Feelers (8 page)

I held my breath, increasing the size of the photo. It was a three-tier fountain, but I could not get any more detail. The house was beautiful, the same design of which my father used to speak. I tapped out a reply to the message, asking for a close-up view of the fountain, and hit
SEND
. It would probably take a few days for them to get back to me, but in the years I had been searching, this was the first time I had seen any house with a courtyard with a fountain. This could be it.

I leaned back, more or less daydreaming, and briefly noted a tall, dark man, the one who had been standing in front of the house on Vanderhoosen Drive. The one with the turtleneck. He was at the computer across and down from me, and a librarian was showing him how to use it.

I was still thinking about the fountain in the picture, not about Danny Kessel.

RESEARCH SEEMED TO BE THE
order of the day. The hairy cop who had come around to Mary’s with the flyer was hot on Danny’s tail. The two of them were looking for the same information: the location of Danny’s sister.

Charlie took his heart medicine, telling himself that this would be the beginning of doing so every day just as his daughter had said he must. Just as he was swallowing, his phone rang, and he jumped. He hated that ring. It had become the sound of his financial peril. The sound of creditors pounding on his door. He put a hand to his chest and felt his heart thumping wildly.

He put on his reading glasses and peered at the small numbers on his cell phone. Yes, it was the nautical supplier again. Charlie needed to send them some money so they would send him the new rigging. Where would this money come from? Only one place, because he did not have any more. He expected the eviction notice to appear on his apartment’s front door any day.

He dialed a number, the number of an old friend.

“Bobbie? It’s Charlie Binder, how are you?”

“Charlie Binder!” The voice on the other end was gravelly, with the inflection of an older black man. “How long has it been?”

“How’s Val and the kids?”

“I’m afraid I lost Val about five years ago. Breast cancer.”

“Sweet Jesus, Bobbie, I am truly sorry to hear that. That cancer is a bitch. Lost Trix to lung cancer.”

“And they say the men usually go before the women. I wish I had. Well, I did wish that, then.”

“You got the kids, right, the family?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got Bartholomew, he’s a dentist now in Long Island.”

“A dentist? Hey, that’s fantastic.”

“Nice house, kids, you know . . .”

“And your daughter, I forget, Pam?”

“Pearl. She’s a real estate broker down on the Jersey Shore. Divorced. He was a scumbag. Got one kid, kind of a handful, that boy.”

“Sounds like you got a lot to live for. Keeping busy?”

“Things have changed so much, Charlie. Now I do everything on the computer, online, never need to go anywhere. Used to be I knew people at DMV, the Social Security office, state tax department. No more. I can get anything on anybody, and it is so much easier. Anybody could do it if someone were to set them up. But don’t tell anybody! Heh heh heh.”

“That’s what everything is about these days, Bobbie. Computers, cell phones, gadgets, everybody plugged into some kinda machine. You seen these phones that screw into a guy’s ear, got the blinking light? Talking on a cell phone now from the car. No more twisty cords.”

“Heh heh heh—yeah. So what can I do for yah, Charlie?”

“I need a skip trace on a woman who used to live at 901 East 109th Street. Her name is Clara McNary. Married name. Maiden name was Kessel. Grew up in Canarsie, probably born there.”

“Hang on.” Charlie could hear the clickety-clack of a computer keyboard. “So should I ask what you’re working on? You’re retired, so I thought.”

“Just a little project.”

“Heh heh heh. Yeah, I hear yuh. This Kessel. She wouldn’t be the sister of Danny Kessel?”

Charlie winced. “Your memory is as good as ever, Bobbie.”

“Let me see what prison records have to say about next of kin. Is Danny out?”

“Figure he’ll visit his sister.”

“Heh heh heh.”
Clickety-clack
. “You old rascal.”

Charlie felt himself redden. “What?”

“Nothin’, nothin’.”
Clickety-clack
. “But do you know, this is not the first call I’ve gotten from some of the guys from the old days? Some of them actually tried to run down stolen money that was never recovered.”

Charlie opened his mouth to say something but did not.

“Heh heh heh, don’t worry, man. I’m not unreasonable. Just throw me a couple G’s if you find him, how’s that? I seem to recall there was five million missing. You find it, you can spare a few points for Bobbie.”

“I always treated you right, Bobbie.”

“Well, see you do this time or I’ll ruin your credit rating and put you on contact lists that will bury you in junk mail and have your phone ringing nonstop. Heh heh heh, I’m kidding, I know you’re good for it.”
Clickety-clack
. “Awright, here we go. Clara Kessel McNary, Social Security number 686-56-2378, born July 8, 1977. Husband, Jonathon McNary, contractor. Married on Christmas of 2000.”
Clickety-clack
. “They moved in 2005, to Spring Pond, New Jersey, where they have a mortgage of $546,437. He has a contracting business there, home improvement and such,
looks to be doing pretty well.”
Clickety-clack
. “Two kids, Johnny and Clara, enrolled at Spring Pond Elementary. You want her phone number and address?”

“Very funny.”

“Heh heh heh. 71 Pleasant View Crescent, Spring Pond, New Jersey. 974-555-5565. Anything else I can do for you today, Charlie?”

DANNY GOT A SUBWAY STATION
agent to explain to him how the fare cards worked and took a train to Fourteenth Street, then a PATH train to Hoboken, in New Jersey. It was there that he took a New Jersey Transit train to Spring Pond.

It was the beginning of rush hour, and the train was crowded with commuters. Many had white earphones, and Danny wondered why. Others spoke on their cell phones, and loudly, to their wives about what was for dinner. Danny wondered why. If their wives were making something they would not like, then what? Not like she would make something else. Before prison, most people read newspapers on trains, but now many had laptop computers. Kids worked their thumbs over video game gadgets. It all seemed even more like everyone was distant from each other, ignoring the world, shutting it out. It made Danny feel invisible. He was comforted that the conductors still punched tickets. At least that hadn’t changed.

He had considered calling his sister Clara when he found her on the library computer, but he was afraid she would screen his call, and he needed to see her. He needed to find out what happened to their uncle, and he also hoped to have a place to stay for
the night as he decided what to do next. He knew Jonathon would not be pleased to have an ex-con around but could hardly refuse him if he showed up on their doorstep. Or could he? Clara would not.

At the Spring Pond station, Danny went to the cabstand and had a driver take him through the winding streets and into a suburban maze of split-level and ranch homes.

When he got out of the car, he saw Clara immediately. She looked out the window as if she had been waiting for him. Odd, he thought.

She came through the screen door hesitantly, her belly large in a yellow maternity dress, dyed blond hair in a ponytail and flip-flops on her feet. Glancing both directions, she waited for him to approach. Her face was consumed with worry.

“I heard you were out, Danny. You should have called.”

Danny looked both ways, wondering what she was so concerned about. The neighbors? Did the whole neighborhood somehow know there was an ex-con on the block? Would they come with torches and a rope?

“Is something wrong?”

“Jonathon isn’t home yet. He won’t be happy.”

“I’m still your brother. And you’re my kid sister. Who else can I come see when I’m out? You were the last one to stop writing.”

“I’m sorry, Danny, it’s just that . . .”

“It’s OK—it actually made it easier not getting any mail, not seeing anyone. Can I come in or . . .”

Clara’s shoulders slumped. “Of course.” She led the way inside.

Danny immediately noticed the oddly painted wall, like whoever did the job was running out of paint. He didn’t know it was a new fashion in interior design. He did not recognize any of
the furniture, and he did not really expect to see any of Uncle Cuddy’s stuff. This was all new. She led the way into the kitchen, where two little dark-headed kids sat. One was a boy about six, and the other was a girl about seven. Each held a spoon filled with SpaghettiOs midway to their mouths. They looked at each other, then at their mom, otherwise motionless.

“Johnny, Clara, this is Uncle Danny, Mommy’s brother. He’s been away a long time. Say hello to your uncle.”

Almost inaudibly, the two tykes said in unison, “Hello.”

“Pleased to meet you.”

“Let’s talk in the dining room. You kids eat your supper. Need more milk?”

They put their spoons of canned pasta in their mouths and chewed suspiciously but shook their heads. Their glasses were still half full.

The dining room had all the usual things, a sideboard, a china cabinet, a large wooden table, and some black lacquer chairs with high backs.

Brother and sister sat across from each other. She put a hand to her forehead.

“Jonathon is going to freak out when he gets home.”

Danny spread his hands helplessly. “He’s not going to cut me any slack? Look, I’m only here to see you for one night. It seemed like the thing to do when you get out. You see family. You are my family, aren’t you?”

“There was somebody here.”

Danny stiffened.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“A man came by this afternoon, only a couple hours ago, and he was asking about you.”

A long pause filled the room. Danny leaned forward.

“What did he say?”

Clara’s hands began to wrestle one another. “Just that he heard you were out and he wanted to see you. That’s all. That’s how I knew you were out.”

Danny’s eyes drifted to the ceiling as he slowly leaned back in his chair.

“No name? What’d he look like?”

“He left a number.” Clara pulled a slip of notebook paper from her bra and put it on the table in front of Danny. “He didn’t leave a name, he just said it was important you call him. Short, with short reddish curly hair, and lots of hair on his arms. Older, maybe sixty something.”

“Never seen him before? From the neighborhood, maybe?”

She shook her head.

“Sure?”

She nodded.

“Any tattoos?” That might mean someone from prison.

“Not that I could see.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“How did he know to come here?”

Danny shrugged.

“Could he have been . . . someone from jail?”

“Nah. Don’t know anybody like that from Sing Sing.”

“At first I thought he was a cop, but . . .”

“A cop? Why?”

“Jeese, I dunno, he just seemed like it, you know. But a cop would have left a name. Look, Danny . . .”

“You tell Jonathon about this?”

Clara winced. “Yeah.”

“Oh boy.”

Someone entered the front screen door, and footsteps in the front hall made their way into the kitchen.

“Hey, kids—where’s Mommy?” came a voice. A second later a tall, muscular bald man with a mustache was standing in the doorway, eyes narrowed.

Danny had forgotten how big Clara’s husband was. “Hi, Jonathon.” He was surprised when Jonathon actually shook his hand, but slowly.

“You can’t stay, Danny, you know that.”

Glancing at Clara, Danny responded, “Look, I don’t know who that guy was that came here. I’m not in trouble or mixed up in anything. I only just got out, how could I be?”

“I don’t know. What I do know is that I’ve got two youngsters in there and a pregnant wife in here. I’m responsible for them, you know? What kind of father and husband would I be if I let you stay, what with strange men with no names just dropping by asking questions? If trouble is following you, I can’t have it here. I can’t take the chance.”

Danny thought about that a moment, then looked again at Clara. She was looking at the floor.

“You’re right, Jonathon. I only found out about this guy when I got here. I’m sorry. I don’t have any idea what it’s about, but—”

“I can think of five million things it might be about.”

Jonathon and Danny locked eyes.

“Hey, I—”

“Doesn’t matter, Danny, what you say. Someone is still gonna think you know where it is.”

Danny paced to the far end of the room, turned, and came back. “I just need ten minutes with Clara. Then if you could drive me back to the station, I’ll go back to the city.”

“I’m sorry, Danny. You are family, and I’m a family man. But I have priorities, you understand?”

Jonathon turned and went back into the kitchen. Danny could hear him pull out a chair and sit with his kids, asking them about their day, and them answering each question with one or two words.

Danny sat down again across from Clara. “How long has Uncle Cuddy been dead?”

“A month.”

“When did they clean out the house?”

“Last week.”

Last week. Fifteen years, and Danny missed the five million by a week.

“You know who cleaned it out?”

She merely shrugged and shook her head.

“Who got the people who cleaned it out? How’d it happen?”

“We had the real estate people arrange it.”

“What real estate people?”

“The ones who are selling it. Something like High Class or . . .”

Or Upscale. Well, whoever had the five million hadn’t had it long.

Clara smiled for the first time, a little tentatively. “Danny, remember the time we stole five dollars from Uncle Cuddy? Remember?”

Danny almost smiled himself. “I remember.”