The Passenger by Jacqueline Druga (the giving tree read aloud TXT) 📗

attire. He held the microphone, paced and was animated when he spoke.

Russ felt it was ironic the pastor spoke of ‘trust’ when Russ was there because he was suspicious.

“It’s a hard thing to do,” Pastor Rick said. “Hey, I’m guilty of it, we all are. Giving it to God is easier said than done. Here God, here are my troubles … oh, wait, they aren’t getting resolved, let me have it back. It’s like having a thousand dollars and you need someone to hold it. It’s hard to trust who you give it to. That’s why you need to trust. Sometimes we are so into our instincts and what we believe should happen or could happen, it’s difficult to envision God knows what will happen when it is totally different than what we thought our path could be. Speaking of paths, I want to bring someone up here today to play and sing a song for you. This young man miraculously survived an accident. His story is pretty remarkable. He’s not expecting this, but when I heard him the other day, especially this song, I knew you had to hear it, too. Chip … let Haley run the board and come on down here.”

Russ turned, like everyone else to the back of the church. Chip was in the proverbial spotlight. Slightly reluctant and somewhat bashful, Chip relented and made his way from the sound board.

Russ watched him walk toward the front as his phone vibrated in his pocket. He was on duty and he had to take it.

The caller ID on the phone read ‘Correction Facility’ and immediately, Russ jumped up and walked from the church to take the call.

He answered it.

“You are receiving a call from an inmate at the Wyandotte County Correctional Facility, this call may be monitored and recorded.”

“Hello?” Russ answered, stepping outside the church. “This is Chief McKibben.”

“Officer, McKibben, thanks for filling up my calling card,” the male voice said. “I’ve been out of funds for two weeks. Figured I’d call you back.”

“And this is?”

“Wow, how many guys’ jail cards do you fill up?” he snickered. “This is Harold Whitmore.”

“Harold, thank you for calling me back. I met your grandmother.”

“How?”

“Same reason a Nebraska police officer is calling you. Your chevy was involved in an accident.”

“When?”

“Two weeks ago.”

“That wasn’t me,” Harold said. “I’ve been in here rolling through the processing system for two weeks. The chevy? The Impala?”

“Yep, that’s the one.”

“I haven’t had that car in a couple months. I … I owed some dude some money and he took the car as a tradeoff.”

“Why didn’t you change the plates?” he asked.

“Didn’t get to it,” Harold said.

“Who did you give it to?” Russ pulled out a little notebook.

“A guy named Teeter.”

“Do you know his whole name?”

“No. Just … Teeter.”

“I see. Can you tell me what he looked like?” Russ asked, glancing back at the church.

“Tall. Like maybe six foot. Skinny, shaved head, he has a bunch of tattoos. A lot on his neck.”

“Thank you and where …” Russ heard the line disconnect and he grunted in frustration. He replaced the phone in his pocket. The tattoo, shaved head guy wasn’t Chip. Chip could have stolen it and, considering the shady tradeoff of Harold’s car, he doubted the theft would have been reported.

The car mystery had to be put to rest, for the moment it was a dead end.

Russ wasn’t giving up. He still had the guitar. He was close and he truly felt in his gut the mystery of Chip Doe would be solved sooner than later.

EIGHTEEN

Standing outside the driver’s door of Grant’s truck, Cate handed him the thin, stainless steel thermos. “Coffee. Don’t pour while you’re driving.”

“I won’t.”

“And …” She held up a small cooler. “Snacks for the hotel and the road. There is a sandwich in there.”

Grant took them both placing them inside his truck. “Cate, listen, thank you. Thank you for supporting this.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because it’s crazy.”

“No.” She shook her head. “No, it’s not. I think you need this as much as you need to find Jonas.”

“You’re right.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Cate folded her arms.

“I’m going to check into the hotel. The same one Jonas stayed at. He had checked in earlier in the day, we know that. Maybe they moved his room. We’ve had that happen to us. Then I’m going to the Rat-Tat-Tat to talk to the bartender. Chelsey is her name. She was working that night.”

“You called ahead to see when she’s working?”

Grant nodded. “I did. She’ll be there this afternoon. Then I’ll just drive around, hit every town, put up those flyers I made. I have to do something Cate, I just can’t sit around and wait.”

“I know. I am very proud of you.”

Grant leaned into her and kissed her, then embraced Cate. “Thank you. I will call you and give updates.”

“Thank you.”

Grant stepped back and got in the truck. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” She closed the door and moved out of the way.

Cate stood watching as Grant pulled out of the driveway and onto the road. He extended his arm out the window and waved as he drove off.

She closed her eyes and said a prayer that one way or another, Grant would find what he needed.

◆◆◆

It was the most recent picture Grant could find of Jonas and had taken it from his social media. He was holding his guitar, a partial smile on his face. It was hard to find a picture of Jonas smiling because for the last several years he was so unhappy, he rarely smiled.

Grant felt like he had failed. Failed at getting close to Jonas, getting to know him on a different level. He was a staunch believer in being the parent and not the friend, so much so that when Jonas got older, Grant lost his chance to have that closeness, that happy medium between friend and parent.

Jonas gravitated more toward Cate. Although there were times in his adult life she mothered Jonas like he was an eleven year