It made me wonder if there was anything left for me in Brattro, beyond the very job which had helped cause my dilemma in the place, a rather morose perspective, even from my own presently r point of view.
I decided it was time for a short break, before I ted checking the ceiling for good places from which to hang a rope. In the end, I found myself wandering the neighboring streets. The y night weather was still holding against all odds. I concentrated clearing my head, enjoying the same St. Johnsbury sights I’d reld as a kid on the town with a small pocketful of cash. Then, St. J. been jt-“The Maple Capital of the World,” home of most of the ustry in the area, and all of the nightlife.
For once, things didn’t look too different. It was still an upscale town, with lots on the ball, at least in comparison with the rest of the Northeast Kingdom.
I paused at an odd kind of bric-a-brac store on my way back to the office, and then went inside with no purpose in mind. A pretty girl behind the counter chatted with me as I wandered up and down the empty aisles, picking up objects and replacing them without thought.
I ended up back on the street with a small bag in my hand, containing a twenty-dollar green stone necklace I’d bought for Laura.
I’d done the same kind of thing for Gail in the past; purchased gifts on impulse, just things to make her smile. It felt suddenly awkward to have made the same gesture, but for the wrong person.
I stuffed the bag in my coat pocket and returned to Potter’s office, determined to stop wracking my brain and to get on with what I was being paid to do. I picked up the phone and dialed the Rocky River Inn.
I found the Wingates’ room on the second floor of the Rocky River, directly opposite the stairs. Greta stood in the open doorway, waiting for me. That came as no great surprise. When I’d called to arrange a meeting with the Wingates, Greta had answered the Inn’s only public phone, and while I hadn’t told her I was inviting myself over, I figured she would grill them to find out my purpose. “You took your time.”
There was some irritation in her voice, but not what I’d feared, given my hasty retreat from the cafe during our last encounter. “Sorry, Greta, I was in St. J.” She reached out and touched my shoulder, an unexpectedly maternal gesture. “Are you all right?” I looked at her in surprise. For all her cranky ways, I was fond of Greta we went back a long way together. She was loud-mouthed, unpredictable, thin-skinned, and always convinced she was right; but to my knowledge, she had never told a lie and she never let you wonder where you stood. She was getting old, of course, along with the rest of us, and I seriously doubted she would age with any grace whatsoever, by now I knew my affection would overcome anything she could w at me.
“You look tired,” she said. “It’s been a long day.” She stood aside to let me enter the room. I was touched by her ative concern for my psyche, and privately amused by her typical ility to really let it show.
There were only two pieces of furniture on which one could sit bed and a single hard-back chair. Ellie Wingate was sitting on the er; Bruce Wingate, naturally, was perched ramrod-stiff in the r. The room had a single window, rendered milky white by the old, tIe plastic sheet that sagged across it to cut the drafts. A single bulb g above the peeling white wrought-iron bed. The floors and walls e blotchy with an artistic assortment of earth-colored stains. A ked, balding velour painting of a toreador was the sole decoration, ging over the battle-scarred dresser where a mirror should have I parked myself against that wall, with my elbow on the dresser Ellie Wingate was staring at the floor, like a penitent in church. bulb hung behind her, so her face was in shadow. Not so her band’s, across the way. The harsh light endued his face with the niness of a news photo. “So what do you want?” I was silent for a moment, wondering how much good this would e, now that I was here. “I just wanted to talk about a few things.” Greta jumped right in. “Good. We’d like to do that, too.” I raised my eyebrows at her, interested. It didn’t bother me if they ted to get the ball rolling. It might prove more educational. “What are you doing to locate their daughter?” Greta asked. “Specifically?”
“Well, yes, specifically. That’s why they came up here, after all.” “We aren’t doing anything.” Wingate nodded and stood up, as if I’d just cranked his handle one too many. “I knew that. I kept telling you.” I wondered for a moment if he was going to march right out of own room, but he stayed put, immaculate as always in a V-neck ater and slacks, like a J.C. Penney catalog version of a Brooks thers model-barring the Band-Aids on his face. Greta’s voice was firm. “What do you mean, ‘nothing’? Don’t you k you owe these people an explanation?” I was, as usual, awe-struck by her grasp of reality. I’d also sudly decided I needed her out of there. “Wait, stay put,” I told the gates, and escorted Greta back out into the hallway, speaking in a low voice.
“Greta, I will talk to them-I want to talk to them, in fact.
But neither I nor anyone else in this investigation owes them anything.”
I held up my finger to silence her. “It’ll be on an even footing, okay?
They can ask me questions, too. We’ll go back and forth. But I want to do it alone. You’ve got to butt out.” Her voice was an angry hiss.
“What do you mean, ‘butt out’? I’m their only friend in this stupid town.” “Exactly. I need some neutrality.” “I won’t say a word.”
“Because you won’t be there.” “Dammit-” She glared at me, but then finally shrugged. “Okay, Greta?” “All right.” “Good. Get some sleep.
I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” I returned to the room and closed the door behind me. Wingate was standing by his wife, trying to coax her to stand also, as if I would then take the subtle hint and dash for the street. Instead, I crossed the room casually and sat in his chair, placing him awkwardly between us. “Sorry about that. I just thought we might be able to talk more freely without her.” I gestured to the bed.
“Please, have a seat.” Reluctantly, as if being asked to sit in a puddle of cold water, he bent his knees and perched next to his wife.
“Do you like Greta?” They looked at each other, surprised. “She’s been very nice,” Mrs.
Wingate said.
“A little overbearing?” Wingate’s face was set impassively, his voice purposely neutral. I had a sudden image of him refusing bank loan extensions to people right and left. “My wife has already answered that. We appreciate all that Mrs. Lynn has done for us, that everyone has done for us.” “How did things go at the State Police?” “Fine.” “I gather your wife refused to take the lie detector test.” Ellie Wingate stared at her hands. “I wouldn’t let her.” “Why not?” “It was inappropriate. No one knows how much she has suffered through all this-for years. That test calls people a liar. It was an insult.” “You took it.” “I wanted to cooperate. I know you have to rule me out-that’s of what you do but pulling her over the coals wouldn’t have mplished anything.” ‘We haven’t ruled you out, though.” “I passed, didn’t I?” His voice quickly bordered on belligerence.
wife reached out and gripped his hand. “Not really. The test was inconclusive.” It was a tiny gesture-a quick shift of the eyes, right and left-but ruck me as odd, as if something else was struggling with the show utrage. Right now, Bruce Wingate was very high on my list of icious characters, and I was loath to edit out his little mannerisms.