Subtly, she studied Penny’s mother. At fifty-seven, she’d aged gracefully. Still slender. Well put together. Hair and makeup perfect. Brown cashmere turtleneck sweater and camel slacks that made her a walking ad for Bergdorf.
But it was obvious that this crisis had taken a huge toll.
There were tight lines on her face that had nothing to do with age, and a haunted look in her eyes that Sloane had seen too many times to misread.
“So how are your parents?” Mrs. Truman asked, grasping for chitchat to accompany the normal motions of hostessing.
“They’re fine,” Sloane replied. “They retired and moved to Florida—although I use the word retired loosely. My mother still works with a few of her favorite authors who were clients at her literary agency, and my dad still handles an occasional art deal if he has an affinity for the piece involved.”
“Yes, I remember how much he used to travel abroad—and how often you went with him.”
“I loved it. That’s how I learned so many languages. It’s probably one of the main reasons the Bureau became so interested in recruiting me.” Sloane cleared her throat, and gently steered the conversation to where it needed to be. “Do you want to tell me about Penny?”
With an unsteady nod, Mrs. Truman stopped fussing over the refreshments and sank onto the edge of a wingback chair, her fingers tightly interlaced as she spoke. “I apologize for rambling.”
“Don’t. You’re frightened. Striking up ordinary conversation is a natural reaction under circumstances like these.”
“Thank you. And thank you for coming,” Mrs. Truman repeated. “I can’t tell you what it means to me.”
“You don’t have to.” Sloane leaned forward. “Mrs. Truman…”
“Hope,” the older woman corrected. Her lips curved ever so slightly. “You’re not a child anymore. I think we can dispense with the formalities.”
Sloane returned the faint smile. “Okay—Hope. I can only imagine what an ordeal this has been for you and your husband. You said Penny disappeared a year ago?”
“As of April fourteenth, yes, it will be a year. Although we didn’t find out she was missing until several days afterward.”
“Tell me all the details you can.”
Hope nodded, resorting to autopilot as she retold a story she’d probably told a dozen times before. “The fourteenth was a Saturday. She didn’t show up at work on the sixteenth or the seventeenth. She didn’t call in either day. Her assistant at the magazine tried to reach her at home and on her cell. No answer. The morning of the seventeenth, she was scheduled to meet her friend Amy for breakfast. Amy and Penny roomed together after college graduation for two or three years. Ronald and I have met Amy many times. She’s lovely. When Penny didn’t keep their breakfast date, and Amy had no luck finding her at her office or with any of her friends, she called us.”
“And you called the police.”
Hope nodded. “They ran down every lead they could. Eventually, they learned that a woman matching Penny’s description had bought a bus ticket to Atlantic City on April fourteenth. At that point, they brought in the FBI.”
“Which field office handled the case—New York or Newark?”
“New York, although they worked closely with Newark. It didn’t matter. Neither turned up anything. Either the woman they thought was Penny never arrived in Atlantic City or there were no witnesses who remembered seeing her.”
“What about a credit-card receipt for the ticket?”
“Another dead end. Whoever bought that ticket paid cash.”
Sloane’s brow furrowed. “This doesn’t sit right. I realize Penny and I hadn’t been in touch in ages, but she wanted to write for a fashion magazine since we were eleven. Plus, she was always conscientious. Unless she made a complete one-eighty—”
“She didn’t.”
“Then didn’t the fact that she missed work for two days without so much as a phone call raise any red flags at Harper’s Bazaar?”
“Yes…and no.” Hope took a shaky sip of tea. “It seems Penny was going through a rough patch at work. Something about being passed over for a promotion. It was a rocky time for her. Not just professionally, but personally. According to Penny’s assistant, Rosalinda, Penny had been seeing someone and the relationship had just broken up. So when Penny didn’t come in, Rosalinda covered for her. She told everyone at the magazine that Penny was working at home. When the FBI questioned her, she admitted that Penny had left the office the previous day in tears, saying something about what a mess her life was and how she was ready to pack it in.”
“At that point, did Penny get in touch with you?” Sloane asked carefully.
“No, not that day. We spoke about a week earlier.” Hope Truman cleared her throat. “If you’re asking if we were close, I’d say we were—as a mother and daughter. We weren’t girlfriends. She was a private person. She didn’t confide in me about her personal life. So if she went through a breakup, she didn’t mention it. But splitting up with a boyfriend can hardly be compared to dropping off the face of the earth. If Penny had planned on doing that, she would never have done so without a word to her father and me. Nor would she have done so without taking her personal belongings or making final arrangements with her landlord, her bank, and her utility companies. Plus, none of her credit cards has been used since her disappearance.”
“What was the FBI’s theory on all that?”
“That the combination of personal issues in her life might have overwhelmed her. That she might have become depressed. And that severe depression sometimes causes people to behave in ways that are inconsistent with their personalities.”