Chapter 3: Lost Is Found

“You ready yet?” Bud Wilson yelled in the general direction of the back of his house, even though daylight was still 90 minutes away.

“Just a minute!” came the female voice from down the hall.

“What you said 10 minutes ago.”

“I meant it then. I mean it now. Just hang on, will you? I’m coming!”

Belle Wilson emerged from the hallway, pulling a heavy-duty t-shirt on over her light tank top. Belle never on her most active period ever needed a bra, but when she was out in the elements picking with her dad, she wanted to make sure her prolific nipples behaved.

“There!” she exhaled. “Am I too perky?”

“Barely noticeable,” he grumbled as she headed back down the hall for a scrunchy.

“Here are sandwiches for the both of you,” Sara Wilson, a Brazilian-bred redhead said, emerging from the kitchen with a second-hand paper bag, long red hair tied into a stylish ponytail. “Don’t blow any money on those fast-food places. Save it for picking.”

“Always do, mother,” Bud sighed at his worrywart of a wife.

“Have you updated the GPS?” Belle asked as she burst into the kitchen, tying her long, blonde hair back into the requisite ponytail. “Bankroll? Metal detector?”

“Done. And done,” he father nodded. For a scatterbrained 16-year-old, his daughter was remarkably organized when they went on a pick trip. This one would take them some 300 miles downstate, and would likely be, in part, on some desert terrain. So, Belle stripping down to her tank top in her skimpy shorts would not faze him. If it disturbed anyone he was picking, well, his well-concealed gun did more than protect his sizable bankroll.

On the trip, Belle curled up and slept while Bud cranked out the miles. The sooner they arrived, the more daylight was available to them. This would be an overnight trip, the kind his wife used to go on but now detested.

“We there yet?” Belle asked sleepily, the first words spoken in 200 miles.

“Still an hour away,” Bud said, glancing down at the GPS in their half-ton truck. “You seem tired. Is it the recital coming up?

“Yeah,” she said, stretching sexily. “Ms. Castle really thinks we have a great routine, which means its has to be better than perfect.”

“Not surprised,” Bud said. “Don’t know how many more years she’s going to be doing this. The junior group is pretty small, so she probably sees your group as one of the last chances she has to make a splash.”

That comment woke Belle up fully.

“Really? Retiring? Has she said anything to the parents?” she asked intently.

“Not really. More of an impression than anything,” he said. “Mary Ann is quite a good teacher, and I can see her handing it over one day soon the way Ms. Miller did for Ms. Castle.”

“Hard to imagine sweet old Ms. Miller as ever being a dance teacher,” Belle said, sitting back. “She can barely play the piano any more, her arthritis is getting so bad.”

“Shame,” Bud said, glancing over at the way his daughter said, legs akimbo. “She loves dance and she loves you guys.”

“Yeah. We probably don’t acknowledge her enough,” Belle said, looking out the window. “Hey dad! Do we have time for a freestyle?”

“Hope you’re talking about a pick,” he grinned. “Yeah, maybe a quick one. Why?”

“See for yourself, you dirty old man,” Belle said with a playful smack of his arm. Bud looked to his right and saw a yard full of old school buses and U-hauls.

It was a good day to be a picker. This old motel at a crossroads near, not in, the desert, had been turned into storage by its owner. Each room had its own format, so that allowed Belle to pick through the electronics, toys and clothing while Bud dealt with car parts and other metallic goods. They always worked together on furniture and sports materials, though, and this place had tons.

Belle found a pedal car with surprisingly little rust and had the owners drag out an old coin-operated bucking bronco that, wonder of wonders, still worked when they actually plugged it in. She also had a handful of smalls for the flea market table. Likewise, Bud came away with a full set of Mercury hubcaps and a stash of baseball cards, his weakness, like Belle’s was Barbie dolls and GI Joes. Most of these always went into the personal collection but only with the stipulation that sellable items were not passed over.

Before they moved into their joint picking phase, they negotiated the price for the stuff they’d already collected. Bud always made the buyer feel he was getting most of Bud’s money, but he always had at least $20,000 stashed in his van if certain things, like classic cars, ever came his way. But this day was just a truck full of eclectic, esoteric and just plain neat stuff with more to come.

Missy’s fearless climbing ability allowed her to wind through a tangle of old desks and damaged knick-knacks to find a classic rocking chair which the owner was surprisingly firm on selling at full retail. So they cut short their furniture search to take a look at the rest.

In a huge open space (a former meeting room for the motel), Belle found a dual-CD boom box which was perfect for rehearsal, complete with cord. But Bud was tickled to come across a small stack of laptops – recent, sophisticated models, that still had their power sources.

“Why those?” Belle wrinkled her nose. “You can buy them by the dozen at the flea market.”

“Missy’s dad has me on sort of a commission,” Bud explained as he examined each one for an undamaged screen and all of its keys. One was missing the D, but Chuck Arnovsky specifically said that was not a concern, that he had several parts computers that he drew from. “If I can get them at the right price, I can flip them as soon as we get home.”

The price was right. Turned out the owner was glad to be rid of them.

“Wish you’d take some more of the computer stuff,” the guy said, spitting tobacco on the pavement. “Got most of an estate sale where the owner just went missing. No foul play that they could tell, no note, no apparent legal problems. Just gone.”

That was a red flag, according to Chuck. Bud did not have to buy everything that he saw.

“Show me,” he said. “Not making any promises.”

“Hey, make me an offer,” the guy spat on the sidewalk. He actually had the stuff behind a locked door, but quickly opened the room up to the picker family.

“I hear a humming sound. Is it on?” Bud said after only a moment.

“Checked them and double checked,” he said. “They’re all switched off.”

There was a sophisticated desk and rack filled in CDs. There were some very dated looking towers, but a top-of-the-line laptop sat on top of everything. Bud reached out and touched it, almost expecting it to be warm. But it was off and cool. Bud opened it and loved its look.

“Yeah, I’ll add this and those speakers to the pile,” he said. “Twenty bucks for the laptop, fifty for the speakers?”

“You can have them all for fifty,” he said quickly. “Want all of this gone ASAP.”

“Glad we could help a little,” Bud said. “Belle, put this laptop on top of the others. I think those speakers will fit on the side there.”

The men wandered off to settle up, leaving the teenager to gather the last items. After hauling the speakers into the truck, she came back for the computer and for a split second thought she heard it power up. She actually stood and stared at it for a moment until she heard her dad bellow her name. She absently grabbed the laptop and the rack of CDs and tucked them safely into a corner of the truck.

As far as Bud was concerned, he had the goods and a good story to tell the programmer when they next met, and six laptops were slid into crevasses between their other finds. The rocking chair was wrapped in an old comforter for safety, and just like that, Bud’s half-ton was full.

“Celebration dinner tonight!” Bud said as he high-fived his daughter. “Golden Corral good?”

“Oh, yeah,” Belle licked her lips. “But don’t you dare tell Ms. Castle that I ate a steak tonight!”