The fisherman cast out by the rocks which contour the shoreline area. The seagulls, wheeling and crying calling out to one another as they dove, wings...skimming the surface above the foam in search of food. The chill of winter glistened with salt spray over the Pacific Ocean. “Excuse me, would you mind taking our picture?” John stopped an elder American Indian man walking by. “Sure” he took the camera. “Are you visiting from outside of California?” “No, we live in Roseville. We’re here. MacNee is unavailable right now. If you would care to leave a name and phone number, I'd be happy to forward it to her when I can." His words were professional, but there was something else there as well. He was being purposely vague in a way that set off even more alarm bells, and I silently felt my stomach drop at the realization. "Does that mean she's there, working now, or would I expect to hear from her tomorrow?" I asked, trying to get him to tip his hand. "I'm sorry sir, I cannot answer. More

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