“What happened to Puppy Dog, Mary?” Jack asked.
Mary shrugged. “Never heard from him again. But gin always reminds me of him. Every time I walk into a party and smell gin, I look around for him. God, he was a sweet guy. But that was a long time ago.
He’s probably bald, fat, married with kids, and incredibly happy. Or maybe he’s dead. Funny how people that were so important in your life just disappear.”
“You ever think of looking him up, Mary?”
Mary shook her head.
“Why not?” Jack asked.
Mary looked up at Jack and smiled. “What if he still adored me? What would I do with him? Or worse, what if he didn’t remember me? What if I no longer existed in his memories?”
Mary took a tissue out of her purse and wiped her eyes. She looked up at Jack. There were tears in her eyes. “What happens to us, Jack? Why do we end up so fucked up? What happened to all the sweetness in life?” There was silence for some time. Jack polished the top of the bar. Mary sat staring into her drink, smoke from her cigarette curling up toward the ceiling.
“Maybe you should go home, Mary,” Jack said kindly.
Mary looked up at Jack, her makeup streaked with tears.
“Home? A tiny little hole in the wall with a kid that hates me. Jack, sometimes I feel as if I don’t exist. Like the young girl that was me, filled with promise and dreams, walked out of my life one evening and never returned, leaving a lonely middle-aged woman behind…I hate feeling like this. I watched a show the other night, when Hank passed out on me, on black holes. You ever heard of them, Jack?” Jack shook his head. The door of the bar opened and a couple stepped in. Jack moved off to serve them. Staring into her drink, Mary didn’t notice his absence.
“There are these holes in space that suck everything in. Nothing escapes them. I got one of those black holes inside me. It’s sucking my life away.”
Mary looked up and then around the bar. Jack was in the corner serving his new customers.
“God, I hate gin,” she muttered, dropped her cigarette in the glass, and left.
Montgomery Inn
Hank looked around the old inn, now preserved for future generations as a museum.
“Can I help you, sir?” a young woman asked.
Hank looked down at the young girl, her long red hair framing a generous smile.
“A beer?” he said.
Before the girl could explain that the inn was no longer an operating tavern, Hank asked, “So this is where the Rebellion of 1837 began?”
“Yes, sir.” The girl nodded.
“Hard to imagine that this neighborhood gave birth to revolution,” Hank said.
The girl looked puzzled.
“The Kingsway being rich and privileged,” Hank explained. “Not exactly a womb of discontent.”
The girl shuffled uncomfortably. Hank grinned. Don’t they teach history in school anymore?
“I’m looking for some records,” he said. “Births, deaths, crimes. That sort of thing.”
“I don’t think we have anything like that,” the girl responded. “I could ask Mr. Grant. He’s sort of an amateur historian. Maybe he could help you. Was there something in particular you were interested in?”
“Missing persons,” Hank said with a smile. “I’m looking for stories about citizens who have disappeared.”
“I don’t understand, sir. Why would you be looking for missing persons?”
“Don’t you think it’s about time someone found them?” The girl smiled, puzzled.
“Can I speak to Mr. Grant?”
“He’s not in.”
“When will he be in?”
The girl shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s on holidays.”
“Will he ever return?”
The girl laughed. “Of course. Why wouldn’t he return?”
CHAPTER TEN
Detective Kelly stepped out of his car and walked along the shoulder of the road. Cars slowed down as they passed by. A uniformed policeman kept the traffic moving. Two other police cars had bracketed the bright red Ford pickup. Several policemen were milling about. When
another plainclothes policeman spotted the detective, he advanced toward him.
“Sounded like it was up your alley, Sam,” Detective Adams said.
Detective Adams was small for a police officer, but as everyone at the precinct reluctantly admitted, he dressed well.
Detective Kelly looked around. A few neighbors had come out to investigate the scene, and were standing on their lawns chatting. Some kids on bikes had been more daring but one of the uniforms was moving them back across the street. Sam looked at the pickup. It did not look damaged. The shoulder of the street ran up onto a lawn backed by a small batch of trees that then fell off into Echo Valley. There were no houses on this side of the street. Across the valley, Detective Kelly could see Joe Mackenzie’s house.
“Been here for three days,” Detective Adams said, shrugging his shoulders as if he were trying to adjust his suit. “No tickets. Can you imagine that? A no-parking zone and we haven’t ticketed it. How do those guys down in parking keep themselves busy? Don’t they have quotas? We should have known about this shit box days ago. Neighbors say that it’s been here for three days. Did I tell you that? It’s listed as belonging to a Helen Kraft. I sent Forman over to pick her up and meet us at the station.”
“They don’t,” Sam Kelly said.
Detective Adams looked puzzled.
“They don’t have quotas,” Sam explained.
Detective Adams nodded. “Ya, right.”
“Kraft? Should I know that name?” Detective Kelly asked.
“I don’t know,” Detective Adams responded. Then he added, “Does this look like a place someone would abandon a truck? That was the first thing that struck me as odd.” Detective Adams checked his notepad again. “Miss Kraft was contacted. She started bawling. She hadn’t reported the truck missing. Neighbors said the passenger door was open for two days until one of these kids closed it.”
“The door was open?” Detective Kelly asked.
Detective Adams nodded as he adjusted his tie. “Until one of the kids closed it. Probably after he looted everything inside and made a mess of any fingerprints.”
“Fingerprints?” Sam Kelly asked. “Why would we take fingerprints?”
“It don’t smell right, Sam.” Detective Adams loosened his tie. “Just to be on the safe side. In case there was a crime.”
“You think there was a crime?”
“It don’t…”
“…smell right,” Sam Kelly finished.
An hour later Detective Kelly was sitting across the table from the young Miss Kraft. A plain-looking woman, Sam guessed she was in her mid-twenties. A cup of coffee in a Styrofoam cup sat in front of her. She never touched it. Miss Kraft kept sniffling and softly weeping as she told her story.
“So I walked home,” she said. “I know that I should have phoned the police, but I was upset.”
Detective Kelly stared in silence at the woman for several minutes. He wanted her to relax. He looked over his notes.
“His name was Joe?”
She nodded. “Joe Begin. He’s a salesman. Printing supplies. Ink, paper, that sort of thing. He asked me out for a drink. I don’t normally accept invitations from men at work but Joe seemed nice. He was funny.”
“This is important, Miss Kraft. I want you to be honest. Did you go in-to the woods with Mr. Begin?”
Miss Kraft sniffled again, hesitated, then nodded.
“It was his idea. That does sound stupid. I’m sorry. I’m so embarrassed. I don’t normally go into woods with men. He said there was a beautiful view of the valley. I didn’t believe him but I went anyway. Joe could be very persuasive. We walked into the woods. It was dark. He walked in front of me. I held his hand as we walked and then his hand slipped out of mine. He slid down the hill into the valley. I caught the branch of a tree or I would have gone down as well.” The detective took a deep breath.