The Return(69)

“I don’t know how much of this I can answer,” he muttered.

“Just do what you can for now,” the woman responded. “We can get the rest from her later.”

I hope so was all I could think.

Claude called Frank at the store to pull her personal file for some of the information; while he was doing that, I sat in the waiting room. Little by little, the adrenaline was receding from my system, leaving me drained. In silence, I continued to think about Callie, hoping for the best but feeling unsettled by the strange and sudden notion that the worst was still to come.

*



I dropped Claude back off at the store, still fighting the storm and multiple flooded roads before finally making it back to my house. A quick run-through left me pleasantly surprised that the tarp seemed to be working and all the leaks had stopped. Soaking wet again, I threw my clothes in the dryer, put on some sweats, and made another pot of coffee.

While it was brewing, I fired up my laptop and did a little digging on medical sites on possible causes of fainting, then other conditions that might explain her poor color and assorted bruising. There were too many possibilities to consider, some even life-threatening, but nothing definitive until tests were done. Even then, the primary worry right now was the head trauma. I hoped she’d had her CT scan, and that they were already figuring out next steps.

Not that it was any of my business. We were strangers and if getting out of the car earlier that morning was any indication, she might prefer to keep it that way. I wondered again why mentioning her parents had provoked such a violent reaction. Until that moment, she’d been distant; it was only then that Callie had panicked.

Except…

I suddenly remembered that she’d seemed to panic when I’d spoken to her at lunch as well. I tried to remember what I’d specifically said that had upset her then, but could only recall generalities and was too tired to think about it any further.

After pouring myself a cup of coffee, I surfed some news sites and checked my email. Most of it was junk that I deleted quickly, but toward the bottom, I opened an email from Marvin Kerman. Though I’d expected a negative reply, I learned that AJ had indeed saved my grandfather’s effects and would send them along. He asked for my shipping address and requested a waiver of any legal claims against his client. Attached to the letter was a form I was asked to sign, which I printed, scanned, and faxed back to Kerman. Depending on how quickly the items were sent, it was possible that I’d have them sometime next week.

Hungry again and deciding on a sandwich, I fished some turkey from the refrigerator, then went to the cupboard for a loaf of bread. Like my grandfather, I generally didn’t keep a lot of food in the house, but as I pulled down the bread, I suddenly remembered cleaning out all the old food when I’d first moved in. And, like a key turning in a lock, I had a strong hunch as to the identity of the person who’d squatted in my grandfather’s house after he’d passed away.

I wasn’t absolutely certain, but I felt it had to have been Callie. I’d thrown away a nearly empty jar of peanut butter, something my grandfather wouldn’t have had in the house because he was allergic to peanuts, but something Callie ate every day. Claude had also mentioned Callie was almost OCD about cleanliness and aside from the broken back door, the house had been in nearly perfect order when Natalie had walked through. Those things could be written off as coincidences, but given her friendship with my grandfather and no family in the area, where else would she have gone when her trailer burned down? It also explained why she’d been so insistent that she’d done nothing wrong when I’d tried to speak with her at lunch; those adamant and fearful denials made a bit more sense if she’d actually broken into the house, since she knew she’d been guilty.

Added all together, it was convincing if not absolute proof, but over the next few days, I grew even more certain I was right, even as I continued to wonder about her condition. Then, on the following Monday, right after my session with Bowen, I received unexpected confirmation that Callie had indeed been inside my grandfather’s house.

A woman identifying herself as Susan Hudson, an administrator in the billing department of the hospital, called the house, asking for my grandfather. I informed her that he’d passed away but that I was the next of kin, and after a bit of hemming and hawing, she finally revealed the real reason for her call.

“Callie,” she told me, “is using your late grandmother’s social security number.”





Chapter 15





I met with Susan Hudson the following morning. She was a dark-haired, dark-eyed woman in her fifties who seemed to navigate an incredibly difficult job with relatively good cheer. Spending most of the day on the phone arguing with insurance companies, speaking to patients about various past-due accounts, or letting people know that one procedure or another wasn’t covered by their health plans would have made me absolutely miserable. She was nonetheless friendly and apparently relieved that I’d come in, which I hadn’t anticipated. Motioning for me to take a seat in one of the chairs in front of her desk, she made a quick call, telling someone that I’d arrived. Less than a minute later, a physician entered the office.

“Dr. Adrian Manville,” he said to me, offering his hand. “I’m the chief medical officer here,” he said.

“Dr. Trevor Benson,” I replied, wondering why he had decided to join us.