Page 14 of Don't Leave Me
4
Tampa Bay
Three months later
Marc
There wereten Marie Campbells alive in Tampa Bay. I’d tracked down four of them who were not my mother. I’d tracked down six of eleven of them who had died in the past twelve years. They were also not my mother.
There was nothing to suggest she would have stayed in Tampa all this time. No reason she might not have moved on to another town or city, but I wasn’t yet at the point of looking outside the scope of my investigation.
That’s how I had viewed it. As just another investigation. I’d taken the construction job George had told me about, but, in addition, I’d located several private investigators in the surrounding areas and asked if they would take me on as an unpaid intern.
Two of them told me to get the hell out of their office. One had told me to go get him coffee.
For three months I worked with Mel on my down time. Most of it sitting in a car with him while he did surveillance on adulterous husbands and wives. But he’d taught me how to get started. How to ask questions of folks in a non-threatening way that would get them to open up. How to use the internet to suck up as much known information on a person as you could get legally.
Then he’d shown me a few things that weren’t legal.
Learning from him was a place to start. A way to pull threads together until they made a complete picture. I’d had to learn to smile more so people didn’t always see me as threatening. I’d had to learn patience, when questions I asked led to no answers.
Last month, after earning a couple thousand dollars working construction, and gaining a general template of how to track down a person, I drove my truck—a shiny, new Ford F150, George’s second fuck you to Arthur Landen—to Florida.
Mel knew another investigator in Tampa who was actually looking for help. With a letter of recommendation from Mel, Stan agreed to meet me and take me on part time.
I lived in a crappy motel room. I picked up work from Stan when I could. And I searched for Marie Campbell.
Four weeks later, and all I had to show for it were the ten women I’d been able to cross off my list.
Today, I was sitting in a park watching a strip mall across the street. Within the strip mall was a bakery called Sweet and Sassy.A Marie Campbell owned the shop. I’d been able to track her down through the health department’s licensing process. It was highly unlikely this was my mother, but what had caught my attention was how off-the- grid this Marie Campbell was.
There was no picture of her anywhere I could find. Her bakery had a Facebook page, but there wasn’t much activity on it. Again, no picture of her anywhere on the site. Just cakes, cupcakes and other baked goods.
My trick to get into the DMV’s website didn’t work, so I had no concept of her age. Just this one blip in the system when I’d gone through all available Hillsborough County records.
I glanced at my watch again. It was close to seven in the morning. While I knew there were people already inside the shop, baking, I imagined, the store didn’t officially open until seven. Two minutes after seven, I abandoned my seat on the park bench and crossed the street.
A bell dinged overhead as I opened the door, and the smell of sugar and warm dough overwhelmed me. I considered the last time I’d had something as frivolous as a piece of cake or a doughnut.
The money I’d earned working construction had to last, so I spent the bare minimum. Only the basics for food, and rent at the motel. The pick-up work I did for Stan helped with that, but I knew I was in this for the long haul. First, finding my mother, then going after Sanderson.
I needed more. More skills. More money. More connections. I would get there. Because I had patience and all the time in the world. What I didn’t do was waste my money on something with no nutritional value that would likely leave me craving more.
However, I had a feeling I was going to break that rule today.
A young, pretty brunette came through a door behind the counter. She had a round face and a sweet smile. “Good morning. What can I get for you today?”
I studied the counter in front of me. “I don’t see them out, but I could swear I smell cinnamon rolls.”
The brunette smiled. “Oh, you do. They’re coming out of the oven now. If you’ll just give us a second to ice them, I’ll have one right up for you.”
“Perfect,” I said, with a smile. She opened the door to what I guessed was the kitchen.
“Hey, Marie, we’ve got a customer waiting on the sticky buns.”
I heard a vague answer, then the girl headed to the register to ring me up.
“I’ll take a coffee, too,” I said, pointing to the pots behind her.
