William Krueger: Thunder Bay

“You will find a way,” he said.

“Look, I might be able to talk to him, but I can’t promise anything. Honestly, I’m not sure how I can make any of this sound believable.”

“The watch, you found it?”

“Yes.”

“Show him the watch.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Meloux seemed comforted. He smiled, satisfied.

“I will see my son,” he said. His eyes drifted closed.

I started out.

“Walleye?” the old man said.

I turned back. “We’re taking good care of him, Henry.”

He nodded and once again closed his eyes.

I spoke with Ernie Champoux, Meloux’s great-nephew, who was in the waiting room. He told me the doctors were puzzled by the symptoms the old man was presenting and were still running tests. Things didn’t look good, though.

I’d dressed for church, suit and tie, and when I was finished at the hospital I met Jo and the kids at St. Agnes for Mass. I didn’t pay much attention to the service. I was thinking about Thunder Bay and how to go about keeping my second promise to Meloux. I thought about some guy approaching me with the kind of story I was going to toss at Wellington. It would sound exactly like a con. On the other hand, maybe the man was already aware of some of this. Who knew? The watch might have some effect on Henry Wellington. But how to get an audience with the notorious recluse in order to show him the item?

It would have been better to know the whole story: how a Shinnob had come to father-apparently illegitimately-the man who’d headed a major Canadian corporation. That had to be some tale. If the old Mide had been stronger, I might have pressed him.

“You seemed distracted,” Jo said at home. “How did it go with Meloux?”

“The news did him good, I think. He asked me to bring his son to him.”

We were in our bedroom, changing. Jo stepped out of her slip and threw me a questioning look.

“You promised?”

I pulled off my tie. “It felt that way.”

“Good luck, cowboy. If I were Meloux’s son and you told me this story, I’d have you locked up.” She unbuttoned her cream-colored blouse and went to the closet to hang it up.

“Maybe the guy knows the story.” I took off my shirt.

“What exactly is the whole story? How did Meloux come to father a son he’s never seen?”

“He’s not saying.”

Jo stood at the closet door in her white bra and in panties that had little yellow flowers all over them. She’d been through hell in the year since the brutal events in Evanston. But the human spirit-with the help of counseling-is amazingly resilient, and looking at her as she stood ankle deep in a puddle of sunshine, I thought she’d never been more lovely.

I dropped my shirt on the chair next to our dresser and walked to her. I put my hand gently on her cheek.

“Part of your question I can answer,” I said.

“Oh? And which part would that be?”

“How he fathered a son.”

I kissed her.

“You have to open Sam’s Place in half an hour,” she reminded me. “Old pros like us can accomplish a lot in half an hour.”

She smiled seductively, took my hand, and together we went to the bed.

During the day, whenever I had a break from customers, I slipped into the back of Sam’s Place and made telephone calls. I tried the headquarters of Northern Mining and Manufacturing in Thunder Bay. Because it was Sunday, all I got was a recording, pretty much what I’d expected. I’d been unable to find a listing on the Internet for Henry Wellington and had no better luck with directory assistance. Among the information I’d gathered the night before, however, was the name of Wellington’s younger half brother, Rupert Wellington, president and CEO of NMM, and also a resident of Thunder Bay. I tried the number for Rupert I’d pulled off the Internet. The man who answered told me rather crossly that he was not that Rupert Wellington and he was sick and tired of getting the other guy’s calls, thank you very much.

I’d also learned that Wellington had two children, a son and a daughter. The son worked for a conservation organization in Vancouver, British Columbia. His name was Alan. The daughter, Maria, was a physician in Montreal. I didn’t have a phone number for either of them, but I did have one for the conservation organization, a group called Nature’s Child. I dialed, thinking there was no way on a Sunday. Someone answered on the fourth ring.

“Nature’s Child. This is Heidi.”

“Heidi, my name is Corcoran O’Connor. I’m trying to reach Alan Wellington.”

“He’s not here.”

“Would it be possible to reach him at home?”

“I suppose you could try.”

“I would but I don’t have his number.”

“And I can’t give it out.”

“It’s a bit of an emergency. It’s about his family.”

“His father?”

I wondered why it would occur to her automatically that it would be about Henry Wellington.

“His grandfather, actually. He’s very sick.”

“And you would be?”

“As I said, my name’s Corcoran O’Connor. I’m acting on his grandfather’s behalf.”

“An attorney?”

“A friend. Look, I hate to be pressing, but the old man is dying.” There was a brief hesitation on the other end as she considered. Then: “Just a moment.”

Within a minute, I had the number and was dialing Alan Wellington’s home phone.

“Hello?” A woman’s voice.

“I’d like to speak with Alan Wellington, please.”

“May I say who’s calling?”

I gave her my name.

A few seconds later, a man came on the line. Firm, deep voice, but not hard. “This is Alan.”

“Mr. Wellington, my name is Cork O’Connor. I’m calling from Minnesota. I’ve come into possession of a watch that I believe belonged to your grandmother. There’s a rather interesting story attached to it. I’d like to give the watch to your father and tell him the story, but he’s a difficult man to contact.”

“Not difficult, Mr. O’Connor. Impossible.”

“That’s why I’m contacting you. I was hoping you might help.”

“You can certainly send me the watch and the story along with it. I’ll make sure my father gets them.”

“I’d rather deliver them to him in person.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you with that.”

“Just a telephone number?”

“Mr. O’Connor, I don’t know the truth of what you’re telling me, though it sounds a little suspect. You have no idea the number of people who’ve tried to get to my father through me. And my sister. My father wants simply to be left alone. As much as I’m able, I intend to help him with that. If you’d like to send me the watch, I’ll see that he gets it. Otherwise, we have nothing further to discuss.”

“Time is of the essence here, Mr. Wellington. A man who wants very much to contact your father is dying.”

“A man. Not you?”

“Someone I represent.”

“You’re an attorney?”

“No.”

“And who is this man?”

I didn’t know how to explain it. I stumbled on. “He was a very good friend of your grandmother. He has important information about her that your father ought to know.”

“If you tell me, I’ll see that he gets it.”

“I can’t really do that.”

“Then, as I said before-Mr. O’Connor, was it? We have nothing further to discuss.”

The call ended on that abrupt and chilly note.

Jo stopped by in the late afternoon. She brought Stevie and Walleye and dropped them off.

“Mind if they hang out here for a while?” she asked. “I have shopping to do. The dog can’t come into the store, and Stevie won’t go anywhere without him.”

“No problem,” I said.