Don't Dare a Dame (26 page)

   
My mouth felt dry.

   
“Sounds like punks who knew she got paid on Fridays,” I said, fishing.

   
She nodded and sighed.

   
“I expect she’ll be fine, once she settles in. Her son was awfully good to her. Came and got her for Christmas and a couple of weeks every summer. He’d been trying to coax her to come live with them.”

   
“You’d met him, then? I never had a chance.”

   
“Oh yes. Lovely man. Tiny stutter, but it didn’t bother him.” She paused to look at me with sharpening interest. “You wouldn’t be interested in a nice apartment, would you?”

   
Unexpectedly, I felt the tug to have a place of my own. A real place, not just a room.

   
“I couldn’t afford it,” I said. “How much?”

Thirty-one

   
As I’d expected, the rent for the small apartment Theda had occupied was beyond my means. Even though it was no surprise, it deepened the glumness infecting me as I sipped my stout at Finn’s.

   
Theda had left an address for forwarding mail. I could take a train to Indiana, but even if I managed to talk to her, I doubted I’d come away with anything except more expenses for the Vanhorns. The abruptness of her departure showed how scared she was. Her story about someone wanting her purse might be a lie to hide getting roughed up while somebody warned her to keep her mouth shut. It was equally possible someone who knew old women were easy to frighten had sent a couple of punks to do just what she’d described.

   
In any event, it sounded as if she really was with her son, which meant she’d be safe. Unfortunately she hadn’t left a phone number when she left the address.

   
I wasn’t bursting with confidence I’d have any more luck locating Neal, but at least I’d concocted a plan. What I needed now was to run it by someone I trusted to see if my reasoning held up. If Billy and Seamus, or maybe Connelly came in, they might have some suggestions as well. My Guinness was half gone when Seamus and Connelly came through the door.

   
“Buy you gents a pint?” I offered, waving.

   
They ambled over. Connelly was grinning.

   
“When she’s buying, she wants information,” he said, giving Seamus a nudge.

   
“Yep, I need help from men with vast knowledge of this city’s seedier drinking establishments.”

   
“Can’t turn down a lady in distress, can we, Seamus? I’ll fetch the pints.”

   
Seamus lowered himself to the chair on my left. I heard his knee pop.

   
“How’s Billy’s shiner?” I asked. “How come he’s not with you?”

   
“The eye’s faded so you wouldn’t notice it, except Billy likes you to.” Seamus had the sweetest smile. Not a mean bone in his body. “He went right home ’cause he’d promised Kate he’d take her to buy a second-hand rug she’s had her eye on.”

   
Connelly returned with their Guinness. He hooked a chair out with his foot and set the glasses on the table. For a while we traded the lazy, inconsequential chat that makes sitting with friends at the end of the day a renewal.

   
“Now then, what’s this about seedy bars?” asked Connelly, leaning back in his chair.

   
“First, I need to ask Seamus, is anybody named Vanhorn in lockup?”

   
His mouth pursed a few times, leaving his gaunt face still more sharply chiseled as he thought.

   
“Nope,” he said. Because of his knee, Seamus did mostly desk work now. He saw the jail booking register, and his mind stored it up like a camera.

   
“Vanhorn,” said Connelly. “Those women who hired you?”

   
“Yeah. Their brother’s gone missing.”

   
“When?”

   
“Tuesday, near as I can tell. A stranger talked to him when he came out for his lunch break. The men he eats with say he was jumpy afterward. He didn’t go back to work, and nobody’s seen him since. He took his valise and some of his clothes, though.”

   
“So you think he’s hiding.”

   
“Yes.”

   
Seamus, less given to words than Connelly, grunted and dipped his silvery head in agreement.

   
“That’s why you want to know about unsavory spots,” continued Connelly.

   
“I might have razzed you a little with the unsavory part. There are plenty worse. These are just a mite on the rough side.”

   
I took three lists from my purse and spread them on the table before them.

   
“These are places Neal went with his buddies from work.” I touched one list with the point of my pencil. “No one’s seen him there.” I touched the second list. “These are where he went with his stepbrother George. George called this afternoon to say he’d checked and Neal hadn’t shown up at any of them.”

   
“And you trust George?”

   
“Yeah, I do. Ask that about Neal and I might sing a different tune.

   
“Now. From what I know about Neal, after work he didn’t do much except sit and shoot the breeze while he had a few beers. I don’t think he’ll know what to do with himself except that. He’s not especially smart, but he’s not especially dumb either, so I’m guessing he’d have sense enough to avoid his usual places. But he’ll hunt places like them — places he feels comfortable. Not too fancy or he’ll feel awkward. Not up with the Poles and the Czechs where not speaking the language would make him stick out.”

   
Connelly thumbed his chin.

   
“Makes sense,” he said at last. He glanced at Seamus.

   
Seamus nodded. He already was eyeing my third list. I tapped it.

   
“So these are places I think he might go. I’m hoping you two might add a few more.”

   
They conferred. They added a couple of pubs. They came up with a little area I hadn’t considered.

   
“But why stick around?” Connelly argued. “Why not put more distance between himself and whoever he’s in Dutch with?”

   
“Probably doesn’t have money enough, and hopes the whole thing will blow over or get sorted out. Neal hasn’t had to deal with much so far in life.”

***

   
 Late next morning, as I was standing in front of my map contemplating which of the areas the three of us had come up with was the likeliest place to start looking for Neal, the phone rang. When I answered, I heard a female voice, high and muffled.

   
“You the one who’s been looking for a little girl who lived near the drugstore during the flood?”

   
“Yes. Who—”

   
“Know where Stainton is?”

   
“Yes.”

   
“North end. Three down on the east side. There’s apartments upstairs. Try the front one. Come between four-fifteen and four-thirty. Women are home fixing dinner; men aren’t coming home yet. Nobody’s on the street. Got it?”

   
“Yes—”

   
“Four-fifteen to four-thirty. Any later and nobody’ll be home. Come by yourself.”

   
The sound of a dead line buzzed in my ear. I sat with pulse accelerating. Had I just heard the voice of the little girl herself? At least I knew she was real now, and somebody knew who she was or knew something about her.

   
Unless the whole thing was a setup.

   
Tapping my teeth with my fingernail, I tried to think. Whoever she was, the woman I’d spoken to had sounded nervous. You could fake that, of course. I’d probably done it myself when I was wangling information.

   
I got up and tucked the Smith & Wesson under my jacket. There was too much to gain if the call had been genuine. It might well represent my only chance to find the kid who’d talked about a clothes dummy. What I could do, though, was look the place over, check the layout, see if anything triggered a warning of something amiss.

   
Stainton ran north and south just past where Third forked into Linden Avenue and Springfield Street. Streets were small here, and most of the houses could have used paint. The Depression had hit this area hard, since most of the men had worked in nearby factories, some of which had closed. Things were picking up under the New Deal. I even saw a HELP WANTED sign in a café.

   
The stretch where I’d been directed had a mom-and-pop grocery store on the corner. Across the way and a few doors down, a man in an apron was sweeping the sidewalk in front of a bar, probably spiffing up for noontime customers. The building I was hunting housed a second hand store, or it had. A sign on the door said CLOSED, and the place looked as if it had been that way for a while.

   
To the side, narrow stairs led up to apartments above it. Starched white curtains hung in the window of the front one. The glass sparkled. I drove past without changing speed. There was no sign of movement. The place looked occupied, though, and well tended. I figured I could chance one more pass around the block, and did.

   
Then I parked a few streets over and put on my glasses and dowdy hat. I walked back to the place next door to the closed second-hand store. It sold pipe and plumbing fittings. I had to wait for two customers before a round little man at the counter was free.

   
“Um, hi,” I said. “Does that place next door have apartments over it?”

   
“Sure does. Why?”

   
“I just started a job down the street.” I gestured vaguely toward Linden. “I’d sure save bus fare if I could find something closer than where I am now. Do you happen to know if they’re rented? If maybe somebody might be looking to split the rent?”

   
He was shaking his head.

   
“Widow woman lives in one, I think. May have seen another woman come and go sometimes, or maybe a couple. You might go up and check.”

   
“Okay. Maybe I will. Thanks.”

   
He’d given me all the information he thought necessary. If I asked for more, I’d rouse too much attention. I went on my way and spent a few hours visiting spots on my list of places to ask about Neal. Forty-five minutes ahead of the rendezvous time, I returned to park on Stainton and sit watching its rhythms.

   
The woman who’d called me had a good feel for the beat of her street. At twenty till four a matron came huffing along with a grocery bag in one hand and a toddler holding the other. An older boy skipped ahead of them. They turned into a narrow house with fading blue paint. Over the next ten minutes, two more women came hurrying home with bags in hand.

   
Nobody went up or down the staircase leading to the apartments above the defunct second-hand-store.

   
At four-sixteen I took a final look along the street. The only pedestrians were two teenage girls walking slowly along with their heads touching as they shared a book that appeared to be mesmerizing. Something told me it wasn’t a class assignment. As soon as they were past, I crossed the street and climbed the staircase. I knocked on the door of the front apartment.

   
Heels clicked toward me. A woman’s heels, staccato and hesitant.

   
“Yeah? Who is it?”

   
“You called me this morning,” I answered.

   
The door opened on a chain. An eye surveyed me. I couldn’t tell much about the woman it belonged to, except that the eye was blue.

   
“You alone?” she asked.

   
“Yes.”

   
She closed the door and there was the rattle of a chain being undone. The door opened and the woman stepped back. She was thin and brunette. It was all I noticed about her before the edge of my vision caught a blur of motion behind me.

   
I dodged, but not fast enough to avoid something hard crashing down on my head. Stars exploded and I felt myself sag toward the floor. Hands jerked me upright and a fist drove into my belly.