Mr. X

green silk blouse and fawn trousers, and her perfection transformed the sunlit street and the curving row of pillars into a backdrop. For a fraction of a second, the scene before me seemed as fro/en in time as an advertisement ina magazine. Laurie broke into an incandescent smile, and I was no longer ina movie.

 • 44

 • “I'm glad you're early,' she said. 'Stewart did his usual number and screwed up my plans. He has to bring Cobbie back aroundthree o'clock. What's in that package? Did you rob the bank?'

    I told her about the key in the envelope and the safety-deposit box.

    “It's like a Russian doll. Inside the box is an envelope. Inside the envelope is a key that opens a box with another box inside it, and inside that box there's a package wrapped in brown paper. Maybe it's stuffed with hundred-dollar bills.' She took it from me and weighed it in her hands. 'However, it feels more like a photo album.'

    “If it turns out to be a fortune in hundred-dollar bills, I'll split it with you.'

    “I'd settle for a good lunch. Let's put your fortune in my car. I'm parked right across the street.'

    She slid the package under the Mountaineer's back seat. 'Nice car,' I said. 'You ought to be ferrying lion hunters across the veldt.'

    'Myfather did things like that, but I don't. Stewart thought this was the proper vehicle for a suburban mother, so this is what I have.' Laurie linked her arm through mine. 'Let's see Hugh. He'll be thrilled.'

    'So who is this Hugh Coventry character?'

    'Well, hmmm. Let me give you his short-form bio.' She cocked her head. 'Hugh Coventry broke from his ancestralNew England after getting his history degree from Yale by entering graduate school at Northwestern. When he discovered that a lot of history Ph.D.s were driving cabs, he transferred into library science.'

    She waited for the straight line. 'Weird move,' I said.

    'You think?' We glided on ahead. 'Hugh is in love with libraries. His M.A. thesis came out of a summer spent rollicking amongst the parish records of his family's church inMarblehead,Massachusetts.

    He's a computer genius, he likes to work nights and weekends, and he never gets mad at anyone. Ever since he look over, the Edgerton library ticks like a Swiss clock. Hugh Coventry is practically a saint!'

    One day, Coventry had wandered out of the library, down Grove Street to City Hall, and into the Records Office to inquire about volunteering. The Records Office spread wide its official arms and said, Come right in, Mr. Coventry. Within a year, the managers of every department in the building were seeking Hugh Coventry's assistance. In his second year as a volunteer, consultations with the mayor's staff had resulted in instant access on the part of His Honor to block-by-block voting records, numbers of arrests and convictions on specific charges, welfare statistics, and other matters essential to governance. Thereafter, Coventry had been given the run of the building.

    Two years before, when Edgerton's upcoming 150th birthday had presented itself as an occasion for celebration, the new co-chairmen of the Sesquicentennial Committee, Stewart Hatch and Grenville Milton, asked for Coventry's aid in assembling a visual record of the city's past. The job spoke to his interest in local history, it called upon his organizational talents, it gave him yet another means of embedding himself within his adopted city. Laurie had met him when Rachel Milton had installed her on the committee, to which Rachel gave three afternoons a week. The arrangement had endured until Laurie's defection from her marriage.

    “I couldn't have stayed anyhow, with Rachel scorching me with crucifixes and pelting me with garlic cloves whenever I walked in. Have you seen Town Square yet? It's kind of nice, I think.'

    Arm in arm, we crossed the street alongside Police Headquarters. The square and the fountain lay to our left. A bum with long red-gold hair lay wrapped in a ragged overcoat next to a guitar case on one of the benches. Half a dozen cops stood smoking and talking on the sidewalk. “I saw it this morning,' I said. 'While I was coming down those steps.'

    The cops stopped talking and stared at us in that way only cops can stare.

    'You were in the police station?' Laurie asked. 'Why?'

    My description of having been arrested for murder made it sound like a grade-school excursion with Officer Friendly. Laurie said, 'How long were you there?'

    'A couple of hours.'

    When we had come within a few yards of the policemen, Laurie took in their stony expressions. She glared back, and the cops shuffled apart and looked away. After we bad covered another six feet of pavement, she muttered, 'Assholes.'

    'They don't like seeing someone like you with someone like me.'

    'Screw 'em. They don't even know you.' She shook her head. 'So the whole thing wasa case of mistaken identity?'

    'Exactly.'

    'Do those other guys know that, or do they still want to find you?'

    I said I would have no trouble avoiding Staggers and his friends, told her about moving from Nettie's, and gave her my new address.

    'Your life is shot full of adventure,' she said, dropped my arm, and glided up the stairs like a ballerina.

    We went through the columns. Laurie pulled open an immense, iron-clad glass door and led me into a dim lobby with a marble floor the size of a skating rink. An empty reception desk stood half of the way toward the center of the lobby. No lights burned behind the pebbled-glass windows labeledcounty clerk andbuilding inspector. At the lobby's far end, two marble staircases curved upward. “I'm surprised the doors weren't locked,' I said.

    'On Saturdays, they leave the place open for a skeleton staff. The question is, Where do we find the helpful Mr. Coventry? Let's go upstairs.'

    My footsteps ticked as though I were wearing tap shoes. A sudden sense-memory of running through Hatchtown's narrow lanes returned the phantom smell of lavender. We came to the end of a corridor on the second floor, and a single office door glowed yellow.

    'Bingo!' Laurie said.

    The light snapped off. The door bumped open. A tall, fair-haired man in a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves backed into the corridor holding an armful of manila folders.

    'Work, work, work,' Laurie said.

    He jumped, clamped one arm over the tilting pile, and gaped at Laurie. What happened to his face was almost embarrassing. He seemed about to levitate from sheer joy. 'What are youdoing here?'

    “I was hoping you could help my friend dig up some information about his father. He'd like to see his mother's marriage license and his birth certificate, things like that. Ned, this is the legendary Hugh Coventry. Hugh, my friend Ned Dunstan.'

    Coventrywas glowing like a fireplace. 'Let me, uh . . .' He deposited the stack of folders on the door and stepped forward to shake my hand. 'Hugh Coventry. At your service. Sir.'

    I said, “I hope we're not interrupting you.'

    He waved at the folders. 'That stuff isn't important. You're a friend of Laurie's?'

    'Mrs. Hatch and I met a few days ago. She's being nice to me.'

    'Your name is Dunstan? You're one of the Edgerton Dunstans?'

    'Don't hold it against me,' I said.

    Coventry's eyes lit up, and he reared back in a transport of scholarly pleasure. 'Are you kidding? You're from one of the most fascinating families in this city.'

    I thought I could see the entire pattern of his life. Hugh Coventry was a decent guy who would always live alone in a couple of upstairs rooms lined floor to ceiling with books. His emotions were generous without being personal.

    'Your ancestors, two brothers named Omar and Sylvan Dunstan, founded the Edgerton Bank and Trust, now the Illinois State Provident. At one time, they owned most of downtown Edgerton. Howard Dunstan built