Читать книгу Five-minute Mysteries 2 - Ken Weber - Страница 12

7

Why Granny Doesn't Retire

Sometimes, at the end of a long day, Alice would agree that maybe her kids had a point, that maybe she should quit. Certainly she didn’t need the money; Morty had left her with a portfolio that did a lot more than keep the wolf from the door. And she had to admit that all the traveling kept her away from the grandkids more than she liked.

Still, there were so many reasons to keep going. Like pride. She knew her children avoided telling their friends what she did – after all, how many seventy-two-year-olds make a living as a private eye? But the grandkids, they thought it was cool. She loved the look in their eyes when they showed off Granny Alice to their friends. And the truth is, every time she got close to the idea of packing it in, something would make her dig in her heels. Like that young snot at the attorney-general’s department who wasn’t going to renew her P.I. license because of her age. She’d put him in his place, because she knew the regulations said nothing about age limits.

Then there was the whole boredom thing. Alice had never been a back porch type to begin with. She couldn’t sing, hated cruises, and sure wasn’t going to be another blue-hair parked in front of the slots at Vegas. Morty always said she had a brown thumb, so gardening was out, and both bridge and golf she found dull. The action part was okay with those two, but for each minute of action, everybody spent another twenty prattling on about it.

All other reasons aside, however, the bottom line for Alice was that she was very good at what she did. And being a granny gave her an edge. Take the case she was working on right now, the missing lady from California. From the interview this morning with the Mackilroy woman, Alice knew she’d found her. Well, maybe not in flesh and blood, but it was obvious this Torrey Mackilroy knew something.

“You and Pauline Ortona were best friends in high school, weren’t you?” That was Alice’s opening gambit with Torrey Mackilroy after showing her P.I. license. Torrey had been slow to answer, but that was natural enough. In Alice’s long experience, everybody was edgy in a circumstance like this. All Torrey did was nod and then look at the telephone on her desk as though it might rescue her. Alice had anticipated – correctly, as it turned out – that the phone wouldn’t interrupt them. She’d cased the place before and concluded that Torrey was a not-very-busy insurance agent in a not-very-busy insurance office.

“Pauline Ortona hasn’t been seen in a very long while,” was Alice’s next move. “Her aunt, the one she went to live with in California when her mother died ... she’s convinced that Pauline’s gone missing, but can’t get the Santa Barbara police very interested, so that’s where I come in. One thing I’m doing is canvassing all her friends, past and present, to find out where she might be. Naturally, you’re high on my list.”

Until then, Torrey Mackilroy hadn’t said anything more than “yes,” when asked her name. And all she had done in response to the “best friends in high school” question was nod. The nod gradually turned into a slow shaking back and forth when she was asked the whereabouts question.

“No idea,” she said finally. “Sorry, none. The last time I saw or talked to Polly ... I guess it’s got to be ... I don’t know how many years now. Ever since we finished high school and she left Eugene to live in California. Her Mom died right after graduation, and ... yes, I guess there were a couple of phone calls the first year or two. One letter, maybe. But nothing since I got married and moved here to Jackson and that was fifteen years ago.”

She raised her head, looked straight at Alice. “Sorry, I can’t help you,” she said. She offered a polite lips-but-not-the-eyes smile and shook her head again.

Alice waited for more, but when the silence threatened to become awkward she put down her card with the usual “please call me if ...” request and left. It was almost lunchtime and, although the interview had got her adrenaline up, she decided to have a salad at a nice, quiet restaurant she’d seen a few streets over. It had big tables, so she could take the yearbook in with her.

The yearbook: now there was a coup! Anybody could have done the interview she just did with Torrey, but getting the yearbook? Imagine some big, burly, male private eye doing what she did yesterday: going into James Polk High in Eugene, Oregon, breezing through the security, and talking that suspicious librarian into letting her take out their one and only copy of a yearbook! Grannies can do that, Alice knew. The sweet old lady shtick hadn’t failed her yet.

She opened the yearbook to the page that had led her to Torrey Mackilroy. She was Torrey Gallant then: “Better Known As: Tall T; Activities: Fashion Club, Student Council, Math Team; Favorite Saying: “You guys seen Polly?”; Usually Seen: Corner booth at Lubo’s with Polly Ortona; Aim: Professional Designer; More Likely: Painting the booths at Lubo’s.”

Pauline Ortona’s bio on the facing page showed a somewhat prettier girl. “Better Known As: Polly; Activities: Drama Club, Student Council, Cheerleader; Favorite Saying: “Hey, T, can I borrow your math notes?”; Usually Seen: Corner booth at Lubo’s with Torrey Gallant; Aim: Actress; More Likely: Lubo’s star waitress.”

There were a number of notes and scratches and graffiti in the book that Alice had ignored at first, but a second run through turned up a pair of neatly drawn intertwined leaves, under which was written “TG–PO Buds Forever.”

Looking over a too-large Greek salad at the photos of the two girls, Alice reflected on the phone call she’d made after the library visit. There were six Gallants in the Eugene book. Not only did she score on the second call, but Torrey’s mother had filled in the blanks without missing a beat: “Yes, Torrey’s my daughter. Name’s Mackilroy now. Lives over in Jackson with her husband. They’ve two lovely young girls.” And then, after some mutual exchange about the joys of grandchildren, Mrs. Gallant had freely supplied the necessary phone number and address.

“Now there. Let a young male P.I. try doing that on the telephone!” Alice caught herself, realizing she’d spoken out loud. Tapping her fork, too. She’d done that kind of thing quite a bit lately. Her ruse with Mrs. Gallant – it had worked before – was to pose as a volunteer for the alumni committee. And why wouldn’t a sweet old lady be doing something like that? Quite simply, there were some things that seventy-two-year-old grannies could do far better than other investigators. The Ortona case was proving that fact yet again. No, Alice thought to herself, there were just too many good reasons to stay on the job.

“Now,” she was speaking out loud again, loud enough to turn a few nearby heads in the restaurant, “now to get to work on Torrey and find out when she really last talked to Polly.”

?

Why is Alice convinced that Torrey Mackilroy has talked to Pauline Ortona recently?

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