Change of Address

by Rick Polad

  “Hello Spencer. How nice to see you.”

  “And the same to you, Nancy. You look wonderful as usual.”

  “Always the diplomat. But I’m sure I don’t look half as marvelous as your companion.”

  I started to introduce Kelly but my companion wasn’t listening. She was staring, with mouth and eyes wide open, at the view in front of her. Nancy and I laughed and let her take in the view.

  What was hidden by the trees and hedges was the rest of the restaurant which flared out on both sides at forty-five degree angles. The building was built in the shape of a triangle. The door was at the peak of the two short, angled sides. We were looking out at the long side that faced the lake. The entire building was made of natural, hand-hewn timbers and a variety of wood paneling. From the foyer, the restaurant area was terraced in four steps down to the long wall which was all glass. There were only twenty tables in the whole place. Each one had its own waist-high nook and, because of the terracing, a perfect view to the east out over the lake. Just outside the glass wall was an outside eating area, beautifully landscaped. Beyond that, a winding path led down a sloped hill to a sand beach and Lake Michigan. The view was wide and nothing short of spectacular.

  Nancy and Rod Stanton had bought an old, run-down house about fifteen years ago and had built the restaurant into the natural slope of the hillside. From the front, it still looked like the old house, dreary and boring. That was planned to contrast the change once you walked through the door. The restaurant was not advertised and they frowned on publicity. Their customers had all learned of the place by word of mouth and they tried to keep it as quiet as possible. If it were to become very popular, the old clientele would never be able to get in. Nancy and Rod were making a comfortable living and liked the fact that everyone who came was considered a part of their family.

  “Thanks for getting us in on short notice, Nancy.”

  “My pleasure, Spencer.” She lightly touched my arm and added, “Our sympathies about your folks. We were deeply saddened.”

  I covered her hand with mine and nodded. “Thanks for the card; that meant a lot to me.” Theirs had been one of hundreds.

  Giving my hand a squeeze, Nancy tilted her head sideways and said, “Maybe we should bring your friend back to the real world.”

  “I guess we should.” I chuckled. Kelly was in what I called “Stanton shock”, an experience she would never forget. I walked over to her, encircled her waist with my arm, and guided her back to Nancy.

  Without taking her eyes off the view, she said, “I have died and gone to heaven.”

  The glow of pride on Nancy’s face was wonderful to watch and the look on Kelly’s face was the same as a kid’s at his first Christmas.

  I made the introductions and Nancy led us to our table, third tier center. It was just at the right height to see over the edge of the outside terrace and down the hill, and still not have the sky cut off by the roof line. We sat.

  “Enjoy,” offered Nancy, and moved from table to table chatting with each of her friends along the way.

  “This is amazing, Spencer. How did you ever find it?”

  “I didn’t, Dad did. The Stantons used to own a restaurant in the city. Dad helped them out with a problem they were having. They moved up here and, to show their gratitude, we had the honor of being their first customers. They invited us to their opening night. Dad and Mom and I were their only customers.”

  “Wow. That must have been some help your dad gave. When do I get to meet your parents?”

  “Well, you’re a little late. They died a while back.”

  The joy drained from her face and was replaced by sympathy as she tilted her head. “I’m so sorry, Spence. I don’t know what to say. I would be devastated if I lost my folks.”

  “That’s a fitting adjective.” I reached out and she took my hand. “Mom and Dad would have liked you and I feel close to them being here with you, so let’s do as ordered and enjoy.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw Barb, the only waitress I’d ever had, coming toward us.

  I introduced Kelly, we talked for a minute, and Barb told us about the four entrees for the evening and took our drink order—Chablis wine and a bottle of LaBatt’s. I asked Barb to bring the drinks out on the terrace where there were two other couples watching sailboats bob out on the lake. She was back in a couple of minutes and we ordered dinner.

  We sat in canvas chairs and I immediately lost myself in a daydream. It was a setting which invited silence. I thought about Mom and Dad and realized I didn’t want to talk to Kelly about them. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. Then I thought of Elizabeth and Maxine. What could be so personal that Elizabeth wouldn’t tell anyone? When I came back to reality, I realized that Kelly had called my name several times. The drinks were on the table.

  “Thinking about your folks?”

  “A little.”

  “Can I ask what happened?”

  “You just did. But, if you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about it now.”

  “Sure, Spence. If you ever want to...”

  “Thanks, Kelly.”

  I pulled my chair closer to the table and took a long drink of beer.

  I took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and asked, “If you had something terrible happen to you that changed your whole life, would you tell someone about it?”

  “Are we talking about your folks?”

  I shook my head. “No, although I guess that would fit. It’s easier for me to talk about other people’s troubles.”

  “Not unlike everyone else. So what are we talking about?”

  “The case I’m working on. Some things don’t make sense.”

  “What’s the terrible thing that happened?”

  “That’s one of the problems. I don’t know. But it was bad enough to make a nice girl voluntarily fall to the bottom of the barrel.”

  She sipped her wine. “Care to tell me more about it?”

  I suddenly decided to assume that the case had nothing to do with what Stosh was working on at the track and it might help to get Kelly’s opinion.

  “I was hired to find the father of a little girl named Marty. She and her mother lived in a rather nice apartment building and life was rosy, or at least appeared to be. The mother worked at a bakery, a job that didn’t pay enough to support the nice apartment, so there must have been some other source of income. Her two best friends say the mother, when asked, would not say what that source was. But then one day, evidently, the source dried up because she had to move. And the change was very dramatic. She moved in with a friend named Maxine in a rundown building in a neighborhood right on the edge of bad and joined her friend in making extra money as a lady of the evening.”

  I paused for another sip of beer and let that sink in.

  “No relatives?” Kelly asked, with interest.

  “That’s part of the problem. Her brother hired me and I think he would have helped, but, according to him, she never asked.”

  “Won’t she tell you who the father is?”

  “That’s another problem. She’s dead. Killed in her apartment about a year ago.”

  Kelly sat up in her chair and I filled her in on the events of that night.

  “Police never got anyone?”

  I shook my head. “The brother, Beef, is a suspect, but there wasn’t enough evidence to charge him. And they lacked a motive. Elizabeth may have been planning on taking Marty away. If Beef knew about it, that would be a good one.”

  “Do you think he did it?”

  I shrugged and spread out my hands, palms up. “I don’t know what to think. He’s not a fountain of information, and the information he does give is questionable. But if I had to bet, I’d say no.”

  “For Marty’s sake, I hope not. Can you imagine? That little girl living with the man who killed her mother?”

  “No, I’d rather not imagine. But I do have to figure it out and one of the things I can’t figure out is why Elizabeth wouldn’t tell her friends about whate
ver happened.”

  “Maybe she was ashamed. Or maybe she just couldn’t talk about it, like you and your folks.”

  “I guess I can understand the last. But how could you be too ashamed to talk about it, but not too ashamed to become a hooker?”

  “Maybe one has something to do with the other.”

  I squinted. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not sure. But something like a cause and effect thing. Maybe one caused the other.”

  “What would cause that?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why you’re the P.I. Or maybe she was a hooker before, just a higher class one.”

  “Hmm. Interesting thought, but I don’t think so. All involved have described her as a good Catholic girl, involved in civic affairs, and a good mother. She spent most of her time with Marty. And when she wasn’t, she was helping with the mayor’s re-election campaign. I think this is a story of a good girl gone bad. But what made that happen?”

  I finished my beer. Kelly still had half her wine left.

  “Another point,” I continued. “Did she really not tell anyone or are the friends trying to protect her?”

  “Good question. What’s your guess?”

  “I’m not sure about Rita. But my gut reaction is that Maxine knows something.”

  Just then a pigeon landed on the railing next to our table and cocked his head at us.

  We both laughed. That laugh made me decide to trust her with more of the story.

  “There’s something else. My only lead on the case is someone Marty says visited them and brought her presents and promised her a ride on a horse. She calls him Uncle Ronny.”

  Kelly squirmed uneasily in her chair. “Oh my God. You don’t mean Ronny Press?”

  I nodded.

  “This little girl gets dragged into this situation and then is befriended by Ronny Press? I hope this story doesn’t get any worse.”

  “No. Not yet anyway. I asked Maxine if she knew Ronny. She said ‘no’ but I thought she flinched slightly when I said his name. I described him and got no response either, but one of the other neighbors said Marty had mentioned his name and she was pretty sure she saw him leaving the building once.”

  “Do you want my opinion?”

  “I would welcome it.”

  She swirled the little bit of wine left in the bottom of her glass. “If it was a man, I would say it was possible he wouldn’t tell anyone. You guys have this tough guy thing you feel you have to live up to. We women don’t have to keep up that image. My guess is Elizabeth would tell someone. And if it were bad enough, she probably wouldn’t tell her brother. But her best woman friend? I would think so. And it has to be something other than just losing her other means of support. If you had a trust fund and it ran out, that’s not a big deal and nothing to be ashamed of. I think you’re right about Maxine.”

  “So, if Maxine is lying, why?”

  “Maybe to protect Elizabeth.”

  “Elizabeth is dead. What’s to protect?”

  “How about Marty?”

  “Maxine doesn’t like the ‘kid’ as she lovingly calls her.”

  “Maybe she just pretends not to like Marty. Might ruin her image. If we knew the reason, it might make sense. And if it were simple you wouldn’t be employed.”

  “I suppose.” I jumped as a hand touched my shoulder.

  Laughing, Barbara apologized, “Sorry, Spencer. Your dinner is served.”

  I reached in my pocket, gave her my card, and said sarcastically, “If I ever need someone to do something sneaky, I’ll call you.”

  “Deal. Now go eat before it gets cold.”

  We went and ate. At least I did. Kelly spent most of the time raving about her salmon. I preferred to eat my filet instead of talk about it.

  After dinner we walked along the beach and watched an almost full, red moon rise out of the water looking twice as big as real and spilling a shimmering reflection across the gently rolling waves. We stopped at a pile of limestone boulders that looked too formidable to climb and Kelly turned towards me. I didn’t need an invitation to bend down and kiss her. When I pulled away she was smiling again, but this time just with her eyes. I kissed her again. This time she put her arms around my neck and snuggled close to me. The warmth of her lips and the pressure of her breasts against my chest were far more than I could resist, if I had wanted to resist, which I didn’t. I was pretty sure she didn’t either. I was also sure we could have both not resisted right there on the sand but for the fact that the romance of the situation was marred by the constant swatting of mosquitoes.

  As I killed one on my neck, Kelly looked up and said in a voice I hadn’t heard before, “There aren’t any mosquitoes in my hotel room.”

  Not needing an explanation, I took her hand and we walked back up the hill and thanked our hosts. As we left, Nancy gave me a wink and I realized what must have been written all over my face.

  I took the expressway back instead of the slow route along the lake. Kelly was right. There were no mosquitoes in her hotel room.

  Chapter 21

  We woke up early but didn’t get out of bed till ten. To say it was wonderful would not do the last ten hours justice. The strangest part was I felt like I could get up and walk out and never come back and not have to explain a thing. At the risk of ruining the moment, I asked Kelly about it.

  “Kelly, I don’t mean that I’m planning on doing this, but why do I feel as though I could kiss you one last time and never talk to you again and that would be all right?”

  She laughed. “Because it would be all right. That’s the best kind of love—one with no strings attached.”

  “If that happened, you wouldn’t mind?”

  “Ah, that’s a different story. I would be disappointed and would miss you a lot. I feel closer to you than I have felt to anyone in a long time. But I don’t worry about things I can’t control. If, or when, the time comes when we part, we will have some wonderful memories and I will have been able to share something I would otherwise have missed.”

  “That’s an amazing outlook on things.”

  She curled her arm under a pillow and pulled it to her chest. “If given a choice between happy and not, I’d rather be happy. That’s something I can control. So, if there is something that I can’t control that makes me unhappy, I let it go.”

  “Can you teach me how to do that?”

  “It’s simple. You just decide. And I’m not saying I’m always successful.”

  She started tracing designs on my chest which ended up keeping us in bed for another hour. After showering, we ordered in lunch and talked about Maxine some more. I decided to pay her another visit and, by two, I was once again parking in front of the building on Hunter. I was told there was no charge to “wash” my car.

  This time Maxine answered on the first knock. She came to the door in jeans and a baby-blue t-shirt which would normally have been exciting but I was worn out.

  “Working on a Sunday?” she asked.

  “I took a day off last week so my boss makes me work extra to make up for it. Mind if I come in?”

  “Not at all,” she said cheerfully, sweeping her arm into the room.

  I immediately noticed a difference. The shades were up. “Wow! Sunshine!”

  “It’s part of my new outlook on life. I got up early today and fixed my hair a little too.”

  With hair curled at the ends and brushed, she looked lovely and I told her so. I was happy for her, but I felt bad. I hated to ruin her cheery outlook with more questions, but business was business. I think I would rather have taken her on a picnic. With my back to her and looking out the window, I casually asked, “Does the new outlook include telling the truth?” I slowly turned to face her.

  The happy look was gone and it almost broke my heart. She looked like her best friend had stabbed her in the back. Maybe he had.

  With a set jaw and a very controlled voice, she asked, “What does that mean?”

  I had been holding my breat
h and now let it out and took a few steps toward her. “That means that Ethyl had heard the name Ronny Press and was pretty sure she saw him one day.”

  “And that means I was lying?”

  “Not necessarily. But I find it hard to believe the name means nothing to you. If he was here someone would have mentioned him. He seems to have meant a lot to Marty.” No reaction. “Also, I think you know something about why Elizabeth moved here. I think she would tell her friend.” Still no reaction. “Maxine?” She was staring right through me.

  After about twenty seconds, she opened her mouth and her lower lip began to tremble. Her shoulders sagged. She staggered to the couch blindly and almost fell onto it. “So what if I do? It doesn’t make any difference now. She’s dead.”

  “It might make a difference to Marty. And I don’t like the idea that Ronny Press and a killer, if not one and the same, are still out there somewhere. Justice has not been served.”

  “Don’t talk to me about justice. There is no justice in the world. Look at this building, look at the people in it. Look at the neighborhood.”

  “Sometimes things are what you make them, Maxine. If you sit in Ethyl’s apartment, you wouldn’t think you were in this neighborhood.” I sat down on the other end of the couch. “Okay. If not justice, maybe someday Marty will want to know who her father is.”

  “You think so, huh? You know it all. Maybe she’s better off not knowing.”

  I gave her a few seconds before asking, “And why would that be, Maxine?”

  Kneading her hands, she replied with choppy words like a machine gun spitting in slow motion. “The way the asinine judges rule these days, kids end up being taken from people who care about them and given to drug addicts and child beaters, the dregs of society, just because two derelicts got together and couldn’t control their sex drive. They should make the judges go live with these... these...”

  I happened to agree but I didn’t say so. I just let her sit with her emotions and wondered what had sparked all this. Finally, she continued.

  “So, what if you find the father and he wants the kid and the courts say she has to go live with some piece of garbage like...”