After the preliminary research, Max called Adele again to confirm that Scott’s mother still wanted her help. The woman sobbed.
“Y-yes,” she said. She took a deep, audible breath. “I need to know what happened to my son. I need the truth.”
Truth. Most people thought they were strong enough for the truth, but sometimes they resented Max for digging into their life, their family, their friends. Max always believed the truth was better than not knowing, and not everyone concurred with her philosophy.
“It might not be what you think, Mrs. Sheldon. We might learn things about your son you wished you didn’t know.”
“I don’t care,” she said. “Not knowing what happened, not having his body to bury, is worse than anything you might learn. My son was a good boy. Smart. Shy. Trusting. He never forgot my birthday; he cared deeply for his sister, Ashley. I love him. I want to say good-bye. Maybe you don’t understand.”
She understood exactly how Mrs. Sheldon felt. Max hadn’t lost a child, but she’d lost people close to her.
She said, “I’ll be there.”
Max booked a flight without checking her calendar. When she looked at her schedule the next morning, she saw that she was supposed to have lunch with Ben Lawson.
Max dialed his number, glad that this time she had a legitimate excuse to cancel. She’d canceled on her old college friend twice already. The first time, he’d been understanding; the second, he was irritated.
Third time? He would be irate.
“Don’t you dare cancel on me,” he said before she could even get a soothing hello, how are you? out of her mouth.
“It’s work, Ben.”
“It’s always work.”
“I’m a busy woman.”
“You’re an impossible woman. We’re having lunch.”
“My flight leaves at three, I need to be in a cab by twelve forty-five.”
“Meet me right now.”
“I need to pack.”
“You’re not canceling on me again, Maxie.”
“Do not call me that, Benji.”
He let out an exasperated sigh. “I need to talk to you about something. It’s important.”
“Everything with you is important.” Ben always had something going on. He worked in film, had done something out in L.A. for a few years after he graduated from Columbia, and now worked for a television station here in New York City. Max had no idea what he actually did, only that he had three phones and never stopped talking.
“I’m serious, Max. Please.”
Ben never said please. Now Max was curious. “Eleven thirty, same place.”
“I’ll change the reservation. Thank you.” He hung up quickly, as if she might change her mind.
She stared at the phone. A please and a thank you? Now she was not only interested, but suspicious, too.
She didn’t have much time before she had to meet Ben. She packed a large suitcase plus her overnight bag, which should be enough for the four or five days she planned to be in Colorado Springs. If she decided to stay longer, she’d ask her neighbors—who took care of her place during her frequent travels—to ship out anything she might need.
Max left her luggage with her doorman so she didn’t have to lug it to the restaurant. She lived in TriBeCa, on Greenwich Street, and Ben lived on the Upper West Side. That he would come all the way down here to have lunch at the Tribeca Grill was partly because of the good food, but mostly because he wanted something from her. Ben was a schmoozer and glad-hander, but he was also busy and selfish. He expected people to come to him.
But Ben knew Max; she liked her neighborhood. It was certainly in his favor that he’d made reservations at one of her favorite restaurants. Someone who didn’t know her might think that Ben was manipulating her, but when it came to her old friend, she supposed she allowed him to do it. He’d never been able to convince her to do anything she really didn’t want to do, but he did have an uncanny ability to see through her bullshit. She admired that.
Ben was already at the restaurant when she arrived. She eyed her old friend before he spotted her. Ben hadn’t changed. He was tall and slim, with an intensity about him, as if everything were either critical or top secret, and she’d always wondered why he hadn’t gone into politics. He had that Teflon coating that seemed so perfect for politicians and car salesmen, but he combined it with the boyish charm of a high school quarterback. When Max wanted to irritate him, she’d call him “Ken” because he had that too-perfect, polished smile to go with his WASP appearance.
He spotted her almost immediately, which wasn’t hard, because she was tall with dark red hair. He looked relieved, as if he’d feared she might not show.