Red Clover (33 page)

“Not much. What do ya wanna know?”

“I’m looking for a phone book for that town.”

“Not sure if they have one. I think they’re really part of Gary.”

“Thanks.”

Lee was almost to the door when the clerk called him back.

“They do have a library. You might wanna check there.”

“Do you know where it’s located?”

“Town ain’t very big. Can’t be too hard to find.”

“Thanks.”

He drove back to Aetna in search of the library, thinking this was probably a big waste of time, and when he found it—a tiny little shack of a building at the end of a residential street—he was sure of it. He went in and asked the woman behind the desk if they had a phone book for Aetna.

“Not a current one. We’re annexed to Gary now, so we’re included in theirs.”

“If you have an older one, I’d like to see it.”

She disappeared for several minutes and returned with a very thin book dated 1968, almost twenty years old. She handed it to him.

“Thanks. I’ll bring it right back.”

Lee took a seat at one of the two small tables in the center of the room. There were no Yellow Pages, so he had to scan each column of names in the entire book. And there it was, halfway down the second column of page one. Allegro Printing. Allegro was a familiar musical term meaning rapid tempo.

He stared at the name for a moment and then smiled when he realized he was experiencing what must be an “allegro” heartbeat.

“Can you tell me where I can find the nearest public phone?”

“Is it a local call?”

“Yes.”

She glanced at the phone on her desk. “You can use this one if you want.”

He hesitated. “It’s kind of personal.”

“Gas station is your best bet then. Closest one is in Gary.”

Lee thanked the librarian and headed back to the gas station in Gary, excited about his find.

“May I speak to Nelson Sambourg, please?”

“Mr. Sambourg is no longer here. May I put you through to someone else who can help you?”

Bingo.
“Perhaps. May I ask who the new owner is?”

“The company is currently in probate.”

“May I speak with the current person in charge then?”

“If you tell me what you’re looking for, perhaps I can direct you to the right person.”

Lee hadn’t thought through this scenario and had to think of something quickly. “I may be interested in purchasing the company.”

“Then you’ll want to speak with the executor of Mr. Sambourg’s estate.”

Wrong question.
“Okay,” Lee said, knowing full well who that was. “Can you give me his name and number?”

“His name is Basil Stonebugger.” She gave him the number.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Lee had originally thought he could make a connection with whomever was in charge, and pretending to be Nelson’s nephew, ask if he could have one last look around the plant for old time’s sake. He had concocted a long tale in his mind about how his uncle had brought him to the plant on weekends when he was a small boy and let him sit in his big desk chair pretending he was the boss and his uncle worked for him. No chance of doing that now.

He looked at the address he had jotted down at the library—800 North Lake Street. He remembered crossing over that street to get to Gary.

Lee retraced his route to Lake Street. When he found it, he took a chance and turned to the right. It didn’t take him long to find the address.

The three-story brick building sat in the middle of a long stretch of road surrounded by other industrial buildings. He pulled into a parking lot across the street and parked his car facing the building. High above the front door, the company’s name, faded and almost illegible, had been painted in white on the dark brick façade. He contemplated trying to pull off his original ruse by telling the receptionist he was Nelson’s nephew, thinking she would have no reason to believe he was the one who had called earlier. What did he have to lose?

He rang the doorbell and was buzzed in. The reception area was just large enough for a small desk, four guest chairs, a side table, a plastic ficus tree, and a water cooler.

“May I help you?” the receptionist asked. With her grey hair piled up in a mound on top of her head and silver-rimmed glasses balancing on the end of her nose, she reminded Lee of the old woman who lived in the shoe from his favorite boyhood nursery rhyme. Her nameplate read Henrietta Davis.

“Hi. I have what may be a strange request.”

“Yes?”

He told her the touching story of how Nelson, his favorite uncle, had brought him here when he was just a youngster.

Miss Davis listened attentively.

“I’m sorry for your loss, and I must admit, that was a moving story, but I’m afraid I can’t let you have access inside.”

“Why not? What would be the harm?”

“This company is in probate. I have strict orders from the executor of Mr. Sambourg’s estate as to who can come and go, and you’re not on that list.”

“Who
is
on that list?”

“Employees, lawyers, tax people, and then of course there are prospective buyers. Except for employees, no one is admitted without an appointment.”

“May I ask how many employees work here?”

“Now? Not that many. Each additional week this place stays in limbo, the more people leave. It’s a shame I tell you.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Twenty-three years.”

“So you must have known my uncle well.”

“I met him a few times over the years. He typically didn’t come in during normal business hours. Someone else ran the place. Look, I’ve probably said too much already. It’s only a matter of time before I get the boot. And look at me. I’m fifty-nine years old. Where am I going to find another job? I have a sick husband at home who can’t work, and I’m carrying the load. So I would appreciate it if you’d leave before I get in trouble.”

“Okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you.”

Lee sat in his car and mindlessly stared at the Allegro sign for several minutes before driving off. Feeling defeated and sorry for himself, he went back and forth between feeling compassion for his mother and resenting her all over again for everything—for having the affair, for telling lie after lie throughout his life, for sharing so little about his father with him. But then he thought of Henry, and he couldn’t help but feel sympathy for her.

He started beating himself up for wasting an entire day on a wild goose chase and decided not to tell anyone about it. He had been foolish to think he could gain entry to his father’s printing company with that pathetic story he had concocted. He had handled the whole thing like an ignorant kid instead of a mature adult.

When Lee reached the sign welcoming him into Illinois, he was on the verge of tears and decided he’d better pull into a rest stop to collect himself. He parked away from the other vehicles to think things through. He questioned the importance of getting to know more about the man who had fathered him. After all, that was all in the past. Maybe he should be concentrating more on the future.

Then Lee thought about DeRam, his nemesis, the man he hated, the man he had helped throw in jail...the man who always got what he wanted. He wondered what he would do in Lee’s situation.

The sun was low in the sky by the time he got back to Allegro Printing—and only a thin ribbon of orange was visible in Lee’s rearview mirror. He parked in the far corner of the parking lot, away from the twenty or so other cars that were clustered near the building by what appeared to be the loading dock. Next to the wide overhead door were several steps leading up to a regular-sized door.

The overhead door opened a few minutes after six, and several men in dark blue uniforms exited the building and sat on the edge of the platform, their legs dangling in front of the rubber bumper that protected the dock when trucks backed in. Some of them smoked, while others opened up lunch boxes. Lee wondered if any of them had known his father, and if so, would they be willing to talk to him.

While he contemplated trying to start up a conversation with them, a truck from a laundry service pulled into the lot and backed into the far bay of the loading dock, away from the workers. The driver got out, waved to the men, and proceeded to unload his truck. One of the workers got up and disappeared into the darkness of the plant. When he returned, he was carrying bags of what Lee assumed were soiled uniforms, which he threw in the back of the truck. In less than ten minutes, the laundry truck had come and gone.

Lee watched while the men finished eating and one by one left the dock. A few lingered behind to have one more cigarette. By six-thirty, the dock was empty, the overhead door closed.

Based on the number of cars in the parking lot, Lee figured only half of the workers had come out on the dock for their break. He waited fifteen minutes for the other half to appear, and when they didn’t, he got out of his car and walked nonchalantly toward the building.

Light was visible underneath the door. He climbed the steps and peeked in the small window to see a short hallway and three closed doors. The one closest to him was marked Dock Superintendent. The other two were unmarked. He tried the door. It wasn’t locked.

With his heart pounding high in his chest, Lee opened the door. He hesitated a brief moment before letting himself in. The thought of getting caught crossed his mind but didn’t dissuade him from continuing inside. He walked to the first door on his left and put his ear up against it. Hearing nothing, he carefully opened it. Even in the dim light, he could see it was the inside of the loading dock. He closed the door and approached the second one.

As soon as he opened the second door, he could hear the distant clapping sound of what he assumed were the printing presses. Complete darkness inside prevented him from seeing what was in front of him. He felt along the wall on either side of the door for a light switch, and finding none, groped his way around the room until he discovered another door and a light switch. He flicked it on.

He was standing in a storage room filled with boxes and office equipment. Peering out the door into a wide hallway, he saw two elevator doors. To his left, he knew, was the loading dock. To his right was a closed door with a sign on it that read PRIVATE.

Unflinching, Lee opened the door and peeked in. Scant light from the streetlamp streaming through the large front window allowed him to see the reception area he had been in earlier that day. He stepped inside, waited a moment to listen for noises, and when hearing none, started snooping.

He sat down behind the desk and opened a drawer. Inside was a piece of paper containing a typewritten list of names, the first of which was Basil Stonebugger. At the top of the list were the words “Permission to Enter.” He didn’t recognize any of the other names. The other drawers in the desk didn’t reveal anything of interest.

Lee sat at the desk staring at the ficus tree long enough to realize there was a door behind it. He moved the tree, opened the door, and peered in.

The room smelled of stale cigar smoke, and it took Lee a moment to adjust to it before entering the shadowy room. He opened the wide vertical blinds that covered the large storefront-like window, allowing in light from the streetlamp.

The first thing that caught his eye was the brass nameplate that had been prominently placed on the expansive desk—NELSON O. SAMBOURG, PRESIDENT.

Lee sat down behind the desk and closed his eyes so he could fully experience the feeling of sitting in his father’s worn leather chair. A chill rippled through his body, causing a sensation in his chest so strong he felt on the verge of fainting. After he composed himself, he turned the chair around to inspect the four photographs on the credenza behind him.

On the far left was a photo of a fortyish man shaking hands with John F. Kennedy. He picked up the photo. He realized the man was probably his father, but he didn’t look anything like what Lee had imagined. The man was half a foot taller than the president, handsome, with a full head of hair. He looked more like an actor than an owner of a printing company. Their attire, the width of their ties in particular, gave away the age of the photo.

Lee tried to picture his mother with this handsome man. It wasn’t hard to do.

Next was a more recent photo of him, approximately age sixty, with his arm around a woman Lee assumed to be his wife.

The third photo was of a young man and woman posing in front of a 1920’s roadster. A small boy and girl sat on the running board.

The remaining photo was of a young girl, possibly a teenager, sitting on a bed surrounded by stuffed animals. Written on the bottom was LORETTA, MARCH 10, 1941.

Lee remembered his mother telling him his father was sixty-six when he died, so that would have made him around twenty-one when the photo of the teenage girl was taken. He couldn’t make any connection. His mother also told him she wasn’t aware of Nelson having had any other family. So who was Loretta?

He studied the photograph of the two adults and two children, then slipped the photo out of its frame. On the back of the photo someone had scrawled in pencil MOM, DAD, LORETTA, AND ME, 1926 OR ’27.

Lee digested the inscription for a minute. It appeared Nelson might have had a sister, or if not a sister perhaps some other close female relative. Then again, perhaps Loretta was just a neighborhood girl who happened to be playing with him that day.

A loud thud overhead interrupted his thoughts. He held his breath for a few minutes, waiting. When all was quiet again, except for the distant hum of the machinery, he proceeded with his search.

What he saw when he opened the top left drawer of the desk startled him. Placed in the same type of frame as the other photographs was an image of his mother. Lee recognized it as one of her older publicity photos she used to provide to the society pages when they wrote about her various charity events. He stared at it, and when he realized how much Bennett took after her, he shivered. He slipped the photo out of the frame. On the back, in her handwriting were the words LOVE ALWAYS, ABBEY.