The Return(55)

“Carl Haverson.”

“Yep,” he said. “Paid cash for one night. Returned the key and got his deposit back.”

“Do you remember anything he might have said? Where he might have been going?”

“I can’t help you there. Sorry. Guests kind of run together, you know?”

“Can you tell me what you do remember?”

“I remember finding him,” he said. “He was in his truck, with the engine still idling. I don’t know how long he was there, but I remember looking out the window and seeing the truck about to turn onto the highway. A couple of minutes later, the truck was still there. I remember because it was belching out a lot of smoke. But anyway, the truck was blocking part of the exit, so I finally went out there and was about to knock on the window when I saw him slumped over the wheel. I opened the door and he didn’t look good. I wasn’t sure if he was dead or alive, so I went back inside and called 911. The police showed up and an ambulance came and the crew did their thing before loading him into the back. He was still alive at that point, but it was the last I saw of him.”

After he finished, I glanced through the window toward the exit, visualizing the scene. Squirrelly or not, Beau had been helpful.

“Do you know what happened to the truck?”

“Some of it.”

“Just some?”

“I asked the sheriff if I could move it so it wasn’t blocking the exit. Like I explained, it was still running. He told me to go ahead, but to put the keys in an envelope, in case the guy came back. So I moved the truck into the lot over by the end and did what he told me to do.”

“Do you still have the keys?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head.

“Why not?”

“I don’t want any trouble. I waited a couple of weeks for the guy to come back. Your grandfather, I mean. But he never did and I never heard anything.”

“I’m not angry,” I said, “and you’re not in trouble. I’m just trying to find his truck on the off chance there was something inside that would tell me where he was going.”

He studied me.

“My uncle told me to have it towed,” he finally said. “I gave the tow truck driver the keys.”

“Do you happen to remember who you called?”

“AJ’s,” he said. “AJ’s Towing.”

*



It was probably too late to pay a visit to AJ’s, so I drove back to the Greenville Marriott. I showered and watched an action movie on pay-per-view before crawling in bed. Reaching for my phone, I texted Natalie.

Hey there. It was a long drive, but I’m glad I came. Learned some things, found out the truck was towed. Looking into that tomorrow. Love you.



Too tired to text a second time if she responded, I put the phone on silent and turned out the lamp. I fell asleep within minutes and my last conscious thought was to wonder again where my grandfather had been going.

In the morning, there was no response from Natalie.

*



After breakfast, I debated whether to call AJ’s or swing by, finally deciding on the latter. The GPS guided me to an industrial area of Easley and though I found the address, I saw no sign indicating the name of the business, nor could I find an entrance to any office. Instead, I saw a large, rectangular prefabricated building with three large roll-up doors squatting in the center of a crumbling asphalt yard, all behind tall chain-link fencing. Though there was a gate that led to the property, it was chained and locked. On the opposite side of the yard, I saw three dusty cars parked in a row. No one seemed to be out and about.

It was regular business hours, but once I thought about it, the locked premises seemed logical. Unless someone had their car or truck impounded on the property, there was probably no reason to keep an office staff, or even someone around to answer the phone. Most likely, the phone number for the business went straight to a cell phone.

I dialed it, listened to it ring, and after hearing the gruff recorded voice of AJ, I left a brief message about the information I needed and asked him to call me.

With little to do other than wait, I toured Easley, finding it prettier than I’d expected. I also found the hospital again and though I didn’t get out of my vehicle, I sent a silent thanks to the good people who worked there. My grandfather had been well cared for in his final days by conscientious doctors and nurses, people who were thoughtful enough to try to track me down.

At noon, I drove back to Greenville and had lunch downtown, at a place that served an exceptional crab melt and appeared to be frequented by women who worked in nearby office buildings. Because I’d checked out of the hotel, I lingered in the restaurant until I finally felt self-conscious, then went for a walk.

Three hours passed without hearing from AJ. Then four and five hours. I debated leaving for New Bern, but felt compelled to speak with AJ face-to-face. Anyway, even if I left then, I wouldn’t get home until nearly midnight.

I went back to the Marriott and checked in again. While charging my phone, I kept the ringer on high. I texted Natalie again.

Thinking of you. Probably heading home tomorrow, back in the afternoon.



I opted for Mexican food for dinner, within walking distance of the hotel. As I walked back, I dialed AJ’s cell number a second time. This time I got an answer. I identified myself, mentioned that I’d called earlier about my grandfather’s truck, and was abruptly cut off. Either AJ had hung up on me or my service had dropped. I dialed again and—as it had earlier that morning—the call went straight to voicemail and I disconnected the call.