“Sure. Okay. And he’s obviously not able to get around well, which explains why he’d want us to come all the way here to him. But I don’t see how he could have pieced together where you and I fit into all this, much less track us down. What’s more, he would have had to know you were desperately hoping to find your father, and so many other intimate details of our lives, down to my sister’s name.”
“Let’s say he knows a little more than he’s letting on about whatever was stolen. Let’s say he even suspects our mothers of being the perpetrators. If so, that matches what’s in the letter, and there’s your link. As for the rest, maybe he’s not as anti-internet as he says, and he did admit having a knack for pumping people for information.”
“You think he’s after the treasure? He didn’t seem to be the type that’s out for money. The only thing more beaten up than his suit was his hairline.”
“Don’t forget: people who are that passionate aren’t always in it for the money. The professor also bragged about being a leading member of the Baltimore Historical Preservation Society, or whatever it was. What if the thing they stole is of great historical value, so he’s willing to go to great lengths to get it back?”
“Excellent question. You would have made a great investigative journalist.”
“Say, you didn’t just pay me a compliment by any chance, did you?” He flashed me a coy look that I had to admit I found downright sexy. And it wasn’t the first time I had noticed, to be honest. I wanted to kiss him, right then and there. But I didn’t.
Even though I could still hear Maggie’s warnings ringing in my ears, I wasn’t afraid of George-Harrison anymore—I was more scared of myself. I had no idea where this whole quest might take me, or if I could even see it through to completion. But I did know that my days in Baltimore were numbered. My job wouldn’t let me stay here forever. Getting involved with George-Harrison would only complicate things, even if it was ultimately only a fling.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, right on cue.
“Nothing special, just wondering why we’re parked in front of the police station.”
“We’re here so you can waltz in there, flash your press card, and work your magic on whatever cop comes out to greet you, flirting your way straight into the police archives. With a bit of luck, we might just get our hands on the official police report of the theft, and more specifically, find out just what was stolen.”
“And if it’s a female cop?”
“In that case, I’ll do my best.”
“I’ve already seen you ‘do your best’ a couple of times, and for someone who claims not to be a ladies’ man, you seem to get by just fine.”
28
SALLY-ANNE
October 1980, Baltimore
Sally-Anne stepped into the loft and stopped in her tracks. Glass tealights, over twenty in all, had been lined up in a path that led straight to the bedroom. She rolled her eyes and sighed in exasperation. Romantic gestures like this were touching and all, but Sally-Anne felt like her own reaction to them was always forced, and the outpouring of emotion made her feel uneasy. Tonight, she just didn’t have the heart to play along. Then, something unexpected caught her eye: shards of broken dishes were scattered across the floor. Sally-Anne sidestepped the sharp ceramic pieces and knocked at the door to the bedroom nook.
May was sitting on the bed in a bathrobe, trails of mascara running down her cheeks and a newspaper in her lap. “I trusted you. My God, did I trust you. How could you do this to me?” she moaned, her voice a mix of disbelief and sadness.
Sally-Anne’s mind was racing. She was convinced that May must have discovered the loan rejection and the far reach of her mother’s power. She had kept the bank’s decision a secret, not out of pride or a desire to deceive, but because she needed to publish the Independent as an act of vengeance. It was now time to tell her team that the first issue would also be the last, and that every one of them was officially out of work. Blindsiding her employees certainly wasn’t fair, but the rage burning deep in the pit of her stomach made it easy to overlook such things.
“So, you thought breaking all our dishes was going to make things better?”
“I was trying to calm down. It didn’t work.”
“Was it Edward? Was he the one who told you?”
“Oh, no. Your piece-of-shit brother is far too cowardly for that.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” replied Sally-Anne, sitting down on the edge of the bed. May’s T-shirt showed off her curves, and Sally-Anne suddenly felt desire welling up within her, perhaps intensified by all the tension in the air.
“How could you not tell me?” said May.
“I was trying to protect you.”
“To protect me . . . from the humiliation, or just so you could say ‘I told you so’? Don’t tell me that you’re vain enough to be that cruel. You’re supposed to hate him, so why in the world would you choose to protect him and let me get screwed over?”
Suddenly unsure, Sally-Anne slid the issue of the Baltimore Sun from May’s lap and laid her hand down softly on her knee.
“Can you just explain what you’re talking about?”