Burgess smiled. “That would be Frank’s mother, Martha. She raised Luke.”
Bailey’s heart fell as she visualized the paper being thrown out with an old woman’s effects. “Oh, thank you,” she said, looking at Matt and trying not to let her disappointment show. “I think we’ve taken enough of your time. We’d better go now.”
“Yes, I am tired,” Burgess said, “but a good tired. I feel lighter now.”
Bailey gathered her things and prepared to leave, but she couldn’t resist one last question. “Why did you marry Violet, then leave her?”
“A lot of reasons. I had some friends in California, and one of them lived out in the country. He said, ‘Burg, how long has it been since you were laid?’ Next thing I knew, he was calling some prostitute he said was the best he’d ever had. It sounded good to me until he started talking about watching, and that’s when I left. I was two miles away when I saw this girl stopped by the side of the road. Her beat-up old car had broken down, and I instantly knew who she was. I knew that when she got to where she was going, it wasn’t going to be pleasant for her, so I felt a bit guilty, and I stopped to fix her car.
“The whole time I was working, she was putting on an act about being young and innocent, and how she sang in the church choir back home.
“But even though I knew she was lying with every breath, I liked her. And, what’s more, I knew that she wanted my life. Not me, exactly, but my life. And that was odd, because not many pretty girls want to marry a lumber salesman and move to some nowhere town.”
For a moment Burgess paused and smiled. “Besides, I liked the idea of taking a prostitute back to Calburn. It appealed to me to imagine introducing her to my old man as his daughter-in-law. And if Violet and I had kids—” Burgess gave a little smile. “Let’s just say that I was planning to tell my old man some interesting things on his deathbed.”
“Did you love her?” Bailey asked.
“Exactly as much as she loved me. And I don’t mean that in a bad way. Violet and I liked each other; we were well matched.”
“But you faked your death and walked away.”
“No, I didn’t plan it. The plane crashed and I walked away without a scratch, and as I looked at that wreck, I thought that maybe if I left my life, left that town and those people behind, I could be someone else.”
“Did it work?” Bailey asked.
“No.”
“Because of what happened on the thirtieth of August, 1968?” Matt asked, and that’s when the alarms started screaming again, and this time the doctor pushed them out of the room before they could even say good-bye.
“I guess that’s that,” Bailey said once they were in the lobby. “I know! Since Frank grew up in a mountain cabin, maybe they used the permission slip to paper the walls, and it’s still there.”
Matt laughed, then shook his head as though to say that he didn’t know what to try next.
“Excuse me,” came a voice from behind them. “Mr. Meredith wants you to have this.” The nurse was holding out an address book.
Bailey took the old, worn-out book and looked questioningly at the nurse.
She lifted her hands. “Don’t ask me. He just said to give you that.”
“Thank you,” Bailey said as she walked through the door Matt was holding open for her.
Once they were outside, she opened the address book and flipped through a few pages. They were all addresses in Florida and looked like mostly business acquaintances.
“Try the letter M,” Matt said. “For McCallum.”
Bailey ran her fingers down the letters, then slipped her nail under M. There, at the top of the page, was the name Martha McCallum, and a telephone number.
Matt had his cell phone out before Bailey could get her breath. She stood in silence, breath held, as Matt asked the person who answered about Martha McCallum.
“She is?” Matt said. “She’s alive? Lucid? Thank you very much,” he said, then hung up.
“Where?” Bailey asked.
“A rest home outside Atlanta.”
When Bailey started turning around and looking at the buildings around them instead of walking toward their rental car, Matt said, “What are you doing?”
“Looking for the nearest travel agent.”