“Gosh, I don’t know. I always figured that her father must have paid people to look through the years.” She hesitated. “Cherry was old enough that she would know where she lived back then. I wonder if she would have tried to return when she got on her own?”

  “Do you mean if she were alive?”

  Maybelle sighed. “I guess that’s what I mean. It’s been...a long time.”

  Digger had wanted to talk about Samantha and Cherry to see if her friends thought there was a chance they were alive. Didn’t sound like it.

  “You should really talk to Becky at the Maple Grove Grocery.”

  “Doesn’t she do the flowers?”

  “And produce,” Maybelle said. “The flowers are busiest for Valentine’s and Mother’s Day. She says there’s always carrots to sell.”

  Digger laughed. “Thanks. I hope I didn’t upset you.”

  “No, Samantha was unique. Someday I’ll tell my daughter about her.”

  Digger wished she’d said that earlier in the conversation, but now didn’t seem the time to probe further. And she had to get back to work.

  MARTY PERSUADED KARL Hindberg to talk to him by saying he was working on a story about how libraries served as resources for kids who did a lot of remote learning. He considered it a good enough idea that he asked Hindberg a number of questions and would actually do a piece on the subject.

  Hindberg smiled as Marty closed his notebook. “I appreciate you reporting on this. Maybe you can do a sidebar that lists some of our resources.

  “Sure. Send me a few and I’ll add to it.”

  Hindberg began to stand, but Marty continued. “I’ve only lived here two years, so I’ve been going through a lot of old stories, familiarizing myself with the kind of topics people expect me to know about. You’ve lived here all your life, maybe you could help me with one.”

  Hindberg settled into his chair again. “Sure. What are you thinking of?”

  “I’m doing a piece on the twelfth anniversary of the disappearance of Samantha and Cherry Halloway. I’m told you knew them well.”

  Hindberg’s complexion went from sheet-rock white to tomato red in less than a second. “Where did you get that idea?”

  Marty tried to look surprised, and then told a white lie. “My grandparents. Maria and Malcolm Wilson. They remembered that you were one of the people who put up signs, kind of scoured that area for them.”

  “Oh, right.” His flush lessened. “I tried to encourage the sheriff of the time to do more. People seemed to think she just walked out of her life.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  Hindberg shook his head. “The younger Samantha might have, but she was a good mom to Cherry.”

  “And you can’t think of anything that would make her want to start a new life?”

  Hindberg frowned. “Her mother died a year or so before that. They’d gotten close after she had Cherry. She missed her. But that didn’t add up to running away.”

  Marty nodded. “I don’t want to sound like a TV show, but can you think of anyone who would want to harm either of them?”

  The flush returned. “That was barely discussed at the time. Why would you ask questions like that now?”

  Marty smiled. “I guess it’s all the years I lived in Baltimore. I didn’t mean any offense.” He stood.

  Hindberg sat for a couple seconds more, eyes closed, then stood. “I’m sorry. I think of them often. Please don’t sensationalize them.”

  “I won’t. It just strikes me as a case people didn’t think about long enough.”

  “I agree.”

  Marty sat in his car for almost a minute before he started the ignition. Karl Hindberg hadn’t lost his temper in a traditional fashion, but he seemed like a guy who could have a short fuse. Maybe he’d helped look for the mother and daughter to be able to keep track of what the sheriff learned.

  CHAPTER TEN

  DIGGER SPENT TUESDAY AFTERNOON calling businesses in Oakland to introduce them to You Think, We Design. Most already had firms to help with form design or publicity. A fairly new business, which booked tourists for skiing in winter and Deep Creek Lake vacations in summer, needed business cards.

  She thought they must come from a family of optimists, as the tourism business had barely begun to recover from pandemic restrictions. She took information on their website and said she’d familiarize herself with what they did and suggest some business card designs.

  Holly had heard the conversation. “Hard to make a profit doing cards.”

  Digger grinned. “My devious idea is to suggest that we do the design and give them places they can order the cards online. That way we can send them a flat bill for graphics work.”

  “Very smooth,” Holly said.

  Her calls to Oakland reminded Digger she had wanted to talk to Maryann Montgomery, grandmother of Sheriff Roger Montgomery. The business card query from the (probably doomed) travel company had given her an idea.

  “I’m going to call Maryann to see how she likes living in Maple Grove again.”

  “Tell her I said hello to that cute grandnephew of hers.”

  Digger grinned. “You’re too old for him.”

  “Maybe he has an older brother.”

  Digger rolled her eyes at her partner and went to Maryann’s name in her contacts list.

  The lively ninety-year-old answered on the second ring. “Digger Browning. You need to come visit me.”

  Digger laughed. “I will. I figure you’re unpacked and up to no good by now.”

  “It’s hard to be up to no good here, compared to the senior complex in Oakwood. Not as many people and not as much to do.”

  “You sorry you moved up here?”

  “No, I like being closer to family. I’m thinking of starting a weekly roulette game.”

  Digger mouthed “roulette wheel” to Holly. “Is that legal?”

  Maryann laughed. “Not likely. But it would bring my grandson over here more often.”

  Digger realized she didn’t want to talk about Hamil Halloway in front of Holly. “How about I stop by this weekend?”

  “Weekdays I have fewer visitors.”

  “Do I have to call in advance or can I come if some weekday time opens up for me?”

  “As long as it’s not right after lunch, come anytime.”

  ON HER WAY HOME from work on Tuesday, Digger stopped at the grocery store. The produce department was near the entry, and the small area for displaying and arranging flowers sat between produce and the bread aisle. Digger supposed it had to be near a water supply, and there was plenty of water to spray on the vegetables.

  Becky stood near the lettuce, checking items on a list. She and Digger knew each other enough to say hello, and she listened as Digger explained that a walk by the cottage had made her curious about Samantha and Cherry.

  “I remember you helped find out what happened to that Mr. Stevens who vanished a long time ago.” She shuddered. “Sam and I were supposed to meet the day they supposedly vanished.”

  Digger took note of the word supposedly, but didn’t interrupt her.

  “Cherry loved to go to the bakery and ice cream shop, where the Coffee Engine is now. So we were meeting there when I got off work.”

  “But they didn’t show up?”

  “No. In the before-Cherry days, Samantha would forget, or maybe ignore, a promise to meet people. But she really shaped up after Cherry was born.”

  “Did you try to call her?”

  “Just once, while I was waiting. When she didn’t answer, I left a message and figured she’d get back to me.”

  “But she didn’t?”

  Becky shook her head. “No. It annoyed me, but I didn’t worry until her father contacted me late the next morning. Cherry often walked to the big house,” she smiled, “that’s what she called it, to have breakfast with him.”

  “By herself?”

  “She was eight. Back then the state parks people hadn’t widened that trail, so hardly anyone went up there. Samantha liked to sleep in. She’d get Cherry up and more or less dressed and go back to bed.”

  “But Cherry didn’t show up for breakfast?”

  Becky shook her head. “No, and that kind of started the ball rolling.” She paused. “I imagine if Sam left for somewhere without telling anyone, you know, like left Cherry with her grandfather, that it wouldn’t have caused much alarm. But Cherry loved school. Sam hadn’t told her teacher Cherry would be absent.”

  “And she obviously hadn’t told you or Maybelle she was heading out of town.”

  Becky nodded. “She didn’t talk to Maybelle as much as me, since I live here. Sam was really a free spirit before Cherry was born. And after. But she loved her daughter and tried her best to be a good mom.”

  “This is a tough question...”

  Becky smiled. “Do I know who Cherry’s father is?” She shook her head. “I’m not even sure Sam did. She thought it might have been someone she hung around with in Ocean City a couple months before she knew she was pregnant.”

  “But she had no way to be in touch with him?”

  “Them. She was often quite...active socially.”

  “Oh. And no boyfriend around?”

  Becky shrugged. “People thought she and Karl Hindberg dated, but she always said they were just friends. I halfway thought he liked her more than she liked him, that she just wanted Cherry to spend some time around a decent man. You know, since there was no father in the picture.”

  Digger nodded. “I could see how a librarian could be a good role model.”

  “Oh, he didn’t have that job back then. He worked in a couple restaurants and bars over in Deep Creek Lake, with the tourists.”

  Digger thought for a moment. “I don’t recall anyone mentioning a job for Samantha, Sam.”

  “She occasionally worked here, before Thanksgiving and Christmas, when we hire temporary people. It was a bone of contention with her dad, but after her mom died, she didn’t want to leave Cherry with anyone else.”

  “How did her mom die?”

  Becky busied herself with restacking some oranges so they didn’t fall onto the floor. “So sad. It was one of those mornings when things are just a little slick, but it hadn’t snowed or anything. She slipped on the front steps, going out of the house.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “What was worse was she might have been saved, but no one knew to look for her. She told Mr. H. that she was going to the beauty shop in town. He didn’t realize she hadn’t left until the shop called an hour and a half later.”

  “It was that cold?”

  “I think it was more that the fall gave her what I think they called a brain bleed. By the time they got her to the hospital she was brain dead.”

  “Awful. So, how old was Cherry? You said her grandmother babysat for her?”

  “Six or seven, and really close to her Nana, that’s what she called her.”

  For the first time, Digger realized that Hamil Halloway had lost his entire family within a year or two. That could turn anyone into a recluse.

  Digger thanked Becky and headed to the Ancestral Sanctuary. She shouldn’t have left Bitsy alone so long. When she parked, she heard him barking nonstop. She ran up the porch steps and he nearly ran over her in his rush to get outside.

  When he finished watering the grass he sat and stared at her. A reproachful look, if ever a dog could give one.

  “I’m sorry, Boy.”

  “You should be.”

  She hadn’t seen Uncle Benjamin and didn’t like his tone. He stood just inside the door, with one arm around the invisible Cherry.

  “You’re right,” Digger said.

  “Cherry has been very concerned because Bitsy barked every minute or so for the last hour.”

  She looked to where Cherry seemed to be. “I’m sorry, Cherry.” She couldn’t say she had been trying to figure out how the child ended up in a log with a raccoon. “I’ll make sure I leave work earlier tomorrow.”

  Uncle Benjamin stood back so Digger could enter the hallway. Not for the first time she wondered what would happen if she tried to walk through him.

  “What if you put a doggie flap in the door that leads to the back porch?

  They’d had this conversation previously. “Because to be big enough for a German Shepherd it would be big enough for a small child to crawl through.”

  “Cherry promises she won’t go outside.”

  Digger smiled toward Uncle Benjamin’s waist. “I know you wouldn’t. But a small animal could come in, too, and...” She stopped.

  Uncle Benjamin spoke rapidly. “Not necessarily a raccoon, could be a fox. Even a bear cub.”

  Digger made for the kitchen. He’d started this conversation. She’d leave him to handle it. She put her purse and the library books she gotten for Uncle Benjamin on the kitchen table and opened the fridge. Cheese and crackers would hold her for a few minutes.

  Uncle Benjamin’s placating tone came from the front hall. “I know, sweet girl, but raccoons don’t like car rides.”

  AFTER DINNER, DIGGER KEPT her promise to take Bitsy for a walk. She tried to keep to the long driveway, but the German Shepherd picked up scents every few feet. Digger got pulled in every direction. “It’s too bad Uncle Benjamin can’t take you on walks.”

  After they had tromped by the large vegetable garden a second time, she was done. “Come on. I want to look at some more information for Holly.” She tugged on the leash gently, in the direction of the house.

  When they came in the back door, Digger could hear Uncle Benjamin’s voice coming up from the basement.

  “It’s like I told you, Sweet Girl, you and I don’t need to wash our clothes because we can just think about clean ones and we’re wearing them.”

  Digger couldn’t hear Cherry’s response, but got the gist from Uncle Benjamin’s reply.

  “No,” his voice drifted up, “Ragdoll doesn’t like the washing machine or baths.”

  Digger hung Bitsy’s leash on a hook near the back door and went to the large dining room table. She had carefully stacked what she thought of as the Holly Barton Files and began to spread them out again. She brought her laptop from the desk in the living room to the dining room and turned it on.

  She pulled up the copy of Holly’s family tree in her own account. Until now, she’d mostly tried to keep track of the varied Washington men – Charles, Benjamin and George – to determine which was Jeremiah’s father. This time she focused on Jeremiah’s wife, Ruth.

  The 1910 Census had been done only two months after Jeremiah died and seven months after his and Ruth’s son, Benjamin (Holly’s grandfather), was born. Digger found a man named Samuel Martin in the same household as the widowed Ruth Washington. More important, she was head of the household, so his relationship to her was noted -- as her brother, older by three years. However, Martin wasn’t necessarily Ruth’s maiden name, if she’d been married before she met Jeremiah Washington.

  Digger went back to 1880, when Ruth would have been two, and looked for Martin families in what had by then been designated Garrett County. She found Samuel Martin, Sr., and his wife Sarah. Their oldest son was Samuel, Jr. and they had two daughters – Ruth and Martha. Ages were a match. Success!

  Digger went to the Find a Grave site and added Ruth’s maiden name to her record and linked her to her parents. She loved being able to connect people and looked forward to telling Holly she’d found her Great Grandmother Ruth Washington’s maiden name.

  So, how did they help her find Jeremiah’s father’s wife’s name? Now that she was connecting more of Holly’s ancestors on Ancestry.com, the program had given Digger more hints.

  Previously, she’d identified one Jeremiah Washington as a son of George and Mary Elizabeth Washington and another Jeremiah with Charles and Elizabeth Washington. Holly’s Jeremiah had been born in 1868, but either one would have been the approximate age.

  People didn’t go as far from home in the late 1890s or early 1900s, which was when Jeremiah’s parents would likely have married. Ancestry had two hints to Jeremiah’s parents as Charles and Elizabeth, so Digger explored them and immediately saw why.

  The property where Jeremiah settled with his wife Ruth was two households away from Charles and Elizabeth. In other words, very close to each other on the west side of Meadow Mountain. The son stayed close to his parents.

  Digger felt more certain which family had Holly’s great, great grandmother. “Bingo!” She didn’t know Elizabeth Washington’s maiden name, but she had a better starting point to find it.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  WHILE HOLLY VISITED Duds and Suds on Wednesday, Digger held down the fort at the office, as Uncle Benjamin would say. She worked on designs for the business cards for the Oakland firm and then went online to find an obituary for Mrs. Halloway. Digger didn’t know her first name, but soon learned that ‘Nana’ was known to those other than Cherry as Anita Halloway.

  The obituary was brief, noting that she was a lifelong resident of Maple Grove who had “devoted her life to her family” and done volunteer work for the Maple Grove Hospice and the annual fundraising drive to ensure all kids had school supplies and winter coats.

  She had also been a “quiet partner” in her husband’s business, which the obit referred to as an investment advisory firm with clients throughout the country. Digger reread that sentence. She’d never given a thought to how Hamil Halloway earned a living. She assumed he was retired at this point, but he must have had a job to retire from.

  The more useful article was the news piece that described how Anita Halloway died and the hand-wringing that had gone on afterwards. A local physician had discussed the need for prompt care after a head injury. The tone of the advice almost sounded as if he was quietly chastising Hamil or Samantha for not realizing she had fallen until it was too late to prevent her death.

  Near the end, it described how her husband had driven her to the fire department in town so she could be transferred to an ambulance and taken to the hospital in Oakland. He hadn’t wanted to wait for the ambulance to make its way to their home.