happened back then that gave you pause? Made you suspicious? Did you see someone you didn’t recognize or someone you know who was acting odd? It might not be related to the car at all—just anything at the time that was unusual.”
Garrett laughed. “Sixteen years—well, I can tell you I remember everything about finding the car because it stood out, but I don’t remember anything else that happened that week or that month. It was April, we weren’t planting yet. We plant the first week of May. However, your theory that it was likely someone local who brought the car out this way is probably true. We don’t get people here. Not even lost folks, because the road ends at my property, and it’s just a dirt road. Locals don’t come out here because there’s better beaches both north and south with easier access. Kids don’t come out here to drink because there are easier places to get to without anyone living nearby. My neighbors are all private people. We’re the only farm out this way—there used to be more, I bought two adjacent to me years ago. The Scholtens live to the south of us, small spread, not very social. And the spread close to the water, on the small peninsula, is owned by a company. The owner comes out now and again, but never interacts with anyone. There’s a caretaker.”
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