by Jen Blood
“You’re going the wrong way.”
“I thought we’d grab a bite first. We can swim later.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I am,” he said, with nary a glance my way. “Humor me.”
“Are we dining alone?”
His fingers tightened on the wheel. “More or less.”
I groaned. “Dammit, Diggs. I’m not in the mood for this tonight.”
“Have you even talked to her since she got out of the hospital?”
The ‘she’ to whom he was referring was my mother: Dr. Katherine Everett, pediatric surgeon extraordinaire. Or she had been, until she was nearly killed during that same catastrophic story that had almost done the rest of us in three months ago.
“I’ve talked to her on the phone.”
“When?”
I had to think on that. I’d been taking care of Kat’s house in Portland while she ran the Littlehope Medical Clinic during her ‘convalescence,’ but most of our interactions over the past few months had been through her partner, Maya.
“I don’t know—somewhere along the lines I must have.”
“Nice.”
“Hey, she didn’t call me, either.”
He pulled into the parking lot at Bennett’s Lobster Shanty with a long-suffering sigh. “Come on. I promised Maya I’d drag you over here. We don’t have to stay long.”
I would have put up more of a fight—or resisted entirely—but since I’d just found out about the potential link between my father and Hank Gendreau, I was actually anxious to see if I could learn anything more from Kat. She was notoriously closed mouthed about my father, but there was always the chance she’d slip up. It was right up there with hell freezing over and pigs taking flight, but it was a chance all the same.
“All right—sure,” I agreed. “What the hell. But if a war breaks out between the two of us, don’t blame me if you get caught in the crossfire.”
“Don’t worry. I packed my Kevlar.”
◊◊◊◊◊
The best thing about Bennett’s Lobster Shanty is the lighting, which does patrons the kindness of keeping things so dim you can’t see whatever might be crawling away with your bread basket or skittering across your feet. As the only restaurant in twenty miles, however, it’s never hurt for business.
By seven-thirty on a Wednesday night, most of the folks who’d come for dinner were long gone. The TV mounted in the corner was tuned to the Red Sox, half a dozen fishermen at the bar drowning their sorrows while Buchholz pitched what was looking to be another losing game. Kat and Maya were late—partly because Kat was always late and partly because, I was sure, she was dreading this dinner even more than I was. Diggs and I sat in a corner booth with a votive candle in a red glass bowl flickering between us.
“So, I’m assuming you still haven’t found the connection between your father and Jane Bellows,” he said, thereby officially introducing the conversation I’d been dreading all day.
“Nothing,” I said. “So far every road I’ve gone down has been a dead end, just like while we were out there. Nobody recognizes his picture. No one’s ever heard of the Paysons beyond what they’ve seen on the news. I can’t find any connection between Dad and any investigations Senator Bellows might have done.” My frustration bled through before I could contain it. “She’d never even been to Maine before. Other than a thing for organic tomatoes and an investigation she did into cults in the late ’70s, I can’t find a single reason why their paths would have crossed.”
Diggs nodded. “Well… You’ll figure it out one of these days.”
“Or I’ll die trying.”
“I think that’s what we’re all afraid of.”
Jane Bellows had been a senator in Washington State back in the ’70s and ’80s. I had inadvertently connected her home address with my father last spring, when it turned out reports of his death had been greatly exaggerated. She’d been murdered just days after I’d called her home and spoken—very briefly—with my supposedly dead father. Diggs and I had gone out west together once I got news of Bellows’ murder, rendezvousing with Special Agent Jack Juarez for a very unofficial inquiry. From there, it took only two days before I followed my last solid lead about Dad straight into a brick wall. Then there’d been a whole stupid mess between Diggs and Juarez and me and a blessedly angst-less romantic triangle I was still trying to figure out—one that, thus far, all three of us had managed to avoid actually addressing in any way, shape, or form.
Until now, apparently.
“So… Have you heard anything from Juarez?” Diggs finally asked, when the woolly mammoth in the room proved impossible to ignore any longer.
My eyes slid from his to the bread basket between us, now almost empty. “A couple of times.”
I could tell he knew that was a lie. I hedged before he could call me on it. “Maybe more, I don’t know. He calls.” And I answer was all I meant by that. Diggs didn’t take it that way.
“I would have called,” he said. “But the last time we talked, you said you needed some space. I figured you’d pick up the phone when you had a reason to.”
His instincts had been good on that count—I had needed space. And time. Even Juarez, steamy Fed that he was, hadn’t been able to convince me I was ready for anything beyond a few racy phone calls. Of course, Diggs had no way of knowing that.
“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry—I was just getting my head together.”
“And Juarez was a big help in that department, I suppose.”
“Watch it, Diggs. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous.”
He looked me dead in the eye. “And if I am?”
I almost choked on my breadstick. Before I could come up with a witty retort—or recover the power of speech—Kat and Maya arrived, continuing my mother’s longstanding history of epically bad timing.
Maya was easy to spot in a crowd: tall and slender, with curly gray hair and a smile that radiated good health and good humor. My mother was a few inches shorter, with dark hair, a few more curves, and an unnerving tendency to say whatever popped into her head. She slid into the seat beside Diggs while Maya sat next to me.
“Sorry we’re late,” Maya said. “There was an unexpected delay.” She hugged me warmly—something she did a lot of. I’m not the huggy type, but in the few short months that I’d known Maya I’d learned to make allowances. Kat already had her menu open, but she looked up at her partner’s words.
“Work,” she said briefly, as though the single word explained everything. She looked from me to Diggs and back again, her eyes narrowed. “Did we interrupt something?”
“No,” we said at the same time.
“Right,” she said dryly.
I couldn’t see a trace of a scar from the emergency surgery she’d had months before, now hidden beneath her close-cropped hair, and her green eyes looked as sharp as ever. The only sign I could see of her recent brush with the Reaper was the way she clearly favored her right hand.
“Thanks for inviting us out,” Maya said. I glared at Diggs, who ignored me entirely.
“Sure thing,” he said. “This’ll be fun.”
Kat snorted, but otherwise kept her nose buried in her menu. I looked for the closest exit, and prayed for a diversion.
Diggs and Maya chatted like over-caffeinated schoolgirls through most of dinner. Kat and I, on the other hand, were silent through the meal. She was distracted, and more withdrawn than I’d ever seen her. She looked tired. Older.
“I’m working on a new story,” I announced finally, at a little after eight o’clock. We were almost through dinner and Kat had been eyeing the exit for a while. If I didn’t bring it up now, I knew I never would. “The Ashley Gendreau murder.” I directed the statement at Maya, who clearly didn’t have a clue what the hell I was talking about.
“She was still living out west when that happened,” Kat said. For the first time all evening, she looked interested in the conversation. “Did you meet Hank?”
>
“You know him?” I asked.
“Of course. Everyone around here knows Hank.” She returned her attention to Maya. “His daughter was murdered back in…” She looked at me.
“ ’87,” Diggs and I supplied at the same time.
“Right,” she agreed. “Hank was out doing mushrooms on the back forty when it happened. He confessed—well,” she amended, “they said he confessed, though I always thought that was bullshit.”
“So you think he’s innocent?” I asked.
“What idiot doesn’t?”
I looked at Diggs pointedly.
“I didn’t say I don’t think he’s innocent,” he said. “I just think you should tread lightly.”
“How do you know this guy, exactly?” I asked Kat. She was obviously playing for the other team now, but back in the day my mother had a reputation for loving and leaving men of all ages and economic persuasions. I was hoping we weren’t about to add another long-lost “uncle” to the list.
“Smartass,” she said. “I did a little work at the prison a few years ago. We hit it off.” Her eyes drifted from mine, a sure sign that she was lying. Interesting.
“Did you ever talk to him about his childhood?” I asked. “Or…you know, your time with the Payson Church?”
“I was checking his prostate, not doing a psych eval. And why the hell would I ever mention the Paysons if I didn’t have to?”
“So, you never mentioned Dad to him?”
Now it was Diggs’ turn to look baffled. “What does your father have to do with the Gendreau murder?”
“Don’t you know by now, Diggs?” Kat asked. “All roads lead back to Daddy with this one. Always have.”
Maya shot her a glare.
“Sorry,” my mother said. She even seemed sincere. Kat wasn’t the kind of woman who apologized easily...or at all. She looked around the room restlessly. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Hank told me he and Dad grew up together,” I said. “Did Dad ever mention a place called Black Falls to you?”
“He didn’t.”
“He must have said something, though,” I insisted. “He never told you anything about his family? You never wanted to meet his parents?”
“He said the Paysons were his family, and I didn’t push. They were more than I could handle in the in-law department, anyway. He always said the present was what was important, not what came before.”
It was the most I could remember her saying about my father in years. I tried to think of a follow-up question that wouldn’t spook her, but Maya beat me to it.
“What about that story you told me—about the man who came to visit when you two were first married? You said you thought he might be family.”
Now it was Kat’s turn to glare. Maya didn’t even flinch. “I don’t know what his name was, though,” she said.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “What did he look like? Are we talking parent or sibling?”
Her lips tightened into a thin line. The waitress came by to take our dessert order. I waited impatiently for her to leave, knowing this new, chatty Kat wouldn’t last long. As soon as the waitress was gone, I pounced.
“What else can you tell me about this guy who visited Dad?” I looked at Maya. “Do you remember what she said when she told you the story?”
Maya started to say something, but my mom stopped her with a glance.
“I wish you’d let this go,” Kat said to me. She sounded dead tired, in a way I’d never heard before. “Your father loved you. You had nine good years together—that’s more than a lot of kids get. He’s gone. Trust me when I say he’s never coming back. You really want to ruin the good memories by digging up everything that came before, and obsessing over all the shit that came after?” She shifted in her seat again. I noticed a tremor in her right hand. “Just leave it alone.”
Maya put her hand over Kat’s, but my mother withdrew quickly. Diggs looked at me. I sat there for a second or two, silent, trying to figure out how to address the unexpectedly human stranger my mother had become.
“I can’t,” I said finally. It came out little more than a whisper. I cleared my throat, trying to get my voice back. “I have to know what happened. Where he is. Who he was. I can’t stop until I have some answers.”
She didn’t look happy, but she didn’t look all that surprised, either. The waitress came over with two plates of blueberry pie for Maya and Diggs, with two extra forks. Kat and I both declined their offer to share.
“This man who visited Dad,” I tried again. “Is there anything at all you can tell me about him?”
She shook her head. Her jaw was set, a look I knew well. “No,” she said. She stood and looked at Maya. “I think I’ll just walk back to the house—I could use the fresh air.” I expected Maya to argue, but she just nodded. Then, Kat looked at me again. “I know you won’t stop, but I’ll be damned if I’ll help you get yourself killed. You’ve seen where this road leads. I won’t be part of it again, and I sure as hell won’t be responsible for driving you down it myself.”
If she’d screamed at me, threatened me… Hell, if she’d just made a joke, I would have known how to handle her. But there was no anger in her tone, and there was definitely nothing funny about what she’d said. I watched in stunned silence as she left the restaurant, noticing for the first time that she walked with a slight limp now. Maya waited until she’d gone before she said a word.
“She’s trying,” she said. “Communication isn’t a gift of hers, but she cares about you. She wants you in her life.”
Rather than argue, I let that one go. “There’s a tremor in her right hand,” I said. “You never mentioned anything. How much longer will she be like that?”
“It might get a little bit better, but she’ll always have it,” Maya said flatly. “She didn’t want you to know, but frankly I think you’ve got enough secrets between you. She’ll never operate again. The clinic is good for her right now because she can stay here and do some good, make a difference, without constantly being reminded of what she’s lost.”
Steady hands, a good memory, and a strong stomach, I suddenly remembered my mother saying to me. I was maybe twelve at the time, assisting her in the dead of night after a boating accident in Littlehope. That’s all it takes to be an ace surgeon. As long as you know how to cut, you’ll know who you are. Your place in the world.
She’d been so steady, so sure of herself. I had no clue what to do with this new version of my mother—this damaged woman who would never hold a scalpel again.
“How long are you in town?” Maya asked, saving me the trouble of having to come up with an appropriate response.
“I’m not sure. Probably just another day or two.”
“Where are you staying?”
I hesitated. Diggs and I still hadn’t technically tackled the question. I started to panic at the thought of being forced to bunk with my mother, new leaf or not.
“She’s staying with me,” Diggs said, before Maya could offer their place.
I could have kissed him. His eyes caught mine and he gave me that little secret smile he’s been giving me for years.
“Yeah—I’m staying with Diggs.”
“Well, come by the house before you leave, would you? She’s changed. You’ll see that if you just spend some time with her. I know you have a long, complicated history, but she really is an amazing woman. She deserves a second chance.”
“I will,” I said. “I mean, I’ll at least try. I’ll do what I can.”
She gave me another hug, dropped a kiss on the top of Diggs’ head, and then left us to our blueberry pie.
I left my car parked at the Trib and Einstein and I hitched a ride back to Diggs’ place in his Jeep. Darkness usually meant a welcome dip in temperature, but so far that hadn’t panned out. More of the same was in the forecast: high humidity, thunderstorms, and record temps. I wasn’t looking forward to any of it. That night, though, there was at least a moderate breeze, and the sky was fille
d with stars. Diggs’ Jeep smelled like leather and coffee and whatever the aftershave was that he’d been wearing for as long as I’d known him. I’m not a huge believer in the afterlife, but if heaven smelled half so nice I’d definitely consider giving up my heathen ways.
He’d barely turned down the rutted drive to his house before he started in with the questions.
“You really think Hank Gendreau knows anything about your father?”
“He says they grew up together.”
“And you believe him.”
“He has a picture of them…” I amended that. “Well—okay, he has a shitty shot of three boys who could be anyone. But he knew things about my father that no one else would.”
“Such as?”
“A birthmark on his leg. Scar on his arm, and how he got it—the same story my dad used to tell me. How would he know that?”
“So, I guess that explains the sudden interest in the Gendreau case.”
“You don’t have to sound so disappointed,” I said. “Gendreau said he’ll give me information about my father if I’ll investigate this link between his daughter’s murder and the bodies in Canada. I have to at least give it a shot.”
“I know,” he agreed. He actually smiled a little. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
He pulled up in front of the house, then grabbed my pack and hopped out without another word. I let Einstein out for a quick run around the yard before I went inside, still stuck on the conversation at Bennett’s. Maya might claim that my mother wanted me in her life, but I still couldn’t get my head around that one. For as long as I’d known her, it seemed that what Kat wanted most in the world was for me to just drop off the face of it entirely. Near-death experiences are supposed to change people, sure, but I doubted St. Peter himself could turn her around that dramatically.
Diggs was rummaging through the freezer by the time Einstein had done his nightly business and we’d meandered back inside. He’d gotten furniture since I’d visited last—a grab bag of used, salvaged, and homemade pieces that would never make the pages of Better Homes. Somehow, he made them work.