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“Oh, yeah. I’ve got it.”
“Good, let’s head to Radcliffe.”
Within 45 minutes Trey had driven us from downtown Louisville to Radcliffe. I directed him to our street, Lincoln Trail, pointing out my house on the block. He pulled the SUV into the driveway. I dug my house key out of my purse.
I retrieved the mail from an overstuffed mailbox and went inside, Trey following close behind. I put the stack of mail on the kitchen counter. The house was stuffy and empty of all furnishings. It was surreal to see that everything familiar was missing. Every piece of furniture and every appliance were gone. I went room-to-room observing the total emptiness. I checked the bathroom at the end of the hall. There was a roll of toilet paper left hanging on the holder. A box of condoms sat alone on the medicine cabinet shelf.
Trey hadn’t said a word. What possible reason would she have had to desert her home and take all of my stuff with her? I looked up at Trey, the confusion evident on my face. He pulled me close to him, wrapping his arms around me, hugging me tightly.
“I can't understand why she'd leave her house, Trey. I mean, if she needed money that badly, she could've sold the house. Why did she take my trust? This house is worth more than twice that I would think.”
“Maybe it’s not her house, Tylar. We need to check with the county auditor.”
I nodded. Trey was right. We decided to go to the county offices in Elizabethtown, about 12 miles away. I sorted the mail on the kitchen counter, shoving the envelopes in my purse to open later. Trey locked the door and we drove to Elizabethtown.
The visit to the county auditor’s office revealed that the house I'd grown up in had never belonged to my mother. It had been purchased in 1991 by a company called T.J. Property, LLC. The taxes were paid current by the same company. The auditor’s office did provide Trey with the address of the LLC. It was a post office box in Jackson, Mississippi.
On the drive back to Radcliff, Trey asked if I wanted to question any of the neighbors. I told him I didn’t. I was convinced my mother had carefully and meticulously planned her disappearance.
By late afternoon, we'd met with the Jefferson County prosecutor in Louisville where I signed a criminal complaint against my mother. Sneed had provided us with her social security number. The prosecutor pointed out that we didn’t have much. Trey told them he'd be back in touch with any additional information. There was nothing left to do.
We returned to the Crowne Plaza. As Trey showered, I sat on one of the two queen-sized beds and sorted through my mom’s mail. Most of it was junk mail, unpaid bills, final request for payment demands, and finally shut-off notices. There was a letter that had arrived for me from Virginia Intermont College. It was postmarked two days ago. I opened it. My fall classes had been dropped due to failure to pay the registration fees on time. Nothing in the stack provided any clues as to where my mom had gone with my money.
Trey came out of the bathroom with a towel draped around his waist, his hair damp and mussed. Watching him, I was momentarily distracted from my depression, and I wished I could pull that towel off of him. He glanced over at me while he sorted through his luggage.
“Anything interesting?” he asked.
Busted!
Trey caught me staring and was calling me out on my lustful thoughts. I hadn’t meant to gawk. I immediately felt the color rise to my cheeks.
“Tylar—is there anything interesting in your mom’s mail?”
“Uh, no, not really. I’ve been dropped from the fall schedule thanks to good ‘ole mom.”
“I’m sorry, Tylar,” he said softly. “We’ll figure something out about your tuition, okay?”
“There’s nothing to figure out Trey. I can’t afford it until I get my trust money back; if I get it back, I should say.”
He gave me a look that basically told me that the subject wasn't closed, but it was closed as far as I was concerned. “I’ve got an errand to run,” he explained. “I should be back here in an hour. Get ready; we’ll go to dinner when I get back.”
"Okay,” I answered. By the time Trey returned, I was dressed and ready. He drove us to a very trendy restaurant called Bistro 301 on Market Street. We were seated in a booth and given menus. The waitress returned for cocktail orders. Trey looked over at me.
“What would you like, Tylar? Wine?”
Seriously? He's going to let me have a drink? I glanced quickly at the cocktail menu and ordered something off of the Skinny Girl section called vodka sonic. Trey looked slightly amused. He ordered a bourbon and water. When the waitress returned with our drinks, Trey ordered calamari appetizers. I had decided on salmon, and Trey ordered pan-seared trout for dinner. The waitress did the normal gushing over Trey and finally took leave. I took a long sip of my vodka sonic.
“You’ve been very quiet today, Tylar,” Trey observed.
“Well, that’s about to change,” I remarked, smiling and downing my drink.
Trey frowned. The waitress passed. I flagged her down and asked for another. Trey frowned deeper.
Tough titties!
I started to giggle. He looked at me uneasily.
“Look,” I said, “I need just a bit of liquid courage to get me to the point where I can tell you what I said that I'd tell you last night. I had an epiphany.”
