Page 32 of Guess Again
“That’s because we were never able to recover them. My guys believe Callie used an encrypted texting app that automatically deleted the text threads after she sent them. They found footprints of text threads but nothing more. It was a dead end. Why? You find something?”
“Maybe. I see a single call from Callie’s phone to the burner number that pinged a Chicago cell tower on July 16.”
“Yeah, we saw that, too,” Pete said, reciting the case from memory. “The call was made from Callie’s phone to the burner phone, but it never led anywhere. The burner was a bust, we never found it.”
Ethan wasn’t ready to mention that the prepaid phone the DCI had been unable to locate ten years ago was now resting on his desk. Mostly because he wasn’t prepared to explain to his old partner how he’d stumbled across it. But Ethan was curious what Callie Jones was doing in Chicago two days before she went missing.
“The girl’s phone,” Ethan said. “Is it still in evidence?”
“I’m sure it is.”
“Any chance I can get my hands on it?”
“E, you got something?”
“I’m not sure, but I need the girl’s phone to find out.”
CHAPTER 30
Cherryview, Wisconsin Friday, July 25, 2025
THE FOLLOWING DAY, ETHAN PULLED UP TO THE BIG HOUSE ONLAKEOkoboji and parked in the driveway. He hadn’t called ahead. With his backpack strapped over a shoulder, he walked to the front entrance—a gargantuan set of wooden French doors—and rang the bell. When no one answered, he rang again. Another minute passed before he heard an unidentifiable noise emanating from some place off in the distance. He backed away from the front porch and listened. It was a steady back-and-forth clanking that was unexplainably irritating. He followed a stone-lined walkway around the house. The clinking grew louder with each step as he progressed toward the back.
As he emerged through a canopy of jasmine bushes, Lake Okoboji came into view. The source of the racket also became apparent. Christian Malone and three others were playing pickleball on what looked like a newly poured court that overlooked the lake. The four players stood mesmerizingly close to one another and banged a yellow wiffle ball back and forth across the net. The noise from the paddles hitting the ball was loud and obnoxious, and Ethan wondered if the neighbors complained. But enough acreage surrounded Christian Malone’s mansion for the nails-on-the-chalkboard clatter to dissipate before reaching adjacent homes.
Ethan approached the court as Christian served the ball, waited for the return, and then began a new rally that consisted of a flurry of back-and-forth smashes until Christian ended it with an overhead volley that sent the ball into the hydrangeas and ended the game. The players tapped paddles across the net before Christian turned and smiled when he saw Ethan.
“My favorite doctor is making a house call!”
Christian raised his hands as if under arrest.
“Don’t worry, Doc. I’m drinking water, I promise.”
He ran to the side of the court and lifted a Yeti tumbler to his lips to take a long swallow.
Ethan laughed.
“I didn’t come to check on your water intake. I need some help from my favorite retired tech guru.”
Christian looked at his pickleball friends, all of whom appeared to be in their seventies or beyond, and pointed at Ethan. “This is the doctor who helped with my kidney stone a few weeks ago. Saved me from surgery.”
“I didn’t even do that. Actually, he passed it before I could do much for him.”
“Ah,” Christian said, “the sign of a good doctor is humility. Can’t even accept my gratitude for helping me narrowly escape the operating room.” Christian turned to his friends. “Same time tomorrow?”
Everyone agreed and headed to the driveway and their cars. When his friends were gone, Christian turned to Ethan.
“Sorry to play up the kidney stone thing. I told them I was an eyelash away from needing surgery. Pickleball with those guys is cutthroat. I need any advantage I can get. If they think I’m recovering from some ailment, they’ll go easy on me.”
“Those guys looked like they were all in their seventies and twice your age.”
“Age makes no difference in pickleball. They’ll butcher me up and serve me raw if given the chance. I’ve played the sick card for a couple of weeks, but I guess the jig is up now.”
“Sorry to out you.”
Christian finished his water and waved his hand. “No worries. The kidney stone angle helped me win a few games. It’s all good. So what brings you by?”
“I need some help with something I’m working on.”
