CHAPTER EIGHT
Martie and Trew slid out of the bed silently. He pulled on his shorts while she yanked her sundress over her head. He frantically looked around for something to use as a weapon. Martie, not being the sporty type, had no baseball bat or golf club stashed away in her bedroom. Unfortunately pom-poms and ballet slippers would not serve the purpose. She scanned the room and finding the best possible weapon, quickly handed him a large can of aerosol hair spray. His panicked face gave her a ‘what the hell is this for?’ look, so she gestured the act of spraying her eyes. He shrugged and nodded.
Footsteps thudded down the hall, rapidly nearing the door to her room. Trew motioned for her to hide in the closet, so she obeyed and tiptoed inside. She closed the door behind her without clicking it completely shut.
She shoved her hands over her mouth to muffle a small scream when the sound of her bedroom door banging against the wall made her jump.
“Drop the can,” a man’s voice shouted. The tinny thud of the hairspray can hitting the hardwood could be heard from her place behind the closet door. “You’re coming with us,” the voice demanded.
Fear gripped her with ice cold hands as she realized ‘they’ were taking Trew. Her mind swarmed with the sound of a thousand angry wasps as she wondered what to do. Give herself up? Try to follow them? Hide here? No, she couldn’t just hide and let him be taken. Then she would have lost both her mother and her boyfriend. The reeling of indecision had her trapped.
She screamed out loud this time, and just about fell backwards when the closet door abruptly flew open. Suddenly there was a gun in her face and a different man’s voice said, “Hands up where I can see them. Step out of the closet slowly.”
She was dizzy with dread, but did as she was told.
Emerging from the darkness of the closet, she gawked with horror at the sight of Trew on his knees with his hands behind his back. She presumed they were in handcuffs, because her eyes had now adjusted to the light, and the man standing beside Trew was in a uniform. Their captors were policemen, and with that realization her forehead creased.
Cop Number Two, the one with the gun in her face, pulled her hands behind her back and secured them in cuffs. Then he escorted her to where Trew was kneeling, and pushed her down beside him.
“Who are you?” demanded Cop Number One.
For a brief moment her frazzled brain was trying to figure out why cops would take her mom, and then try to cover it up. But then it dawned on her, and she felt idiotic for thinking that this was anything like a movie plot. Obviously what was happening was a simple misunderstanding.
“I’m Martie Johnson,” she told him. “This is my house. Well, my mother’s house that is.”
Cop One tilted his head to one side. “Why are you here? You’re not supposed to be staying here.”
“We just came so I could get some clothes and things.”
Cop Two stepped forward and removed her cuffs. “We need some ID please.” She motioned to her purse which was sitting on the shelf by the window. He retrieved it, and after a quick search of the contents, handed it to her. She pulled out her wallet and showed them both her driver’s license. He nodded at Cop One to take the cuffs off Trew.
When Trew stood up he put his arm around Martie’s shoulders. “Sorry,” he said. “We were at the station today. No one told us we couldn’t come here.”
“We’re keeping an eye on the place by doing drive-bys from time to time,” Cop One explained. “Just in case the people who were here before return.”
“Sorry,” Martie muttered. “We didn’t know.”
“Well next time make sure to contact us ahead a time. You coulda got yourselves killed.”
Trew surprised her by asking them if they could have a few more minutes to get some things together, assuring them they would be on their way shortly. They agreed to wait outside until after they’d left.
When they were gone, Martie turned to Trew with curious eyes. He explained that he had the idea there might be something that was missed, a clue to help them figure out where her mother went, or who took her. From her last visit here before leaving for Calgary, she already knew that her desk drawers had been emptied; every file folder or computer storage device was gone. But she didn’t look in her mother’s bedroom then, so that’s where they decided to start.
It was immediately obvious that someone had already searched there but Trew insisted they had nothing to lose by looking again. It was strange for Martie to go through her drawers; partly because she felt as if she was invading her privacy, and partly because she kept coming across items that stirred sentimental memories in her. She tried hard to shove those thoughts aside and concentrate on the task at hand.
Trew was rifling through the closet when she suddenly heard him call, “I think I found something.” She stopped her digging and walked over to see what he had discovered.
Way off on the far left bottom of the closet, behind where a shoe rack normally sat, was a hidden panel in the wall. Trew has his hand stuck inside it feeling around. The entire hole only measured about ten inches by ten inches. He pulled a book out, and brought it into the light of the room, blowing the dust off of it.
“Look familiar?” he asked, handing it to her.
“No.” She took it and gently flipped the pages with her thumb. It appeared to be a journal or diary. She was just about to select a page to read when something came loose and fluttered to the floor.
Trew retrieved it and held it up for a closer look. What he saw widened his eyes and made his brows shoot up high. When Martie moved close to his side to see what it was, her mouth dropped open.
It was a photograph, a picture of the city that she had dreamed about - the city that both she and Trew had dreamed about. Amazingly it even looked like it was taken from the same cliff where they sat in the dream. In fact she knew it was, because right at the very bottom of the picture, in the foreground, was the cliff ledge with a tiny shrub growing - the same shrub they sat beside in the dream.
She didn’t know what to think, or what to say, and what blurted from her mouth was, “Holy shit!”
“You got that right,” agreed Trew.
Hands shaking slightly, Martie turned the photo over. On the back, in list form, were four notations written in pen: ‘Blink, Penn’s, Big tree across the river, and Garnet.’
“What do you think this could mean?” she asked, showing Trew.
“I have no idea.”
Martie quickly peeked at a page in the book. She recognized the handwriting as her mother’s and the first thing that stood out was the name Martin Jones - her father. She could hardly wait to read what was written, but Trew urged her to get out of the house before the cops wondered what was taking them so long.
She was relieved to know that he was thinking the same thing as her. Even though it was wrong to withhold what could be a lead of some kind from the police, instinct told her that this particular item should not be shared.
Trew handed her the picture, which she carefully slid between the pages of the book. She then rushed to grab her bag of clothes and purse, and they exited the house hand in hand.
They returned to Fran’s to find a pillow and blanket set out on the couch. It was late and Fran, Bryce and Ainsley were asleep already. They turned a living room lamp on low and settled on the couch to look through the journal. Trew lay back on the pillow and propped his feet on Martie’s lap, allowing her to read it alone.
The first entry was dated May twenty-second with the numbers 132 beside. She began reading, hoping to find some sort of clue that could lead to her mother.
It became apparent very quickly that it was all about her mother’s relationship with her father: how and where they met, dates they went on, when they moved in together, etcetera. The last entry, dated November second, 132 stated that she was pregnant and how overjoyed they were. She said she never thought she would have a baby, and how the news of the pregnancy would change everything. In the final entry she wrote, ‘I h
ave decided to tell him the truth about me. I believe and trust in his love. If we are to raise a child together, then I feel I must break my loyalty to the Agenda and divulge who and what I really am. I love him too much to keep a secret this big from him. I trust that he will relay it to no one.’
It took Martie only fifteen minutes to read it from start to finish. She closed the book loudly and dropped it into her lap. Not only had it given her nothing more to go on, it had only raised more questions.
Her mind started reeling again. What if her father was taken by ‘them’ because her mother had told him about her mysterious past? That could explain why she had never told Martie or Fran her secrets - she was too afraid they would meet the same fate. Or maybe the big secret was too much for her father to handle, so he left. Her final thought, which saddened her deeply, was that perhaps he left because she was pregnant, which meant he didn’t want to be a dad. He didn’t want Martie. There were too many questions and absolutely no answers.
Trew drew her into his arms as she related her findings from the journal. In her head she heard his soft words, “We will figure this all out. I promise you.” He kissed the top of her head.
It had been a very long day and they were both exhausted. She wanted more than anything to have Trew beside her in the guest bed. He would make her feel safe. He helped her to believe there would be a happy ending after all. But they were in Fran’s house and had to abide by her rules, so after a deep passionate good night kiss, she left him on the couch and went to the guest bedroom.
Just as she was drifting off to sleep, she heard a small sound outside the bedroom door and his words came into her head, “I’ll see you in my dreams.”
Martie was surprised when she woke up, peeked at the clock and found that it was almost noon. She had been more exhausted than she realized. She clambered out of bed and went to the bathroom where she revived herself with a quick cool shower.
After getting dressed and drying her hair, she headed to the kitchen only to discover it was empty. The living room was the same. She wandered around until she finally found Trew in the study at the computer.
“Good morning.” He greeted her with a smile. “Sleep well?”
“Apparently.” She returned his smile and kissed the top of his head. He was looking as dreamy as ever, dressed in nothing but a pair of cut-offs. He placed his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to his side.
“Where is everyone?”
“Bryce is at work and Fran took Ainsley with her on some errands. Cute kid. She was upset that you were still in bed. Anyway, there are some sandwiches and salad in the fridge if you’re hungry. I hope you don’t mind, we ate without you.”
“Actually, I’m famished,” she admitted. “What’re you doing?”
“Just checking messages. And then I thought I’d do some research. Maybe see if I can figure out where that picture in the journal was taken. You go eat.”
“Okay. Let me know if you find anything.”
In the fridge she found an egg salad sandwich and a green salad. She poured a glass of orange juice and settled at the table. Someone had left a newspaper on the table so she passed the time flipping through it. There were no more articles about her mother, so she started skimming some of the local news items.
Eventually, the words on the pages blurred as her mind wandered to the events of the previous night - and to Trew. Her cheeks warmed as she recalled telling him she loved him. She loved him so much she couldn’t even explain it. The best part was that she had no doubt whatsoever that he felt the same for her. Her heart fluttered madly remembering they had made love and she realized that what she told him by the river in Calgary was true - she had been saving herself for him, even though she hadn’t known it at the time. She knew that her mom would just love him and she couldn’t wait for her to meet him…
The thought pained her. Would she ever meet him?
“Martie, come here.” Trew’s excited shout from the study startled her.
She rushed to his side.
“No luck with figuring out the photograph, but look at this,” he said, pointing at the screen.
She bent and squinted at the computer monitor to see why he was so wound up. It was a painting. A portrait of a woman that looked very much like the sketch of her mother.
“Well? Doesn’t that look familiar?” he asked.
Wide-eyed, she replied, “It does. It’s just like the sketch, but it’s painted. Where did you find this?”
He explained that he had been searching up her father’s name, Martin Jones, which led to only dead ends. Then he remembered her saying her dad was supposedly an art teacher. In the search field he typed ‘Martin Jones artist’. After clicking a few results, he came across the site of an artist named Martin Vinterstein. A quick scroll through some of his work and he found the painting.
“Here, look for yourself,” he suggested, moving out of the chair. “Could this be your dad?”
She sat and started scrolling through the web site. All of the artwork shown were photos of original oil and acrylic paintings. It was beautiful work. The majority of his pieces were urban landscapes, but there were a few portraits as well.
She clicked on the info tab beside the one that resembled the sketch. It read, ‘Piece 1 of 8 in the Magda Series. If you are interested in viewing the whole series, please contact the artist’s agent directly or visit one of the artist’s exhibits. Contact phone numbers and showing dates can be found on the home page.’
The Magda Series? Magda was the word written at the top of the sketch. She believed instantly that this had to be her father.
“So what do you think?” asked Trew impatiently.
“I think you’re definitely on to something,” she exclaimed, grabbing the phone on the desk.
She punched in the contact phone number listed on the site and held her breath while it rang, Trew watching her intently.
After seven rings someone finally picked up, “Joane Gatsby.”
“Hi,” Martie said, and attempting to sound professional, continued, “I’m trying to get in touch with Martin Vinterstein.”
“Yes, I represent Mr. Vinterstein.”
“Great,” she said, trying not to sound too excited. “Can you please tell me how I can get in touch with him?”
“What is it in regard to?” There was an air of suspicion in the voice.
Martie was momentarily speechless, not knowing how to answer the question. Finally she stuttered, “It’s umm…it’s of a personal nature.”
There was a brief pause. “Well, I’m sorry. I cannot give out personal contact information for any of my clients.”
“But it’s important.”
“Sorry. I can’t help you,” she snapped.
Martie exhaled sharply. “Okay, fine. Can you get a message to him then?”
“You don’t seem to understand ma’am.” The voice at the other end of the phone was making it very clear that her time was being wasted. “I am not his personal secretary. I am not a message service. I am his agent. Period.”
Click. She hung up.
Martie slammed the phone down with a growl. Why did one step closer always end up resulting in being shoved further backward? Trew, having listened in on the conversation, leaned over to take control of the computer mouse. His light breath on her cheek as he scrolled and clicked was enough to calm Martie.
“Here,” he said. “His work is on display for the entire month of July at the Caulderdon Gallery in Vancouver, B.C. His bio says that he lives in Vancouver too.”
“Road trip?” she asked with raised brows.
“Road trip!” he agreed with his wicked grin.
They were in the middle of loading their bags into the trunk of her car when Fran pulled into the driveway beside them. She got out and marched to them, placing her hands on her hips. “What’s going on?” Ainsley followed close behind and skipped to Martie. She smiled up at her and wrapped her body around Martie’s thigh. Trew winked at
the little girl and ruffled her hair.
Martie look earnestly into Fran’s eyes. “I think I’ve located my father. We’re going to go talk to him. He might have an idea where Mom is.”
Her face was overtaken by a frown. “Where is he?”
“Vancouver.”
“Vancouver? As in B.C?” She dropped her hands.
Martie nodded.
Ainsley piped up and whined, “But you just got here Martie. Please don’t go.” She hugged her leg tighter. Martie smiled down at her.
“Fran,” Trew said. “I’ll be with her the whole time. I promise to never let her out of my sight”
After a quick glance at him, Fran turned a glare to Martie. “Absolutely not. I’m responsible for you until this whole mess gets sorted out. No. My answer is no.”
“But this is really important,” she pleaded. “It might even help get this whole mess sorted out. Please Fran. I need to find my mom. I can’t just sit around and wait.”
Her face softened and she took Martie’s hands. “Martie, I was a wreck the whole time you were in Calgary. I was so worried. Have some faith that the police will find her, or that she’ll turn up on her own. I’m sorry, but no. You’re not going and that’s final.”
Ainsley cheered with glee at the news.
Martie’s heart raced and tears threatened. She wasn’t rebellious by nature, but she knew this had to be the exception. “No, I’m the one who is sorry. I have to do this. I’m going with or without your permission.” She slammed the trunk shut, and bent to whisper in Ainsley’s ear. “I’m sorry. I have to go. I’ll see you soon, okay?” She gently pried the sulking little girl from her leg and marched to the passenger door. Trew followed her lead and got in to the driver’s seat, giving Fran an apologetic look.
“I’m sorry,” Martie said one last time before sitting down and closing the door.
Trew backed the car out of the driveway, leaving Fran standing there, her mouth gaping, her eyes sad. Ainsley held her mother’s hand, looking miserable. A lone tear trickled down Martie’s cheek as they drove away. She couldn’t bring herself to wave good-bye. She couldn’t even look back at her.
Sketch of Secrets (The Garnet Trilogy - Book 1) Page 8
