"You can go in now, Mr. Murdock."
I tossed the magazine back onto the leather sofa and turned toward the mayor's door. He opened it as I approached, his massive frame filling the doorway and just clearing the top moulding by a few inches. Maybe the image on the posters hadn't required much enlarging after all. The man had a great smile, which was probably an asset given his size. I could imagine his constituents running for cover if he campaigned with a frown.
"Come in, come in, Mr. Murdock." He took my hand in both of his huge ones and held it through a warm embrace of a handshake. I felt like I was meeting a long lost friend. He released my hand with perfect timing and guided me to one of three leather chairs in front of a cherry desk that matched the mayor's proportions. The chairs were all dark red leather, the same shade as the oversized one behind the desk, where he seated himself rather gracefully for a man of his size.
The walls had cherry wainscoting part way up and were topped by an expensive looking wall covering that was beige with little diamond shapes in a forest green shade. The wall to my left held several framed items, two that looked like diplomas and a couple of awards plaques of one type or another. There were also two old photographs, in identical cherry wood frames. One was sepia toned and showed a man and a woman standing outside of a country church. It looked about the right time period to be a picture of Petrick's grandparents. The other photograph was a family portrait, probably taken in a studio, with a young couple and a small boy. The man's necktie was narrow, as had been the style in the nineteen fifties or maybe the sixties. The little boy, who was smiling from his perch on his father's knee, looked like a pudgy miniature version of the man who had just admitted me to his office.
The top of the desk was covered with glass and very little clutter. There was a small stack of papers and manila folders in one corner and the obligatory "In" and "Out" trays on another. These were highly polished wood and appeared to be cherry also. A few white sheets of paper peeked over the edge of the "Out" tray. Either Mayor Petrick was not busy at all or he was extremely neat and efficient. At the corner of the desk closest to me were several of those winter scenes in a glass ball. The ones that set off a snowstorm when you shake them. Nearest me was one the size of a softball sitting on a base of some type of stone. The scene inside was of a farmhouse with a tree in the yard and two children building a snowman in front of it. I was tempted to pick it up and shake it, but restrained myself. The others were of similar size and depicted other equally attractive scenarios. His office looked like a three dimensional representation of his "Family Values" platform. Behind the mayor's bulk, I could see some framed photographs on the oversized marble window sill. I asked if they were his family.
"Yes. My wife, Diane, and I and our three daughters. The first ones were taken when the girls were younger, of course. That one on the right is from last Christmas." Reaching across the wide window sill, he snagged the photo and handed it across the desk. There were five people in the photograph. The mayor and his wife were seated on a love seat in front of a Christmas tree, probably in their living room. Beside them sat two little girls, about four years old, who were dressed in matching red dresses and were obviously twins. Next to the woman stood a taller girl, in a green and red plaid outfit, whose age I estimated at eight. The straight black hair and almond shaped eyes of the three children were in stark contrast to those of Petrick's blonde-haired, blue eyed wife, who appeared to be in her late thirties. According to the blurb I'd read in the waiting room, the mayor was forty-three, and the chairman of a local organization that promoted Korean adoptions. They looked like the happiest family alive. I mentioned it to him.
For a big man, he had a soft laugh. "Well, I'm glad it comes through the camera lens. We've been very blessed, Diane and I." He set the framed picture gently back where it had been, probably in precisely the same spot. I was tempted to get up and look for a mark in the dust, but I already knew there would be no dust on the mayor's window sill. His sunny smile still in place, he turned to face me again.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Murdock?"
"As I may have explained to Ms. Gable, I'm looking for information about Charlie Wilson. I understand his company donated money to the soccer team here in the city. I was wondering what the connection was between Regis Optics and West Fork." Technically it was a statement, but my inflection slid it over into the question column.
"Yes, I can understand your confusion there. Charlie came to town one day a year or so ago, I forget just when, but it must have been in the summer or maybe spring. He was just travelling through I believe, stopping at some of the smaller sporting goods stores to show his line of wares, as it were. Along the way, he stopped to watch some of the youngsters over at Town Park, playing soccer. I was there watching our daughter, Bobbi, play, and Charlie and I got to talking about this and that. I had a pair of Regis binoculars with me and I think that's what started it. We seemed to hit it off and he took to stopping in when he was in the area."
"So he just decided that his company could help with the soccer team?"
The gentle laugh again. "Oh, I doubt that Charlie was ever that single-minded." As he went on, the mayor drew a white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead. "The heat must be turned way up today," he laughed. Leaving his chair, he stepped to the windows behind him, raising one a couple of inches. I could feel the blast of cold air that blew across the room. He returned to his seat and went on. "A lot of the parents at the games are sportsmen of one kind or another and Charlie probably figured he'd use the soccer shirts and equipment as advertising for his company. It helped the kids and I couldn't see that it would hurt anything."
"Did you two see each other socially at all?" The mayor's home telephone number had been in Charlie's personal address book.
"Not really. He'd call once in a while if he was going to be passing through and we'd maybe meet for a drink someplace nearby, but we didn't really socialize."
"So he didn't ever call or visit you at your home?"
"Maybe an occasional telephone call. I really can't remember, now. Is it important?" The friendly smile turned quizzical.
"Nope. Not at all. I was just wondering what the connection was. It seems like Charlie was just covering all the bases in the sales department." Thanking him for his time, I got to my feet and reached out to shake his hand. I asked him about the crayon factory and he walked me across the room to show me the view of it through his windows. As he pointed across the river, I noticed a dark purplish patch of skin on the back of his left hand. The flesh looked stretched and tight, like a burn scar. I quickly looked back out at the crayon factory. It was a long white building with six oversized crayons painted on the side, fanned out to show all the primary colors of the rainbow. I was impressed.
I was escorted to the office door by the mayor and, after shaking hands and wishing him luck in his bid for the state legislature, I headed for the elevators. Behind me, I could hear the retreating tap of his footsteps inside the open doorway to his office.
"Are you driving right back to Oak Grove, Mr. Murdock?" Ms. Gable's voice reached me from somewhere behind a corner file cabinet. Her bouncy hair soon appeared around the near side and her well fitted body followed it into view. She was wearing a red suit with a red and royal blue scarf tucked in around the jacket's neckline. This was a very nice looking lady, older or not.
"Not just yet. I'm meeting my sister for lunch at her home in Iowa City. I think she has a lady friend she plans to introduce me to," I ventured. If Ms. Gable, too, were available, she might just take the bait and offer an appropriate remark.
She took the bait all right. "Oh, I know how that is," she smiled. "My husband's brother is single and we are always on the lookout for a nice woman for him."
Oh. Her "husband's brother" was single, too, was he? I decided that Ms. Gable was one of those married women who choose, for some reason, to not wear a wedding band. Maybe she had an allergy. I offered a pleasant goodbye and went over to punc
h the elevator button. Before I got to it, I turned and walked back to lean over the desk. I spoke softly to Ms. Gable.
"By the way, I didn't want to ask the mayor, but I noticed that mark on the back of his hand. Is that from a burn? It looks painful."
"Oh, no. It's not. Painful I mean. It's from before I ever knew him. I think it was some kind of a chemical accident." A tentative smile accompanied her nod of approval as she said, "It was good that you didn't ask him. I think the look of it embarrasses him."
We said goodbye one last time and I caught the elevator to the lobby. On the ride down, I pondered the progress of the usage of the title 'Ms.' When that was first introduced, quite a few years ago, the only women who seemed to use it were single ones who were offended by being labeled as such. When I was growing up back in Pittsburgh in the seventies, it was still pretty much true that anyone who was introduced as a 'Ms.' was also a 'Miss.' Then those women went to college and became professionals of one sort or another and the title stuck, even after they were married. Keeping their maiden name was a professional choice that was becoming more and more common. I suppose the pendulum would do what those things tend to do and in a few more years or decades we'd be back at 'Miss' and 'Mrs.' For now though, I was just a little annoyed at the whole process and somewhat disenchanted with the lovely 'Ms.' Gable.
Having gotten my thoughts straight on that important issue, I drove back down toward Iowa City for lunch with my sister. I wondered if her mystery woman at the mission was a 'Ms.' also.
Chapter 10
When Maxine and Talmadge had first come to Iowa City back in 1980, they had lived in some sort of low rent housing that was owned by the University. I'd never visited them back then, so I hadn't been exposed to the low end of Professor Heiser's teaching career. They'd moved a few times since those days and had eventually added two children to their family. Tucker, who for some cruel reason had been saddled with the formidable name of Talmadge Winston Heiser Junior, was about sixteen now and Madeline was twelve. They seemed like nice enough kids, although having been long distance relatives for all of their lives until this year, we didn't really know each other yet.
The latest house, where the Heisers had lived for the last ten years, was in University Heights, a section of Iowa City that was just south of the University campus. I turned onto Melrose Avenue and passed the Finkbine Golf Course where three or four sets of golfers were taking advantage of the warm November sunshine. When I turned off Melrose into the heart of University Heights, I noticed the difference in architecture from where I lived, just a few miles north in Oak Grove.
Here, while the homes were still modest in size, the styles had the flavor of the Victorian era, with several brick two and three story homes in evidence. Some of the wooden Victorians had the big wraparound porches I was used to seeing back in Pittsburgh and had so rarely spotted in Iowa. There were some wood-sided Cape Cods scattered about among the larger houses, as well as the ever present one-story homes. The Capes had the required gingerbread trim and neat little porches or archways attached. All the homes were well maintained and the yards were well kept. Landscaping here was simple but attractive. Large trees shaded the front and side yards, an unusual sight just a few miles north where the town of Oak Grove had sprung up around treeless cornfields.
Maxine had chosen a two-story brick and stone Tudor style home that was built around 1940. There was a huge maple tree in the front yard and a wide side porch that she'd shaded with green and white awnings, easily dropped down to block the afternoon sun. She'd told me it would remind me of our aunt's home back in Pittsburgh and it did. They say that buying a home is an emotional decision and this one probably was. It was a great house, though. Max had always had taste for classy looks in houses and decorating, if not in her choices of hair color. I parked in the wide driveway and rang the bell on the side porch
"Come in," Max called from somewhere in the recesses of the house. I could smell the rich aromas of tomato sauce, hot sausage and garlic, overlaying the more subtle smell of the eggplant. Suddenly I was hungry. I went in, kissed my sister hello as she lifted a pan from the oven to the stovetop, and pulled up a chair to the kitchen table.
The eggplant was the best I'd ever eaten and I wondered why I never tried making that type of meal myself. I quickly realized that now I didn't have to, with Maxine so near.
"What's in this stuff again?" I mumbled through a mouthful of rich flavors.
"A lot of the usual ingredients for eggplant parmesan. I fried the eggplant then layered it with sauce I had in the freezer, parmesan cheese, and hot sausage. I added sliced elephant garlic cloves that I'd caramelized in olive oil. It really doesn't take long at all. Flouring and frying the eggplant is the hardest part of the recipe."
Of course, Max always had jars of homemade tomato sauce stashed in her freezer, which cut a few hours off the cooking time right there. I helped myself to a second square of the dish and dug in like a starving man.
"Slow down, Rudy. You'll get sick, “my sister admonished me as she'd done all of my life.
"If I slow down, I'll realize I'm probably already full and then I won't want to eat any more. Now what good could that possibly do?" I timed my words so I never missed a forkful of eggplant and sausage.
When I was really full, I sat back and accepted a cup of coffee and one small cookie to top off the meal. Max had remembered that I never felt like I'd been fully fed unless I had something sweet at the end of the meal. That was her own fault. When I was a kid at home, she'd always had some kind of dessert ready for after dinner, even if it was Jell-O or canned fruit. So now I was locked into the plan and it was her responsibility. The comforts of childhood are never far away, it seems.
I knew Max wanted to ask me about her husband, so I brought it up first.
"Listen, Sis, I haven't found anything out about Tal yet, so try not to worry about it so much. Maybe he was really on college business. Just give me some more time and we'll figure this all out, ok?"
"I know you're probably right, but I still worry. He was home early last night but he still seemed so distant. Tucker wanted to ask him to explain something about his homework and he had to ask him more than once. It was like Tal just wasn't really listening."
"Maybe it's something at work. Have you asked him?" I didn't know how long I could go on playing this game, defending that asshole when I knew damned well what he was doing. I wanted to confront him myself, though, and not do it through my sister. I'd sort of figured out how I'd go about it with the least embarrassment to Maxine. Now I was waiting for my chance to put my plan into action.
Just then the telephone rang on the wall beside me. I shoved my chair to one side and Maxine picked it up on the second ring, anxious for her husband to call, I was sure. It was him, and from the sound of her end of the conversation, he was going to be at a late "meeting" tonight. Maxine wasn't taking it well.
"What kind of a meeting? Where is it? All the way down there? Why does it have to be so far away? Don't they have meeting rooms at the college?" She was wearing down, though, listening to his long-winded explanation that I knew was a pack of lies. "Ok, then. Be careful on that road late at night. I guess I'll see you when you get here. No, no, I won't wait up, if you're going to be that late." She hung up slowly and looked down at me.
"He has some sort of literary meeting down near Pilot Grove somewhere. Some local author is hosting it at his home, I guess. Anyway, Tal said he'll be very late again tonight." Maxine sighed and started back to her chair across from me, then suddenly stopped and threw her shoulders back.
"No, I'm not going to think the worst. Even if it is what I think it is, I'll deal with it. I'll just clean up these dishes and we'll go to the mission."
She explained where the boxes and bags were and I loaded them in the trunk of her Oldsmobile while she straightened up the kitchen. There were several boxes and a variety of different store and plastic garbage bags. She'd been right in saying they were heavy. She must be giving
away half her wardrobe. In the back of my mind, I was thinking about Pilot Grove, where Talmadge's meeting was going to be tonight. I'd have to check my map, but I thought that Pilot Grove was a little town down near Keokuk.
Maxine appeared, having exchanged her apron for a jacket, and we were off to the mission. I refrained from both criticizing her driving and from asking if her friend was going to be there waiting for us today. I was proud of my self control.
The Riverside Mission was on the eastern edge of Iowa City, about a ten-minute drive from Maxine's house. The one-story concrete block structure sat squarely in the center of a blacktopped parking lot. There was a hand-painted sign over the entrance and another one to the right of the door directing us to the drop-off dock along that side. Max drove around and stopped the car at the edge of the loading dock and reached across me to open the glove compartment and press the trunk release button. I hopped out, and was instantly reminded of a bit of lingering tenderness in my right knee. Maxine was still in the car and didn't notice my grimace and small groan. Another lecture averted.
It took only a few minutes to slam the donations up onto the raised concrete dock. By that time, Maxine had disappeared into the building through, I assumed, the side entrance near the dock. I went in and scanned the open expanse.
There were no partitions in the room that I could see, just rows of tables and racks of hanging clothes. Making my way between the tables, I noticed that besides clothing, there were stacks of household gadgets, dishes, tools and tons of plastic toys that would be on the earth for the next billion years. I wondered why, if God existed, and if He knew so much, He hadn't made us out of plastic. Maybe He hadn't thought of it. Or maybe He knew the earth would be better off if none of us lasted forever.
At the other end of the room, my sister was in conversation with a woman in a blue suit and matching hat. Now when was the last time that kind of outfit was in style, maybe 1945? They were at least a hundred feet in front of me and Maxine hadn't seen me come in. Maybe this would be a good time to slip back outside and wait in the car. She must have read my thoughts, because my sister turned at just that moment and looked right at me. Instead of the wave that I expected, she turned back to the woman and they moved off together toward a long table heaped with clothing at the back of the room.
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