“Thank you for all this information, Alice. I hope I’m not being too intrusive.”
“You’re fine. Life goes on. How else may I help?”
“As to certain of Joe’s friends, ones he helped. Preston, and his wife, Marcia both mentioned Johnny.”
“Johnny is what today would be termed ‘mentally challenged.’ He works downtown, at the Braydon Home Dairy. If you like we can have lunch there and I can introduce him to you.”
“Yes, I’d like that.”
“Joe and Ashley—bless her heart—invested a lot of time and thought in making Johnny’s life better. Mr. Wilson took an interest in Johnny, too. That’s when I first met your father. He came here, to Braydon, and Johnny showed him how to wash dishes,” Alice said with a broad smile. “But it was more than that, of course. He talked with Johnny a good bit.”
“Really. Can you tell me more about what my father actually did for Johnny?” Katherine asked.
“After their first meeting, Preston called me to see if I had information on educational opportunities for individuals like Johnny. I had two cabinets full of files—some Ashley had developed before she died, and others that Joe had worked on. I gave all of that information to Preston. He did a lot more work in that area.”
“What area? What did he do?”
“Educational opportunities. He was concerned about Johnny’s speech patterns—how Johnny used to call himself ‘Donnie’—in the form of a third person reference. Your father arranged to have Johnny tutored by a speech therapist. It made a world of difference—it built Johnny’s self-esteem. I’ll never forget Johnny getting up to speak at Joe’s funeral. We were all amazed.”
Katherine could see tears in Alice’s eyes and feel the emotion in her voice. Then she realized that she, too, was starting to cry.
“There were others,” Alice said. “Others Preston reached out to and helped. Missy and Tommy, for example. They’re trying to start a camp for children now—somewhere in Nevada. Your father may be helping with that, I’m not sure. He also spent some time with Corey.”
“Corey?” Katherine asked. “Mr. Corey, the woodworker?”
Alice laughed. “Mr. Cornelius Corrigan, and yes, he was a fine wood craftsman and a yacht builder. Have you heard of him?”
“I saw a sample of his magnificent work at the Inn, and Bobby McKenzie told me a little about him.”
“Bobby’s a fine young man. The McKenzies are good people,” Alice said.
“You said Preston met Mr. Corrigan.”
“I know that he went to see him . . . Corey’s not well. Alzheimer’s.” Alice reached for one of the tissues in the box on the end table.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Katherine said. “What a terrible disease.”
“You speak as though you have some personal experience,” Alice asked, touching her forehead with the fingers of her hand. “Do you know someone with it?”
“No, but I’ve read about the condition. My grandfather says he’s sure he’ll get it . . . always joking about knowing his name.”
“Yes, it’s a serious matter. One that deserves much more attention.”
“Do you know how I could find him?” Katherine asked.
“Yes.” Alice went to her desk, found a book, wrote down the address and Barbara’s phone number, and handed it to Katherine. “His daughter, Barbara, takes care of him, and she has her hands full. You’re probably going in the morning. I’ll call Barbara. She’ll be pleased to meet you.”
“Joe must have loved having you help him.”
Katherine could see the strength of purpose in Alice’s eyes, the developing tightness in her throat. Katherine looked down and checked her notes. “Johnny, Missy, Tommy, Corey. Have I missed any?” she said.
“Harry. Harry Klaskowski. He taught Joe how to shoot skeet,” Alice replied.
“I don’t believe it,” Katherine said. “At the Newark Rod and Gun Club in New York State?”
“I don’t know where or when, I just remember Joe telling me how they met. They were great pals, fished together. In fact, Harry visited Joe in the Bahamas during his last fishing trip—they shot trap off Joe’s boat. I learned that at the funeral. Do you know Harry?”
“I haven’t met him, but my grandfather knows him well. He was a state skeet shooting champion. What an amazing coincidence! So, I’m curious . . . what went on with Harry and Preston?”
“I don’t know. Harry comes and goes. Preston asked me to help him find Harry, but that didn’t happen. He was at the funeral, though. Bless his heart.”
Katherine made more notes, and then looked up at Alice, who appeared to have a faraway look on her face. Katherine worried that she was asking too many questions at once. “Let’s check on our dogs and then go to lunch. How does that sound?” Katherine said.
“Like a plan, young lady, like a plan.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Alice and Katherine were obviously delighted to watch Buck and Hailey, tails wagging, chase each other around the backyard, somehow avoiding Alice’s azalea bushes and tomato garden. Alice called Buck, who quickly came to her side and sat. Hailey looked quizzical and disappointed, but ambled along behind.
“They’re getting along great,” Katherine said. “Can we just leave them here until we get back?”
“I think they’ll be fine. There’s a fence behind the thick shrubbery all around the backyard. In any event, Buck will not leave the yard; he knows to stay. You’ll have to decide about Hailey. If you wish to bring her, you may.”
“But what about while we’re in the restaurant?”
“Stanley Neimeyer, the owner and baker, was a client of Joe’s and loves dogs, especially Buck. I take Buck in all the time, and he rests at my feet while I’m at the table. Hailey seems calm and well-trained, but it’s up to you.”
“I’ve never taken Hailey in a restaurant, and it’s a strange place for her. Let’s leave her here with Buck.”
They said good-bye to the dogs, went through the house, across the front porch, and down the walkway to Mulberry Street.
“Are these azaleas?” Katherine asked, quickly followed by, “Oh, you forgot to lock the door!”
“No need to lock the door, my dear. And the azaleas are the pink ones back there,” Alice replied, pointing to the front of the porch. “These yellow flowers are Lady Banks Roses. The blooms in the hanging pots on the porch are petunias and geraniums,” Alice said. “I suppose you don’t have many front porches in New York City.”
“Well, we do have Central Park, and believe it or not, people do plant flowers under their window sills. But I must admit, this is beautiful.”
Alice talked about Joe all the way to the Home Dairy. Katherine listened pleasurably to Alice relating the excitement in their years of working together, the action, the detail, and the gratification—knowing they were making a difference in the lives of Joe’s clients. How Joe changed after Ashley died, how he escaped to the mountains, and how pleased Alice was when he came back to work. “It was working on your father’s case that brought him back,” she said.
Katherine could hear the building tension and hurt in Alice’s voice. Katherine couldn’t take notes and didn’t want to record the conversation without Alice’s permission, which her intuition told her not to seek.
Alice ushered Katherine through the front door, pointing out the five-foot case in which, on four glass shelves, the cakes, pies, cookies, and other specialties were displayed. Katherine immediately was taken by the aroma of the fresh-baked bread and pastries. They went through the cafeteria line and carried the trays full of wonderful smells to an open booth.
As they ate their lunch, Katherine could not help but notice the quiet rhythm in the quaint room and how far she was from the bustling pace of New York.
“Are you ready to meet Johnny?” Alice said.
“Yes, of cou
rse.”
Alice led Katherine past the long steam table, behind the cashier dressed in a crisp, white uniform with a brightly colored handkerchief pinned over the left breast pocket, and through a swinging door to the kitchen. Over at the right side in front of a square opening where used trays and dishes were passed through stood a short, stocky thirty-five-year-old man with thin gray hair brushed across his balding head and a big smile on his face.
“Hi, Johnny. I’d like you to meet my friend Katherine. She is Preston’s daughter.”
Johnny stooped over and wiped his forehead on a cloth hanging from the counter, then wiped his hands on his soiled apron, sprayed them with a device attached to a large commercial dishwasher, wiped them again, and held out his hand to Katherine.
“I’m Johnny. Good to meet you. Preston met Johnny. Wash dishes. Nice man.”
“It’s good to meet you, too, Johnny. Alice has told me a lot about you. She tells me you are good friends with Buck. I have a dog also. Her name is Hailey.”
“Buck loves me. I give Buck steaks. Buck got the bad man. Where is your dog?”
“Hailey’s at Alice’s house—playing with Buck.”
“Johnny—I am a dishwasher. Busy now. Can’t let trays pile up.”
“I understand, Johnny. Thank you for taking the time to talk to me.”
“Good-bye,” Johnny said with a smile and went back to clearing the accumulating trays full of dirty dishes.
“I’ll see you later, Johnny,” Alice said.
Johnny looked over his shoulder at Alice and waved. Alice and Katherine returned to their table to have their dessert.
“Alice, we’ve talked a lot about Joe and many others, but we haven’t talked about you. You’ve had quite a career. Seen a lot. How are you doing?” Katherine asked.
“I’m okay, Katherine. I’m sorry I’ve gotten a little weepy during this discussion . . . it’s brought back a lot of memories. I’ll tell you something. In his will Joe left me his house. I didn’t want to move from my own house, so I sold his. I invested the proceeds, together with the cash Joe left me. He was very generous.”
“So you don’t have money worries; that’s good,” Katherine said.
“Well, not quite,” Alice said.
“What do you mean?”
“I bought shares in our local bank, Braydon Community Bank and Trust. There was a big push back then to be supportive of our bank, and word got around that I had a little money after Joe died. Turned out that was a big mistake. Ray Smith, the bank’s vice president and chief credit officer, and others at the bank were, well, less than scrupulous. Their actions eventually brought the bank down. It cost our community and me a lot. I lost my entire investment. I never saw it coming.”
“Wow. When did this happen?”
“Last year. Ray Smith was sentenced to ten years in federal prison for being part of the conspiracy to defraud the bank. We’ll have to see what happens with that.”
“That’s awful. What did he do, specifically? Can you talk about it?”
“He arranged for bogus loans for friends of his to purchase land all around here for development. He got kickbacks from the sale of the property. I kept a scrapbook that tells the whole sordid story, if you’re interested.”
“I really am interested. I am so sorry you suffered through all of this. I wrote my master’s project on health care fraud—a crime I came to detest.”
“I’m not fond of it either. I feel badly for those who got caught up in the greed or whatever moved them to do this, and I feel badly for our community. We lost more than money—we lost identity and dignity. So, you see, it isn’t all just a bed of roses here.”
Katherine underlined the words “lost identity and dignity” in her mind. “Are you working now? How are you managing after all of that?”
“I have some money left in savings. I’ve had many offers to work with other lawyers, but I could never do that. I have a brother in California who has asked me to come live with him and his family. I’m not leaving Braydon. I’ll be fine.”
Katherine and Alice walked back to her house, arm in arm. Alice found the scrapbook on the downfall of Braydon Community Bank and Trust for Katherine, who studied it with laser beam intensity.
Alice also showed Katherine her many books in the den, and talked about her current work with the Friends of the Library.
“What are your dreams, my dear? And how do you plan to realize them?” Alice asked.
Katherine looked into Alice’s eyes, sparkling behind rimless glasses. “My dream is to be a great reporter, an investigative journalist,” Katherine said. “I don’t know how I’ll realize them, but I believe I will. There’re so many questions and so few answers. Like my grandpa used to say, ‘you wanna know, you gotta keep digging.’ ”
“Have you a job now?”
“I do, with a newspaper in Southampton, New York, working for an editor/owner from whom I have a great deal to learn. I start as soon as I get home.”
“I’ve enjoyed meeting you, young lady. Give my regards to your father. I hope making this long trip was worth your while.”
“I can’t tell you how much this trip has meant to me, Alice. I’m so thankful to you for taking me into your home and sharing so openly and honestly all you have told me. It’ll take me time to absorb all we’ve talked about today. I’ll be thinking about it as I drive back tomorrow. And thank you for introducing me to Johnny. Joe must have been a remarkable man, and he surely benefited from having you at his side.”
“Thank you, my dear,” Alice said giving Katherine a hug and a kiss. Then she gave Hailey a big hug, too. “You take care of this young lady, Hailey. She’s going places. Have a safe trip. Come back and see us, you hear?”
“We will,” said Katherine. “I promise. Thanks, again.”
* * *
Hailey woke Katherine up with a soft, sloppy kiss on her eyes. After feeding her dog and grabbing a quick breakfast of her own, Katherine took Hailey for a short walk, checked out of the inn, set the GPS, and headed for Corrigan Yachts.
Katherine turned on the road leading to the house, and followed the directions Alice had given her. She approached the front through a walk around porch directly facing the Intracoastal Waterway. She could smell the salt air as bits of sunlight broke through the branches of the old oak and yaupon holly trees. At the end of the long, sloping front lawn, she could see a small wooden dock.
Barbara, a plump woman Katherine gauged to be about the same age as her own mother, greeted her at the front door dressed in a flowered smock.
Katherine introduced herself and Hailey. “Do you mind my bringing my dog along?”
“I love dogs,” Barbara said, petting Hailey, whose tail was wagging like a high-speed fan.
“She obviously knows,” Katherine said.
Barbara showed her into the old two-story, wood frame house. Katherine’s eye was drawn to the large, hand-laid fieldstone fireplace on the south end of the living room and the portrait hanging over the mantel.
“Isn’t that Frederick Douglass?” she asked.
“That it is. We’re all proud of that. My great-grandfather, a boat builder, helped build Mr. Douglass’ grand house in Anacostia.”
Katherine pulled out her pen and pad and made some notes.
“Alice tells me you’re here to see my father. My mother died several years ago—he lives here alone—won’t leave. He’s happier here. I check on him every day.”
“Your father’s lucky to have you,” Katherine said. “My mom . . . lives with my grandfather . . . or the other way around. I’ve been away at school . . . not much help.”
“Fortunately, I have the time. My husband works and is very supportive.”
“Where is Mr. Corrigan?”
“Down by the waterway, sitting in a rocking chair, watching the boats go by. Just follow the path.
He’s had a good night. Not sure how your conversation will go, but he’ll enjoy it. He will love Hailey, too. I will bring you some tea in a bit.”
Katherine found a tall, trim gentleman with snow-white hair and beard against smooth black skin that gleamed in the morning sun. “Good morning, Mr. Corrigan,” she said as she approached. “I’m Katherine Kelly. This is my dog, Hailey.” Hailey was already sniffing Corey, wagging her tail, and begging him to pet her, which Corey, with enthusiasm, obliged. “May we join you?”
“Who are you?” Corey asked.
“I’m . . . ” Katherine sat down in the rocking chair to Corey’s right. “What a beautiful chair. Did you make it?” Katherine noticed Corey shift in his chair, a slight sparkle in his dark eyes.
“Cherry.”
“You made it?”
“What’s your name?”
“Katherine.”
“Feel good?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“The chair,” Corey said, his arms flailing in the air and then rubbing the armrests.
“Yes, yes,” Katherine said. “It does feel good.”
“You gotta feel it.”
They both sat quietly. Katherine could feel the rush of the water, and the warmth of the sun shining through the live oaks.
“You must love it here.”
Silence for a few beats.
“Family. Built yachts. Right here,” Corey said. “What’s your name?”
“Tell me about your family,” Katherine said.
Corey leaned way back in his chair and extended his long legs. “My grandfather worked with Mr. Douglass himself. He was a master turner.”
Katherine thought for a minute. “Your grandfather turned wood.”
“You’re a smart young lady. Why did you come here?”
“To meet you, Mr. Corrigan. I’ve seen your work at the Braydon Inn.”
The Concealers Page 20