“Afternoon, Frank,” he said. “I’m looking for a Bobby Doherty; played football back in ’52—”
“Who is this?” Frank cut in. “And why are you looking for Bobby?”
The questions coming at him like that shook Earl, but he tried to keep his voice level. “Me and Bobby played football together. I’m in town so I thought I’d look him up, maybe have a few beers, talk about old times.”
“Played football where?”
Earl was starting to sweat again. “High school.”
“High school, huh? What team?”
Earl hesitated. He’d seen the name of the team in the yearbook, but it was no longer there in his mind. He closed his eyes trying to picture the red and black lettering on the team shirts, and that’s when Frank spoke again.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” he said. This time his voice was a lot sharper and weighted with the sound of suspicion. “I was the team workout coordinator; seems you’d remember that.”
Frank hadn’t said if you were actually on the team but Earl sensed the thought was there, hanging onto the end of his statement. Realizing the conversation was headed south, he tried to backpedal.
“I broke my leg early on, dropped out, but me and Bobby stayed close. I figured—”
“What’d you say your name was?”
Pinned to the wall as he was, Earl said the only thing that came to mind. “You might not remember me. I’m Suzanna Duff’s brother.”
“We didn’t have a Duff on the team. Ever. What’s going on here?”
“Nothing. You’ve got it all wrong—”
“No, pal, you’ve the one who’s got it wrong. I’m gonna hang up, but if I hear from you again or get word of you bothering any of the players on that team, the cops are gonna get involved.”
A click sounded, and the line went dead. Earl knew he’d blown it. He shouldn’t have called and left himself wide open to questions. He should have driven by the house, looked around. Suzanna had Annie with her. If she was there, he’d see kid toys on the porch or in the yard. Driving by first to get the lay of land, that would have been smarter; much smarter.
He’d thought knowing Bobby’s name would be enough to find him, but it wasn’t. He’d need more information; the name of the team, the coaches, other players. He wasn’t prepared this time, but next time he would be.
Earl returned to the library three afternoons in a row. He gave a polite nod to the librarian, asked to see the yearbooks for ’50, ’51, and ’52, then sat in the research area going through them page by page. He read the team stats, studied the names of the players, and made a lengthy list of Bobby Doherty’s classmates. When his brain grew weary, he turned to the picture of Suzanna and sat touching his finger to her face. He thought back on how happy he’d been when she was with him and silently swore that once she came back he’d never give her cause to leave again.
By the time Earl was ready to resume his search for Bobby, he’d made up his mind to go at it a different way. No more rushing into things. He’d take it slow, scope out the houses, watch who was coming and going, then make his move. Suzanna had already been gone five months, so what difference did another week or two make? In the end he’d have her back, and wasn’t that what mattered?
Determined to avoid another go-around like he’d had with Frank Doherty, he mapped out a story that would melt the heart of almost anyone then worked on fine tuning it until it was smooth as silk. Once he found a person who might know something, he wouldn’t try to pass himself off as a classmate. Instead he’d say his kid brother was on the debate team with Bobby. People were less likely to remember who was or wasn’t a debater; those poor schnooks didn’t get the glory of the football players. If asked, he’d say his brother was killed in an automobile accident and claim he was trying to put together a memorial. To make the tragedy seem real, he’d look away, as if holding back tears. An act like that was a sure-fire winner, and people were far less likely to press a grieving brother.
Satisfied with his plan, Earl began staking out the houses of the five Dohertys living in Sun Grove. He drove by each house six or seven times a day: early in the morning, late at night, and evenings when he could find time to slip away from his job at the bowling alley. Twilight was a good time to see without being seen. Often he’d park a few houses down and wait, hoping to catch a glimpse of Bobby, but it never happened.
After three weeks of surveillance, he had nothing and was growing more discouraged by the day. The long hours of being squashed down behind the steering wheel made his eyes weary and his legs cramped, and he began to wonder if finding Suzanna was really worth the trouble. He was reluctant to speak to Frank Doherty again and was ready to consider giving up the search when it dawned on him that Frank wasn’t the only Doherty around and there was no reason why he couldn’t talk to the others. He had a good story now, solid as a rock. This time it would be different.
The bowling alley was closed on Tuesday, so that morning he showered, dressed in tan slacks and the white shirt Suzanna claimed looked good, then drove over to Pauline Doherty’s place. It was a squat little pink house surrounded by overgrown bushes and set back from the street. Judging by what he’d gleaned in his surveillance, the silver-haired woman lived alone, which, as far as he was concerned, was better. The last thing he wanted was another encounter such
