“Is this why you’re a crime reporter?”
He sounded genuinely interested, and Max found herself being completely honest. “No, it’s not. In fact, I wanted to get as far away from murder and police and lawyers because I thought the system was a failure and I wanted no part of it. But my senior year in college, my best friend disappeared in Miami while we were on spring break. There was extensive evidence that she’d been murdered, but there was no body, and the police had only circumstantial evidence against the person they thought responsible. I stayed in Miami for a year searching for proof and answers, and never got what I needed. I discovered I had a knack for writing, and wrote a book about what happened to Karen.”
She’d written the book from the journal she’d kept the year she lived in Miami investigating Karen’s disappearance and murder because the police couldn’t. Couldn’t because there was no solid evidence. Thinking about the journal she’d kept that year, she couldn’t help but remember Lindy’s diary, and the arguments she and her best friend had over the information Lindy wrote down.
“I have a meeting shortly,” Mr. Ames said, his eyes solemn. “If you want to talk to me, call my cell phone.” He handed her his private business card.
“Does Mrs. Ames still have the antique store on Oak Grove?”
“Yes, it’s been her sanctuary these years.” He walked Max to the door. “Kimberly has always been particularly troubled by Lindy’s death. They had a fight before Kimberly and I left for my business trip, and it still hurts Kimberly that their relationship ended with that cloud.”
Max wasn’t certain that was completely true, not after her confrontation with Lindy’s mother, but she didn’t comment. If Lindy had still kept a diary, she wouldn’t have told her mother about it. Would she have told her father?
She turned around and asked, “Do you remember when Lindy and I were freshmen in high school and she got in trouble for writing in a journal?” In trouble was an understatement. Lindy had put everyone’s secrets in a journal and someone at school found and shared it. Like the fictional Harriet the Spy, only much, much more scandalous. It got out, and she stopped writing.
“I remember. She didn’t mean to hurt anyone—the journal was for her only.”
Max didn’t know if it was just for Lindy—Lindy had shared some pages with Max and undoubtedly others when she wanted. When she thought she could benefit, heap rewards on those she liked, or inflict pain on those she didn’t. “Did she ever keep another diary?”
“No. She was truly devastated by what happened. Kimberly was furious, but I never read it. I didn’t want to. They had a ceremony where they burned it and Kimberly said, ‘Some things should never be immortalized on paper.’”
Just because her parents didn’t know if she kept one, didn’t mean she hadn’t. Olivia would, hopefully, know the truth.
*
Max was torn—who first, Kimberly Ames or Olivia Langstrom Ward? She wanted to talk to both of them, but Kimberly would be the most challenging. She chose Olivia because Palo Alto was on the way to Atherton. It was nine thirty in the morning, and Max had a meeting with Jasper at Atherton Prep at noon. Kimberly owned a small antique store in Menlo Park near the Atherton border. It was more a hobby than to make any substantive income, but the word was Kimberly could get anything for anyone.
Similar to how her daughter Lindy knew everything about everyone.
Max hopped on to the freeway toward Olivia’s house in Palo Alto and mentally catalogued her day. After Olivia, Kimberly. After Kimberly, Jasper. Last night she’d printed a list of the local storage units and ranked them in order closest to Kevin’s apartment. She hoped she had time after Jasper to hit at least two units before closing.
A car she’d seen outside of Gerald Ames’s building followed her on the freeway. She hadn’t seen the vehicle follow her from Mr. Ames’s office, but now she couldn’t be sure. She’d been on the phone with Ben giving him the details of the drug bust and the possibility that Jason Hoffman was killed by Dru’s ex-boyfriend or Rebecca Cross, and then David had called to check in. She should have been paying more attention, especially since she’d been followed yesterday.
Except, she’d thought that was related to Dru Parker, not Lindy. That car had been white, not black.
This car was a dark, nondescript late-model sedan. Max didn’t do well with models, but this looked like an American make. Feds? Was the FBI following her? There were no government plates on the vehicle, but that didn’t mean anything.
Any other time, she’d have called Marco and asked him to look into it. But after the way she’d left things with him in Miami, she wasn’t going to ask him for a favor. She had other friends in the FBI, but no one she was close enough with to ask if they could call the local office and find out if she was under surveillance.
And why? Why would the feds be following her? Because she found the pot farm? That didn’t make sense. But truly, sometimes law enforcement did things that made no sense to her.
Or had Gerald Ames sent someone to track her? Why? He’d been polite, although sad; why would he have her followed?
The person who’d threatened her Saturday might not have wanted her to talk to Mr. Ames.
Max wanted to confront whoever was following her, but she wasn’t stupid. She didn’t know who or why, or if they had a weapon. She didn’t know if the person tailing her was the same as two days ago. Different car, but how could she have fallen under the watch of two different people? Chances are, the two incidents were connected. It was clear she was going to have to rent another car.