complaint was. Unfortunately, par for the course since the move was made to electronic records. And it was sealed.”
That explained why it had never made the news.
“Does it say who reported it?” I asked, drumming my fingers against my lips. The puppy sniffed after a butterfly and then lifted his leg on a pinecone.
“There’s a name but no title. I’ll send you the particulars. My contact copied me on it, so I’ll email you the file. Not much there. It was from back in ’98. Odds are it was an elementary teacher, maybe a school nurse or someone along those lines.”
“Thanks for the info, Amanda. I owe you big time.”
“I don’t know what you’re up to. But be careful,” she cautioned me.
I started dialing the second the call disconnected.
“Hello?”
“Hey, June. It’s Shelby.”
“I ascertained that fact from my caller ID,” she said.
“You tracked down the fake Callie, didn’t you?” I asked.
“Yes. Is that all? I’m occupied teaching Katherine to fetch.”
“How would you feel about taking a road trip with me today?”
“No, thank you. I prefer to stay here with my pig.”
“What if you could bring her along? I’ll bring Billy Ray.”
“Where are we going?”
“We’re tracking down two people who might have information about Callie Kendall,” I told her.
“I assume you mean information besides the fact that she is deceased?” she asked.
“Yes,” I promised. “I think we could find something that might point suspicion away from Jonah Bodine Sr.”
June sighed. “Fine. But I’ll want lunch. A turkey sandwich. Turkey Tuesday.”
Callie Kendall was dead. But there were still questions. And if I could get a few of them answered for Jonah and the rest of the Bodines, we’d all sleep better.
After another phone call, a handful of texts, and a stop at the Pop In for gas and provisions, I swung by June’s house. June hefted the haltered Katherine up and into the back seat. Katherine oinked a greeting at Billy Ray, who bravely licked her face and then cowered in the corner.
June was wearing a ball cap featuring the logo of GT’s team rivals. Beneath the brim was a pair of movie star-huge sunglasses.
“Did GT see that hat?” I asked.
She shook her head. “It’s part of my disguise. I borrowed it from Opal Bodine. If we’re tracking down the Fake Callie Kendall, I’ve ripped hair from this woman’s head. It would be safer for all of us if she did not recognize me.”
“Smart,” I said, typing in the first address into the GPS program. “First stop: Abbie Gilbert.”
“What are we talking to her about? Is there a requirement for good cop, bad cop? I think I could perform an effective bad cop,” June said.
“We’re asking her why the Kendalls believed that she was their daughter.”
She pursed her lips under the glasses. “Do you believe they knew Abbie was not their daughter?”
“It’s crossed my mind.”
“Then why would they give her an apartment? Why would they publicly claim her as their daughter?” she asked.
“That’s what we’re going to find out.” I pointed to the bag at her feet. “There’s a turkey sandwich in there for you.”
“Turkey Tuesday.”
Abbie had been booted from her upscale Philadelphia apartment financed by the Kendalls. She now lived in a squat, gray brick building on the outskirts of Baltimore. The neighborhood was made up entirely of rundown row homes and graffitied convenience stores. Fast food bags and the cardboard from six-packs littered the sidewalks and gutters.
It didn’t feel dangerous. Just well past its prime. Like its residents had given up on keeping up appearances.
I put the car in park and cranked up the air conditioning. “Do you want to wait here with the kids?” I asked June.
She looked torn, peering into the back seat where her beloved Katherine was enjoying a snack of lettuce and pellets.
“I should accompany you,” she decided reluctantly.
We locked the car and crossed the road to the apartment building. A. Gilbert was listed above Apartment B3. I pressed the buzzer and waited.
There were no security cameras here, and some of the mailboxes inside the foyer had their doors broken off. It did not give off a homey vibe.
I buzzed again. Waited.
“Perhaps she is at work?” June suggested.
I shook my head. “Cassidy says there’s no job on record for her.”
“My sister gave you this address?” June asked, surprised. Cassidy Tucker was straight as an arrow. A good guy to the bone. She took the law and its rules very seriously.
“Of course not,” I scoffed. “I had Leah Mae use her super social media sleuthing powers to track