Page 48 of Anchored

If Hank’s father robbed the church, my parents would never let me marry Hank.

Sometime later, after I’d cried all the tears I had left in my body, I put on some clothes and put my ear to my door. I was determined to prove Mr. McGrath innocent. That’s what I needed to do before we told them about me and Hank. It was simple. Prove his innocence and everything would be fine.

I could hear Mama on the phone in the kitchen, talking to her friends, probably gossiping all about the robbery, even though she always lectured me about the sins of gossiping. I crept out of my bedroom and tiptoed to the back of the house. I was out the door and on my way to Hank’s, keeping my head down and hoping I didn’t see anyone who’d call Mama and tell her what I was up to.

I’d never been to the McGraths’ house. Hank told me they were just renting and he said his father had a drinking problem. He didn’t like talking about his parents, so I didn’t bring them up much. I looked left and right before ringing the doorbell, but I didn’t see any neighbors watching the house. No one answered, not even when I rang it a second and third time. I slipped around the back, noticing the overflowing trash can and general condition of the property. Maintenance was not high on Mr. McGrath’s priority list it seemed.

The back door was unlocked, so in my panic I opened it, calling out my arrival. No one answered. I stepped inside, heart in my throat. My steps echoed off the walls. Nothing was left. Not one person, not one personal item. Even the bedrooms were stripped of everything. It was like they’d never even been there.

Hank was gone.

ChapterEighteen

Holt

If I didn’t have my glasses on already, I would assume I read the report wrong. But I didn’t. There it is, in literal black and white: McGrath. Mookie flails frantically in her harness and manages to lick my chin. Absentmindedly, I stroke her little head.

“But we don’t have a Hank McGrath in our family.” I’m not much of a historian, but I think I would remember a family member named Hank if we had one. This is only sixty years ago. Two or three generations back.

“Maybe we read something wrong? I’m going to see if Bett can help us.” Maple pats my shoulder and rushes off to find the officer.

It’s not long before Bett is back, elbowing me out of the way. I give up my chair to sit on her other side and let her take the lead on the computer. She clicks fast, screens flashing and programs flipping back and forth. Just as quickly as she’s clicking, she lets go of the mouse and sits back, her leather utility belt creaking.

“Welp. Looks like Walter McGrath was the prime suspect for the church robbery in 1963, but there was no evidence to support the one eyewitness who said they saw him around the church the day of the robbery. Walter was free to leave and leave he did. The McGraths moved out of Anchor Lake the next day. No one was ever arrested for the crime and the money was never found.”

I’m still confused. “To my knowledge, my family never lived in Anchor Lake until my parents moved here when they were pregnant with me.”

Bett shakes her no-nonsense head. “Says the McGraths rented a house on Pine Street for less than a year in the sixties.”

“Could it be a different McGrath? Like, not your family? You just share a last name?” Maple adds helpfully.

I’m nodding. McGrath isn’t super common, but it’s not unique either. “Yeah, maybe so.”

Bett leans forward and clicks once more. “Don’t know a Walter and Joan McGrath?” I shake my head, but I’ll also be calling my father after this to see if he has a copy of our family tree somewhere. “How about their son, Harold McGrath?”

My gaze snaps back to Bett. “Harold, did you say?”

She dips her head and folds her arms across her chest.

“Hank could be the nickname for Harold, right?” Maple says, but her voice is barely audible above the buzz in my head. “Holt?”

“Harold McGrath is my grandfather.”

To me, it feels like a bomb’s gone off. Maple’s mouth drops open but she doesn’t say a word. Bett swivels her head back and forth between us, then scrapes her chair back.

“Okay. Well, it looks like my job is done here.” She looks at each of us again, then shakes her head and walks away, shoes squeaking on the linoleum.

Maple’s mouth snaps shut and then she squeals, shooting to her feet. She comes over and cups my face, her excitement leaking onto Mookie who tries to both jump and bark her way out of the harness.

“We found Hank!”

I stand up and pet Mookie, trying to calm her down so she doesn’t strangle herself in the carrier. One side of my mouth hitches up in a wry smile. “So…my grandfather and your grandmother were…”

Maple’s face transforms into a beaming smile. There’s mischief in her eyes when she finishes my sentence. “Lovers.”

I reach up to run a hand through my hair. “I’m not sure if that’s hot or gross.”

Maple giggles and that’s enough to veer my thoughts from the past to the present. “I think it’s sweet.” She pauses expectantly. “Well, why don’t you call him? We can see if he wants to meet up with Grandma. We could even pick him up and bring him if it’s too far for him.”

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