the person who’d squatted in my grandfather’s house after he’d passed away.
I wasn’t absolutely certain, but I felt it had to have been Callie. I’d thrown away a nearly empty jar of peanut butter, something my grandfather wouldn’t have had in the house because he was allergic to peanuts, but something Callie ate every day. Claude had also mentioned Callie was almost OCD about cleanliness and aside from the broken back door, the house had been in nearly perfect order when Natalie had walked through. Those things could be written off as coincidences, but given her friendship with my grandfather and no family in the area, where else would she have gone when her trailer burned down? It also explained why she’d been so insistent that she’d done nothing wrong when I’d tried to speak with her at lunch; those adamant and fearful denials made a bit more sense if she’d actually broken into the house, since she knew she’d been guilty.
Added all together, it was convincing if not absolute proof, but over the next few days, I grew even more certain I was right, even as I continued to wonder about her condition. Then, on the following Monday, right after my session with Bowen, I received unexpected confirmation that Callie had indeed been inside my grandfather’s house.
A woman identifying herself as Susan Hudson, an administrator in the billing department of the hospital, called the house, asking for my grandfather. I informed her that he’d passed away but that I was the next of kin, and after a bit of hemming and hawing, she finally revealed the real reason for her call.
“Callie,” she told me, “is using your late grandmother’s social security number.”
Chapter 15
I met with Susan Hudson the following morning. She was a dark-haired, dark-eyed woman in her fifties who seemed to navigate an incredibly difficult job with relatively good cheer. Spending most of the day on the phone arguing with insurance companies, speaking to patients about various past-due accounts, or letting people know that one procedure or another wasn’t covered by their health plans would have made me absolutely miserable. She was nonetheless friendly and apparently relieved that I’d come in, which I hadn’t anticipated. Motioning for me to take a seat in one of the chairs in front of her desk, she made a quick call, telling someone that I’d arrived. Less than a minute later, a physician entered the office.
“Dr. Adrian Manville,” he said to me, offering his hand. “I’m the chief medical officer here,” he said.
“Dr. Trevor Benson,” I replied, wondering why he had decided to join us.
“You’re a physician?” he asked.
“Orthopedic surgeon,” I said. “Retired. I hope I didn’t do anything wrong by transporting Callie to the hospital myself.”
“Not at all,” Manville responded, taking a seat. “We appreciate you coming in today.”
“I’m still a little confused as to why you needed me.” I met Manville’s gaze. “Or why you’re here. I thought this was just about my late grandmother’s social security number.”
Susan reached for a file beside her computer. “We weren’t sure what else to do. I understand you’re not family, but we were hoping you’d be able to shed some light on the situation.”
“We?”
“The billing department,” she said. “The hospital. No one here is exactly clear on how we should proceed.”
“I doubt I can be helpful. I don’t know anything. I’ve only met Callie a couple of times and I don’t even know her last name.”
“Well, we don’t, either.”
“Excuse me?”
“She doesn’t have any identification, and we’re having trouble verifying anything about her.”
My eyes flashed toward Manville, then back to her. “Maybe you should start from the beginning? Tell me what you do know.”
“Of course,” Susan said. “As I mentioned on the phone, Callie is using your grandmother’s social security number. Frankly, we were fortunate to catch it. Your grandmother was last here as a patient a long time ago, before all the records were computerized. We’ve been catching up, but it takes time and we got lucky. Do you have any idea how the patient could have gotten it?”
“I’d be guessing, but I’m assuming that either she found it, or my grandfather gave it to her.”
Susan’s pen hovered in place over the file. “Why would your grandfather have given it to her?”
“Because he always had a fondness for strays. I think she does, too, by the way.”
“Excuse me?”
“He would feed stray animals if they happened to enter his property,” I explained. “Maybe Callie showed up and he thought she needed his help, too.”
“It’s