“It’s been a pleasure,” I said, getting to my feet. “As always.”
“Promise me, McKnight.” He stayed behind his desk. “Promise me for once in your life you’ll leave something alone.”
I raised my hands. “There’s nothing to talk about, Chief. An old man is confused, he thinks he recognizes someone, he goes out in the cold, and he dies. It’s just an unfortunate accident.”
“So you’re going right back to Paradise?”
“I’m on my way.”
I caught one final glimpse of his face as I shut the door behind me. He didn’t look like a man who believed me.
There were snowflakes in the air when I got back outside. For once it felt good to breathe in the cold air. I started up my truck and headed straight for home.
There was just one little stop to make on the way.
Chapter Five
I had already avoided eating lunch there. The last thing I wanted to do was sit in that dining room and remember the night before. But now as I headed back across town, I couldn’t pass the Ojibway Hotel without stopping for one quick visit.
There was a different woman behind the desk. I asked her if I could see the manager. She told me I was looking at her. I introduced myself, and asked her if she had been around the previous night.
“I just got back into town today,” she said. “I picked a great time to leave, eh?”
“Did you know Mr. Grant?”
“Not very well, no. But I know he’s lived in this town forever. He used to come in here a few years ago and have dinner.”
“A few years ago, you say?”
“Yes. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t even sure if he was around anymore. I hadn’t seen him in so long. When I found out he was here last night…”
“I was here, too,” I said. “I’m wondering if I can talk to somebody about what happened. The woman who was on the desk, is she going to be around today?”
“No, not until tomorrow.”
“What about the doorman? The kid who was out there shoveling the snow?”
“No,” she said. I could tell she was starting to wonder why I was asking all these questions. “He’s not here.”
“Do you know when he’ll be working again?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand. Were you here with Mr. Grant last night?”
“No,” I said. “But I talked to him. Sort of. The doorman, he was here all day, and I know he saw Mr. Grant sitting in the lobby. I bet you he talked to him a lot more than I did. What was that kid’s name again?”
She didn’t bite. “Look, I really can’t…”
“I understand,” I said, taking out my wallet. What the hell, I thought. I still had some of these old business cards, the ones Leon had made up. God knows I wasn’t actually in the game anymore, but she didn’t have to know that. “But I’d really like to ask him a few questions.”
She took the card from me and looked at it. Prudell-McKnight Investigations, with the two guns pointed at each other. “You’re a private investigator?”
“I’m just trying to help out.”
Help out what? I didn’t know what I was talking about now. But somehow it seemed to be working.
“His name is Chris Woolsey,” she said. “To tell you the truth, I’m a little worried about him. He’s supposed to be here today.”
“Chris Woolsey,” I said. At that moment I wished I always carried a pad of paper like Leon. “He never showed up for work today?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“You know, when I came back down here last night, I didn’t see him anywhere. I assumed he was out looking for Mr. Grant.”
“The poor kid is probably traumatized.”
“I’d like to check up on him,” I said. “Would you happen to have an address and phone number?”
“Oh, now, I don’t know…”
“I just want to ask him a few questions, ma’am. It’s important.”
She looked at my card again, then let out a long breath and did a quick run through a Rolodex. “He goes to Lake State,” she said. “He’s a senior, I think. This is the address and phone number I have for him. I think it’s still current, but you know how it is when you’re in college.”
“Yes,” I said. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
She wrote down the number and gave it to me. I thanked her again and left.
When I was back in the truck, I thought about calling on the cell phone, then decided I might have better luck just going over there. Lake Superior State University, or Lake State for short, was just south of downtown, right next to I-75. As I drove back down to Easterday, it occurred to me that I was seeing pretty much every inch of Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan, in one day. I thought about Roy Maven sitting in his office in the City County Building, and what he would have said at that moment if he knew I was still in town.
Easterday Avenue cuts right through the heart of the university grounds. Lake State’s a fairly big school, bigger than anything else east of Marquette. If you grew up around here, and you wanted to stay close to home, it was the only game in town. Although when kids graduated from Lake State, more often than not they left the Upper Peninsula altogether. It’s just the way things were. And the reason behind the old joke that the U.P.’s biggest export was its children.
I followed the street numbers past the student housing and the ice arena. Hockey was the only big-time sport at this school. I remembered the Lakers winning the national championship a couple of years back. The marquee out front announced that the University of Michigan would be visiting that night.
I finally found the apartment building I was looking for, another couple of blocks down the street. With all the snow piled up everywhere, I couldn’t find a place to park, so finally I pulled into the alley next to the building. I heard the music playing inside as I knocked on the door marked 4, and then a young man opened the door with money in his hand.
“You’re not the pizza guy,” he said.
“Is Chris here?”
“No, I haven’t seen him today. He’s probably over at his parents’ house.”
“Can you tell me where that is?”
He stood there in the doorway for a long moment, looking all of fourteen years old in his sweatpants and his T-shirt. He had his long hair pulled up on top of his head and bunched together with a rubber band, and he was obviously trying to grow some kind of goatee on his chin. It wasn’t working out so well.
“Who are you?” he finally said.
I dug out another card. “I’m a private investigator,” I said. “It’s no big deal. I just wanted to ask Chris a couple of questions.”
“Is he in trouble?”
“No, not at all.”
“That means yes.”
“No. It means no. I just want to-”
“Look, I’ll give him your card when I see him, okay? Then he can call you if he wants.”
I was about to press him, but then I figured the hell with it. I wasn’t going to stand there and argue with this kid. “All right,” I said. “Just give him the card.”
“I’ll do that, man. I said I’ll give it to him.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Have a nice-”
He slammed the door before I could finish. Okay, I thought. There’s a nice young man. The future of America. Nice hair, too, sticking up like a damned flowerpot. When I got back to the truck, the pizza guy was there waiting behind me, and not looking too happy about it. I went to his driver’s side window and apologized for being in the way. Then I gave him a twenty for the pizza and told him to keep the change. That seemed to make up for it. He drove away, I put the pizza on the seat next to me, and then I backed out of the alley.
It was getting late in the afternoon and the pizza smelled pretty good, so I had a slice while I drove back down Easterday. I stopped at a gas station by the highway and looked through the phone book next to the pay phone. There was one Woolsey listed, down on Twenty-fourth Avenue. Just for the hell of it, I looked up Grant and found a dozen listings, all over the city and out into the county. No telling who might have been a relative.
I’ll wait and see what Leon comes up with, I thought. For now, I’ll just go see if these Woolseys are Chris’s parents.