"I took down some names. They might help."
I thanked him for his help. He was bent over his papers again before
I got to the door. Odd little guy, with his own strange brand of
dedication and concern. Pompous little man, but with an under-current
of kindness.
I got to the Hillston Inn at a little after five. I got some dimes from
the cashier and went over to where four phone booths stood flanked
against the lobby wall. I looked up the last name of the fat girl,
Cindy Waskowitz. There were two Waskowitzes in the book. John W. and P.
C. I tried John first. A woman with a nasal voice answered the phone.
"I'm trying to locate a girl named Cindy Waskowitz who graduated from
Hillston High in nineteen forty-seven. Is this her home?"
"Hold it a minute," the woman said. I could hear her talking to someone
else in the room. I couldn't make out what she was saying. She came
back on the line. "You want to know about Cindy."
"That's right. Please."
"This wasn't her home. But I can tell you about her. I'm her aunt. You
want to know about her?"
"Please."
"It was the glands. I couldn't remember the word. My daughter just
told me. The glands. When she got out from high school she weighed
two hundred. From there she went up like balloons. Two hundred, two
fifty, three hundred. When she died in the hospital she was nearly four
hundred. She'd been over four hundred once, just before she went in the
hospital. Glands, it was."
I remembered the rebellious eyes. Girl trapped inside the prison of
white, soft flesh. A dancing girl, a lithe, quick-moving girl forever
lost inside that slow inevitable encroachment. Stilled finally, and
buried inside her suet prison.
"Is your daughter about the same age Cindy would have been?"
"A year older. She's married and three kids already." The woman
chuckled warmly.
"Could I talk to your daughter?"
"Sure. Just a minute."
The daughter's voice was colder, edged with thin suspicion. "What goes
on anyhow? Why do you want to know about Cindy?"
"I was wondering if she was ever friendly in high school with a boy
named Timmy Warden."
"Timmy is dead. It was in the papers."
"I know that. Were they friendly?"
"Timmy and Cindy? Geez, that's a tasty combination. He would have known
who she was on account of her being such a tub. But I don't think he
ever spoke to her. Why should he? He had all the glamour items hanging
around his neck. Why are you asking all this?"
"I was in the camp with him. Before he died he gave me a message to
deliver to a girl named Cindy. I wondered if Cindy was the one."
"Not a chance. Sorry. You just got the wrong one."
"Was there another Cindy in the class?"
"In one of the lower classes. A funny-looking one. That's the only
one I can remember. All teeth. Glasses. A sandy sort of girl. I can't
remember her last name, though."
"Cindy Kirschner?"
"That's the name. Gosh, I don't know where you'd find her. I think I
saw her downtown once a year ago. Maybe it's in the book. But I don't
think she'd fit any better than my cousin. I mean Timmy Warden ran
around with his own group, kind of. Big shots in the school. That
Kirschner wasn't in that class, any more than my cousin. Or me."
The bitterness was implicit in her tone. I thanked her again. She hung
up.
I tried Kirschner. There was only one in the book. Ralph J. A woman
answered the phone.
"I'm trying to locate a Cindy Kirschner who graduated from Hillston
High in nineteen forty-eight."
"That's my daughter. Who is this calling, please?"
"Could you tell me how I could locate her?"
"She married, but she doesn't have a phone. They have to use the one
at the corner store. She doesn't like to have people call her there
because it's a nuisance to the people at the store. And she has small
children she doesn't like to leave to go down there and answer the
phone. If you want to see her, you could go out there. It's sixteen
ten Blackman Street. It's near the corner of Butternut. A little blue
house. Her name is Mrs. Rorick now. Mrs. Pat Rorick. What did you say
your name is?"
I repeated the directions and said, "Thanks very much, Mrs. Kirschner.
I appreciate your help. Good-by."
I hung up. I was tempted to try Cynthia Cooper, but decided I had
better take one at a time, eliminate one before starting the next. I
stepped out of the booth. Earl Fitzmartin stepped out of the adjoining
booth. He smiled at me almost genially.
"So it's got something to do with somebody named Cindy."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"'I was in camp with Timmy. Before he died he gave me a message to
deliver to a girl named Cindy.' So you try two Cindy's in a row. And
you know when they graduated. Busy, aren't you?"
"Go to hell, Fitz."
He stood with his big hard fists on his hips, rocking back and forth
from heel to toe, smiling placidly at me. "You're busy, Tal. Nice
little lunch with Ruth. Trip to the high school. Tracking down Cindy.
Does she know where the loot is?"
He was wearing a dark suit, well cut. It looked expensive. His shoes
were shined, his shirt crisp. I wished I'd been more alert. It's no
great trick to stand in one phone booth and listen to the conversation
in the adjoining one. I hadn't even thought of secrecy, of making
certain I couldn't be overheard. Now he had almost as much as I did.
"How did you get along with George, Howard?"
"I got along fine."
"Strange guy, isn't he?"
"He's a little odd."
"And he's damn near broke. That's a shame, isn't it?"
"It's too bad."
"The Stamm girl comes around and holds his hand. Maybe it makes him
feel better. Poor guy. You know he even had to sell the cabin. Did
Timmy ever talk about the cabin?"
He had talked about it when we were first imprisoned. I'd forgotten
about it until that moment. I remembered Timmy saying that it was on a
small lake, a rustic cabin their father had built. He and George had
gone there to fish, many times.
"He mentioned it," I said.
"I heard about it after I got here. It seemed like a good place. So I
went up there with my little shovel. No dice, Tal. I dug up most of the
lake shore. I dug a hundred holes. See how nice I am to you? That's one
more place where it isn't. Later on George let me use it for a while
before he sold it. It's nice up there. You'd like it. But it's clean."
"Thanks for the information."
"I'm keeping an eye on you, Tal. I'm interested in your progress. I'll
keep in touch."
"You do that."
"Blackman runs east off Delaware. It starts three blocks north of here.
Butternut must be about fourteen blocks over. It's not hard to find."
"Thanks."
I turned on my heel and left him. It was dusk when I headed out
Blackman. I found Butternut without difficulty. I found the blue house
and parked in front.
As I went up the walk toward the front door the first light went on
inside the house. I pushed the bell and she opened the door and looked
out at me, the light behind her, child in her arms.
"Mrs. Rorick?"
"I'm Mrs. Rorick," she said. Her voice was soft and warm and pleasant.
"You were Cindy Kirschner then. I was a friend of Timmy Warden in
prison camp."