Killing Me Softly (#Wattys2016)

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FOUR

Sondra hunched over her notebook and the papers spread out around her on the kitchen table. She'd been scribbling the sketch of an idea for a documentary about Tracy. She should have been packing for Chicago, but was compelled to keep investigating the thread of her idea. She wanted to examine Tracy's disappearance along with those of other women of color who disappeared and how their cases were treated both by law enforcement and the media. She'd printed out reams of articles and had filled two jumbo three-ring binders with notes and research. As she usually did at the beginning of a documentary, her heart would race and her mind would spin a million miles a minute as she tried to capture her thoughts and images in a semi-coherent fashion.

She had decided to start in Chicago with what had happened to Tracy and had some ideas about the other women she wanted to profile.

First things first, though.

She rifled through one stack of papers and put her hands on the envelope with Phillip's letter, the edges smudged with dirt from Sondra's constant handling. She slapped the envelope against her palm, still debating if she should reach out to Phillip and open a potential hornet's nest.

Maybe he'd been trying to protect Tracy by leading them all to believe everything was rosy between them.

Or maybe not.

Sondra glanced at the return address on his letter, a street in the town of Royal Oak, Michigan.

Chewing on her pen, Sondra pulled her laptop closer and typed Phillip's name into Google. She clicked around a few links, frowning. His last known address was the house he and Tracy shared, but nothing in Michigan. She sighed and typed in the return address from the letter and gasped at the result.

It was the address of a mailbox rental company in Royal Oak.

Her fingers trembling, Sondra grabbed her phone and dialed the number that came up.

"Thank you for calling Mailboxes R Us. How can I help you?"

"Yeah, hi. I'm wondering, how long have you been a Mailboxes R Us?"

"Oh about six, seven years."

"What were you before that?"

"I think it was a pizza place. Are you interested in mailbox rental?

Sondra looked at the envelope again. "I'm not sure, but do you forward mail for your customers?"

"We do. If you rent a mailbox from us, we'll forward your mail to you anywhere in the U.S."

"Huh. By chance, would you be able to give me an address you might have on file for one of your customers?"

"I'm sorry ma'am, but we couldn't give out that information."

Sondra sighed. "All right, thanks."

"No problem. Have a great day."

Sondra hung up, perplexed. She ran her finger across the address, lost in thought. Why would Phillip have his mail forwarded?

And where was he having it forwarded to?