CHAPTER FIVE

Present-

I called Anna Stalling (now McPhee). I had dwelt long enough on just how or what to say to her. (No more hiding.) I could have just let the letter go unanswered, as I had let many things go lately. I could have just left the whole thing alone instead of uncomfortably navigating a subject I'd have rather kept closed. I reached Anna on the third ring, thinking that she might not answer as my number was blocked, but she did.

After confirming it was indeed Anna, I begin. I told her I was Ray's "partner", which could certainly hold any meaning. I explained about reciving her invitation. And then I explained about Ray. After all the standard polite, and I am sure heartfelt, condoloences, Anna surprised me.

"I know I don't know you, but we have been waiting so long to repay our favor. I would just feel so much better if you came."

I supposed I shouldn't have been surprised, but the momentary terror perhaps of leaving my safehouse, caused me to almost choke.

"Ms. Blake? Really, our family would love to have you."

I had given her the name I used now—Blake.

"Well, I…" And right then I could not think of a lie or an excuse.

"I will make all the arrangements; flight, hotel, car. All you have to do is show up. I know my brother wuld appreciate it as much as I would."

And before I knew exactly how, the older woman had talked me into flying from Denver to Seattle, Washington. Since the mail had taken so lng to reach me, the party was this Saturday. She asked if a Friday flight would work.

"Is there a number I can reach you at to let you know what time the flight will be?"

My instincts kicked in sine my brain had apparently turned to mush for the moment. "Just anytime after 9 am, DIA into Seattle is fine. I will check in at the airport."

Apparently since Ana Marie was familiar with how Ray had behaved, this answer was acceptable. "Well, Camilla I am so looking forward to meeting you, although I wish the circumstances were different. Call me when you get settled on Friday and I will give you directions to the house."

"Okay. Thank you."

So that was that. I was going to Seattle. Leaving my safe little capsule for the first time in…. well a long time.

I sighed sitting there in the den. "I hope you're happy," I said to Ray's photo where he smiling at me from the mantle. I remembered that picture. I took it.

"Nature is pitiless; she never withdraws her flowers, her music, her fragrance and her sunlight, from before human cruelty or suffering. She overwhelms man by the contrast between divine beauty and social hideousness. She spares him nothing of her loveliness, neither wing or butterfly, nor song of bird; in the midst of murder, vengeance, barbarism, he must feel himself watched by holy things; he cannot escape the immense reproach of universal nature and the implacable serenity of the sky. "― Victor Hugo

We took a trip to Africa several years back, one of different jaunts in the world we took together. Ray used a favor, sort of; He had helped Dr Alan Cambell when some research of his had been stolen and years later, by happenstance, Ray ran into the research anthropologist.

"I never repaid you," Dr Campbell told him. "I intend to do so. There is no way I would have a career if it weren't for you." And then he told Ray about a trip he had taken to Africa. It spawned Ray's intrest and the next thing I knew, Dr Cambell had booked Ray and his guest, which was me, on the trip- two weeks, and guided photo safari tours, all expenses covered.

We stayed in a beautiful, simple tented structure, but with luxuries like an almost actual bathroom in Masai Mara National Reserve which was just like being in the movie Out of Africa. Kenya is Africa's premier safari destination and the Mara is the jewel in the crown.

The Masai Mara has abundant wildlife in a relatively small area. We saw lions, rhinos, giraffe, elephant, hippo, baboons, warthogs and more. The luxury tented camps offered the romance and thrills of being out in the African bush with wildlife all around while enjoying gourmet food, a soft bed and a hot shower.

It was a magical time for us then. No pressure, no people; we could "just be" and live in the moment as Ray liked to remind me to do, even so many years after teaching me.

We journeyed around the countryside and I spent countless rolls of film on the wildlife. In the days before phones had cameras and I still used an old Kodak with a multi focus lens and used canister roll film. No luxury of seeing the pictures until they were developed- which I had learned to do myself in a makeshift dark room back in Colorado.

This was where I snapped the picture of Ray- one of the best- I thought. He was sitting on a rock, enjoying watching a herd of water buffalo down by the river. He seemed so at peace and happy. When he looked at me then, and smiled with that peace still in his eyes, I snapped the photo. And I captured a moment that forever would mean so much to me.

I would need identification for the journey I supposed. I retrieved a lock box from the private room. It contained many important documents, drivers' licenses, passports, and the like. My Colorado ID would most likely be sufficient, but just in case, I decided to bring the passport anyway.

"Ray Sheffield" (noted Vietnam war hero;) " Ray Canfield", "Ray Parker", (subject of some author's fictional burst of genius;) "Raymond Kemper, Private Investigator". The box contained more than a dozen licenses, some passports, military papers, social security cards, birth certificates, the whole nine yards. Amazing what one needed when they had no real identity. He taught me that. He taught me how to gain access to these kind of important documents. Helpful when you are no one. And everyone. Take for example the license plates currently on the Stingray—registered to the governor of Nevada- but at times elsewhere as unique as personal property of Jennifer Lopez, or private security for 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. The Tahoe, registered owner was Bella James. One of my alter egos. As far as passport and ID, I held just 2- Camilla James- Blake and Bella James. Ray had collected a few more, one being Raymond Blake, so that at times required to travel together, we could be the happy couple.

I guess to carry on the Blake identity was natural.

Benjamin's last name, or at least the name he used, was Blake. And when Ray and I moved to his property in Colorado, it became clear that we were there to take over for him. He had been unwell for some time, and in the year we spent with him before his passing he made it clear that we were now all the family he had. So I suppose that was who we became, the Blake family, in town most people just referred to "those eccentric Blakes." Benjamin saw to it that my name was firmly set as Blake so that his property and other businesses he managed would be properly disbursed to me, the long lost niece he had never had.

Well, that is who would be traveling to Seattle. Out there for anyone to find.

I left before the sun rose. I had fed the horses—with many acres to graze and a rolling river to drink from, they didn't need much but I spoiled them to come to the barn for treats like oats and carrots—and then locked up the barn. The Stingray was parked out front. It seemed to be a fitting auto for this journey. The cats had food and water enough for 4 days in their auto dispensers. I lifted my one carry on bag into the car ( I had learned long ago how to pack 7 days of clothes and accessories in a carry on; one of the most useful tidbits I'd picked up) and then secured and armed the house by the remote.

The car barely made any noise as I drove down the gravel drive, just the soft crunching of stone under the tires. It felt good to be behind its wheel again and I almost sensed the car's desire to prowl the open roads, glide into curving empty highways and progress into sleek speed on the open freeway. Or maybe it was my desire.

The gate slid into place behind me with a heavy click and the watchful camera eye mounted above it recorded my leaving. Another few private road miles and then was on the paved county road.

I had much time to think again over this journey in my two-hour drive to Denver. Perhaps it was a bad idea, but I forced myself to think that I had begun so there was no turning back.

I concentrated on taking the Stingray down the darkened roads and enjoyed hitting 85 mph on the open highway as the sun rose and bathed the countryside with light.

Soon the scenery changed as I began getting into more populous areas and a.m. traffic was surging toward Colorado Springs. I enjoyed passing cars of the people heading towards jobs that most of them probably didn't want to go to and knowing I too was headed towards a job of sort.

A flight suit clad airman, probably headed towards Petersen Air Force base on a motorcycle, paced me for a while, glancing at the classic car numerous times. Finally tiring of the game, figuring he wouldn't get a look at the driver behind the darkly tinted windows, he put on a burst of speed and passed me with a vroom of Honda power and soon was a speck down the road in front of me.

The airport was steadily busy in the early morning. I checked in, an hour and a half early for the flight Anna Marie had booked. All documents in order. No bags to check. Time enough for some coffee and breakfast in a café near the terminal.

Ok, here goes nothing.