A Fool's Journey Page 3

  “Hmmm. Not really. But I’m not an expert on tattoos.”

  “Probably just my imagination then,” I said, but I knew it would niggle.

  “We could always take this to a tattoo parlor and see what they have to say.”

  It was a good idea, one I’d add to my growing to-do list. “There’s one more thing, a journal that belonged to Olivia. I thumbed through it before you got here. Her handwriting isn’t easy to decipher, and it’s not much more than a list of questions, versus answers. I’m not sure whether that’s because she ran out of time, or because Eleanor’s cognitive issues had advanced to the point where her memories were no longer reliable. Overall, it’s not much help.”

  “It’s a starting point.” Chantelle logged into her tablet and began typing. That’s one of the differences between us. I tend to be more of a pen and paper thinker. The other difference is that even with her blonde hair tied in a ponytail and her face devoid of makeup, Chantelle was drop-dead gorgeous, with charcoal gray eyes that seemed to smolder and a killer body developed from years of working as a personal trainer and fitness class instructor. I’m not unattractive—black-rimmed hazel eyes being my best feature, though I could live without my unruly chestnut curls—and as a runner I’m in decent physical shape, but I’ll never be in her league. Then again, despite Chantelle’s obvious attempts at flirtation, I’d been the one Royce Ashford had asked out.

  The thought of Royce momentarily distracted me. We’d left things in limbo, neither one of us quite sure where our relationship was headed, or if we even wanted a relationship. I pushed him out of my mind and gave Chantelle my undivided attention.

  “Now that you’ve seen everything I have, does anything stand out? Beyond the files from G.G. Pietrangelo?”

  “My gut feeling is that Michael Westlake and Brandon Colbeck were at loggerheads, and it didn’t start with Brandon dropping out of college. The whole ‘tough love’ business that Jeanine alludes to, for example.”

  “What else?”

  “I’d want to know who Brandon’s biological father is, what role he might have played in his son’s upbringing, if he played one at all. His name is noticeably absent from the report. I also wonder when Michael Westlake entered Brandon’s life.”

  “Great minds think alike. What are your thoughts about Jeanine? She’d be thirty-one now, if my math is correct, eight years younger than Brandon. I’m an only child, completely out of my element on this one. You, on the other hand, had five siblings. Would you have confided to one of them if you were going to leave? Would any one or all of them have confided in you?”

  “I honestly don’t know,” Chantelle said. “It would depend on how much we wanted to leave, and why. I come from a close family, and I don’t think that’s just because we were related by blood. My parents tried to treat us all equally, albeit differently based on our individual personality traits. Was that the case in the Colbeck-Westlake household? It’s something we need to find out, though whether anyone will tell us the complete truth remains to be seen. I definitely think Jeanine knows more than was reported in the article.”

  “My thoughts exactly. Lorna may also be hiding something. She claimed to be blindsided by Brandon’s disappearance, but we only have her word for that. Maybe she’s trying to protect her husband. Or Jeanine? From what or who is the question.”

  “We need to interview Lorna, Michael, Jeanine, and Eleanor, but we may only get one kick at the can,” Chantelle said, “and that’s if they agree to see us.”

  “The family has signed affidavits giving Past & Present carte blanche, and Leith assured me that they are willing to cooperate in any way. The questions we ask will be as important as the answers we hope to get. We’ll have to do some prep work before approaching anyone.”

  “Agreed. I’m also curious about Brandon’s friends, before, during, and after college. Hopefully someone in the family will be able to provide that information.”

  Who were Brandon’s friends? “There’s a ‘Find Brandon Colbeck Facebook’ page on the Registry, with Jeanine Westlake as administrator. It’s been inactive since 2016, but the group has eighty-nine friends.” I shuddered at the thought of tracing all eighty-nine, sure that both Jeanine and the police would have already done that, but knew it might have to be done. “I’m not sure how easy any of this is going to be.”

  “If it was easy, the police would have solved the case long ago,” Chantelle said with a smile. “Let’s consider ways the team can help us.”

  In addition to Chantelle and me, the Past & Present “team” consisted of Shirley Harrington, a retired research librarian, Misty Rivers, a self-proclaimed psychic who posted tarot messages on our website and social media channels—surprisingly well-received despite my initial skepticism—and, on an “as needed” basis whenever antiques and collectibles came into the mix, Arabella Carpenter. Shirley’s skillset in digging through newspaper archives would definitely come into play, but I couldn’t imagine how Arabella or Misty would be of assistance in this particular case. Arabella wouldn’t expect to be consulted, but Misty would, and she’d definitely want to be involved, though how tarot would figure in was anyone’s guess.

  Chantelle read my mind. “We can skip Arabella for this one, but we should hold a team meeting with Shirley and Misty.”

  “Agreed. When are you available?”

  “My shift at the gym doesn’t start until three o’clock Monday afternoon, so Monday morning would work for me.”

  “I’ll try to set something up tomorrow.”

  Chantelle was already tapping away on her phone. “Just sent them both a text. Now where’s that pizza delivery guy?”

  The doorbell rang in that moment. “He must have heard you,” I said, grinning. “Get the napkins and plates. I’ll get the pizza. First we eat, then we brainstorm.”

  5

  Chantelle checked her phone as soon as we’d finished eating. “Good news. Both Shirley and Misty texted back they’re good for nine o’clock Monday morning. We should make photocopies of the newspaper clippings and the age-progressed sketches of Brandon. That way each of us will have the same information going forward.”

  It was a good idea, though copying the oversized newspaper articles on our compact black-and-white printer would pose a challenge. Plus, the photo of Brandon would serve us better if it were reproduced in color. “I’ll go to the Copy Center tomorrow.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Now, enough shop talk for a Saturday night. Tell me what’s happening with you and Royce.”

  “I wish I knew. There’s definitely a physical attraction beyond our friendship.” I blushed, remembering our one evening together. Only a week ago, and yet it seemed like forever since I’d seen him last. “We had plans for today, which I had to cancel because of the meeting with Leith. To be honest, I was relieved, and I got the impression that Royce was, too.”

  “What sort of plans?”

  “Royce’s sister Porsche is in a play in Muskoka. Pygmalion. She’s Eliza Doolittle.”

  “Sounds like fun. Why were you relieved?”

  “His mom, dad, and aunt were going to be there. There’s no love lost between us and I don’t think that will change. There’s too much history there with my mother and neither side is willing to forgive and forget.”

  “Could be a problem if you wanted to get serious, but it’s not like you’d be marrying his family, and Porsche is good people.”

  I laughed. “Who said anything about getting married? We haven’t even spent a weekend together.”

  Chantelle grinned. “Ah, but the way you’re blushing tells me that you’ve spent a night together.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to. Look, why not just go with the flow for a while, see where it takes you?”

  “We did discuss spending a couple of days in Niagara Falls.”

  “There you go. Start with that.”

  “Maybe once this case is done.”

  Chantelle studied me through
narrowed eyes. “There’s more, isn’t there? Beyond the issues with his family?”

  “I don’t know. It’s ridiculous, actually. Royce is a great guy. On paper he ticks every box. But…maybe he’s too nice. I’ve gotten used to two-timing triathletes and getting dumped on Valentine’s Day.”

  “I get it, you’ve been hurt before, and more than once. You don’t want to risk getting hurt again. I’m in the same leaky boat. The thing is, we’re both going to have to start paddling again.”

  I knew Chantelle was right, but it was more than that. I should have been filled with longing to see Royce again, or at least anxious to call him and find out how Porsche’s play went. And yet I lacked the desire to do either. The only thing I could think about was finding out what happened to Brandon Colbeck.

  It didn’t bode well for a future with Royce. I just hoped this case was worth it.

  I met my Sunday running group at the gym at eight a.m. sharp, logged in a hard-fought ten miles on the town’s paved trail system, grabbed a quick shower and change of clothes, and headed to the local coffee shop for my post-run reward: a large coffee with real cream, toasted sesame seed bagel with peanut butter, and a smattering of run club chatter as the group traded quips and tips about sore muscles and what to do about them. The thought of sleeping in on a Sunday never occurred to any of us, regardless of weather. “We can sleep when we’re dead,” was our motto, and thinking of that reminded me of Brandon. Was he dead, or only sleeping?

  Brandon firmly in mind, my next stop was the Copy Center, where I spent the next thirty minutes making copies for the team. I wound my way home, baked carrot date muffins for the next morning, gave the house a thorough cleaning, right down to dusting the baseboards and purging my clothes closet of anything I hadn’t worn in the past twelve months.

  What can I say? My best thinking is done when I’m not actively trying to think.

  Except this time it didn’t work, though I did have baked goods and a nice tidy house and clothes closet to show for my efforts. I checked my phone and saw two missed calls, both from Royce. I knew I should call him back.

  I didn’t. Instead I turned on the TV, flicked until I found a marathon of Gilmore Girls reruns, and reread the newspaper clipping of Brandon’s disappearance, looking for any clue I might have missed. Convinced I hadn’t missed a thing, I googled “tattoo with a boy’s head and sunshine.” At some point I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew, my neck was stiff and my back ached.

  It was also too late to call Royce.

  6

  The Past & Present team of Chantelle Marchand, Misty Rivers, and Shirley Harrington joined me at nine o’clock Monday morning, taking seats around my long mission oak table that doubled as a desk, printer stand, conference center, and anything else requiring a large flat surface. I served coffee and tea, along with the carrot date muffins, and handed each of them a file folder containing the two newspaper articles, a printout of Brandon Colbeck’s Registry of Missing and Unidentified Adults case page, the age-progressed sketches of Brandon and his tattoo, as well as a notepad and pen.

  “This is Past & Present’s latest case,” I began. “I’m going to suggest that you read the articles first, then study the photos. Please make note of anything or anyone that might strike a chord with you. No detail is too small, so don’t be shy to share or offer suggestions. We might not know what you know, even if you think it’s common knowledge.”

  “What about questions?” Shirley asked. “Do we hold off on those, or ask anything that pops into our mind?”

  “Chantelle and I have already compiled list of questions, but you might put forward something we haven’t considered. In other words, ask away, and if we can’t answer it, we’ll add it to our list.”

  I tried not to hover while the group went to work. I’d read the clippings and Registry page so many times I could probably recite them verbatim, had studied the sketches until they were permanently imprinted on my brain.

  Chantelle finished first, which made sense since she’d examined everything the day before. She waited quietly next to me, checking her phone and texting someone—Lance?—while Shirley and Misty dutifully read, reviewed, and made notes. By the time they both looked up, ready to discuss, they’d spent the better part of an hour scrutinizing the documents. For a moment we all just sat there, looking at one another. I decided to start with a simple question, albeit one that hadn’t been on my list.

  “The name Eleanor Colbeck seems familiar to me, but I can’t put a finger on it. Leith Hampton said she was once known for supporting local charitable initiatives, but that ended a decade ago when she moved into the Cedar County Retirement Residence. I’ve surfed the net for her name and come up empty, which isn’t unusual. A lot of octogenarians aren’t active on social media.”

  “Hey, I almost resemble that remark,” Shirley said, her reading glasses perched on the top of her head, and we all grinned. Shirley might be gray-haired and newly retired, but she was a young and vibrant sixty-five, and having spent years as a research librarian, she was as adept at finding her way around the internet as the rest of us. Maybe more so.

  “All kidding aside,” Shirley was saying, “I believe I know why the name Eleanor Colbeck sounds familiar to you, Callie. She went on to support the food bank initiative that your mother started before she…” she blushed. “There was a small snippet in the Marketville Post at the time. It’s in the paperwork I gave you, and it stuck with me because Eleanor also served on the Library Board in the 1980s, and I’d met her a handful of times.”

  Any talk of my mother made me want to put my hands over my ears and sing, “la, la, la, la, la, I’m not listening,” but I had to at least pretend to be an adult. Besides, everyone here in this room knew that the food bank initiative Shirley was referring to was in 1985, when my mother was still married to my father, when they were still supposed to be in love. For all her faults, my mother had some redeeming qualities; her charitable initiatives had proven that. And while the last thing I wanted to do was revisit anything that had to do with my investigation into her disappearance, it did provide another “in” with Eleanor beyond my connection to Olivia and her request—no, make that demand—that I search for Eleanor’s grandson, Brandon.

  “That’s probably it, but I’ll double check to be certain,” I said, and quickly changed the subject. “Maybe one of you can help me with something else that’s been bothering me. Brandon’s tattoo. It reminds me of something. I tried googling ‘tattoo with a boy’s head and sunshine’ but nothing came close.”

  Nothing came close was an understatement. Despite scrolling through online images until I’d mercifully fallen asleep, the only thing I’d come up with were tattoos with the words, “You are my sunshine,” and dozens of suns in various shapes and sizes, and occasionally, with a boy’s face inside them.

  “That’s because it’s not finished yet,” Misty said, her face flushed with excitement. “It’s The Fool.”

  “Who’s the fool?” Shirley asked.

  “Not who, what,” Misty said. “The Fool is number zero in tarot, and the first card in the Major Arcana.” She riffled through her rainbow-hued handbag and pulled out a deck. “I never leave home without them. You can never be sure when a reading will be needed.”

  The moment Misty had said “The Fool” I knew Brandon’s tattoo had been derived from the tarot card of the same name. Despite my skepticism of all things remotely occult, I should have connected the dots earlier. I glanced at Chantelle and could tell by the expression on her face that she was thinking the same thing. How had we both missed it, especially since Misty had updated the Past & Present website with images of every Major and Minor Arcana card in tarot? Her “Misty’s Messages” had resonated enough to help Past & Present solve its first case. Despite my reluctance to believe in tarot, I felt the first stirrings of hope. This might well be our first real clue. And as unlikely as it seemed, Misty was the one to unveil it.

  Misty laid the card on
the table in front of us. “The design on the tattoo is from the Rider-Waite deck, which, as you know, is the one I use. The Fool is even on the front of the box. That’s why it probably looked so familiar to you, Callie. Had it been one of the lesser known cards in the Minor Arcana, it may not have triggered any memory at all.”

  The Fool depicted a young man standing on the edge of a mountain cliff, his face tilted with reverence toward the sun. There was a small white dog by his right foot, leaping up with apparent joy. Perched atop the boy’s wavy golden hair was a small cap with a scarlet feather. He wore a flowered tunic in jewel-toned colors of yellow, blue, green, and red over a white long-sleeved shirt, and bright yellow calf-length boots. In his right hand he held a single white rose, in his left, placed across his left shoulder, a long stick with a small brown bag tied to the end of it. The entire image evoked a mix of innocence, joy, and youthful exuberance.

  “There’s so much symbolism in this card,” Misty said, her voice filled with admiration. “I like to think that the purple feather stands for freedom, the white rose for purity, and the dog for adventure. Note the bag at the end of his stick he’s carrying, like an old-time hobo. Some believe the bag contains all his worldly possessions, others his memories of past lives. I like to think it’s filled with life experiences to date, ready to be expanded as he travels. A.E. Waite, the designer of the card, wrote that the boy ‘is a prince of the other world on his travels through this one.’”

  “He’s very close to the edge of the cliff,” Shirley said. “Does that have any meaning?”

  Misty beamed. “A very good question. We are left to wonder if the boy will fall off the cliff, though he looks unconcerned, ready for every adventure as he embraces the beauty of his surroundings. Perhaps he believes his tunic will open like a parachute and save him from a rapid descent. Whatever you might derive from this card, it’s widely accepted that The Fool represents new beginnings, and the number zero a chance to start over. You probably don’t know Eden Gray, but she wrote widely about the tarot and their use in fortune telling, and coined the term ‘Fool’s Journey’ in her book, A Complete Guide to the Tarot. Many advocates of tarot, including myself, believe that The Fool travels through each card in the Major Arcana.”