Brotherhood of the Wolf

Chapter 11.1: Crash (Into You)

My second cup of tea sits untouched on the edge of Clayton's desk.

"So if the girl I helped move into her dorm wasn't Jules, then who was she?" I ask once we've both gotten a moment to gather our thoughts.

He shrugs. "Probably an actor who had no idea what kind of uproar she was about to cause."

"And who would go through with such an elaborate ruse to create a fake student only to have her go missing and why?"

Clayton writes the post office box number on a sticky note as he answers. "Considering that the whole point of it was to bring public attention to a disappearance at the university and that this type of situation looks worst for leadership—"

"Namely one Douglas Calhoun," I interject.

"Yes, Calhoun," Clayton confirms before continuing. "That means that this was all likely done to discredit Calhoun. And since the man has many enemies, the who is going to be harder to answer."

Getting up from his seat, he grabs another cookie before heading toward the door. "Are you coming?"

I bolt after him. "Where?"

Clayton hands me the sticky note. "The Internet should be able to tell you exactly where this postal box is located, but based on the zip code, it's a couple hours' drive away so you'll have plenty of time to look it up."

"What will finding the box tell us?" I ask, thinking that we should be focusing on Calhoun and not the fake girl.

Instead of going to the waiting SUV, Clayton heads toward the back of the mansion.

"If the box is legit and Juliette's family had a connection to it, then someone in the area would know them, right? If they don't, then we can one hundred percent say that she's a fake, created to fool us for one reason or another," he says, opening a door to the garage. Inside are several more vehicles including a silver sports car, which he unlocks. "Hop in."

The drive would be a perfect time for me to find out more about Clayton. I could ask him about his research or learn about his family. But like a total idiot, I do none of those things. So by the time we get to the small, rural town with the mysterious P.O. box, I'm antsy enough to knock on some doors.

"There don't seem to be too many people living here any more," Clayton says as we exit the car. There are a number of Queen Anne style cottages and brick four-squares in the area, but many of them have boarded up windows or overgrown landscapes. "How about you take the houses on this side of the street and I'll go ask around on the other side. We'll meet back here after?"

We split up, but less than twenty minutes later we're back comparing notes.

"Well, I've got nothing," I say, throwing my hands up in frustration after showing nine people pictures of Jules and getting eight 'no's' to my inquiry about whether she's ever lived here and one 'sure is purdy, but no' for some variety.

"Same," Clayton says just as dejected. "No one has heard of the Kaczmarek family and one nice old woman even told me that the last person under forty moved out of town nearly ten years ago."

"Wow. So I guess your theory's confirmed. Does that mean we can go back to Woodhurst now? I've had a long day—"

"Sure," Clayton interrupts me for a change, his tone sounding a little like he's offended by my suggestion.

I don't know what I said wrong, but now I feel bad so I try to make amends.

"But if you'd rather . . .," I trail off, not knowing what else to propose.

Opening the driver's door, he shakes his head. "No. Let's just go."

So now we're silent again, but for different reasons. But a few miles before the turnoff to the interstate, I notice Clayton checking and then re-checking the rear view mirror.