Three days had passed since I heard from her. The call Sunday night had me concerned. It wasn’t like Cami. She always put her friends before everyone else. As stoked as she was about meeting Bianca Saturday night, I couldn’t imagine what would have possessed her to put the moves on Bianca’s fiancé Sunday. Something wasn’t right. I dialed again. “Damn voicemail,” I said to no one in particular. No fricken way I’m leaving another voicemail.
Something was wrong. I could feel it. No way would she not return one of my calls in three days. I got on the internet and found William Strayer. I scratched his number on the back of a receipt and called him.
A lady answered the phone, “Hello.”
“Hi, this is Daniel. I’m a friend of Cami’s. Could I talk to her?”
“Uh. . . Camille isn’t here right now. Could I take a message?”
“When will she be back?”
“She’s visiting her grandmother in Florida. I’m afraid I don’t know when she’ll return.”
“Since when does Cami have a grandmother?”
“I’ll give her your message when she returns.” Her voice had finality to it, but I didn’t want her to hang up.
“Wait! Can you give me her grandmother’s phone number?”
“She doesn’t have a phone.”
“She doesn’t have a phone?”
“No, she lives a life of seclusion.”
“Well, what’s her grandmother’s address?”
“I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”
“Daniel. Daniel Gaskins. I’m a friend of Cami’s from California. I just need to talk to her.”
“That’s out of the question.” I heard her hang up. If it would have been possible to reach through the phone line and slap her, I would have. Fine, she won’t give me the address over the phone; maybe she’ll be more willing to give it to me while I’m standing at her door.