it wide, just as he had before, without regard to who might be on the other side. I said, “Always ask who it is.”
Charles showed me a twelve-inch serrated carving knife. “You don’t have to ask when you’re ready.”
Sometimes you just have to shake your head.
Today Charles was wearing the oversized shoes, the monstrously baggy shorts, and a black Wolverine T-shirt that hung almost to his knees. Teresa appeared over his shoulder, and said, “Did you find him?” Hopeful.
“Nope. But I’ve got a couple of ideas. How about I come in and we talk about them?”
Winona was sitting at the dining table, and plates were there for Charles and Teresa. I’d interrupted dinner. Spaghetti, again. Maybe it was all they knew how to make. “Smells great.” Mr. Cheery.
Teresa said, “We were just finished, but there’s more if you’d like some.”
“That’s okay, but thanks.”
“Just let us clear the table.”
“Sure.” I wandered into the living room and sat on the couch. I had to move a library book to sit. Brennert’s
Her Pilgrim Soul
.
Winona slid from her seat, placed her silverware onto her plate, then carried the plate and her glass into the kitchen. Teresa gathered her things, too, and so did Charles. No one had to badger him. Everyone knew what to do and everyone did their job as if it were part of a larger accepted pattern. They gathered their things and brought them into the kitchen, and then Teresa and Charles returned, Teresa picking up the place mats and Charles wiping off the table with a damp cloth. Like they had done it a thousand times and would do it a thousand more, and had accepted it as a natural part of their lives. A ritual. I watched them and wondered at the secrets families keep. Teresa wanted me to find her father, but the man I was finding didn’t appear to be the man she knew. And the man that I would eventually find would be different still. It is often that way in my line of work.
When the table was clean, Teresa came over, sat in the big chair, and gave me a smile. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“No, thanks.”
“Well, if you change your mind.” Prim and proper. In absolute control of her environment, and of this meeting with the employee. “Now, what have you found?”
Water was running in the kitchen. Winona’s night to do the dishes. “Has your father mentioned a man named Tre Michaels to you?”
She shook her head. “No. No, I don’t think so.”
“How about Wilson Brownell?”
She stared thoughtfully as if maybe this rang a bell, but then she shook her head. “Unh-unh.” Charles skulked in from the dining room and leaned against the wall.
“Tre Michaels worked with your father. He saw your dad a couple of weeks ago, and your father said that he was thinking of taking a trip, but he didn’t say where. At about that same time, your dad made five long-distance calls to Seattle and spoke with Wilson Brownell, twice at considerable length.” When I mentioned Seattle Teri and Charles glanced at each other, and Charles crossed his arms. “I phoned Mr. Brownell, but Brownell denied knowing your father. I think he’s lying, and I think maybe your dad went to Seattle to see him. I’m going to fly up tomorrow to ask Mr. Brownell in person.” I didn’t mention the drugs, or why Clark had been fired from Enright.
Teresa looked nervous. “Why do you have to go to Seattle?”
“I told you why.”
She frowned harder. I thought she wanted to object some more, but you could tell that whatever her objections might be, her desire to find her father was stronger. “Okay. I guess I should pay you some more money.”
I raised a palm. “Forget the money. I’ll take that part of it up with your father when I find him.”
Charles was frowning, too. He seemed less happy about my going to Seattle than Teresa. She said, “How long will you be gone?”
“Two days, maybe three. Less if I get what I’m after right away.”
They were watching me now, all
Charles showed me a twelve-inch serrated carving knife. “You don’t have to ask when you’re ready.”
Sometimes you just have to shake your head.
Today Charles was wearing the oversized shoes, the monstrously baggy shorts, and a black Wolverine T-shirt that hung almost to his knees. Teresa appeared over his shoulder, and said, “Did you find him?” Hopeful.
“Nope. But I’ve got a couple of ideas. How about I come in and we talk about them?”
Winona was sitting at the dining table, and plates were there for Charles and Teresa. I’d interrupted dinner. Spaghetti, again. Maybe it was all they knew how to make. “Smells great.” Mr. Cheery.
Teresa said, “We were just finished, but there’s more if you’d like some.”
“That’s okay, but thanks.”
“Just let us clear the table.”
“Sure.” I wandered into the living room and sat on the couch. I had to move a library book to sit. Brennert’s
Her Pilgrim Soul
.
Winona slid from her seat, placed her silverware onto her plate, then carried the plate and her glass into the kitchen. Teresa gathered her things, too, and so did Charles. No one had to badger him. Everyone knew what to do and everyone did their job as if it were part of a larger accepted pattern. They gathered their things and brought them into the kitchen, and then Teresa and Charles returned, Teresa picking up the place mats and Charles wiping off the table with a damp cloth. Like they had done it a thousand times and would do it a thousand more, and had accepted it as a natural part of their lives. A ritual. I watched them and wondered at the secrets families keep. Teresa wanted me to find her father, but the man I was finding didn’t appear to be the man she knew. And the man that I would eventually find would be different still. It is often that way in my line of work.
When the table was clean, Teresa came over, sat in the big chair, and gave me a smile. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“No, thanks.”
“Well, if you change your mind.” Prim and proper. In absolute control of her environment, and of this meeting with the employee. “Now, what have you found?”
Water was running in the kitchen. Winona’s night to do the dishes. “Has your father mentioned a man named Tre Michaels to you?”
She shook her head. “No. No, I don’t think so.”
“How about Wilson Brownell?”
She stared thoughtfully as if maybe this rang a bell, but then she shook her head. “Unh-unh.” Charles skulked in from the dining room and leaned against the wall.
“Tre Michaels worked with your father. He saw your dad a couple of weeks ago, and your father said that he was thinking of taking a trip, but he didn’t say where. At about that same time, your dad made five long-distance calls to Seattle and spoke with Wilson Brownell, twice at considerable length.” When I mentioned Seattle Teri and Charles glanced at each other, and Charles crossed his arms. “I phoned Mr. Brownell, but Brownell denied knowing your father. I think he’s lying, and I think maybe your dad went to Seattle to see him. I’m going to fly up tomorrow to ask Mr. Brownell in person.” I didn’t mention the drugs, or why Clark had been fired from Enright.
Teresa looked nervous. “Why do you have to go to Seattle?”
“I told you why.”
She frowned harder. I thought she wanted to object some more, but you could tell that whatever her objections might be, her desire to find her father was stronger. “Okay. I guess I should pay you some more money.”
I raised a palm. “Forget the money. I’ll take that part of it up with your father when I find him.”
Charles was frowning, too. He seemed less happy about my going to Seattle than Teresa. She said, “How long will you be gone?”
“Two days, maybe three. Less if I get what I’m after right away.”
They were watching me now, all
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