A Welcome Grave
Page 34
“It certainly is,” Adam said, thinking That’s why most of them go right back. She was so damn young. This was what college seniors looked like? Shit, he was getting old. These girls seemed to be moving backward, sliding away from him just as fast as he aged away from them, until their youth was an impossible thing to comprehend.
“Right,” April said, pleased that he’d agreed. “So some time passed. Five months. It was frustrating, but then I got another letter, and he told me he’d gotten out and explained how difficult it was, and apologized.”
Of course he did. Has he asked for money yet?
“So now he writes, but he hasn’t given me his address. He said he’s nervous about meeting me, and I understand that. I don’t want to force things. But I’d at least like to be able to write back, you know? And I don’t want him to be…scared of me.”
Adam thought that maybe he didn’t need coffee anymore. Maybe he needed a beer. It was four in the afternoon. That was close enough to happy hour to count, wasn’t it?
“You might give him some time on that,” he said. “You might—”
“I will give him time. But I can’t give him anything more than that if I can’t write back.”
That’s the point, honey. Give him nothing but time and distance.
“He explained where he was living,” she said. “I feel like I should have been able to find it myself, honestly. I tried on the Internet, but I guess I don’t know what I’m doing. Anyhow, I’d love it if you’d find the address. All I want to do is respond, right? To let him know that he doesn’t need to be afraid of me. I’m not going to ask him to start being a dad.”
Adam rubbed his eyes. “I’m more of a, uh, local-focused type. I don’t do a lot of—”
“He’s in town.”
“Chambers?”
She nodded.
“He’s from here?”
She seemed to consider this a difficult question. “We all are, originally. My family. I mean, everyone left, like me to go to college, and…”
And your father to go to prison. Yes, everyone left.
She opened the folder and withdrew a photocopy of a letter.
“In this, he gives the name of his landlord. It should be easy to come up with a list, right? He’s living in a rental house, and this is the name of the woman who owns it. It should be easy.”
It would be easy. One stop at the auditor’s office and he’d have every piece of property in this woman’s name.
“Maybe you should let things take a natural course,” he said.
Her eyes sparked. “I have plenty of people who actually know something about this situation who can give me advice. I’m asking you to give me an address.”
It should have pissed him off, but instead it almost made him smile. He hadn’t thought she had that in her, not after the way she’d crept so uneasily into his office, scared by the sound of the door shutting behind her. He wished she’d come in when Chelsea was working. Not that Chelsea had a gentle touch, but maybe that was why it would have been better. Someone needed to chase her out of here, and Adam wasn’t doing a good job of that.
“Fair enough,” he said. “May I see the letter?”
She passed it over. A typed letter, the message filling barely a quarter of the page.
Dear April,
I understand you’re probably not very happy with me. It just takes some time to adjust, that’s all. I don’t want you to expect more of me than I can be. Right now I will just say that it feels good to be back home. And a little frightening. You might be surprised at that. But remember it has been a while since I was here. Since I was anywhere. It’s great to be out, of course, just strange and new. I am living in a rental house with a roof that leaks and a furnace that stinks when it runs, but it still feels like a castle. Mrs. Ruzich—that’s my landlord—keeps apologizing and saying she will fix those things and I tell her there is no rush, they don’t bother me. I’m not lying about that.
It is my favorite season here. Autumn—so beautiful. Love the way those leaves smell, don’t you? I hope you are doing good. I hope you aren’t too upset about the way I’ve handled things. Take care of yourself.
Jason (Dad)
Adam read through it and handed it back to her. He didn’t say what he wanted to—Let it breathe, don’t force contact because it will likely bring you nothing but pain—because that argument had already been shot down with gusto. The landlord’s name made it cake, anyhow. Ruzich? There wouldn’t be many.
“I just want to write him a short note,” April repeated. “Tell him that I’m wishing him well and that he doesn’t need to be worried about my expectations.”
Definitely beer, Adam thought. Definitely skip the coffee and go right to beer.
“Can you get me an address?” she asked.
“Probably. I bill for my time, nothing more, nothing less. The results of the situation aren’t my responsibility. All I guarantee is my time.”
She nodded, reached into her purse. “I’m prepared to pay two hundred dollars.”
“Give me a hundred. I charge fifty an hour. If it takes me more than two hours, I’ll let you know.”
He charged one hundred an hour, but this would likely take him all of twenty minutes and it was good to seem generous.
“All right.” She counted out five twenty-dollar bills and pushed them across the desk. “One other thing—you have a policy of being confidential, don’t you? Like a lawyer?”
“I’m not a lawyer.”
She looked dismayed.
“But I also am not a talker,” Adam said. “My business is my own, and yours is your own. I won’t talk about it unless a police officer walks in this door and tells me to.”
“That won’t happen.”
She had no idea how often that did happen with Adam’s clients.
“I just wanted to be sure…it’s private, you know,” she said. “It’s a private thing.”
“I’m not putting out any press releases.”
“Right. But you won’t even say anything to, um, to your brother? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I really respect Coach Austin, but…it’s private.”
“Kent and I don’t do a whole lot of talking,” Adam said. “What I will do is find some potential addresses and pass them along to you. The rest is between you and your dad.”
She nodded, grateful.
“How do I get in touch with you?” he said.
She gave him a cell phone number, which he wrote down on a legal pad. Beside it he wrote April and then looked up.
“Last name?”
She frowned, and he knew why she didn’t want to give it. If she still carried her father’s name, and he was betting that she did, then she was afraid Adam would look into what the man had done to land in prison.
“Harper,” she said. “But remember, this is—”
“Private. Yes, Miss Harper. I understand that. I deal with it every day.”
She thanked him, shook his hand. She smelled of cocoa, and he thought about that and her dark skin and figured she’d just left a tanning bed. October in northern Ohio. All the pretty girls were fighting the gathering cold and darkness. Trying to carry summer into the winter.
“I’ll be in touch,” he said, and he waited long enough to hear the engine of her car start in the parking lot before he locked the office and went to get his beer.
Copyright © 2012 by Michael Koryta
Read the entire Lincoln Perry series
Book 1
Book 2
Book 3
Book 4
“Feisty plotting and the most memorable prose since Chandler. Koryta belongs on every genre reader’s bookshelf.” —Kirkus Reviews (starred review)
“Koryta is one of the best of the best, plain and simple…His Lincoln Perry is going to be around for a long, long time.” —Michael Connelly
Now Available
And don’t miss
Envy the Night
“With Envy the Night, Koryta earns a seat at the high table o
f neo-noir crime writers.”
—The New York Times
Available Now