Found Money - James Grippando [63]
“How do you suggest we go back forty-five years?”
“School is probably the best way. I called the school superintendent’s office this morning. Unfortunately, they don’t have any class lists going back that far. The only way to figure out who was in my dad’s class is to look at the actual yearbooks.”
“Did your dad have one?”
“I went through all his possessions after he died. I didn’t see one. I have a feeling that was a time in his life he preferred to erase. But they keep them at the high school, in the records department.”
Norm paused. “So you want me to drive all the friggin’ way down to Piedmont Springs to look at forty-five-year-old yearbooks?”
“It’s easier than that. My mom’s family goes back five generations in Prowers County. But my dad didn’t move there until after the rape—probably in shame, which explains why he was never really happy there. I can remember when I was a kid. The best reason he could give me for staying in Piedmont Springs was because my mom’s side of the family had roots there. I guess he felt like he was living in exile.”
“So where did he go to high school? Until he was sixteen, I mean?”
“Dad grew up in Boulder. He would have been a student at Boulder High School when the rape took place.”
“So you want me to go to Boulder?”
“It’s less than an hour’s drive for you, Norm.”
“All right, I can do it this week.”
“I’d like you to go today. Just copy the books and get your investigator to check these people out. There can’t be that many of my dad’s classmates who ended up being millionaires.”
Norm checked the appointment calendar on his desk and made a face. “Shit. Okay. I’ll juggle things around and do my best to get over there this afternoon. If it’s that important to you.”
“Thanks,” said Ryan. “It’s really that important.”
Brent Langford was stretched out on the couch in the living room, wearing only gym shorts. Even half-naked he was overheated, his body glistening with sweat. The hottest point of the afternoon had passed hours ago, yet it only seemed to be getting hotter inside the house. The old window-unit air conditioner had been busted since last summer, still no money to fix it. A fan turned lazily in the open window, sucking in hot air from the plains. It had been the summer’s stickiest day so far. So hot, Brent hadn’t ventured outside all day. He had spent most of the day right on the couch, flipping through the brochures for the new Corvette.
A convertible, he thought, smiling to himself. Gonna get me a convertible. And that blonde in the bikini to boot.
A knock at the front door disturbed his fantasy. Brent didn’t move. He just turned the page, undecided between the yellow or the red one.
A second knock, louder this time.
He grabbed the remote control and lowered the volume on the television. “Sarah!” he shouted. “Answer the door already!”
Half a minute later, Sarah crossed the room. The heat had her almost immobilized. Her obstetrician had told her to stay home from work today and elevate her ankles. It had struck Sarah as funny in a twisted way. She hadn’t had any ankles since about the seventh month.
She breathed extra-heavy as she passed Brent on the couch, exaggerating just a little to make him feel guilty. He didn’t notice.
The front door was already open. She spoke through the screen door to the stranger on the porch. “Can I help you?”
He nodded respectfully. “Afternoon, ma’am. Is this here your permanent residence?”
“Yes.”
He glanced at her pregnant belly. “And I presume you’re over fifteen years of age.”
She scoffed. “Yeah.”
He pulled an envelope from his shirt pocket. “I have something here for you from the Prowers County Sheriff.”
Sarah opened the screen door and took it.
“What—” she started to ask. But the man ran away the second she touched it, as if there were a bomb inside. She watched as he jumped into his