Chapter 12 #5
Once she was off the phone, she settled in, and with nothing else to do for the rest of the day, she started to once again contemplate her life and lifestyle.
She was warming up to the idea of spending more time in the company of people, rather than simply passing them by on the highways.
She looked around Jerry’s luxurious apartment.
She thought she could get used to an upgrade in her life.
After Alan died, she sold the house and moved into a small cottage.
It had enough room in the back for Murphy to scamper about, and the kid next door took care of the lawn and her mail when she was on the road.
The road. What about the road? She knew she couldn’t keep up with it much longer, and perhaps it was time to consider something less taxing on her body, and Murphy’s.
It hadn’t occurred to her how confining it must be for him.
Of course he didn’t complain. Not that he could, but he never put up a fuss and gladly hopped into the cab.
She knew he simply wanted to be with her.
Protect her. Keep her company. And the feeling was mutual.
These thoughts were racing through her head when her stomach began to growl. She had skipped lunch, and now it was almost three o’clock. She decided to take a shower and try the Portuguese restaurant Jerry recommended.
Before she left the condo, she phoned the other two drivers to confirm the time and location where they were picking up the box trucks.
Satisfied that everything was running according to plan, Kathryn headed out for an early dinner.
She was looking forward to some bacalhau à brás, a traditional Portuguese dish made with cod, onion, and thinly sliced potatoes.
It was considered Portuguese comfort food, and Kathryn was in the right mood for comfort.
She was beginning to feel more comfortable about her future, whatever it might hold.
After her delicious dinner, Kathryn strolled back to the apartment complex. People were milling about, some with glasses of wine, chatting on the patio. They greeted her with a smile and a “good evening.” Yep, it was a far cry from a truck stop.
The following morning, she realized there was no food in the house, and she walked a few blocks to a small café.
A television was behind the counter with the morning news.
She stopped her fork in midair as she listened to the story about Salvation Army people getting mugged by people dressed like Santa.
She looked over at the waitress. “That’s just not right. ”
“What has the world come to?” the waitress said, and freshened Kathryn’s coffee.
“Do they think it’s a ring of rotten Santas?” Kathryn asked before she blew on her hot coffee.
“They didn’t say much except it happened fast. No description except a man wearing a red suit, hat, and a mangy beard.”
Kathryn finished her breakfast, paid the check, and began the five-block walk to the truck rental offices. Her other two drivers were already there. “Good morning!”
“Morning, Kathryn. You’re rather chipper today,” one of the men said.
“Yeah, until I heard about the Salvation Army Santa muggings.”
“Ain’t that a shame?” the other man said. “I don’t know how they’re gonna catch whoever it is.”
“It’s like going to Greenwich Village on Halloween. It’s hard to tell the normal people from the freaks,” the first man said.
“I think anyone who would want to cramp themselves into a crowd of a million people dressed in costume is not normal,” Kathryn replied.
Both men snickered and agreed. Kathryn filled out more paperwork, produced the credit card, licenses, and insurance information. Everyone was handed a set of keys, and they drove to the lot where the trailer was parked.
As the small caravan approached the chain-link gate, Kathryn spoke into the squawk-box. “Kathryn Lucas. Picking up trailer in slot four-two-nine.”
After a short pause, the disembodied voice asked, “Are you sure it’s four-two-nine?”
Kathryn checked her paperwork. “Yep. That’s me.”
“Huh. …” the voice responded.
“Is there a problem?” she asked.
“Four-two-nine was picked up this morning at two a.m.”
“That can’t be right.” Kathryn was confused. “Can you buzz me in please?”
“Sure.” The buzzer sounded, and the gates opened.
Kathryn pulled her truck in front of the office and looked toward the space where she’d left the trailer the day before. It was empty. What in the …? She stomped into the office. “Where’s my trailer?”
“I don’t know, but it was signed out, like I said.”
“By whom?” she demanded.
George’s substitute checked the computer. “Says here, Patrick Falcone.”
“Who?” Kathryn’s voice was several decibels louder.
The kid shrugged. “Here. Look for yourself.”
Kathryn’s mouth fell open. “Who in the heck is Patrick Falcone?”
“The guy who signed it out.” The kid had no other explanation.
“Do you have a copy of his ID? Phone number? He obviously picked up the wrong load.”
“I guess.” The kid was not going out of his way to be helpful, which was making Kathryn steam.
“Look, someone pulled the wrong trailer out of this lot; someone has to be responsible for this,” Kathryn said as calmly as she could.
“My boss is on vacation this week.”
“And? Isn’t there someone who might be a little more accommodating?” Kathryn said, as she counted to ten in her head. Speaking of heads, someone’s head was going to roll if she didn’t get an answer ASAP. She stared him down until he feebly picked up the phone.
“Hello? Hi, this is Raymond at the lot. Someone picked up the wrong trailer, and I don’t have any info.” The kid continued to reply with innocuous answers. “Uh-huh. Yeah. I guess.”
Kathryn was drumming her fingers on the counter. Her patience had worn thin. “Give me the phone. Please.” She practically wrenched it from his hand.
“Hello. This is Kathryn Lucas. I dropped a trailer here yesterday afternoon. Yes, George was here. Yes, I know he’s on vacation. But none of that is helping me find my load.” She handed the phone back to the kid.
He kept nodding his head, as if the person on the other end could see his reaction. “Okay. Thanks.” He checked the computer again. “There’s no contact number here.”
“Isn’t that just swell.”
“When they find out they have the wrong shipment, they’ll bring it back.” The kid was trying to be reassuring. “You can wait here if you want.”
Kathryn knew she had to call Myra and Annie immediately.
Maybe Charles and Fergus could get some traffic-cam footage to follow the route of the truck.
It was a long shot, but Charles and Fergus had pulled off even longer shots in the past. Kathryn huffed her way outside, where she could have a private conversation out of earshot from the other two drivers.
Myra picked up the phone in her lyrical tone. “Hello, Kathryn. How are you today?”
Kathryn took in a deep breath. “I wish I could say I’m fine, but I am not.”
“What seems to be the problem?” Myra asked with concern.
“Someone picked up my load by mistake,” she said, and took another breath. “And they don’t have a phone number to track the driver down.”
“Surely they’ll realize they have the wrong one, no?”
“Not until they get to their destination and open the trailer. It could be days,” Kathryn said with much frustration. “But I have an idea.”
Myra was all ears. “Shoot!”
“See if Fergus and Charles can get some of the traffic-cam footage between here and the turnpike. I can give them the plate numbers, and maybe we can figure out where that truck is headed.”
“Good thinking,” Myra said with a tinge of relief. “I’ll get on it right away. Charles is outside chatting with Fergus. I’ll grab them and call you right back.”
“Okay. Good.” Kathryn ended the call and went back inside to speak to the clerk.
Myra dashed out the kitchen door and began waving and yelling to the two men. “Charles! Fergus! I need your help!”
The two men ran toward her. “What is it?” Charles asked with a heavy breath.
“What’s wrong?” Fergus added.
“Kathryn’s trailer was loaded to someone else’s rig by mistake. The guy at the distro center told Kathryn they didn’t have a phone number, which I think is very odd. But that’s moot.”
“Is Kathryn alright?” Charles asked.
“Yes, but she is fuming,” Myra said. “She asked if the two of you could get some traffic-cam footage to see if you can try to track it down. She said to check from the distro center to the turnpike entrance.”
“Right-o,” Charles replied.
“Roger that,” Fergus added.
“Let me get her back on the phone.” Myra hit the speed dial number for Kathryn and put the call on speakerphone.
“Hey,” Kathryn answered, and walked back outside with her phone. “I convinced the kid to let me see some of the security footage from last night. He wasn’t very accommodating until I slid a hundred-dollar bill across the counter.”
“Were you able to see anything?” Charles asked.
“Two men dressed in jeans and leather jackets. Not exactly truck-driver attire, but anything goes these days. One stood facing away from the camera, the other kept his head down.”
“As if they were avoiding being recorded,” Fergus surmised.
“Seemed that way, but I am so fired up right now, I’m not thinking straight,” Kathryn replied.
“Kathryn, you are thinking just fine,” Charles said in a calm voice. “Were you able to see a signature?”
“Nope.”
“Did the drivers show ID?” Fergus asked.
“They showed something. Looked like a license.”
Fergus turned toward Charles. “Those are easy to fake.”
Charles continued, “Fergus and I will get right on this. You sit tight. Get some lunch. We’ll get back to you ASAP.”