His answer was a typical grunt. “Good.”
“What did Claudia say about all your manscaping? And the new wardrobe? Did she approve?”
He shrugged. “She didn’t have any complaints.”
And that, she knew, was about as much as she would get from her uncommunicative big brother.
* * *
Claudia’s apartment was in the same building as the restaurant, two floors up.
Her nest was small but undeniably feminine with pale Tiffany-blue walls, a rose velvet sofa, and floral chintz curtains at the windows overlooking the park. Bookshelves stuffed with romance novels, historical fiction, and cookbooks flanked the windows, and silver-framed family photos covered every flat surface. Murphy’s head almost brushed the low ceiling, and he looked distinctly out of place as he ushered Queenie inside.
“Sorry, but we couldn’t leave her in the trailer,” he said, gesturing at the setter.
“It’s okay. I locked the cat in my bedroom,” Claudia said, waving them into the tiny kitchen, where they were greeted with the scent of bacon and frying onions. She was dressed in a blue velour tracksuit, and as always, her hair and makeup were freshly done. She’d set plates at a table in an alcove with bay windows. She glanced over at Kerry. “Wanna invite Patrick to join us? There’s more than enough.”
Kerry hesitated. “I guess I could ask.”
She retreated to the living room and stared at her phone for a moment. She wanted to see him again, desperately, but hated the way she’d run out on him the night before. She was a loser, a chicken-shit, a coward, and worse. It would serve her right if he ghosted her the way she’d ghosted him.
He answered on the first ring. “Kerry? Where are you? I’m looking down at the tree stand from my window, but it doesn’t look like anybody’s around.”
Kerry told him about the slashed tires and the bad roads and the resulting change of plans. “Claudia wants to know if you’d like to join us for breakfast at her place. And Austin too, of course.”
There was a long pause at the other end of the line. “Is that what you want? After last night, I got the impression that you’d just as soon make a clean break and blow town.”
She winced. “Guess I deserve that. Yes, I’d love it if you and Austin could come over for breakfast, and no, I don’t want a clean break. I can’t tell you what I do want. Because I’m that screwed up.”
* * *
The five of them sat elbow-to-elbow around the breakfast table, passing platters of omelets, home fries, bacon, and slices of thick-sliced grilled country bread. The grown-ups had Bloody Marys, and Austin had coffee with milk.
“Miss Claudia,” Austin said, heaping strawberry jam onto his toast, “can I come to your house for breakfast every day?”
Claudia winked at the child. “Well, honey, I mostly just have coffee in the morning, but the next time I do cook breakfast, I’ll be sure and invite you over.”
“Cool.” Austin took a gulp of milk, then turned to Patrick. “Since it’s morning now, can we start putting up posters and knocking on doors? We gotta find Mr. Heinz.”
Murphy raised an eyebrow. “Posters?”
“Austin wants to have posters made of the sketch Kerry made of Heinz,” Patrick explained. “Since we don’t know where he lives, he’d also like us to do a door-to-door canvass. I’ve tried to explain why that’s not practical…”
The boy pulled a sheet of folded paper from his pocket and smoothed it out on the tabletop. Kerry stared, as she hadn’t realized he had the sketch.
“Can I borrow a pen?” he asked their hostess.
“Yes, of course.” Claudia turned to a small hutch behind her, opened a drawer, and brought out a pen.
Austin gave her a nod of thanks, then looked at Kerry. “How do you spell Heinz?”
“H-E-I-N-Z,” Kerry said. The child laboriously penned the name in large block letters.
“I forget what you said his last name is,” Austin said.
“I’m not really sure of the spelling, but I think it’s S-C-H-O-E-N-B-A-U-M,” Kerry said.
“Schoenbaum?” Claudia said, tilting her head. “How did you figure that out?”
“The short version is, his optometrist recognized him from my description, and he told me Heinz’s last name,” Kerry answered.
Claudia stood up abruptly and left the room. When she came back, she had a file folder in hand. She extracted a piece of paper and handed it to Kerry. “This is our lease for the restaurant. And this apartment.”
Kerry skimmed the document and looked up. “Schoenbaum Holdings. You think Heinz maybe owns this building?”
She shrugged. “It’s not a common name. My granddad signed the original lease. I’ve never known who Schoenbaum is. If we have issues, we deal with Rex, the building manager, or Carlos, the superintendent.”
“Does the lease have a mailing address?” Patrick asked, peering over Kerry’s shoulder.
She shook her head. “Just a post office box. The optometrist did tell me the address he had for Heinz is a PO box.”
Austin looked from his father to Kerry to Claudia. “Does this mean you know where Mr. Heinz lives?”
“Not necessarily,” Patrick said.
Kerry was still looking at the lease. “Claudia, do you think the building manager could tell us where Schoenbaum Holdings is located?”
Claudia snorted. “Rex won’t give us the time of day. He’s a paper shuffler. But Carlos might know something.”
“Can you ask him if he knows Mr. Heinz?” Austin asked. “Please?”
“Carlos isn’t big on chitchat, but I’ll call down and see if he’ll come check on my kitchen sink, which is draining really slow,” Claudia said. “And I’ll bribe him with food. His wife doesn’t really cook.”
* * *
The building superintendent wore zip-front coveralls and a wary expression. Claudia showed him the sink, he poured drain cleaner in, and the problem was fixed. “Anything else?”
“Let me fix you a plate of food, since you’re here,” Claudia said, heaping eggs and bacon and toast onto a plate. “Coffee?”
Carlos looked at the group seated around the table. “I’m supposed to be on the clock.”
“Understood,” Claudia said, pouring him a mug and handing it to him. She pointed to her vacant chair. “Here, take a seat while you eat.”
“Just for a minute,” he said. He sat down, grabbed a shaker, and liberally coated the food with pepper before starting to enthusiastically shovel it into his face.
“Say, Carlos,” Claudia said with a deliberately casual tone. “Do you know anyone from Schoenbaum Holdings?”
“The company that signs my paychecks? No. I just know they clear every week.”
“Do you know if the owner’s name is Heinz?”
Carlos speared a piece of bacon and chewed. “Like the ketchup?”
“Like this guy,” Austin said, waving Kerry’s drawing at the superintendent. “Mr. Heinz.”
“Him?” Carlos took the sketch and studied it. “Yeah, sure, him I know.”
“How do you know him?” Kerry asked eagerly.