It’s the first time Salem’s cool politeness has slipped. Probably Jess and Tegan don’t hear it, the edge of frustration in her voice, but I do. I know from these last couple of months that this is one of thoseother thingsfor Salem, something beyond just truth-seeking for her story. She’s never really forgotten it, that she’s the namesake of her famous podcast.
As far as the world knows, Salem Durant—prepped and waiting for an interview with a man who never showed—is the last con of Lynton Baltimore.
She clears her throat.
“We want to find out the truth about him,” she says, gentling her voice again. “About where he’s been for all these years. We think your mother might be the key to that.”
“Well, it’s like I said,” Jess says, new determination in her voice. She wants us out. “I don’t know where she is. So we can’t help you.”
“We’re going to find her,” Tegan blurts, hasty and overloud, and Salem purses her lips. I can tell she was hoping to make a graceful exit before this part came up. “We’ve planned it all out.”
“We’re still working out the details,” Salem clarifies, but that’s a stretch. Out in the rental car, there’s a binder of details that I put together. Maps, itineraries, contact information for a few leads. There’s also the detail that Salem and I are scheduled to be out of the office for the next month, working on this story.
Jess ignores Salem and stares at her sister. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a face like hers—it’s like looking through a window at a storm. There’s rain, lightning, wind; there’re trees bending and shaking with the force of it. Part of you is glad to be separate from it.
But part of you wants to press against the glass and get as close as you can.
“That’s why you have a bag packed?” she says.
Tegan nods, but doesn’t meet her sister’s eyes.
“Were you going to tell me?”
There’s a long, laden pause.
“I was going to leave a note.”
That storm I’m watching on Jess Greene’s face—it’s a gale force in her eyes. I wonder if Salem is bending under its strength, too.
I brace myself, because what follows this can only be a crash, an explosion. A tree limb down, a transformer blown.
I think Jess Greene is about to lose her grip on the temper she’s been holding since she opened the door to us, and something down deep inside me shifts. Maybe I was detached from this story before; maybe I was simply going along with whatever tasks my boss assigned me. Impress her and move on to the story I truly want to tell.
Right now, though? Right now I want the truth of this storm about as bad as I’ve ever wanted the truth of anything.
But I know the truth isn’t so easy.
And I know Jess Greene doesn’t want us—or her sister—to have it.
So instead of showing us her temper, she pushes back her chair and stands calmly from the table, saying nothing.
And then, she leaves.
The Last Con of Lynton Baltimore
Transcript excerpt from Episode 6, “The Sister”
:: indistinct chatter fades in::
Durant:Do you have cream?
:: sound of a refrigerator opening::
Gillian Baltimore:Milk’ll have to do.
Durant:That’s fine; thanks.
:: sounds of dishes clinking, liquid pouring, the dulled honk of a car horn::
