“I’ll tell you this,” Bart slurred. “Lawrence had a piece of her long before her husband took the noose’s way out.”
Punchie frowned at the man.
“Bart, even if that’s true, I don’t think you need to be telling half the town.”
“Half the town?” Bart lurched from his stool and fell sideways into Jesse.
Jesse pushed him upright.
“Gotta piss,” he muttered, and ambled toward a dark hallway in the back of the bar.
“So, if this Kaiser woman left town, what happened to her son?” Jesse asked.
Punchie shrugged.
“He was eighteen when she split. Far as I know, he went off to some big university. I hear he’s a doctor, but I couldn’t give ya a single name of a former friend of his. Well,” he paused and pulled at the bit of hair on his chin. “There was a girl he chummed around with. But what was her name?” He wrinkled his brow. “I was older than the Kaiser kid, and the girl was new in town and only here for a year or so, and then she disappeared too.”
“She disappeared?” Jesse tightened his grip on his glass.
“Liv,” Punchie announced, nodding his head. “She lived in the shacks on the south end of town. The hillbilly ghetto, we called it as kids. Her ma died of the cancer a few years back. She had a few siblings, but they scattered. The sister is still around. Arlene Hester. Her husband works at the cigar factory. They live in one of the new neighborhoods on the west side of town.”
“No one knows what happened to her sister, Liv?”
“Maybe she took off with the Kaiser boy. Hard to say. In those days, people came and went. The Depression, the war. Opportunities poppin’ up and dryin’ up all in the same day. A lot of people shifted. I was lucky, my dad owned this bar. Back then he served up a hot breakfast every morning and a barbecue every night. That kept us afloat during the prohibition. Course, he didn’t go dry in those years. Nobody did, really, ‘cept maybe the church. Though the church is usually the first to move operations into the back room and carry on business as usual.”
A door slammed, and Jesse jumped.
He finished his drink and pushed the glass toward Punchie.
“One more, please.”
The bartender refilled him.
“What do you want to move to a little hole in the wall like this for, anyway? Best we got around here is the picture show, and even they run movies that came out six months ago.”
“Just an idea I’m kicking around. My wife’s got her mind set on this house she heard about. I’d like to get in touch with the Kaiser family. Any idea how I might do that?”
Bart walked back to his stool, surprisingly steady on his feet. He sat down and gulped his glass empty.
Punchie frowned at the man but didn’t cut him off.
“Talk to Mona Peters. She owns North Michigan Properties and handles the real estate here in town. If anyone knows how to find Adele or Stephen Kaiser, it’s her.”
Bart put an elbow on the bar and balanced his head on his hand.
“I’d put my money on finding that kid hanging in the basement in the old house, just like his old man.”
Punchie grimaced and shook his head.
“Stop talkin’ all that trash in my bar, Bart. I’m not lookin’ to defend your dumb ass tonight if somebody overhears you.”
Jesse sipped his drink and thought of the trunk on the third floor of the Kaiser house.
Mona Peters’ business and home occupied a white, two-story farmhouse with bright blue shutters and a little sign over the door that read, ‘So Glad You’re Here!’
When Jesse opened the door, a little bell tinkled.
A woman looked up from a long white counter. The counter tidily displayed real estate brochures. Crystal bowls of peppermint candies sat on either end.
The woman appeared to be in her seventies, though carefully applied makeup and recently dyed brown hair masked her age.
“Good day, young man. Welcome to North Michigan Properties. How can I be of service?” her voice was deep and jolly and reminded Jesse of Nell’s mother. The woman could stop a kid dead in their tracks with the slightest shift in tone. He’d watched Gabriel freeze with a cookie halfway to his mouth when his Gram-Gram said Gabe, popping the B sound at the end and making it very clear he’d better put that cookie back.
Jesse grew self-conscious under the woman’s gaze. If she shared other traits with Nell’s mother, she’d be able to spot a lie from across a room.
He wished he’d worn his own clothes, tattered as they may be, rather than the young Kaiser’s.
“Hi,” he said, stepping up to the counter. He searched for a lie closer to the truth, but found nothing. “I’m interested in buying the Kaiser house out on Spellway Road.”
The words tumbled out, and Mona Peters watched him silently. Her gaze made Jesse uncomfortable, but he plastered on his ‘house hunting’ face and prayed she wouldn’t look too closely at his worn hands and stolen clothes.
“I’m Mona Peters,” she told him, extending a manicured hand across the counter. Bracelets jangled on her thin wrists, her blue veins stark beneath her gauzy skin.
“Jesse Kaminski,” he offered, shaking her hand.
“Polish,” she said, eyeing him again. “My mother was Polish - her surname was Bartkiewicz. She loathed it. When she married my daddy, she said her favorite part was changing her name to Peters.”
Jesse smiled politely.
“Polish names are a doozy,” he agreed. “My wife wasn’t crazy about Kaminski, but then her maiden name was Duckwitz, so she figured it was an improvement.”
Mona laughed and shook her head.
“Enough about names. Tell me what on God’s earth makes you think the Kaiser house is for sale?” she asked, walking through the little swinging gate and around the counter. “My office is just through here.” She gestured toward a little hall.
He followed her into a round sitting room with sun filtering through a large bay window. She had arranged wicker furniture around a glass-topped table strewn with real estate pamphlets.
Jesse took a seat and crossed his legs.
“I don’t think it’s for sale,” he admitted. “But my wife heard about the house through a friend, and I stopped by while passing through on business. It looked abandoned. I hoped to contact the owners…”
He noticed Mona’s eyes lingering on his jacket. He wished he’d skipped the blazer that morning. It was too warm to wear one and probably the most recognizable piece of clothing from the young Kaiser’s closet.
“A houndstooth jacket,” she marveled, touching the lapel of the coat. “I haven’t seen one of these ages. My Freddie, God rest his soul, loved his jacket so much he near-slept in it. When it finally got too small, he moped for weeks, complaining he had nothing to wear.”
Jesse laughed and glanced down.
“My wife picks out my clothes. I’m not much for fashion myself.”
“And you said you’re passing through on business. What business is that?”
Jesse tried to embody the man he was claiming to be. He sat up tall and balanced his hands on his knees.
“I’m in the car business. I’m a salesman in Detroit.”
“And that brought you to Gaylord?”
Jesse grinned. “My boss likes to size up the competition.”
Mona smirked.
“Not much competition in these parts, but a man who devalues the underdog never stays at the top. Smart man, your boss. And he’s fit to let you go?”
Jesse nodded, smiling, and then quickly shook his head.
“Well, no. I mean he’s expanding. He wants a presence in the north, and I’m the man for the job.”