were interrupted with visions of separate holidays, vacations, and celebrations and the nightmare if Tom and Dad every accidentally ended up at the same one.
When I sighed, Tom said, “You okay, Liza?”
“Just full from the dinner,” I told him, which was true but not the reason I had sighed.
He reached over, picked up my hand, and kissed it. “It will all work out, Liza.”
I gave him my best reassuring smile, then went back to watching the scenery. I hoped he was right, but deep down in my heart, I knew it wouldn’t because I couldn’t come up with a scenario that would end happily for everyone.
When we got home, Tom slipped off my dress and we made love, slow and easy. I pushed my doubts and fears out of my mind and enjoyed the moment.
In the morning, Tom gathered up his stuff.
“Time to leave again,” I sighed.
“I can get you an application for the school around the corner from my house,” he offered.
“I can get you one from the San Ramon Police department,” I countered.
We both laughed.
He pulled me close and we shared a wonderful kiss.
When he released me he said, “I’m going to miss you.”
“Me, too.”
“Let me know what Justin finds out about that library place and if you decide to take a trip to see a rodeo, I’d like to be with you from the start on this one, okay?”
“Sure,” I said.
Tom left and life returned back to its normal routine – school, long phone conversations with Tom, and an occasional weekend together. Christmas turned out to be pretty much the same as Thanksgiving. My dad and Jordan came in early, we celebrated together, they left, and Tom arrived. This time Tom asked when they were going home and made sure he didn’t arrive until the next day. He didn’t want a repeat of Shelby’s performance or to take the chance of having to arrest my dad.
Like Tom suggested, Justin spent days researching the library research division and couldn’t find anything that seemed important. He learned that the division is part of the Library of Congress in Washington, D.C. You can go onto the Internet and ask questions and a librarian will research it. People use an extensive phone network to work on projects together. They leave and retrieve information in specific coded files. My code was just one of thousands. Anyone could set a file up by using the Internet without leaving their name or any other information.
Every Saturday I made the same call and nothing changed until March 27 th . I dialed the number, not expecting anything new, so I was half listening.
“April 15th, 2010. A rodeo star’s entire family was brutally murdered today in Ridgedale. The police have no suspects.” A pause and then the next message “Updates to this event will be entered into the library as they occur.”
Wait a minute, I thought. That didn’t sound right. I played it again. This time there was a city’s name.
I called Justin.
“Hey, Teach.”
“Justin, the recording changed.”
“Really?” His voice elevated in surprise and anticipation. “What’s different?”
“There is a city’s name now. It’s Ridgedale.”
“I’ll look up everything I can find on the place and call you back.”
He hung up.
I dialed Tom.
“Hi honey, how’s it going?”
“I have no time to talk. I’ve got a city’s name.”
“To what?” he asked, clearly confused.
“The recording has a city’s name in it now. Ridgedale.”
“I’ll see what I can find out. I’ll call you back.”
Call number three.
“Hi, Liza, how nice to hear from you,” Dad said.
“No time, Dad. I’ve got a city name.”
“From the recording?” he asked.
“Yes. It’s Ridgedale.”
“I’ll call my people and see if I can find anything that might help.”
“Great. Thanks.”
I sat back in the kitchen chair and tried to slow my heart rate. After seven months of nothing, we finally have something to go on and I have three people looking into Ridgedale. I felt like the manager of a private
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