In her next call, Bridwell said she'd be in California on a certain date to visit her son. When Ferrari asked if he could recommend a hotel, she hinted that she could stay at his house instead. He was confused: Mother Teresa was asking to spend the night with him?
Ferrari called Alisa Barry, an Atlanta friend also in the specialty food business, and asked her to check out Bridwell. Barry called back with the word that Bridwell seemed legitimate: well-dressed, knowledgeable and very savvy. "But Paul, she's asking a lot of personal questions about you," said Barry, who had once dated Ferrari.
A tangled web, clockwise from top left: Sandra married Alan Rehrig in December 1984; Alan in his office on December 6, 1985, the day before he was found dead; this photograph of Sandra and unidentified children was found among her belongings--Sandra claimed she'd ministered to kids in India, smuggled Bibles into China and hid in caves in Pakistan while handing out Christian tracts; a recent photo of Sandra, now 59.
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In her next call, Bridwell came right out and asked if she could stay at his place.
"Well, I have a one-bedroom apartment," Ferrari said. "It wouldn't be very comfortable."
"Oh, I've slept in the jungles of India," Bridwell said.
Feeling Bridwell was more interested in him than investing, Ferrari told her no. Days later, he got another phone call. Bridwell was at the Atlanta airport. "Paul, they've lost my reservation," she said. "I'm here at the gate." He could hear airport sounds in the background. "Can you give the ticket agent a credit card number so I can get on the flight?"
When Ferrari asked why she didn't call her son for help, Bridwell said he was traveling and wouldn't be back until after Christmas. Ferrari had had enough. "I'm not going to do that," he said and hung up.
Less than an hour later, Barry called Ferrari. Bridwell had arrived at her business in a taxi, lugging shopping bags and boxes of her belongings, and was asking for money. "Something's not right here," Ferrari told her. "Call the police."
When Barry gave her $25 and suggested she go to a church for help, Bridwell got extremely angry. Dumping most of her possessions at Barry's warehouse, Bridwell stomped off, plotting her next move.
The stuff Bridwell abandoned, which the Observer obtained, provides intriguing clues about her modus operandi. Along with old clothes, a bottle of "My Sin" perfume, recipes for "Jerked Leg of Goat" and religious publications are handwritten notes interspersed with names and phone numbers. One number leads to a couple in Pennsylvania. They'd never heard of Bridewell, but they had an apple orchard advertised for sale on the Internet. Come to think of it, there had been that strange call from a woman...
But Sandra Camille Bridewell has disappeared again.
