*
Ryan was at the bookshelf, removing one book at a time, fanning the pages and peering in the empty space on the shelf. Sean helped him finish the search. They found nothing. Defeated, Ryan sank into the small sofa. Sean sat at the round bistro table just off the galley kitchen. He began absently flipping through the mail he’d stacked on the table.
“I’m hungry, Dad. Are you?”
Sean continued examining the junk mail and envelopes. “I’m a little hungry. Something sound good to you?”
“Burritos,” Ryan said.
Sean thought about it. “I’m not sure there’s any Mexican places near here.”
“I know a place…”
Ryan flashed a grin, like Before. It took a second, but Sean caught on. “You won’t catch me in another Chipotle the rest of my life.”
Sean liked the feel of the smile on his face as he continued to scan Abby’s mail. He came upon the telephone bill; the landline Abby opposed as unnecessary and archaic, but that Sean insisted upon. He opened the envelope and read the first page. Nothing caught his eye. Some calls to her grandparents, some to New York, and a smattering of out-of-state numbers he didn’t recognize. But on the second page, an unusual entry: COLLECT CALL FROM SUSSEX II CORRECTIONAL INSTITUTION, WAVERLY, VA. There were two similar entries on the third and fourth pages of the bill. Who would Abby know at a prison? He didn’t think she was doing any prison clinic work with her law school.
“Hey, do you know if Abby knew anyone in prison?” Sean asked.
“Prison? I don’t think so. Why?” Ryan walked over to the table and took a seat.
“Abby was accepting collect calls from someone at this prison,” Sean said, handing one of the telephone-bill pages to his son.
Ryan looked it over. “She never said anything to me. Look the place up on the Internet.”
Sean pulled out his mobile. “My phone’s nearly dead. We’ll have to wait.”
“Maybe not,” Ryan said. He placed his iPod Touch on the table.
“I thought that was just for music?”
“It doesn’t have a phone, but you can get Internet if there’s a Wi-Fi signal.”
Sean thought about this. “So that’s how you sent the Facebook…” Sean stopped. “Is that why I saw you standing in the neighbor’s yard that night? You were stealing a Wi-Fi signal because we’d locked you out of the computer.” Sean couldn’t help but break a smile.
Ryan’s face flushed.
“Well, get to it, do the search,” Sean said.
Ryan tapped on the device and frowned. “Wi-Fi’s not working down here, either.”
“We haven’t shut off the service, but maybe the cops unhooked it,” Sean said. “How about we go somewhere for lunch that has Wi-Fi. I actually think I know somewhere you’d like.”
“Is it—”
“No,” Sean interrupted. “It’s not Chipotle. And I don’t care if Chipotle has Wi-Fi.” He smiled again.
“Dad,” Ryan said, staring at the telephone bill.
“Yeah?”
“Look at the name of the town.” Ryan put a finger on the center of the bill.
Sean read the words above his son’s finger. WAVERLY, VIRGINIA. It sounded familiar but he couldn’t place it.
“Abby’s notes on the folder,” Ryan said. “She wrote ‘Waverly.’ Maybe she was going there. And maybe the other word Abby wrote on the folder, ‘Chadwick,’ is who she was going to visit.”
CHAPTER 37
Sean and Ryan edged forward in the lunch line at Ben’s Chili Bowl. The place was less than three miles from Abby’s apartment, and they’d been coming to Ben’s for chili dogs and half-smokes since Ryan was a little boy—before gentrification made the place fashionable.
After ordering, they waited for their food at a table in the back of the restaurant. They faced a large mural depicting famous African Americans in history, many of whom had spent muggy summer nights during the civil rights era filling the booths and tables at Ben’s. Ryan gazed at the wall and said, “Remember when you used to quiz me on the names of everyone on the mural?”
Sean nodded as he fumbled with Ryan’s iPod Touch. He turned into such an old man every time he tried to operate any type of touch screen. The images inevitably moved uncontrollably around the screen, or disappeared, or zoomed in or out too far.
“Need some help?” Ryan said with a smirk.
“Only if you’re buying lunch,” Sean replied. He caught the Wi-Fi signal and searched the Internet for the Virginia Department of Corrections. On the tiny screen he read that Sussex II was a Security Level Four facility. It housed inmates with life sentences, but who were not disruptive or predatory.
“You can search inmates by name,” Ryan said, pointing to a miniature search icon.
Abby had written two words on her file folder, “Waverly” and “Chadwick.” The prison was located in the town of Waverly, Virginia, so Sean tapped in “Chadwick.” A grid-like list appeared. Sean handed the iPod Touch to Ryan to adjust the image so it fit the screen: