I drove until the gas needle hovered above E. Along the way, I passed the entrance to my ex Lana’s neighborhood. It wasn’t what you would call on the way to Momma’s house. I must’ve driven there subconsciously. Didn’t realize it until I saw the street sign. I braked hard and whipped the wheel, cutting across the divide and in front of a couple of shocked oncoming drivers who blared their horns at me.
I wasn’t sure what had become of Lana after she’d been arrested for her involvement in those kids’ abduction. Did the judge offer her bail? Had she been able to post it? No clue. Don’t care, don’t wanna know.
Her car sat in the driveway, about halfway between the street and garage. A thin layer of dirt and a little mold covered the white exterior. Guess that was the case with most white cars that sat for too long in one place. The front blinds were drawn and the curtains parted. I took that to mean she had posted bond and was home, maybe on a house arrest-type deal. Not like she had anywhere else to go. No school would ever hire her again, assuming she managed to escape significant jail time.
To think, I thought I might marry the woman someday.
As Momma would say, I can read a criminal like an open book, but women were a mystery to me. Never could pick the right one. I thought I had a winner in Marissa. That didn’t turn out so well, either.
I turned in the cul-de-sac and covered the side of my face as I powered past the house on the way out. Not sure what the point was. The Boss was a pretty recognizable car. At the end of the street, I stopped and reached for Robbie’s postcard. My fingers traced the letters written by Robbie’s hand, pausing on the postmark.
Denver.
Could it be that easy?
Doubtful. Marissa, for all her faults, was a good cop’s wife. She was smart, with a memory like a sponge. She saw the world through similar colored lenses as me. She listened well. Perhaps too well. I divulged thoughts and facts to her that I know she kept locked in a vault in her mind. She’d know better than to let Robbie mail off that postcard from a city they were living in. The way I saw it, that left three options.
They were leaving Denver when he mailed it. Or they had made a trip there, perhaps from someplace nearby. Or he had done it when she wasn’t looking.
Either way Denver would hold a clue. And now that I had some time off, I’d head out there and see what turned up.
As I got back on track to Momma’s house, I thought of the other person I knew in Denver. Bridget Dinapoli. We had struck something up between us while working on the Beans and Debbie case together. I know they say cops and FBI don’t mix, but there was something about the woman I couldn’t shake. While the case ultimately got me suspended, Bridget received a promotion to the Denver field office. I’d mulled over calling her the moment I spotted the postmark on Robbie’s note. The only reason I hadn’t was I feared she would help. I didn’t want her putting her career at risk for me.
But if I was going to be out there, well, it couldn’t hurt to reach out to her.
An old faded red Ford Galaxy occupied most of Momma’s driveway. I drove past, and pulled next to the curb, got out and walked up behind the car. It had local tags. The black interior was in perfect shape. I doubted the car had anywhere close to a hundred thousand miles on it. The steering wheel was wrapped in camouflage. Black Rosary beads hung from the rearview mirror.
I continued to the side entrance, leading to the kitchen. The door was locked. I rapped on it. The floor shook and the louvered glass rattled as my mother walked over and unlocked the door.
“How’d it go?” Her eyebrows were arched high into her forehead and her mouth hung open in anticipation.
“Not so well,” I said.
She exhaled with a sigh. Her breath smelled like bacon and coffee.
“Come on in,” she said, pulling the door open.
“Who’s here?”
“Father Reyes stopped by. We’ve been praying for you.”
I stopped and looked at her. “This a new thing for you?”
“What?”
“Church?”
“You’d know I was going regularly again if you stopped by more often.”
“I’m here almost every day.”
“Yeah, to drop Ella off. When’s the last time you came in and had a cup of coffee with me?”
“Not now, Momma. Not with the day I’m having.” I looked over and saw the priest standing near the fridge.
He nodded and smiled.
“Father,” I said.
“Mitch,” he said. “Hope you’re well. Haven’t seen you at Mass in a while.”
“Yeah, well, no offense, but I’m a bit pissed at God at the moment. Having your kid stolen in the middle of the night can do that to you.”
His smile dimmed, but didn’t fade. If he were in my interrogation room I’d classify him as arrogant. “I might be able to help you with these feelings, Mitch. You should come by my office one of these days.”
“I’ll take that into consideration, Father.” I turned to my mother. “Can we talk for a minute?”
“Sure,” she said.
“Alone,” I said.
“What? Oh, yeah.” She walked over to the priest. “Father Reyes, would you mind waiting in the living room?”
He waved at me, then disappeared. The floor vibrated with every step he took.
“What is it?” Momma said.
“I’m thinking about getting away for a couple days.”
She narrowed her eyes, waiting for the follow up.
“And I was hoping you could watch Ella for me.”
“Sure, but where are you going?”
I shrugged, said nothing.
“I’m not going to do it if you won’t tell me.”
“Haven’t decided yet.”
She grabbed my forearm and bit down with her fake nails. “Do you know something about where Robbie is?”
I tipped my head, lowered my voice even more. “I might have a lead.”
She inhaled sharply and sat down in one of her retro looking red vinyl-covered kitchen chairs. The seat groaned as she shifted to get comfortable.
“Take as long as you need, Mitch,” she said. “I’m serious. Ella will be fine here. And if I need a break, the girl next door is an excellent sitter.”
“She’s at school now?”
Momma nodded.
“Give her a kiss for me and tell her I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“You’re not gonna say goodbye?”
“It’s best I get going now.”
I left Momma’s, drove home, and parked the Boss in the garage. As I ate a quick lunch I noticed how hollow the house felt. Where four people had once been a happy, young family, nothing remained but tortured fragments of our souls. I shook the feelings aside over a beer and then changed into jeans, a grey pullover, and threw on some hiking boots. I packed a bag with a couple changes of clothing.
Fifteen minutes later, the cab pulled up to take me to the airport.
Less than an hour later, I stood in front of the ticket counter. I wasn’t going to Denver. Not yet, at least. Why? Because I couldn’t get it out of my head that Marissa was screwing with me, hoping I’d waste my time looking for her in the mile-high city.
So I purchased a ticket and boarded a plane bound for Savannah, Georgia, where my old friend Cassie lived. If anyone could help me find my son, it was her.