They aren’t kids. But Luke kept a smile on his face. He offered to buy Stan a beer to talk a little bit about the grocery business, since they weren’t competitors. Stan warmed up at the suggestion of a beer and he agreed—it was time for a break. When they were leaving the grocery, Stan never told anyone where he was going and he glared at everyone. The employees here didn’t seem happy, not even the good-natured assistant manager. To just peg Stan as an abusive jerk could be accurate, but it might be too simple. What Luke really wanted to know was what had happened to Art and why Stan hadn’t reported him missing.
A glimmer of understanding came with a beer. “My sister has a group home for these retards. I help her out by giving her kids some work,” he said. “Keeps ’em busy and out of the house.”
“They ever give you trouble?” Luke asked.
“They bug the shit outta me. How many times you gotta show ’em something? Tell ’em? But you’re right about one thing—they’re cheap and they keep coming back. Maybe you could get someone in Clear River to start up a home. It’s not like it’s hard. Just has to be clean and pass inspection.”
Luke had an instant image of someone completely unqualified to run such a home, doing it for the money, and it made him feel angry and ill. But he said, “That might be doable. I have an ex-wife whose always hurting for money…”
“There’s an idea. Get the ex off your payroll.”
“Maybe I could talk to your sister? Think she’d tell me how a person goes about that?”
“I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. What else has she got to do while all her kids are at work, huh?” He gave an address and some directions, not far from the store. “Just tell her I sent you over, huh?”
“I appreciate it, man. You’ll never know.”
Luke dropped Stan at the store and immediately followed the directions he’d been given. When he knocked on the door another surprise almost blew him over. Shirl was even younger than Stan. She was maybe twenty-eight at a stretch, dressed in a tight, short skirt, V-neck sweater that showed off her boobs, ultra-black hair with a pink strip framing her face. This was not Mother Teresa. And, of course, she was chewing gum. He could barely get a glimpse, but behind her appeared to be a very small, tidy house with old, worn furniture. That was the first time he considered that the couple of challenged employees he’d seen in the grocery were wearing clean but well-worn clothes. Art had looked as if he’d been homeless forever, but he was merely dirty and his clothes had already been threadbare. Shirl didn’t waste a lot of cash clothing them.
She opened the door cautiously. “Hi,” he said, pulling out his wallet and flipping it open fast, shut again just as fast, officially. “I’m looking for Art.”
“Art?” she asked, stepping back. “Who?”
“Art Cleary.”
“Um… I think he’s at work…”
“I’ve been there. He’s not at work,” Luke said.
She frowned. “Are you the guy with the new grocery store?” she asked in confusion. “My brother called me and said—”
“Well, that was kind of a story.” He shrugged. “I’m with the agency. Looking for Art. Just a follow-up visit, that’s all. The paperwork on him shows it’s been a while since he’s had a visit.”
“Okay, okay,” she said tiredly, holding up her hands, caught. “What timing. He took off. Ah, it was just this morning. He said he was going to—he wanted to go see some really old aunt of his in Redding. I called there, no answer, and no answering machine—some of these people are real hicks. I was just about to call Social Services, but I’m sure he just hitched a ride to his aunt’s and she’ll make sure he gets back. I was giving him a chance to check in—I don’t want him in trouble. What are you going to do, fine me?”
Okay, lie number one, Luke thought. Art had been with Luke a couple of months. “You know what?” Luke said. “You keep trying the aunt. The less said about this, the better for Art. The better for you, huh?” And he winked at her.
“Yeah.” She smiled. “Really.”
“Why don’t you jot down that aunt’s address and phone number for me? If I find him there, I can bring him back before there’s any confusion about it.”
“You don’t have the address? She’s next of kin.”
“Save me some time, huh?” he said with a smile. “To tell the truth, I have a lot better things to do than track him down, but it’s on my sheet.” And Luke wondered how many challenged residents had run off or disappeared while Shirl and Stan pocketed the monthly stipend provided by social security or insurance or the state. What happened to their paychecks from the grocery store? Did Stan write them off and keep the money? “I’ll work it out,” Luke said. “There might be paperwork. Don’t worry about it. You’re a nice girl to take him in the first place. These folks get to be a handful,” he added with a grin.