Twenty-One
“YOU’VE BEEN AWFULLY quiet.”
I look at Helen as we drive back to Myerton from Baltimore. I’ve been staring out the window, looking at the passing countryside, turning everything over in my head.
It’s possible I’m wrong. Martin is a common enough surname. Just because they share a last name doesn’t mean that Tiffany Martin is Beverly Martin’s daughter.
And just because Clayton Rugger is Beverly Martin’s grandson doesn’t mean he killed Father Stratton.
No, I have no evidence, only suspicions.
Suspicions based in part on a confession from someone I’m assuming is Beverly Martin.
In any event, I can’t tell Helen.
But I need to respond to her comment.
“What?” Is the most brilliant thing I can think of to say.
“I said, you’ve been awfully quiet. Is something bothering you?”
