What We Find

by Robyn Carr

  “Watch this, Cal,” Maggie said. “You’re going to love it. When the truck and trailer pull in and park, get some of the kids up front to watch them wrangle Cornelius.”

  A well-used truck, a big dually pulling a roomy trailer, pulled up alongside the bull. The driver, a young guy in a cowboy hat, gave them a wave. The passenger door on the other side opened and a young girl in tight jeans, boots and hat with long blond hair running in a braid down her back, came around the truck with a lead and a big harness. She stood for a minute in front of the bull, a hand on one hip, staring him down. The bull pawed at the ground twice and snorted meanly.

  “Don’t start with me,” the girl said. She approached the big animal. He backed away. “Corny! That’s enough!”

  The young man jumped out of the truck and opened up the trailer, putting down the ramp.

  The bull stood still. He put his head down and the girl shook hers.

  She attached the lead to a huge harness. “Come on, Corny. You’re in trouble.”

  She led the enormous bull to the trailer. The bull went slowly. Calmly. When he was inside the girl jumped out and helped the young man close up the trailer. He ran to the driver’s side of the truck. He waved at Sully. “Sorry for the inconvenience,” he yelled. Then they pulled slowly away from the campground.

  “What the—” Cal stuttered.

  “She raised him from a calf,” Sully said. “Some nights she slept in the barn with him. His mother didn’t make it and Casey fed him from a bottle. She and a couple of the Mitchells can seem to manage him, but no one else. Don’t get the idea he’s safe—he’s a big, ornery bull. But he’s fathered half the herd and he takes orders from Casey Mitchell. She got a blue ribbon for him.”

  “Isn’t it the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?” Maggie said.

  “He turned over two picnic tables. Stan was going to shoot him. People were running and screaming,” Cal said.

  “Yeah, I didn’t say he wasn’t a troublemaker, but I don’t think he’s ever hurt anyone. I mean, if you get between Cornelius and a heifer when they’re courting, there could be trouble, but usually he just likes people out of his way and sometimes he likes to show off a little bit. He’s mostly a big spoiled baby with only one mommy and she’s a hundred-and-five-pound teenager,” Sully said.

  Maggie grinned. “I told you you’d like it. Better than a magic trick, isn’t it? The truth, California—isn’t this the most awesome place?”

  “Oh, awesome! Escaped Alzheimer patients, kidnappers, naked hikers and a crazy bull so far.”

  “We’re just getting warmed up. Summer’s not over yet.”

  * * *

  It made Cal uncomfortable keeping things from Maggie, but it was the nature of his profession that all cases, no matter how small or large, were confidential. So, when she asked him why he was on his laptop so much the very next afternoon, he made up a small, partial lie. “Someone I met at the bookstore in Leadville was asking questions about Colorado law and I offered to help research. A good excuse to get a little more familiar with Colorado statutes.”

  “Does she have a name?” Maggie wanted to know.

  “He does, but I think I should keep that confidential. Just as you would keep a patient’s medical information confidential.”

  “Hmm. It occurs to me that if we were both working we wouldn’t have much to talk about.”

  He presented her with his finest lascivious grin. “I believe we will never run out of interesting and stimulating subject matter.”

  Cal had told Tom to ask his ex-wife if she’d like to consult with an experienced defense attorney and if so, he would have to see her at once. The next day he called and said Becky was very anxious to talk to a good lawyer. Since Cal didn’t have an office, he made arrangements to go to Becky’s house.

  Cal parked across the street from a nice-looking town house in a pleasant little neighborhood that backed up to a golf course. This was his first time in Aurora and clearly it was upscale, with lots of building going on, wide clean streets, impeccable landscaping and more than the average quotient of late-model SUVs and sports cars. Becky, Tom had told him, worked for a plastic surgeon in Aurora.

  Aurora was not a cheap place to live.

  He knocked on the door and she answered. “Hi, Becky. I’m Cal Jones.”

  “Thanks for coming,” she said, opening the door for him.

  His first impression was—attractive. The first thing he noticed was boobs. Yes, they were larger than average yet not obnoxiously so. Her crisp white blouse was open just enough to showcase her cleavage and those ta-tas were standing proud. Through the fabric of the blouse he could discern bra straps about the width of string. The bra was not capable of holding her up meaning, after four children, those thirty-six-year-old breasts had been enhanced.

  Becky was casually dressed in denim capris and wedge-heeled sandals. Her red hair was pulled back in a demure clip and she wasn’t wearing a lot of makeup. She walked ahead of him to a sunny dining room.

  “I made coffee and lemonade,” she said.

  “A cup of coffee would be nice,” he said. “Black.”

  She preferred lemonade and he waited for her to get settled. He had his laptop with him but he pulled out a simple tablet from his canvas bag. He told her a little about himself, that he’d been practicing law for ten years but the last year he’d been on leave, traveling, just kicking around. Then, mainly to see how she’d respond, he said, “I lost my wife to a long illness and needed time to adjust.”

  She ran her thumb and forefinger up and down the icy glass of lemonade. Her nails were perfect. Her eyes were large and luminous. “I’m so, so sorry. She must’ve been very young.”

  “My age. So, I don’t have an office and I haven’t had a firm in a year, but I’m licensed in Colorado.”

  “Bless your heart,” she said, her eyes so soft and warm. “I can’t imagine how difficult that must be. You must miss her so much.”

  “So, once you decide you want me to represent you, you can notify the DA’s office and I can pick up a copy of the police report. But first, maybe you should tell me what your expectations are.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she said, tucking a leg under herself, leaning an elbow on the table.

  “What do you think I can do for you, Becky?”

  “Hopefully you’ll keep me from going to jail,” she said. “It’s such a terrible, unfortunate misunderstanding.”

  “Shouldn’t you be expecting a fine? Maybe a fine and community service? It’s not typical for a jail sentence for soliciting.”

  “I don’t dare take any chances and go without a lawyer,” she said. “The last time the judge said if it happened again, he’d give me ninety days. That was a misunderstanding! But I never had a chance to explain. I’ll lose my job and everything.”

  “Everything?”

  “Well, my income, my benefits. And people will know. The people at work, the family, probably the whole neighborhood. The kids...”

  “Your arrest is a matter of public record,” he informed her.

  “But why would anyone look?” she asked. She teared up, her blue eyes getting a little glassy.

  A blue-eyed redhead? Well, they weren’t really blue, it was probably contacts, and was the red hair real? None of the four kids had red hair. She smoothed her hair over one ear and looked at him with those big blue eyes. And she slowly lowered her lids. A hand went gently to her throat.

  “I was so careful.”

  “Careful?”

  “I’m not a prostitute. I’m more of an escort. There are a few men who come to town regularly and we go out, that’s all. Sometimes they’re a little lonely and need someone to talk to. It’s like performing a service. You know?”

  “Becky, you don’t have to convince me of anything. Just tell me
the facts because I’m going to find out the reason you were arrested. And it wasn’t for going out on a date or performing a service. How long have you been in this business?”

  “The escort business?” she asked.

  “Precisely,” he said, encouraging her.

  Her graceful hands moved around as she talked, stroking the glass, touching a button, smoothing her napkin. Her tongue touched her lips and she blinked sometimes. But her mascara didn’t run.

  “Business, yes. A friend I once worked with invited me to dinner with a couple of gentlemen from out of town. She was an escort. She said we’d be paid by the hour just to have dinner with these men and it was a lot of money. I can’t remember how much, but I think fifty dollars an hour or something. And when dinner was over, I just went home. I did that a few times. Then a couple of the gentlemen I’d been out with called me and asked me for a date and I said yes and they paid me—as if it was a paid date, just like before. I was thinking it was just an ordinary date—meet at the restaurant, have dinner, go home. I didn’t do any more than that for a long, long time. After a year or so, with a gentleman I happened to be quite fond of, it went further. But the money was the same so you see, I wasn’t selling my body. I was selling my time. I was a paid escort who made an adult decision to be more intimate with a client. Consenting adults.”

  “I understand completely,” Cal said. “And you should know, the judge isn’t going to buy that.”

  “Very narrow-minded of him, don’t you think?” she asked.

  She’s throwing off pheromones like crazy, Cal thought. And while she started out as pretty, she was growing beautiful. Sexy. She was very good at this—the way she talked, moved her hands, adjusted herself in the chair, her soft voice.

  “What was different about this last time?” he asked.

  “I’ll tell you what—I was tricked, that’s what. Something I hardly ever do because I just don’t have the time, I was going to meet a girlfriend for a drink. There were no gentlemen involved. I wasn’t meeting a man. While I was waiting in the bar a man took the stool two down and after he got his drink, he started to talk to me. He was very nice, very friendly, and he asked me if I wanted to go on a date and I said, What kind of date? Because I was waiting for a friend. And he said, How about a short date to my room? And I laughed at him and said that didn’t sound like a date. Dinner in a nice restaurant sounded more like a date, but unfortunately I was busy. And he said, Well, if you changed your mind, what would something like that cost? He was harassing me, annoying me. Like I’d ever go anywhere with someone that pushy. And I told him I didn’t have the first idea because I wasn’t about to go on a date to his hotel room. And he pushed and said, But if you did? What would it cost? And I said, A lot! Hundreds and hundreds of dollars! And he arrested me!”

  “Did he give you money?”

  “No. He just talked about it.”

  “And did you go to his room?”

  She shook her head. “No! He was leading me out of the hotel bar when my friend was walking in. He put me in handcuffs! And my friend said, What the hell is this? And the man pulled out his badge to show her. And she asked him if he was crazy.”

  “And this friend? Also an escort?”

  “As it happens, she’s a yoga instructor! I called her as soon as I got home to tell her it was a terrible misunderstanding. But I think she wonders about me now. This is awful.”

  “Did he show you money?” Cal asked.

  “No,” she said.

  “Listen to me carefully, Becky. If that police officer was wired, will the recording be exactly as you say? Or will it sound more like you were setting a price and telling him the rules for the game?”

  “It will sound exactly as I told you. Ex-act-ly.”

  Cal scribbled a few things on his tablet. “Well, the next thing to do is get a copy of the police report, the arrest report, and plan a defense in time for your court date.”

  “It’s in a week,” she said.

  “What happened the last two times you were arrested?”

  “Does that matter?”

  “Just to me. The fact that you were arrested could come up but the details won’t affect the outcome of this situation.”

  “Well, a gentleman I was having dinner with told a maître d’ that I was a hooker and he called a cop. Apparently he was irked at the escort price when he wasn’t getting sex and didn’t want to pay it. So see? I was in trouble for not being a hooker! That was the first time. The second time it was a female police officer undercover and she was asking me how I managed to get into my escort business because she wanted to get into the business, so just for fun I demonstrated how easy it was to attract a man in a bar and interest him in an escort. It was very confusing because I wasn’t going to do anything then, either. But the man was her partner and they both took me to jail. I paid a fine because it was less than it would cost to hire a lawyer. But I’m telling you, I’m not doing anything to break the law!”

  “What you’re not doing happens to be against the law. Working as an escort who occasionally supplies sex is illegal, whether the price is affected or not and something tells me you already know that. But we might get lucky this time. I’ll have to see the arrest documents before I’ll know for sure.”

  “I want this to go away,” she said.

  “What’s your job position? With the doctor you work for?”

  “I’m mainly a receptionist, but I also do some computer work. I check patients in, check them out. It’s a cash business—most plastic surgeons don’t run insurance paperwork. I really love my job.”

  “And you’ve done this for how long?”

  “I’ve been with him for five years now.”

  “Okay, that’s all I need for today,” Cal said, sliding his tablet into his bag and getting to his feet.

  She stood as well and looked at him sadly. “But you hardly touched your coffee,” she said sweetly.

  “Another time, Becky,” he said. At the door he turned toward her. “I suggest that you don’t go on any dates with anyone before your court date.”

  “Sure,” she said. “Unless you want to get together. To talk?”

  “If I need to talk to you, it’ll be business. Have a good day.”

  “Cal?” she asked. “Will you be talking to Tom about this? I know you’re friends.”

  He shook his head. “I won’t be talking to anyone about this. What you tell me is confidential.”

  “Thank you,” she said softly.

  He threw his canvas bag in the passenger seat of his truck and started the ignition. He chuckled as he thought about the case. She’s a hooker. A pricey hooker who probably rarely gets dinner but commands a decent hotel room and an excellent price. Very likely she meets clients in the doctor’s office. She probably doesn’t have more than one, at most two appointments in a single night. She’s discriminating and her gentlemen probably appreciate her very much. And she’s going to be one of my repeat customers for legal representation.

  * * *

  Cal spent the next day at the courthouse rounding up documents and lining up a witness he hoped he wouldn’t be using. He met with an assistant DA and suggested he not press charges based on the arrest report alone, but the young man wanted to go to court. So they were on for the following Wednesday.

  The weekend found the campground full and busy. People were floating out on the lake, sunning, fishing, swimming. There was a tent or small trailer on every campsite, grills in constant use, lawn chairs out, beach towels spread and picnic tables moved around—first come first serve. The smell of hot dogs cooking and the sound of softballs thwacking into mitts filled the air. People were coming and going to the nearby trails and cliffs all day. The store was teeming with business and probably one of the most gratifying scenes was Sully, enjoying the pinnacle of good health, greeting o
ld friends from years past, customers returning to the crossing for their vacations or long weekend.

  During summer, every hand was employed, though Enid kept shorter days since Sully had extra help. Once she got her baking done, she went home—summer meant Frank’s grandkids hanging around the ranch more and she liked spending time with them. Cal and Maggie worked all weekend. A few college girls from across the lake came over to Sully’s to sit on his side of the lake. They had a cooler, a few beers and staked out a picnic table by the lake under the shade of a big tree. One of the girls, probably the only one who was twenty-one, came in and bought a six-pack.

  Cal sat on the porch, taking a break in the early-afternoon shade with his laptop open. Maggie came out and sat at his table.

  Jackson drove up to the store in his dad’s truck. He got out, still wearing his climbing harness, and began to put the accoutrements of his favorite hobby, rock climbing, into the back of the truck—harness, ropes, ascenders, pulley, lightweight backpack. He pulled off his sweaty shirt and grabbed a fresh shirt out of the front seat. He changed from his climbing shoes into dry socks and hiking boots. He tossed the clean shirt over his shoulder and headed for the store, obviously planning to do a little wash up in the bathroom before putting on his clean shirt. His canvas cargo shorts rode low on his hips. He was about six feet, his arms and shoulders powerful and strong from months of working out with the rescue team, his grin infectious. He had a tattoo on one bicep.

  “Hey, Cal. Hey, Maggie.” He walked past them into the store to get to work.

  Cal was looking toward the lake, a secret smile on his face. Maggie followed his gaze and started to laugh. All four of those girls were gazing after Jackson. They started to swoon, giggle and one of them pretended to faint.

  “He’s gotten so manly,” Maggie said. “He even smells manly.”

  “That he does,” Cal agreed with a laugh.

  It wasn’t long after that that the girls were back in the store. Jackson was working the counter, Cal was stocking, Beau was hanging out in the storeroom with Sully. There was a lot of excited talking and laughing and it was a long time before the girls were leaving and Jackson was getting back to work.