A Private Man by Chris Laing

Author:Chris Laing
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Chris Laing / Michèle LaRose
Published: 2019-11-20T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

As I approached my office, I heard Pete the mailman hooting with laughter inside. I paused for a moment then barged through the doorway like a high school principal, giving him my Sister Theresa voice. “It’s surprising how long it takes to deliver an armload of advertising flyers, when there’s an attractive young lady involved.”

His head snapped up, a hesitant smile on his round mug, but he remained bent over a newspaper spread out on the desk, his neck stretched forward like a turtle’s. Phyllis stood beside him with a sparkle in her eye.

“Hi there, Max,” Pete said. “C’mon over here and lookit these babes.”

Stepping around the mailbag which he’d abandoned in the centre of the floor I glanced at a full-page layout of beauty pageant contestants in various poses, some in evening dresses, others in bathing suits with sashes saying “Miss So-and-so”.

“Hubba hubba,” he said, almost drooling. “It’s the Miss Canada Pageant. Right here in Hamilton. Next month.” His eyebrows arched and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he looked at the pictures.

“And Barbara Ann Scott will be at the opening ceremonies,” Phyllis said.

“I’m surprised at you, Pete.” I tapped my forefinger on his breastbone in mock outrage. “I thought you’d outgrown your adolescent obsession with ogling women in their bathing suits.”

His mouth gaped open and he rubbed his chest where I’d been poking him, his eyebrows reaching his hairline. “Cripes, it ain’t that. These are swell lookin’ dames, I’ll grant ya.” He spoke too fast, spittle spraying toward me, and I took a step back. “But ya see, one of the contestants, Miss Central Ontario,” his arms were waving now, “is a local girl, a coed at McMaster. So the honour of the city’s at stake.”

Phyllis’ eyes moved from Pete to me and back again. I gave him my medium-hard stare, but he didn’t crack. Then we both broke into laughter and began pushing at each other like kids in a schoolyard argument.

Phyllis rolled her eyes as if to say, “Men.”

A moment later Pete was on his way, still chuckling, his mailbag slapping against the door jamb. “You’re a character, Max,” he called over his shoulder. “See ya tamorra, Phyllis.”

Phyllis folded the newspaper while she told me Isabel was meeting with Rabbi Fackenheim and would be back after lunch. I ate a sandwich at the table in my office and studied the photo of Jake, still wondering about the building in the background. It wasn’t any of the banks in town that I’d checked on the way to Frank’s last night, so we’d have to keep looking. Iz had told me Jake held his financial accounts at the Royal Bank, so I called a friend at the main branch.

“Long time no see, Dex. You pumpin’ me for info again?” Liz Lipinski was a classmate from Central High days. Lippy was one of her nicknames, with good reason.

“C’mon, Liz, would I do that?” I had to move the receiver away to protect my eardrum from her horse laugh. “You’re right,” I continued, “I’m checking on one your customers.

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