Nancy Cooper is busy filing papers, when the door to the office opens abruptly, banging against the wall. She turns and sees Red Buckner’s imposing figure standing there, and shakes her head back and forth in a disapproving manner. She never liked him much when he was Chief, and her opinion has only lessened since he left office.
“Mornin’, Nancy,” says Red, tipping his straw cowboy hat. “Matt in?”
“Good morning, Dwight,” she responds. She chooses deliberately to refrain from using his nickname, just to annoy him. “I’m sorry, but he’s over to Elmira on police business.”
“Elmira? What the hell’s he doin’ over there?”
Nancy stiffens at the former Chief’s use of profanity, a response that is ignored by Red, who pushes the issue. “I said, what’s he doin’ in Elmira?”
“That’s confidential information, Dwight. Matt’s the Chief of Police now, and you’re not.”
“Well, now Miss Nancy Fancy Pants, there’s no need to go gettin’ a twist in your knickers. I was just askin’; that’s all. No harm in that, is there?”
“Dwight Buckner, you should be ashamed of yourself. You come sashaying in here, all high and mighty, like you’re still Chief of Police, wanting to know everything about everything that’s going on. Well, it’s high time that you came to grips with reality—”
“Jeez-us, Nancy, I didn’t mean nothin’. I was just—”
“And another thing,” continues Nancy. “I just wish you would check that dirty mouth of yours at the door. Maybe if you started treating people with a bit more respect, folks might be a little more accepting of you. Now, that you’re the ex-Chief, I mean—with no standing and all.”
Red’s face turns the color of his hair, and his expression grows menacing. He leans over Nancy’s desk, his face close to hers. Nancy holds her ground. “You know, Nancy, one of these days, you’re going to go too far.”
“And, what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Never you mind, Missy.”
Nancy makes a dismissive gesture with her hand, and returns to her work, totally ignoring Red, who stands there fuming. Finally, he storms out of the office, slamming the door behind him hard enough to knock a picture off the wall, and causing Nancy to gasp.
“God, I hate that man,” she says quietly. “I really do.”
I pull the Jeep into the driveway alongside 374 Kinderkamack Road in Elmira. It’s the address Doctor Rapkin’s secretary has given me as being Mrs. Elge’s last residence. On the small, flat lot sits a weathered, white aluminum-sided house (probably a rental, I think) with black shutters, black door, and a black, wrought iron railing around its porch. Very imaginative. Just the kind of place a young girl would detest as her home. No wonder she wanted to get away. I cross the dirt yard and climb the two stairs to the porch. The doorbell has a little post-it note stating “Out of order,” so I knock several times on the scarred door. Just as I’m about to turn away, the door opens a fraction, restrained by a short length of security chain. Half of a face belonging to an elderly white-haired woman, wearing a bathrobe, appears in the opening. “Hello,” she says, in a frail voice, “can I help you?”
Judging by the woman’s age, I doubt that she is the one I am looking for, so I flash my identification, holding it patiently up to the opening, while a single eye examines it carefully. Then, the door closes, before opening again fully, exposing the occupant of the dwelling. She’s a tiny woman with snow-white hair, barely five-feet tall, and very old. “Sorry to bother you, ma’am, I’m trying to locate the former resident.”
“You mean Rosaria?”
“No. Elge,” I reply.
The woman smiles, revealing a marked absence of teeth. “No, no. That’s her first name—Rosaria. Rosaria Elge. What about her?”
I shuffle my feet. Small towns are different from the city. I don’t feel the same sense of authority here. There’s a tendency to defer. “Well, I really can’t say, but it sure would be helpful if I could locate her.”
“Well…what did you say your name was again?”
“I didn’t.” I take out my identification once more and offer it to the woman. “I’m Matt Davis. I’m the Chief of Police over in Roscoe.”
“Roscoe? Gee willikers, all the way over there?”
I smile. I imagine this woman has probably never been out of the town of Elmira. “Yes, ma’am, all fifty miles,” I say.
“Well, to be honest, I really don’t know where she went. I was just grateful to get her house,” she says. “Well, it wasn’t really hers, of course. It’s just a rental.”
“Of course.”
“She left town kind of fast is what they tell me. I don’t know why, but I guess she had her reasons. Seemed kind of weird to me. Anyway, you might want to try a few of the neighbors. They might know something.” She stares up at me intently. “Roscoe, you say?”
“Yes, ma’am. Roscoe.”
She shakes her head. “Well, Chief, I hope you find out what you need. Sorry I couldn’t help you.”
“No problem. Thank you for your time.”
“Not at all,” she says, closing the door quietly.
After checking with neighbors on either side of the old Elge place, I’m still without a forwarding address. It’s funny, but people can just vanish—even in this age of computers and the Internet. One day, they’re here; the next day, they’re gone—like they never existed. I’m starting to feel like that dog—barking up the wrong tree. I start the Jeep and head toward Roscoe—all fifty miles of the way back. Maybe things were better when people lived and died in one place.