“She’s probably still in the area,” I said.
“Good,” he said.
“She’s not using her credit cards or checking account.
Of course she could have used her cash to open another account under another name, but I don’t see the point. Mr. Sebastian, I don’t think your wife wants to be found. Not right now. She’s not running, but she doesn’t want to be found. I have some reasonable evidence that she plans to stay around for a while. I think she may come back on her own, call you or get to you through a friend. That’s what they usually do.”
He shook his head no.
I sat listening to the noise and looking to my right at the sun on the water.
“I don’t want to think about who she might be with,” he said. “What she might be doing. I can’t sleep. I can’t work. Find Melanie for me.”
I shrugged and looked at the Bloody Mary mix with a twist of lemon the waiter had placed in front of me.
“All right,” I said. “She rented a car. I may be able to track it down, find it, find her through it. There are other leads.”
“The good Dr. Green,” he said with as much sarcasm as he could muster.
“Maybe,” I said. “You still think he might be with your wife?”
“Yes,” he said emphatically, looking into my eyes.
“He says he’s gay,” I said.
“I know,” said Sebastian. “He’s lying.”
“Pretending to be a homosexual?” I asked after taking a drink.
“Why not? He gets the homosexual trade. He gets women who feel comfortable with a homosexual who wouldn’t be with a-”
“Straight guy, like you and me?” I said.
“You’re mocking me, Fonesca,” he said.
“Sorry.”
“Shall I continue or do you want to smirk for a few seconds?”
“I don’t smirk.”
“Geoffrey Green gets women who feel comfortable with him and then seduces them. Maybe they think they’re rescuing him from his choice or nature.”
“And maybe he’s gay,” I said.
“Or maybe he is whatever the client wants him to be,” said Sebastian. “I think he knows where Melanie is. I want her found. I’m sure I can straighten this out if she’ll just talk to me face to face.”
“I’ll keep looking,” I said.
He sat back and said, “Good.”
I finished my drink, got up and said I had to leave. He looked at his watch and said he had to leave too. He dropped a twenty on the table and we made our way through cigar smoke and hoarse laughter and down the stairs and through the doors to the outside. Sebastian nodded to one of the young valets, who blinked and went looking for the right car.
“Find her for me, Fonesca,” he said, putting a hand gently on my shoulder.
I nodded and started down the pier toward the parking lot. There were more gulls now but the pelicans were gone.
Sally Porovsky’s apartment was in one of those two-story complexes in blocks of six or seven buildings. There was plenty of parking, the grass was green and the bushes and trees, including some stunted palms, were taken care of. This was not where the retired wealthy spent their golden years.
The apartment was easy to find. The buildings were clearly marked with large gold address numbers, which were easy to read by the complex’s night lights. When I got to the door, I could hear voices inside, including one male voice I recognized: Harrison Ford. I pushed the button and waited. From inside, a boy shouted.
“Door. It must be Kevin Costner for you, Mom.”
“Michael,” said Sally, “how about a gesture of goodwill?”
A few seconds later, the door opened and I was facing a lanky teen in a blue T-shirt, million-times-washed jeans and bare feet. His hair was long and he had an earring in his left ear. He was still into acne, but it was minimal. He said nothing.
“I’m Lew Fonesca,” I said, holding out my hand.
He shook and stood looking at me, holding the door.
“Can I come in?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said, moving to a sofa against a wall and plopping into it. His feet went up on a low coffee table and his eyes turned to the television set, where Harrison Ford was scrambling along a rooftop.
I was standing in a small, neat living room with a bright comfortable sofa, an armchair, a dark wooden coffee table, a line of Georgia O’Keeffe flowers on the walls. The floor was gray carpet. I guessed the floors in all the apartments were management-gray carpet. The room and the dining room beyond it were clean and uncluttered.
I pushed the door closed behind me and said,
“Frantic.”
“Yeah,” Michael said.
“What’s your favorite Harrison Ford movie?”
He looked up at me and said, “You care?”
“I think so. I’m killing awkward time till your mother comes to save me, but it’ll be easier for both of us if we find something reasonably interesting to talk about. My favorite is Witness.”
Mike nodded and looked back at the television set. Harrison Ford almost fell.
“I like the first Indiana Jones too,” I said.
“Yeah,” said Mike.
“I’ve got tapes of both of them,” I said.
“We don’t have much room for tapes,” said Mike. “But we do have the VCR.”
“You can borrow my. tapes,” I said.
“That depends on if you go on another date with my mother.”
“No, not really, but maybe. I live over by the DQ on Three-o-one.”
“I go there all the time,” he said, looking at me. “You eat there?”
“Every day,” I said.
“No shit. Oh shit, I told Mom I wouldn’t say ‘shit’ or…”
“I don’t give a shit,” I said.
He looked at my blank face and smiled.
Sally came hurrying out of a door across the room. She was putting in an earring.
“Sorry,” she said. “Just got home. Home visit… I told you. You met Mike.”
“Yes,” I said.
“You said casual. I’m casual,” she said.
She was wearing a loose-fitting dress with a belt, flats and the silver earrings. She’d done something to fluff her hair and she’d put on more makeup than she wore the day before. She looked alive. She looked great.
“I’m ready,” she said.
Mike was transfixed by the television. He wiggled his toes.
“I’m ready,” I said.
I was lying. I had the feeling she was too.
“One more thing,” she said. She turned and called, “Susan.”
A second door opened and a girl about nine came out. She was wearing cutoff jeans, a green blouse and sneakers. She was dark, pretty, with long dark wavy hair. She was definitely her mother’s daughter.
“Susan, this is Mr. Fonesca,” Sally said.
“Fonesca,” she said. “Are there Italian Jews?”
“Yes,” I said, “but I’m not one of them.”
“I told you,” Mike said without looking up.
“Nice to meet you, Susan, Mike,” I said.
“Have you got the X-Files movie?” asked Mike.
“No,” I said as Sally guided me toward the door.
Mike shrugged.
“Can I stay up till ten?” Susan asked sweetly.
“Nine. In bed, lights out. School tomorrow. You’ve heard this story every night for years.”
“But tonight is different,” she said, glancing at me.
“Nine. Mike?”
“Nine,” he said. “What time will you be home?”
“Not late,” said Sally.
“You look like that actor who plays the bad guy,” said Susan to me. “You know the one.”
“Stanley Tucci,” said Mike without looking back at me. “He does funny stuff too.”
“Is that his name?” Susan asked. “Two cheese?”
“Nine o’clock,” said Sally, ushering me out the door and pushing it closed behind us.
“Well?” she asked.
“Well?”
“That was test one.”
“I think I like them,” I said. “You think I look like Stanley Tucci?”
“A little,” Sally said, walking next to me as I guided her toward my Geo. “Where are we going?”
“I know a good pizza place,” I said. “Then I’ve got some questions for you and I thought we might go looking for Adele Tree.”
“Sounds like fun,” said Sally.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was trying to make a joke.”