Michael reviewed the day’s events, thinking of Kennett, who had touted the benefits of using two detectives to lessen the chance of missing something important. And there was something important that he hadn’t considered until now. It was Natalie who learned how long the pizza delivery would take, and she’s the one who had suggested Michael go get the food.
A thought came to him, chilling, hard to process, but equally difficult to discount. Was it possible Natalie had done a dry run? Michael envisioned his wife calling that pizza place not from their hotel room but from home, days before they left for vacation. Could it be she wanted to find when delivery would take the longest, and then arranged it so that they would arrive in New York around that time?
The more Michael thought about it, the more it seemed possible. No, make that probable. He had watched the security video. The sedan was waiting for her in the carport. She knew exactly when she was going to be leaving. The timing was impeccable.
Three things, but only two stuck out to him.
I wish I’d done this sooner.
I’m grateful for the truth.
Why leave from New York City to backtrack home? Michael asked himself. The answer seemed obvious enough—she wouldn’t. She wasn’t headed east, back to her parents, Harvey and Lucinda, or even to stay with Tina. If she were going to run, she’d go west, he thought, or maybe south.
He decided then and there not to call her parents. All he’d accomplish by doing that would be to put them in a state of panic. And of course, they’d want to get involved in the search. He knew them well enough to know how they’d react, his father-in-law especially. Harvey was a retired attorney turned middling golfer. He had the time and resources to devote to a search effort, and maybe Michael would enlist his help, but not just yet.
Instead, Michael passed several minutes thinking of friends Natalie had scattered throughout the country, convinced she’d stay with one of them rather than at a motel. He retrieved his phone and accessed the app for their credit card company. The last purchase was the whiskey. If this was well planned, as Michael increasingly believed, it was likely Natalie had obtained a new card.
Hell, maybe she got a new name.
Friends, however, can’t be changed as easily. Unfortunately, Michael’s recall for names and faces was fragmented at best, and Natalie, not Michael, was the Facebook user. Despite this obstacle, Michael managed to jot down several names. Possibilities really. Calls he could make.
Then, since taking action, any action, was helping more than the whiskey, Michael decided to look up the plate information. Dan White had let him jot down the six characters that comprise a New York State license plate. No need to wait for the detectives. A Google search revealed a variety of internet sites offering free license plate lookup, but all were kind of dodgy. It seemed his best bet was to let the police do the work, or hire a PI, which would take time and wouldn’t happen at this late hour anyway.
Michael finished his drink in a gulp before retrieving Teddy. The thought of Bryce separated from his beloved bear shot a pain into his heart. His vision turned watery. Michael wasn’t a crier, but now it felt as though a bottomless reservoir floated right behind his eyes. He tamped down the sadness to focus on his web query.
Google would help. It always had some answer.
In the search field Michael typed: Runaway Adult.
The first link to appear was something of a “how to” guide, essentially an online instruction manual for ways and means to disappear. He wondered if Natalie had done the same search and come up with the same website. The lead paragraph opened with a reference to a Hindu practice that promoted running away as an act of spiritual illumination. According to the dogma, after twenty or thirty years of managing societal obligations, the time would be right to withdraw and seek the true meaning of life. The rest of the site was ludicrous, with tips on living as a vagabond, or backpacking around the country, even how to get a job aboard a yacht.
Is that what had happened here? Had Natalie embarked on some sort of pilgrimage? Had her sleep deprivation made her delusional?
Michael reasoned he should do as Kennett had suggested and call the police back home in Lexington to file a missing persons report. Too bad he didn’t have access to Natalie’s social media accounts. He did have Instagram, but never posted. Even so, the account gave him a view into Natalie’s feed. Her last post was the same family picture Michael intended to send to the Lexington police. She captioned it:
Arrived safe and sound! Can’t wait to explore the city. #familylife #familyluv #blessed #grateful #NewYorkCity
It sickened Michael to think she’d made that post knowing what she was going to do. There were about twenty likes and some comments, including one from Tina urging her to have a blast and get some sleep in a city that never does. At the end of her comment, Tina added a wink emoji.
He scanned the names of people who had liked and commented on that post as well as others she’d made over the years—pictures of their life together, trips to the beach, the mountains, the pond, the park. It wasn’t long before he forgot all about his mission to identify someone with whom Natalie might have sought shelter and instead found himself lost in a sea of memories, snapshots of family life that left him feeling gutted and despondent.
He jotted down the names of a few people he thought lived out of state. Michael was about to go for his second two-finger pour when his phone rang. His heart leapt to his throat. The caller, from the 212 area code, wasn’t someone in his contacts. He pressed to answer, feeling a dip in his stomach.
“Natalie?” he said, his quiet voice full of hope.
“Michael,” a male voice answered with authority. “It’s Detective Sergeant Amos Kennett. I have a question for you. Got a second?”
“Of course,” Michael said. What other answer could he give? He had all the time in the world now.
“So we ran that plate. Wondering if you know a person named William Gillespie?”
Michael didn’t have to think long to answer.
“No. Never heard that name.”
“Natalie hasn’t mentioned a William to you?”
“No. Not a William. Not a Gillespie. Why?”
“That’s the name of the guy who picked her up. Drives for Uber.”
Michael tried to tamp down his excitement. It wasn’t much, a thin thread at best connecting him to his family, but even so, it was still a lead. It was something.
“Did you call him? Go there? Talk to him?”
“We called,” Kennett said.
“And what did he say?”
“He drove them to Penn Station. Short ride. Cheap fare. Good tipper.”
Michael puzzled that one out.
Amtrak. The vastness of the rail system meant that she could have gone anywhere. Still, there was cause for hope. There’d be security camera footage to look at. Plus Amtrak would have ticket information, and, assuming Natalie used her real name, the police could probably pinpoint a destination. It wasn’t a home run, but it was a start.
“Did he say anything about Natalie? If she seemed okay, or in distress?”
“He said she was another fare and business hasn’t been great, his words. He wished she was going to LaGuardia.”