oblivious to it all.
When he got home, he called CHI and asked to speak to Ross.
“Hey, Jake, how ya doin’?”
“Hi, Ross. Look, I need to get back on flight status. I can’t sit around doing nothing and thinking about my problems.”
“How are you feeling – physically?”
“I’m still sore, but it’s getting better, and I can fly.”
Ross hesitated momentarily then said, “Okay, Jake. Come in tomorrow at 0700, and you’ll be on the schedule.”
“Thanks, Ross.”
He hung up and thought about what to do next. His grass needed mowing, and the forensic guys had made a mess with dusting powder everywhere. He spent the rest of the day cleaning up inside and grooming his yard. In the afternoon, BJ called. “Hey, buddy, Ross told me to get you back into the rotation. That’s great!”
“Hi, BJ. I’m depressed and bored. I need to get back flying and forget about things and let the police do their work.”
“Yeah, well, that’s no problem. You’re on for tomorrow. How you feeling physically?”
“Getting better. I’m going to keep up my gym routine now that I’m in good shape. I feel good enough to work out today, so it’ll give me something to do rather than sitting around here feeling sorry for myself -- did that for too many years.”
“All right, buddy. I’ll see you in the morning then.”
The afternoon air was milder, and the humidity was down as another cold front moved through. He felt good mowing the grass and stayed outside to organize his carport and trim the yard. If there was one positive legacy from Callie’s time with him it was this. His health was much better. He was in better shape than anyone he knew after eight years away from the Army. After all those years of self-pity, it was invigorating to be alive again. Somehow, even though it was a sham, Bobby’s memory was a little less important.
He thought about Callie while he worked. What had her life been like? He couldn’t comprehend being alone on the streets at fourteen. What horrors had she experienced before then? Kids run away often enough, but they don’t stay away forever. How bad had it been for her? When he was that age, he couldn’t have managed one night alone in a strange environment. Where would she sleep? How would she eat? What about clothes and hygiene. She must have been terrified. How long had she lived like that? Half her life! Good lord, how did she do it? Somewhere under that damaged psyche, would there ever be any joy in her life? His loss was tangible. He couldn’t replace his lost collection, but so what? It was just going to remain hidden in the dark anyway. He could never sell it, and there wasn’t anyone to inherit it. Maybe Callie could gain some measure of a normal happy life.
The Letters
When she arrived home in the afternoon after teaching school, there was a plain white sedan parked in her driveway. There were plenty of nosey neighbors watching, so she didn’t feel threatened but pulled alongside the other car and decided not to press the garage opener. As she exited, two nicely dressed people, a man and a woman, got out to greet her. The woman said, “Mrs. LaRue? Mrs. Julie LaRue?”
“Yes. What can I do for you?”
“Mrs. LaRue, we’re with the FBI. I’m Agent Carly Mott, and this is Albert Franklin. They both showed IDs, which would have the neighbor’s phone lines buzzing. “We’d like to ask you some questions if you don’t mind, about Callie Murray.”
“I don’t know Callie Murray.”
“Okay, we have an old mugshot, maybe she used a false name.” The first picture showed the girl she knew as Callie Ramsey, standing in a prison jumpsuit with front and side views.
She put her hand to her mouth, “Oh, my God.”
Agent Mott suggested, “Can we talk inside?”
Julie didn’t say anything. She walked ahead, fumbling for her keys. There’s something unnerving about people with badges coming to your door wanting to talk inside. Julie was shaking. Once inside the front door, she led them into the living room and offered them sweet tea, which both declined.
Mott continued, “Mrs. LaRue, we’re helping in an investigation of a felony that could involve Callie Murray who was the woman in the picture.”
“I ... I knew her as Callie Ramsey.” Agent Franklin was taking notes as the two agents looked at each other, then back at her.
Mott said, “That’s very interesting. How do you know her?”
Julie had never been involved in any kind of criminal discussion and tried to keep her hands calm. “What’s this about? Do you think I did something wrong?”
“Oh, no, Mrs. LaRue. We’re just trying to piece together where this person has been and try to find out where she might be now.”
“I don’t know where she is.”
Mott continued, “That’s fine Mrs. LaRue, can you tell us how you know Ms. Murray.”
“Well, I guess I don’t know her at all.” She paused then continued. “Several months ago in the early summer when I was just beginning our break from school, Callie, Miss Murray, showed up at my door. It’s kind of a long story, and I don’t know how to tell it otherwise.”
Mott said, “You’re doing fine ma’am, just tell it anyway you can.”
Julie told them about the time spent with Callie, and the story she’d told about being Jake Ramsey’s daughter. Then she told them about the letters from Bobby.
Mott asked, “Did you give the letters to this woman?”
“Why no, they’re very special to me. I keep them in a box in the garage.”
Mott said, “Mrs. LaRue, we believe some of the letters were shown to a man in Louisiana.”
“Oh, dear! Oh no! They must be in the garage.” Without further dialogue, she stood and walked from the living room with the Agents following. They walked through the kitchen to a door into the garage. “They’re right over here.” She walked to the far wall with shelves along the entire length filled with odd boxes and some of her husband’s tools and fishing gear.
After searching, she looked at the Agents with tears welling, “I don’t see the box. She took my box of Bobby’s letters. Why? Why would she do that?”
Franklin stood close by, figuratively offering a shoulder if she wanted one. He said, “She had a motive, Mrs. LaRue, that’s all we can say at this time.”
“I can’t believe it. She was such a sweet thing. I just can’t believe it.” She was shaking her head.
Mott said quietly, “We’ll try to get them back, Mrs. LaRue, but there’s no guarantee.”
She just shook her head as the Agents departed, letting themselves out as they had entered.
Stranded
Callie had enough gas to get to Savannah and could probably use Jake’s credit card to live for a day of two. But she didn’t have anything after that. She wasn’t a girl who would panic. She’d lived without means for all of her adult life. She drove into the night changing from I-75 to I-16, following the signs to Savannah. She’d never been there but had seen the pictures and read about the beautiful antebellum setting in one of Jake’s magazines. That’s what she wanted, even if she could only have it for a day. What else could she do? She had no place to go now. Her mother’s trailer was gone. She was a thief. Will left her without anything. Jake would hate her. She was fourteen again, except she was realistic now. She couldn’t live on the streets again. She’d had a better life with Jake, even though only for a few months. She’d never lived anywhere safe, comfortable, or caring before him. Why did she betray him? He was only good to her. Damn Will for forcing her into this.
She followed I-16 to its end in the old historic district along Savannah’s waterfront. It was late evening when she cruised down Bay Street. The charm of the waterfront area was overwhelming. It was beautiful. She had never seen any place like it. This must be how the rich people see places. She smiled to herself that six months ago, she would not have appreciated it, or even wanted to see it.
In the middle of the hist
oric district she saw it. She couldn’t believe it. She had never seen a more beautiful hotel. The Westminster Hotel shined like a jewel along the Savannah River. Her plans formed immediately when she turned into the antique-gated entry, parking in front of the grand entrance. When she worked the streets, she’d had no idea that hotels could look this good. Her “clients” always took her to the seediest, ugliest, cheapest hotels. Tulsa didn’t have anything to compare with the Westminster.
Before she could reach the handle, a valet opened her door. “Good evening, Miss, will you be staying with us?”
She’d never had anyone open her door before and took a moment to respond. “Ah, I’d like to. Are there any rooms available?”
“Miss, I’m sure the people at the front desk will help you. If you’ll give me your keys, I’ll pull your car up a bit, and then I’ll park it once you’re settled in a room. Can I help with your luggage?”
She felt awkward. “I don’t really have luggage, just a bag in the trunk.”
“I’ll get it for you, while you check in.”
She didn’t quite know what to do next, but responded to his gesture by walking through the large brass and glass doors, held open by a uniformed man. She said, “Thank you.”
She looked around in amazement at the lobby, tastefully done with expensive furnishings, and gilded detailing in the tall ceiling. A young woman behind the lobby desk asked, “Can I help you?”
Callie responded, “Hello. I’m on a short unplanned vacation