All She Ever Wanted - Barbara Freethy [107]
"I can't say that it does, but we'll be in Santa Cruz within the hour. Shall we meet at the sorority house?"
Natalie hesitated. She'd been thinking about the sorority house since Cole had asked her to go to Santa Cruz, but some part of her did not want to make that stop. Still, how could she come all this way and not go there? It was the center of the entire situation. "All right. Hopefully, we'll find Malone before then. I'll ring you if we do." She ended the call and slipped her phone back into her purse. "Madison and Laura are on their way down here."
"I figured that." Cole peered at a nearby street sign. "Is that Haller?"
"Yes, and we want 2302." Natalie noted the numbers as they drove down the street. "It should be in the next block. There it is." Cole pulled over in front of a large two-story building with a sign in front that read sunrise living center. "It's a retirement home," she said in surprise. "Garrett Malone isn't old. Even with a disguise, he couldn't be older than fifty. This can't be right, but it's the address your investigator gave you."
Cole shut off the engine. "We've come this far. Let's check it out."
They got out of the car and walked through the front door. A woman dressed in casual clothes sat behind a desk in what was obviously a lobby area, with comfortable couches and chairs set around coffee tables. There was a television on in one corner, an elderly woman knitting in front of it.
"Can I help you?" the receptionist asked.
"We're here to visit Jerry Williams," Cole said.
"Mr. Williams?" The woman appeared surprised. "Are you relatives?"
"No, we're friends," Cole replied. "Is that a problem?"
"Oh, of course not. He just doesn't get many visitors. He's on the second floor, Room 210. Some days are better than others, you know. It's just the nature of it. You need to sign in before you go up." She pushed a clipboard across the counter. Cole signed it, then said, "Thank you," and they headed up to the second floor.
When they walked into Room 210 Natalie saw an elderly man sitting in a wheelchair. He was all skin and bones, very thin and fragile looking with eyes that appeared vacant and distant.
"Mr. Williams?" Cole said. The man didn't even blink. "We want to talk to you," Cole said, trying again. No answer. Cole shot Natalie a questioning look. "What's wrong with him?"
"I'm guessing Alzheimer's or some other type of dementia. I know one thing; he's not Garrett Malone. Maybe we have the wrong Jerry Williams. It's a common name."
"I don't think so. The fact that Williams lives here in Santa Cruz is too big a coincidence. Malone must have used Mr. Williams's social security number. That's the only explanation."
"Why would he go to so much trouble?"
"Because he was writing about a real event and trying to sell it as fiction. He didn't want anyone to know who he is, not his agent, not his publisher, maybe not even his friends."
"He wanted to protect himself. Keep his distance from the event while throwing the rest of us into the fire," Natalie finished. "I guess that makes sense. But how would Malone get this man's social security number?"
"He has to be connected to him in some way."
While Cole tried to get the old man's attention, Natalie moved across the room and opened the drawer by the bed. There were some blank notepads and pencils inside, a Bible, a box of chocolates, a CD player, and a book of poetry. Natalie opened up the book and caught her breath at the stamp. "Look at this," she said, holding it out to Cole. "Greg Martin, Ph.D., Professor of English Literature, Santa Cruz University. I know that name. He taught when I was there. I'm almost positive either Emily or Laura took a class from him. I remember, because he was considered pretty cute by professor standards."
"If he's still at the university, we can find him. Maybe we just found Malone. The initials are the same—Greg Martin, Garrett Malone."
"Maybe." Natalie still couldn't see how an English professor at the University would come to write a book about Emily, or about herself for that matter. "It's hard to believe