David Bell - The Hiding Place

“But not impossible.”

“Not for me,” Janet said. “But he had plenty of girls to choose from. I settled for”-she paused, trying to think of a number that summed things up-“fiftieth best, maybe?”

“Let’s not even talk about Tony. Please? I mean, he gave you a beautiful daughter and all, but that’s just called being a sperm donor.”

“It was a little more fun than that, as I recall,” Janet said, causing them both to laugh.

When they collected themselves, Madeline pressed on. “So what is Michael doing back in town then? He’s barely shown his face around here over the years, and all of a sudden he’s back.”

“He lost his job,” Janet said.

“There’s a lot of that going around.”

“And he’s worried about his mom. I guess her health isn’t great.”

“Rose Bower,” Madeline said. “A very sweet lady.”

“I think he’s also thinking about the twenty-fifth anniversary as well,” Janet said. “Maybe he just wants to be someplace familiar for a change, around people he knows.”

“Maybe,” Madeline said. “But if he’s looking for a port in the storm, be careful.”

Janet rolled her eyes. “How about one night’s shelter?”

“I told you, I’d introduce you to my nephew in Dayton. He’s recently divorced and looking to date again.”

“You never give up, do you?”

Madeline finished her fries. “No. And you shouldn’t either.”

But Janet didn’t hear Madeline’s last comment.

She saw a movement across the room. A man in a blue shirt. She didn’t know why this person caught her eye among all the others. But he did. Janet got a quick glance, a brief look before he slipped back into the crowd and out of the cafeteria. The man looked back once before he left. He looked right at Janet.

She recognized him. The short blond hair, the thin frame.

She blinked her eyes but knew the truth: it was him-the man from the porch.

Stynes saw Reynolds in a corner booth of Judy’s Grill, a Dove Point diner and local landmark. For close to seventy years, city council members and county commissioners gathered in the booths, making deals and pulling strings over eggs and coffee. Stynes and Reynolds used to eat there at least once a week. They liked the food and the cheap prices. And they liked to make fun of the self-important politicians.

Reynolds drank from a tall glass of soda as Stynes approached. Stynes noticed that his former partner’s hair looked thinner, the skin of his scalp touched with pink from time in the garden. Reynolds chewed on an ice cube as Stynes sat down. He wore a few days’ worth of gray stubble.

“Nice to see you, handsome,” Reynolds said.

“Some of us still have to work,” Stynes said.

“I waited to order. You know I’m diabetic now. I have to eat regularly to keep my blood sugar right.”

“Is that why you’re drinking a Coke? Your blood sugar?”

“Fuck me,” Reynolds said. “It’s Diet Coke.”

Stynes ordered a patty melt, fries, and regular Coke. Reynolds winced as he listened to the order, then asked for a turkey club and a salad.

When the waitress was gone, Reynolds said, “How was Reverend Fred?”

“Full of God’s love. He has his dress over his head about an error his bookkeeper made.”

“Guy has a bookkeeper?” Reynolds asked. “Isn’t that place worth about fifty cents? It’s in East for Christ’s sake.”

“He’s trying to properly render unto Caesar, I guess.”

“He’s given sanctuary to more mutts,” Reynolds said. “Every guy we’ve ever arrested over in East has passed through Reverend Fred’s church at one time or another. Somebody ought to bring him in.”

“For what? Having a messiah complex?”

Reynolds rubbed his hand over his stubble. “And now he has Rogers there. Jesus.”

“I saw him.”

“Rogers?”

“In the flesh.”

“What the fuck kind of work is he doing?”

“He’s the right reverend’s administrative assistant and Bible study partner apparently. He was stuffing envelopes when I saw him. Looks like he’s aged forty years since he went away. I mean, the guy really looks like shit. He must have had hell’s own time inside.”

“Good. I hope someone tore him a new rectum.”

The waitress brought the food. Stynes salted his fries. He was blessed with good genes. No blood pressure or cholesterol problems. He’d never smoked. Reynolds had gone through hell quitting cigarettes fifteen years earlier, and he was still kicking at sixty-eight.

“Look at this shit,” Reynolds said, nodding toward his plate. “I might as well be a vegetarian.” He took an unenthusiastic bite of his salad. “What did Dante have to say for himself?”

“Not much. Says he’s a born-againer, found Jesus on the inside and did time for his wicked, wicked ways.”

“He confessed?”

“Not to the Manning murder,” Stynes said. “I think he’s just admitting he’s a perv, you know?”

“That’s headline news.” Reynolds grabbed the salt and sprinkled a liberal amount on his salad and sandwich. “Speaking of which, what gives with that article? This little bitch trying to stir the pot or what?”

“She’s trying to make her bones.”

“I bet the Reverend Fred ate it up with a knife and fork.”

“He did manage to bring it up,” Stynes said. “Acted like we’d railroaded Dante.”

“Pissant.”

They chewed their food in silence for a while. Silverware clinked against dishes, and a low murmur of lunchtime conversation filled the air. A busboy went by with a huge tub of dishes. Stynes watched him go through the swinging doors into the kitchen, then spoke up.

“You know,” he said, “do you ever think about that case? The Manning case?”

“From time to time,” Reynolds said. “I’ve got grandkids that age. If one of them disappeared that way-Jesus. I don’t know how the Mannings function day to day. I’d be ready to tear the world down.”

“Their life isn’t a bed of roses.”

“No shit.”

“Seriously, though, do you ever think about how we ended up getting Dante in the first place?”

Reynolds stopped chewing. He leveled his gaze at Stynes from across the table. “You mean by investigating?”

Stynes considered dropping it. Reynolds was retired and likely not to be a receptive audience. But if he didn’t ask the guy he respected most in the world, who was he going to ask?

“We had witnesses,” Stynes said. “The kids and the adults in the park. And we had his aunt, and the porn and the clippings about the case. Did we have enough? I mean…talking to Dante Rogers today, hearing what he had to say…And talking to the Mannings, too…There might be something there-”

“Okay.” Reynolds dropped his fork with a loud clatter. It dropped off the table and onto the floor. He made an exaggerated show of picking up his napkin and wiping it across his mouth. “I know what this is,” he said. “I’ve seen it before. You’ve got, what, two years to retire?”

“About that.”

“Okay, and you’re getting old, right? Pushing sixty? And you’re looking back over everything and you’re saying to yourself, ‘Well, what did I do right and what did I do wrong? And does any of it amount to two farts in a windstorm?’ Right?”

Stynes didn’t answer, but Reynolds’s insights struck a chord. Stynes knew he was reassessing, summing up, looking forward to life in retirement. And what waited for him there? Reds games on TV six months a year and Gunsmoke reruns in the winter.

“You know what you need to do? You need to get remarried. Look at you.” Reynolds signaled the waitress and received a new fork. He started eating again. “Look at you. Widowed. No kids. No dog or cat. And you’re looking down retirement like it’s the barrel of a gun. Get outside yourself a little bit. You’re still young. You can still get it up. Find a nice schoolteacher who’s about to retire. Ride off into the sunset together.”