Getting Old Is to Die for (13 page)

Lisa stands up. "I've got to go and pick the baby up at the sitter." Emily stands, too. "I've got to stop at Gristedes for something for dinner."

The three of them head for the door. Outside, they respond momentarily to the heat and the crowds hurrying past them. The women take turns hugging Jack.

"Be careful," Lisa warns.

"Godspeed," Emily says.

Jack watches after them as they walk away from him.

He says a quiet prayer to himself:
Please don't let me fail.

21

HEADING OUT

J
ack is following his pal Tim Reilly's directions and warnings. Yes, the West Side Highway is full of potholes and, yes, there's plenty of traffic. He drives his rented Ford Escort onto the lower level of the George Washington Bridge. Tim advised him of the maze of confusing signs once he got off, but he finds the exit for Route 4 west easily enough. He passes Fort Lee and remembers taking his children to the Palisades Amusement Park, which no longer exists.

Such happy days. He and Faye would hold hands and watch as Morrie and Lisa went on those terrifying rides: The Tilt-A-Whirl, the Cyclone, the Wild Tiger--one more petrifying than the other. How they loved the excitement. "Tell me when they're off," Faye would say, keeping her eyes closed until the kids were on the ground again. Those precious days when Jack took time off from work, hoping every moment that his beeper wouldn't ring and disrupt their day. Faye never stopped worrying. She dreaded the possibility that someday he would not come home at all. But God was good to them: Jack survived being a cop; Faye lived long enough to see their children grow up. He was a lucky man. Now he has a new chance at love. And this trip will bring his new love the best wedding present he can give her.

He passes Teaneck, then Hackensack. Finally he turns at his exit at Saddle River Road. It's only taken him half an hour to arrive at Fair Lawn, where he is determined to ferret out Patty Dennison. Or else. Or else what? he wonders. What if the trail ends here?

Jack watches the signs carefully. He's heard about Radburn, the unique model community built in the thirties, almost a town within a town. It has a park at its center, with the streets angling out at its hub, a contained unit.

But he senses that's not where he needs to go. He follows the road into Fair Lawn itself, past Carvel Ice Cream and Topps Cleaners and the Royal Bakery. As he starts leaving town, he sees a diner and a nearby motel. That should work. Register, and then hit the diner. He'll stir with a big spoon and let whatever relatives might still be around learn that a big gun is in town.

He has made the decision to stay here, at least overnight, to see what might happen. The motel is adequate, like so many chains across the country. He leaves his duffel bag there and walks across the way to the diner, his shirt clinging to him in the heat. His khakis are wrinkled from the drive. He enters the diner--it, too, is like thousands of others of its kind across the country.

It's lunchtime. Jack isn't hungry, having had a nosh with the girls. He orders coffee at the counter and looks around. It's what he would expect. A trucker type, probably from the rig parked right outside. A couple of moms with their small children. A few guys in suits, maybe from the real estate office he just passed. A man and woman casually dressed. A youngish redheaded male, alone, reading a newspaper. Good. Mostly locals. There's a low buzz of quiet conversation.

Jack takes out his map and pretends to study it: the ultimate tourist. The counter waitress, plain-looking and curious, wears a uniform with one of those old-fashioned napkins in her pocket with a name tag. Betty hands him a menu. "Looking for someplace?"

Jack smiles at her. "Actually looking for someone, Betty," he says, reading her tag. "She had family, used to live on Upton Street. Doubt they're there anymore."

"Maybe I could help you. Born and bred in Fair Lawn."

"Dennison. Patty Dennison?" he says, purposely raising his voice.

The chatter stops. The customers openly stare at him. Betty recoils. The owner, big and brawny, fiftyish, maybe once was a boxer, quickly steps forward from behind the counter, placing his bulk in front of the waitress, arms crossed. "Nobody in this town named Dennison."

"Her name's Patty? Maybe you knew her? Know where she moved to?"

"Never heard of her."

Jack turns to the other customers. "Anybody else know her? It's worth a few bucks." No one speaks. The customers pretend to concentrate on their meals. The redhead rattles his paper.

Jack purposely looks insincere, about to tell a lie that would easily not be believed. "She's got some money coming to her and I'm here to give it to her."

The owner looks at him in disgust. "Yeah, right." He returns to his griddle. The waitress moves away.

"What about anybody named Sutterfield? B. Sutterfield?" One of the family names from Paxton's list. Not a peep out of anyone. "I'm at the motel across the highway if anyone thinks of something. Jack Langford."

Jack downs the rest of his coffee, pays, and leaves the totally silent restaurant.

He walks around the corner and pretends to be looking at a newspaper rack. He doesn't have to wait long. It's the redheaded young man who was reading a newspaper.

"How much is this information worth?"

"Fifty bucks if it's true info."

The young man's hand snakes out. Jack holds the money away from him. "What do you know?"

"I know Barbara Sutterfield. We both work at the Nabisco factory."

"Why aren't you there now?"

"I get sick of eating in the cafeteria."

"Where's Patty? That's worth a hundred."

He hesitates, his eyes glued to Jack's open wallet. Jack notices his jeans are worn; his T-shirt advertises a local bowling alley. The young guy shakes his head as if to shake temptation away. "I only know about Barbara."

Jack pretends to get tough. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"My name's Dick Smiler." He indicates the coffee shop. "Everyone knows me."

"I'll find you if I have to."

Jack looks Smiler hard in the eyes for a few seconds, then hands him a crisp fifty. The young man starts moving away quickly. He turns. "You some reporter or something?"

Jack smiles. "Something."

The guy runs off to where his car is parked in the back lot. Jack is pleased.
Go ahead, kid, tell the whole town.

He buys the paper and crosses back to the motel, deciding on the way. He'll wait until tomorrow, let the word spread. Let the tension build. Maybe Paxton's information was still good and he caught a big break. Patty still has family here, and that's a very good omen.

22

GETTING TO LINDA

H
ello, I left a message earlier. This is Gladdy Gold. Please call me."

I am very frustrated. Linda Silverstone is getting to be annoying.

Evvie opens my screen door, walks in, joins me in the kitchen. I notice she's still wearing dark colors. I can't get used to it. My Evvie, my Florida Parrot, a woman of many bright colors. She's in mourning and I don't know what to do to get her out of it.

"How are you feeling?" I ask.

She shrugs. She beelines to the stove and pours herself a cup of coffee.

"Want to do something today? Maybe a movie? I happened to notice, one of the local movies is giving out prizes at Wednesday matinees. Should I find out which theater?" Evvie keeps ignoring me. I press on. "Something you might want to review? People keep asking when they'll see another edition of your newsletter."

"Later. I don't know. I'll see."

"Listen, I need help. Give me some advice." Hoping I can get her interested in something, anything, I grab a cup, too, and sit next to her at my tiny dinette table.

The room is so undersized that just sitting down, we are nearly rubbing shoulders. When each of us first moved into our apartments, our description of the kitchens was that it was almost like living in a motor home. One person in here is comfortable. Two, we have to take turns moving and changing places. Three is a crowd and four's a mob scene.

"It's the new case. I'm trying to reach this woman who will not answer her phone. All I get is her machine. How do I make her talk to me? I've already learned she lives behind a locked gate. I know she won't open the door to a stranger."

Evvie, not terribly interested, tosses out, "When all else fails, try honesty. Leave her a message that explains what you want. And just keep phoning until she picks up."

Evvie glances at my last Sunday's crossword puzzle, which stays on my table until it's finished. She picks up my pen and fills in one of the clues. "Nine down, 'state of pure pleasure,' is 'elated.'"

Suddenly, the word for me is elated, too. Evvie's actually showing a bit of animation. I look over her shoulder and take the pen and fill in another. "That gives me my across word. Thanks. And you know, what you just said is a good idea. I'm going to try it. We can take turns badgering her."

For a moment she hesitates, and then she smiles. "Include a turkey sandwich and you're on."

Without having to get up, I swivel around and open the fridge and take out sandwich stuff. Evvie gets up, walks three steps to the stove, and puts up another pot of coffee. I hold my breath.
Please don't let her change her mind.

I pick up the cordless phone and dial again. Naturally, it's Dr. Silverstone's machine. While making her sandwich, Evvie nods her head, encouraging me.

"Linda, my name is Gladdy Gold. I am a private investigator. Your parents hired me to find out why you won't attend their anniversary party. They seem very concerned. Please pick up so we can talk. I will keep calling until you do. All I want is an answer and then I'll stop pestering you. Please." I wait, but nothing happens. Finally I hang up.

When Evvie finishes eating her sandwich she presses the redial button. "Hello, Linda, this is Evvie Markowitz, Gladdy's partner. We're actually sisters. We're really very nice people, and part of our job is to help others solve their problems and be happy. Please pick up." She waits awhile, and then hangs up, too.

"Well done," I say. "But we're taking a big risk. This may really get her mad. She might just turn the machine off."

Evvie shrugs. "Maybe she will and maybe she won't."

Evvie, still sitting, digs in the fridge and finds last night's leftover peach pie. I am near tears of happiness. This is the first time she's shown any interest in eating. And I'm so glad I gave into gluttony and bought it. "A la mode?" I ask as I reach up over her to the freezer and whip out the vanilla ice cream.

She smiles. "You are so bad. Of course I want it."

I dial again. "Hi, Linda, this is the annoying Gladdy Gold again. I tried reading your book last night. I didn't understand a lot of it, but if we ever meet, I want to ask you--do your father's techniques really work? Isn't denial of an illness a cop-out? I'll hold, maybe you're in the bathroom and can't get to the phone quickly." After counting to ten, I hang up.

Evvie claps. "Great. Work on her ego. Maybe she'll get intrigued enough to answer your question."

"Think we should get the girls up here and let them take turns? I'd love to hear how they'd talk to her."