A passing nurse’s aide told me Karen was making pastoral calls in New Manor’s skilled-nursing wing. I sat on a scarred plastic chair in her office for almost an hour; my other choice was an armchair whose springs sank almost to the floor. I wasn’t idle: I studied Pastor Karen’s books: Pastoral Theology in African-American Context, Feminist & Womanist Pastoral Theology. I read a few pages, but when Karen still hadn’t shown up I answered phone calls and did an Internet search for a different client, a high-paying law firm. I hate cruising the Net on a handheld—the screen’s too small, and it takes forever to load text—but Karen Lennon’s computer needed a password to get online.
When Karen finally returned, she was in a hurry, ready to pack up and get out of the building. She tried to give me a welcoming pastoral smile, but she clearly wasn’t ecstatic at my demands for time and information, so I said I’d follow her to the parking garage.
“Did you know that Lamont Gadsden hasn’t been seen for forty years when you asked me out here?” I asked as she locked her office door. “Was that why you were so cagey with me?”
Karen Lennon was still very young. Her soft cheeks flushed, and she bit her lips. “I was afraid you’d say no outright. It’s so long ago. My own mother was only a teenager then.”
It rattled me to realize her mother and I were almost the same age. “Why did Miss Ella wait so long to make inquiries?”
“She didn’t!” Karen stopped in the middle of the building’s lobby, her hazel eyes large and earnest. “They asked questions of Lamont’s friends at the time, they went to the police, who treated them with total racist contempt. They figured there was nothing else they could do.”
“They?” I said. “That was Miss Ella and her sister Claudia, right? I told Miss Ella I needed to see her sister and she refused. She grudged every sentence she spoke to me. What is she trying to hide?”
“Oh, Vic, I don’t know why Miss Ella didn’t tell you, but Miss Claudia had a stroke right at Easter. It’s hard for her to talk, and, when she does get some words out, her speech is terribly slurry. Miss Ella’s the only person who can understand her completely, although I’m getting better at it. It’s been since her stroke that Miss Claudia’s become obsessed with this search. Miss Ella tried to talk her out of it because of how long it’s been and how little hope there is of learning anything, but Miss Claudia wouldn’t rest until her sister promised to find Lamont. Try to find him, anyway. Are you going to look for him?”
I pursed my lips. “I’ll do what I can, but there aren’t many avenues to follow. And Miss Ella isn’t helping by refusing to give me any names of people who knew her son.”
“I can help with that,” Lennon said eagerly. “She isn’t very trustful with strangers. But I’ve been here fourteen months now, and she’s come to realize she can rely on me.”
“Then maybe you’re the one who should try to find Lamont,” I said nastily.
Her rosebud mouth opened in dismay, but she said quietly, “I would, if I had your skills. I told you I Googled you after we met at the hospital. Your press makes you sound more progressive than maybe you really are. It’s why I went out of my way to help your friend Elton, without any expectation of getting paid. I was sure you’d be eager to reciprocate and help someone in Miss Ella’s situation.”
“I don’t know what her situation is,” I said. “Maybe you think of her as an old woman worn out by a life of hard work and injustice, but to me she’s a woman so bitter and withholding I can’t trust anything she says. Even forty years after she last saw him, she is still so angry with her son that she practically chokes talking about him. What if she killed him all those years ago? Or what if he hasn’t been missing, and she’s ashamed of and angry at the life he’s been leading, so she’s told everyone he’s gone?”
Karen’s jaw dropped with shock. “Vic! You can’t think . . . Not Miss Ella! Why, she’s a deaconess in her church.”
“Oh, please,” I said. “The news is full of stories of pastors and priests who’ve stolen money or molested children. I’m not saying I think Miss Ella did any of those things, not even that I think she killed her son. But I am saying she’s hiding something, she’s angry, and that she doesn’t get a free ride.”
“Are you going to help her at all?”
“We agreed I’d do some preliminary work, and I’m cutting my fees for her, but I am not going to go on if she doesn’t keep up her payments.”
Pastor Karen laughed, perhaps relieved that I was going to carry some of the load. “I think she’s scrupulous about money.”
“And remember to ask her for names of Lamont’s friends. That’s going to be where I’ll have to start.”
When Karen said she’d talk to Miss Ella in the morning, I added, “It would help if I could see Miss Claudia. Do you know where she’s living?”