“A producer from Unsolved Mysteries actually inquired about this case,” she continues. “I found a note in the file online. So I put a call in to the show, because I know a guy who works there. Interestingly, it looks like the estate of Penny Wentworth declined to be interviewed or to cooperate.”
“The husband?”
“Yes, Dexter Wentworth.”
“Either he’s the shy type or—”
“The guilty type,” she says. “But the husband wasn’t the only suspect. There was some character named Collin McCleary. It says here that he was wanted for questioning but the cops could never find him.”
My eyes widen. Jim mentioned someone named Collin. But who was he? “Joanie, what if she didn’t die? What if she just left?”
“I suppose it’s a possibility,” she says. “She didn’t have children, did she?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“So there wouldn’t be anyone holding her back if she did want to leave. It’s not clear what happened, but I’ve worked for the police department long enough to know that this story has a strange vibe to it.”
I nod. “You might be right. I just keep hoping that she’s out there somewhere, living the life she always dreamed of with the man she loves.” I pause for a moment. “Did you find an address for Collin?”
I can hear Joanie typing before she responds. “Well,” she finally says. “Looks like there is one. He used to live at 2203 Fairview Avenue Number 9, in Seattle. Do you know where that is?”
My heart beats wildly as I walk to the window. “Yes,” I say, my gaze locked on Alex’s houseboat. “I’m looking right at it.”
I venture out to the dock before dinner and see Jim ahead. He’s holding a hose and spraying down the dock after a morning visit from a gaggle of Canadian geese. I wave to him.
“City folks have pigeons,” he says. “Houseboaters have geese.” He kneels down to turn off the water spigot.
I smile to myself.
“Well,” he says, looking up at the clear sky. “Nice day. I was thinking of taking the boat out. Would you like to join me?”
I’ve been admiring the Catalina since I arrived. “I’d love to,” I say quickly.
He tosses me a life vest, and we walk toward the end of the dock. The old sailboat is worn, but well kept and regal-looking, like a seventy-five-year-old woman whose beauty shines through her wrinkles. Jim climbs aboard, and I follow, taking a seat on an upholstered bench at the front of the boat. I watch as he unties the ropes and tugs at the little motor to start the engine.
“We’ll just motor out to the lake, then set the sails up there,” he says.
I nod as we gain momentum. It’s easy to feel free out here, easy to let go of your worries. I wonder if Penny felt that way living here.
“Jim,” I say cautiously, “may I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“I’m trying to figure out who Collin was. The man you mentioned.”
He looks up at me as if the question has startled him, then kills the engine, so all we hear now is the sound of the lake lapping against the side of the boat. “Yes,” he says after a long moment.
I’m not sure if I’m about to broach a sensitive topic. He already seemed a bit cagey when I inquired about Penny before. But why? “It’s just that, well, I did a little investigating, and I learned that after Penny Wentworth’s disappearance, there seem to have been two suspects—her husband, Dexter, and a man named Collin. I’m just trying to make sense of it all.”
Jim looks lost in thought. His eyes drift out to the horizon. “Penny loved him,” he says. “Even as a boy, I could tell. You can see the way people look at each other.” He shakes his head. “But their timing wasn’t right.”
“Collin, you mean?”
He nods.
“She was married when she met him, wasn’t she?”
“Yes,” he says, standing up to adjust the sails. I duck my head to make room. “They were going to sail away together that night, the night of—”
“The night of her disappearance?”
“Yes,” he says, looking out at the lake longingly, as if he hopes to steer the boat through the locks and out to the open water just then. “But Penny never did join him that night.”
“What did he do, Collin?”
“He stayed away a long time,” he says. “It was years before I saw him again on Boat Street, and when I did, I hardly recognized him. Just a shadow of the man he once was. Hollow cheeks. Ashen eyes. He didn’t speak of what he’d gone through, but I knew it must have been harrowing. He secured the Catalina on the slip at the end of the dock and knelt down to where I was sitting. ‘Can I ask you a favor, son?’ Of course, I was eager to help him in any way I could. I’d watched Collin building the sailboat, sometimes for hours at a time. He used to let me sand the boards before he put them in place, then I’d take a cloth and rub them with teak oil. ‘I need you to look after the Catalina for a while,’ he said. ‘I need you to keep her right here for me.’ I beamed. It was the greatest responsibility anyone had ever given me, and I almost pinched myself in that moment. My parents wouldn’t agree to a hamster, but here was Collin entrusting me with a ship.