I checked the bathroom first, but she wasn’t there. Her gloves were no longer beside the sink. Her duffle bag was gone, too.
The phone rang. A shrill, harsh sound. I stared at it for a good, long while before finally scooping up the receiver. I didn’t say anything, but I could hear someone breathing on the other end of the line, then a male voice. “Jack?”
Dunk.
“Yeah?”
“You all right? You sound funny.”
Not all right.
Not at all.
“I can’t talk. What do you need?”
“Oh, shit! Does that mean you found her? Is she there right now? Did you finally get to—”
I cut him off. “What is it, Dunk?”
He blew out a breath. “My man. Pulling all kinds of triggers this week. Good for you.”
“I’m hanging up.”
“Hold up. My guy found one of your names.”
“Which one?”
“Cammie Brotherton. Although, she’s not Cammie Brotherton anymore. She’s Faye Mauck now. She changed her name a half dozen times over the years, moved all over the country.”
I pressed the receiver tighter against my ear. “Wait, she’s still alive?”
“Shouldn’t she be? Why else would you have me look for her?”
The list I made of the Penn State names was sitting next to the phone, on top of the yearbook. My copy ofGreat Expectationswas gone. Stella must have taken the book with her. “Do you have an address?”
He read it off to me. I found a pen and scribbled the address down on the pad of motel stationery.
Carmel, California.
“Got something else, too. Have you ever heard of something calledCharter?”
“No, why?”
“People are asking about you around town, trying to find you. My guys picked one of ’em up and talked to him. At first he said he was an old friend, but once they all got to know each other a little better, he opened up, got chatty. He told them he was with an outfit called Charter. Said it was real important that he found you.”
“Talked to him, huh?”
“Yeah. Talked to him, nice and neat. My guys said he was packing, a Colt Anaconda six-shot revolver. That’s no joke. He didn’t make much of an effort to hide it, either. They said he wore it right on his belt under his coat, Old West style.”
I perked up. “Coat? What kind of coat?”
“How the hell should I know? Think I’m some kind of fashion guru?”
“What color was his coat?”
“Dunno. If it’s important, I’ll ask when I see Reid.”
“It’s important.”
