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“Hey!”
The man who called to me from the opposite side of the street had sandy hair and an athletic build. As soon as there was a break in the traffic he trotted across. Up close he was about my own age or a little older with dazzling blue eyes. Mick Connelly had nice eyes the color of blue steel. This guy’s were bright blue. Autumn sky blue.
“Are you passing out flyers, selling, or collecting for something?” he asked as he reached me.
“I beg your pardon?”
He grinned.
“You’ve been going into places up and down the street all morning. I feel left out.”
“Oh really? Do you work around here?”
I’d already stopped in every place along the street. Touching my elbow, he turned me and pointed.
“Up there.”
A set of stairs led up to a door with a polished brass plate and a mail slot. It faced the lamp shop across a wide brick walkway that had been a street in horse and buggy days. While its entry wasn’t on Fifth, its only window was.
“You must not work very hard, if you’ve been keeping track of me.”
“I’m puzzling over why a client’s ledger doesn’t tally. When I can’t see an obvious way through a tangle, it helps me to go to the window and stand while I think.”
Since the same held true for me, I couldn’t exactly fault him. I opened my purse.
“I’m trying to find out if anybody’s seen this man. He used to be my sister’s boyfriend. I’m trying to patch things up between them.” I was getting awfully sick of my little ditty.
He studied the photograph of Tremain with what seemed genuine seriousness. Some moments elapsed before he handed it back.
“Sorry, no.” He raised an eyebrow expectantly.
“Yes? Was there something else?”
“The fellows in the insurance place said you were asking questions about the lamp shop.”
At my expression he burst out laughing.
“Sorry. I was curious. I hope I don’t offend you, but you looked like you’d be fun to meet.”
“Wow. That’s some line.”
“Have a heart. Accountants don’t get much chance to meet women except for middle-aged secretaries.”
“And that’s what you are, I take it? An accountant?” It fit the small office.
“Steve Lapinski.” With a sigh that was almost comic he gave me a card.
“Maggie Quinn.” I didn’t give him one of mine.
“Look, I’m in for a very long day with this project I’m on. I came down thinking I’d break it up with a beer and a sandwich. Join me, won’t you?” Sensing I was about to say No, he spoke quickly. “I can tell you something you may not know about the fellow who had the lamp shop.”
It was nice bait.
And he did have very blue eyes.
***
“Are you sure you won’t have a sandwich with that?” Lapinski asked.
“Thanks, but I had a muffin awhile ago and it filled me up. The beer hits the spot, though.”
It wasn’t as robust as Guinness, but good nonetheless. The small pub we were in was impeccably neat and the food smelled good. I gave my prettiest frown.
“What about the lamp shop? The thing is, some other girls and I chipped in to buy a lamp there for a present. I was in last week and put some money down, and there wasn’t a sign or anything anywhere saying they were going out of business. Today I came down thinking I’d kill two birds at once, pay off the lamp and ask about Sis’s beau, and boom, there’s a sign up saying the place is for rent. Who can I contact to get our money back?”
It was his turn to frown.
“I’m afraid I can’t help you there. But I don’t think the man who ran it left town for his health. At least not in the usual sense.” He waited while the waitress set down his ham sandwich. “I think he took off because he was scared.”
He had my full attention now.
“Of what?”
“Don’t know.” He took a neat, small bite of sandwich and chewed before continuing. “About four weeks ago, though, I was locking up and saw three slicked up fellows pay him a visit. Two went in the front and one went around to the alley as if he might be planning to watch the back. They had that look about them.”
“What look?”
“You know. Like men who might come around and not be polite if you owed money.”
“You mean gangsters?”
“I’m not sure that’s the word I’d use, but like that.”
Amazing how easily the very questions I needed to ask could sound like flirtation.
“And how do you know what men like that look like?”
“I’m from up north.”
“Detroit?”
He laughed. “No. I just meant across the river. North Dayton. When I was a kid there used to be more than a few like them that hung out up there. Bootleg bosses and men who worked for them. Fancy dressers, hard eyes. The law put most of them out of business, but there’s still a numbers racket, I hear, and loan sharks and such.”
I wondered whether Steve Lapinski provided accounting for any of them.
“Hey, thanks for the beer,” I said standing. “And for letting me know we might as well say good-by to our down payment on that lamp.”
“Hey, can I call you? What’s your number?” he called to my back.
I pretended not to hear.