Authors: Catherine Palmer
“What’s going on?” Billy emerged from the bathroom, a pink towel cinched around his waist. He was rubbing his mop of thick brown hair with another towel. “Did you hear from Matt? Lemme see!”
He plopped down on the other side of Jill and jammed the two adults into the back of the sofa as he leaned across to see the screen. “Get what?” he asked. “What’s the paper trail?”
“You tell us.” Jill brushed water droplets from her arms. “You know the Mattman. What’s he saying?”
“Well, he’s okay, so that’s good.”
“What do you mean, he’s okay?” Cole demanded. “How can he be okay if we don’t even know where he is?”
“You’re not making sense,” Jill said.
“
Okay
means he’s safe at home on the ranch,” Cole retorted. “Roaming around scared is not okay.”
“
Okay
means he’s alive, he’s not hurt…and scoot over, Billy. I can barely breathe.”
“He knows we’re in Amarillo, so that means he’s been getting your messages, Miss Pruitt.” Billy didn’t budge. “But he’s still freaked out. See, he says
they’re desperate.
He saw what they did to Mr. Banyon, and he’s afraid they’re going to kill him. Or us.”
“I still think Banyon killed himself,” Cole said.
“You are so stubborn, Cole Strong!” Jill glared at him before giving Billy a mighty push that did nothing to dislodge his damp bulk. “The sheriff said the blood spatters led him to believe it wasn’t a suicide. So quit hanging on to that. Somebody shot the poor man, and since it couldn’t have been Matt, it must be the people he thinks are chasing him.”
“Agrimax?” Cole glared back. “Why would they kill Banyon?”
“He worked for them,” Billy said. “Maybe he did something they didn’t like.”
“Maybe he knew a secret,” Jill guessed. “Matt’s term paper said these big food companies are developing all kinds of secret technologies. Maybe Banyon knew about those.”
“You don’t kill someone for knowing a secret that you told them,” Cole said.
“You do if they tell,” Billy said. “I hate it when people tell my secrets. One time in sixth grade, I liked this girl, Ashley Morris. And I told Jacob Dunn, because he was on my Little League team, and I thought we were buddies. He swore he wouldn’t tell, but then he told Ashley’s best friend, Dina, and she—”
“Does this story have an end?” Cole asked.
“For goodness’ sake, Cole!” Jill snapped. “Don’t be so impatient. Billy’s telling us something important. Go on, Billy.”
The boy looked sheepish. “Well, the end of the story is that Ashley told Dina she liked me, too, so we wound up going out for three weeks.”
“And that’s supposed to tell us what?” Cole asked.
“It’s just that I hate it when people tell secrets after they swear they won’t. And if I had a big secret like Agrimax, and if Mr. Banyon knew that secret, and he told Matt, I might go after Mr. Banyon and then go after Matt, too. So maybe that’s why Matt ran off.”
Geneva, who had been standing over the coffee table and folding her dish towel, let out a loud sigh. “Who cares why the child ran off? The point is that he’s gone, and we’ve got to find him. Now what’s this about a paper trail? What does that mean?”
Jill, Cole, and Billy all studied the computer screen, as if the message might suddenly morph into something they could understand. It did feel as though Matt was toying with them, Jill thought. Writing things in code, making them work to find him. Was this all a ploy to get his father’s attention? Billy said Matt spent hours at the cemetery. Maybe the boy had realized that he was never going to see his mother again and then decided he’d taken enough of his father’s aloofness.
“A ‘paper trail’ usually means letters and documents,” Cole said. “Matt hasn’t left us anything on paper. All we have is a couple of e-mails.”
“It could be some other kind of paper.” Billy scrubbed his head with the towel as he spoke, sending another shower of droplets over Cole and Jill. “Like the newspaper. Maybe there’s some kind of clue in the articles about Mr. Banyon’s death.”
“Albuquerque,” Jill said. “New Mexico’s largest newspaper is published in Albuquerque. Maybe that’s where Matt went.”
“If so, he’d have gone to Penny’s condo—which would have been smart if he thought he was in some kind of trouble. She’s a lawyer, and she could help him. But he’s not there.”
“Matt’s brain doesn’t work that way,” Billy said, standing. “He has no common sense. I’m sorry to be blunt about it, Mr. Strong, but that’s the truth. If it’s math, he can think logically. But if it’s real life, dude, he’s a mess. So we have to think like him, like what he’s trying to tell us. When he says paper trail, he means something weird that only we would understand, because he’s trying to talk in a code that’s just for us. He wants to show us where he is but not let them know in case they’re reading his e-mails—which they are, because Granny Strong said they asked her what time we were supposed to get to Amarillo, remember?”
“That’s true,” Geneva confirmed. “Those FBI men knew it when they walked in that door. They already knew you were on your way to my house before I said a word.”
Jill glanced at Cole. “I’d forgotten that. Who did we tell about our trip?”
“Penny,” Cole said. “Josefina. Pedro and Hernando, my two foremen.”
“I told Marianne Weston. You mentioned it to the sheriff. Billy left a message for his parents. And then…well, we did e-mail Matt.”
“Yeah, and that’s how they found out,” Billy concluded. “They must be tapping into his user account. They’ve got the Mattman’s login name and password, and they’re reading everything we write back and forth. Matt’s not stupid about things like that, so he’s talking in code. He’s on the
paper trail
…that’s what he said, right? What kind of a trail would be made out of paper?”
“Trees are made into paper,” Jill said. “Maybe he’s in a forest.”
“Maybe he dropped wads of paper on the ground, like Hansel and Gretel.” Billy thought about his idea for a moment. “Nah. What kind of thing could he be standing on that you could call a trail? Or what kind of paper is he—”
He paused. He stared at Jill, then at Cole. “Dude. It’s his term paper.”
Jill lunged for the keyboard and pulled up the famine-relief text Matt had typed in. Cole and Billy leaned in. Geneva came around the coffee table and wedged onto the sofa beside Billy.
“You’re still wet!” she exclaimed. “Boy, don’t you know how to dry off? I’m going to have to replace my carpet
and
my couch.”
“Banyon, that’s who he talks about first,” Billy said, pointing at the screen. “Look, it’s a footnoted interview. It’s number one, and that’s where he was when all this mess started. Out at Hope with Mr. Banyon. Go to his bibliography page, Miss Pruitt. Who’s next on his list?”
She scrolled to the end of the report. “The second footnote refers to Hector Diaz. Matt corresponded with him by e-mail. And it looks like they had one phone interview.”
“Who’s Hector Diaz?” Cole asked.
“He’s the director of I-FEED’s Mexico office—the International Federation of Environmental and Economic Development. It’s the organization I usually work with on mission trips.”
“So you gave Matt this name? Hector Diaz?”
Jill blanched at the accusation. “Well, yes. I provided several names as sources he could contact. For his term paper.”
Cole leaned toward the screen and jabbed at the list of Matt’s sources. “You had him call people in Mexico, Africa…Pakistan, for crying out loud!”
“Not call on the telephone. I gave him e-mail addresses.”
“So now we’re supposed to believe Matt went to
Mexico?” Cole stood. “He didn’t go to Mexico! He’s never driven anywhere but the road from the ranch to town.”
“And out to Hope,” Billy put in. “But I think that’s where he went. To Mexico.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s on the paper trail.”
“Billy, use your head! You don’t go places because they’re in a certain order on your bibliography page!”
“You do if you’re the Mattman.”
Jill could see that Cole was about to explode. Lack of sleep, combined with frustration and fear, was taking its toll. She rose and walked around the coffee table to where he stood rubbing the back of his neck and staring down at the stain of blood on his mother’s carpet.
“I’ll e-mail Hector Diaz,” she said, laying a hand on his arm.
“E-mail? What good is that—”
“I’ll phone him, Cole. Okay? I’ll do it right now. I-FEED Mexico’s main office is in Juarez, so I’ll just pick up the phone and ask Hector if he’s seen Matt. Why don’t you sit down in that recliner and—”
“Make the call, Jill.” He handed her his cell phone. “This is nuts, but let’s do it.”
Nodding, she picked up her bag and rooted through it until she found her Palm handheld. Flipping open the PDA that contained—among other things—an address book, a schedule planner and e-mail access, she located Hector Diaz’s telephone number. In moments, she was listening to the buzz of his phone in Mexico. When the answering machine kicked on, her heart sank.
“
Hola,
this is Hector Diaz. The I-FEED office will be closed until May 31 while I am attending the Third World Food Summit conference in Paris, France, and then taking a short holiday. Please leave your message, and I will—”
She pressed the end button and handed the phone back to Cole. “It’s a dead end. Hector’s at a meeting in Paris.”
“Great. So much for following the paper trail.” He punched in a series of numbers. “I’ll let Sheriff Holtmeyer know what’s happened here. Maybe he has some more information for me.”
Billy lumbered back toward the bathroom, leaving a large wet circle on the pink sofa. Geneva let out a cry of dismay and hurried to the kitchen for towels.
Jill walked to the window, leaned a shoulder against the sill, and peered through the openwork lace curtains at the quiet neighborhood. How unthinkable that anything out of the ordinary could ever happen here. What sort of men would barge into the house of an old woman and make frightening demands and threats? Did those people have no conscience?
Hearing the concerned tone in Cole’s voice as he spoke on the phone, Jill started to step from the window when a slight movement outside caught her eye. She squinted through the open pattern in the lace.
“Cole?” Her breath shallow, she called into the kitchen. “Mrs. Strong? Does someone in your neighborhood drive a dark blue Lincoln?”
“A what, honey?” Geneva strolled in from the kitchen, her arms laden with dish towels.
“A Lincoln. There’s someone sitting in that car out there. A man, I think.”
“Let me see.” She reached for the curtain, but Jill caught her arm.
“Wait. I don’t want him to know we’ve spotted him. Cole, come here! There’s a man sitting in that Lincoln down the street. Did you notice him when we drove in this morning?”
“Nobody in this neighborhood drives a car that nice,” Geneva said. “I bet it’s those FBI men!”
Cole ended his call and moved to the window. “I did notice that car when we pulled in earlier, but I didn’t think…you’re right, somebody’s sitting in the front seat.”
“Call the police,” Jill said.
“Forget the police,” Geneva announced. “Cole, where’d you put my gun?”
“Now hold on.” He set a hand on his mother’s shoulder. “We’ve got to figure out—”
“What’s up?” Billy asked, joining the group beside the curtain.
“The FBI’s out there watching my house,” Geneva told him. “See that blue Lincoln? They’ve probably tapped my phone and put wires everywhere. We better not say another word. Let’s just talk in sign language.”
“I don’t know sign language, Granny Strong.” Billy dropped his bag of toiletries on the sofa. “Tell you what, Mr. Strong. Let’s you and me take off in the pickup and see if they follow. That way we’ll know for sure.”
“Shh!” Geneva said, putting a finger over her lips. “They’ll hear the plan! They’ve got infrared scanners and listening devices and all that!”
“I’ll go,” Jill said. “Cole, you stay here with your mother.”
“Me and Miss Pruitt,” Billy amended. “We’ll sashay over to the grocery store and pick up some sandwich stuff, and if the Lincoln follows, we’ll know it’s those goons from last night.”
“I shot one of ’em. He’s not in that car, I guarantee. He’s in a hospital someplace, because I plugged him good.”
“What makes you think he’d follow you?” Cole asked. “I’m Matt’s father. I’m the one they’re after, because they think I’ll be in touch with him.”
“So you
do
believe Agrimax is chasing Matt?” Jill asked.
“Sheriff Holtmeyer told me a few things. He couldn’t go into much detail because it’s a criminal investigation. They’re working on the theory that Banyon was murdered. Matt’s their number one suspect, but they did discover another set of fresh tire prints near the house.”
“I bet they match the tires on that Lincoln,” Geneva said.
“The car couldn’t have gotten here that fast, Mom. If the
man in the Lincoln is the same guy who was here last night, he’s not the one who was out at Banyon’s ranch.”