Finding Hemingway

My phone rang. “Callie, it’s me,” came the voice. A voice I’d heard somewhere before, like on an old-fashioned newsreel. “Who is this? Do I know you?” “The sun also rises in Spain,” he continued. “I’m waiting for you. You must find me.” My stomach lurched. “Hemingway? Mr. Ernest Hemingway?” I asked cautiously. “Yes, that’s correct.” “The Pulitzer Prize winner? The Nobel Prize author?” “Correct again. Well done,” he said.  “The deceased Ernest Hemingway?”  “Death is but a small detail,