Where are you? I’m at the office.
She texts me back quickly.
On my way. Just made a detour.
What detour?
No response, but a minute later she’s walking into the office.
“I was so worried.”
“Why?”
“You weren’t here. And… I know it sounds stupid, but with everything else that’s going on, I just feel like a vacant office on a weekend is a recipe for disaster.”
“That’s funny,” she says. “When I first got here, I felt like I had to constantly look over my shoulder. All this crap with your family and Pat Lamone… It’s getting to me.”
“I suppose it’s better that we’re being overly cautious,” I say. “Where were you?”
“Actually, I went to see Doc Sheraton.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to see if I could get any information about Brittany and Pat Lamone. Plus, Rory and I did a little investigating this morning when we took our new dogs to see him. Rory found an address in Laramie, which is where Pat Lamone and Brittany were living before they came back to town. I wanted to check it out on the office computer. But it turns out that it was a dead end. It’s just vacant land.”
“Doc Sheraton has vacant land in Wyoming?”
“Well, he had an address in his office of vacant land in Wyoming. I didn’t bother looking for the title because it’s not in Colorado. I only have access to Colorado records.”
“Actually, you have access to all national property records.”
“I do?”
“Yeah. I guess I thought you knew that.”
She’s already tapping at her computer. “My God. Here it is. I’m not sure why I didn’t at least try earlier.”
“Because you have a lot on your mind,” I say. “It’s probably nothing important.”
She continues typing. “Give me a minute. The databases are slow.”
I watch her screen.
Then, “Hmm. This tract of land is owned by the Fleming Corporation. Why does that sound familiar to me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Just a minute.” Callie pulls up a spreadsheet. “Here it is. The high school. Snow Creek High School, the building, was once owned by the Fleming Corporation. I didn’t think much of it at the time, as I was looking for Steel names, but let me just pull this up.”
She taps furiously.
Then she frowns, and I look over her shoulder.
“It’s a Colorado corporation with a PO Box. The only thing listed is its registered agent. An attorney in Denver. Lucas Wade.”
“Lucas Wade.” Wade. Seems I’ve heard that name recently. I scratch my chin. Damn, I haven’t shaved in a while.
“I don’t know anyone named Wade,” she says, “but I think…” She taps again, furiously. “Yeah. Here it is. I knew I’d seen the name before when I was doing research. The city attorney before your mom took over twenty-five years ago was a guy named Larry Wade.”