The Buck Stops Here by Mindy Starns Clark Page B

vacation. Staying at that big house with some friends.”
    “Did we ever get any information on the friends?”
    “Not that I can recall. I do remember thinking that they had sure made themselves scarce after the accident. From what I remember, police weren’t even sure who Sparks was for the first twenty-four hours. He wouldn’t say a word, and no one else showed up to help him out.”
    “You mean he wouldn’t tell the police his name?”
    “Everyone has the right to remain silent, Callie. They finally ID’d him from fingerprints.”
    “I guess with his prior record of DUIs, he couldn’t remain anonymous for long.”
    “Guess not.”
    My mind was working, trying to think of any other questions I might have before we concluded our call.
    “Is there anything else you remember from that time, anything at all that seemed out of the ordinary?” I asked.
    “Well, looking back, I do remember being quite surprised with the speed and the amount of the settlement from the insurance company.”
    “Bryan’s life insurance?”
    “No, the Realtor’s insurance. From the complaint we filed.”
    “Tell me about it.”
    I wrote “Realtor’s insurance” in block letters on my pad.
    “On your behalf, we filed a complaint against the Realtor who handled that piece of vacation property,” Preston said, “alleging negligence in allowing a boat like that to be rented without proper provision. It’s one thing to rent someone a boat, but putting somebody behind the wheel of a craft like that one should require special training. It’s just too powerful of a machine, and it was way out of the league of the poor kid who ended up—well, who ended up accidentally killing someone.”
    I felt a surge of some emotion I couldn’t identify. Somehow, I had never considered James Sparks to be a “poor kid.”
    “So what happened with the complaint?” I asked.
    “You know how those things go. We sent it out, ‘We allege this, we allege that, blah, blah, blah,’ expecting everything to be denied, which would end up giving us a jury trial and a long court battle. Instead, we got an answer back within two days, offering to settle for the full amount as long as we released them permanently from any further liability.”
    “And that’s the five hundred thousand that’s in trust?”
    “Yes, minus the firm’s costs, of course. You ended up with four ninety and some change.”
    “What was the name of the insurance company?”
    “Virginia Mutual, out of Richmond. Looks like we dealt with a man named Burkett. Lance Burkett.”
    I wrote down the information and then thanked Preston for his help. I was glad I had called, and I told him so.
    “Oh, anytime, dear. It’s been a pleasure talking with you. Hey, you’re not looking to move back to the area by any chance, are you? Because you know there’s always room for you here.”
    “No, I’m quite settled where I am,” I said. “But thanks for the offer.”
    “We don’t get workers of your caliber anymore, Callie. Good grief, this latest batch all dresses like the lawyers on TV, with short skirts and stringy hair and everything. The other day I even spotted a belly button. It’s crazy.”
    I laughed, knowing a lot could change in a few years’ time.
    We concluded our call, and after I hung up the phone, I felt the silence of the room closing in on me. Needing to do something, I put my pen and paper aside, plugged in my laptop, and went online.
    Using several of the databases I subscribed to for my job with the foundation, I looked up Silmar Systems of Atlanta, Georgia, James Sparks’ former employer. They were almost impossible to find until I went back several years prior to Bryan’s death, when the company went belly-up. That didn’t make much sense. Why would James have claimed to work at a place that didn’t even exist at that time?
    I wrote down the names of Silmar’s registered agent, and then I tracked down the home telephone number of one of the members of the