“I did, though he seemed so self-conscious about it I tried not to look. What did you make of it?”

“I suspect he’d been in prison.”

“I wondered about that myself. I will say in the time he lived here, his behavior was exemplary. As far as I was concerned, as long as he kept his room neat and paid his rent on time, I saw no reason to pry. Most people have secrets.”

“So if you knew he’d been convicted of a crime, it wouldn’t have precluded your taking him as a tenant.”

“That’s what I said.”

“You know what kind of work he did?”

She thought about that briefly and then shook her head. “Nothing that required a degree. He said more than once how much he regretted not finishing high school. Wednesday nights, when he came in late, I thought he was attending night school. ‘Adult education,’ I believe they call it these days.”

“When he first showed up looking for a room, did he fill out an application?”

“He did, but after three years, I destroy them. I have enough paper cluttering my life. Truth is, I’m mighty careful about my tenants. If I’d thought he was a man of low character, I’d have turned him down, whether he’d been in prison or no. As I recall, he listed no personal references, which struck me as odd. On the other hand, he was clean and well spoken, clearly intelligent. He was also gentle by nature, and I never heard him swear.”

“I guess if he had something to hide, he’d be too smart to put it on an application.”

“That’d be my guess as well.”

“I understand he was chummy with a guy on the second floor. You mind if I talk to him?”

“Talk to anyone you like. If Mr. Downs had been honorable about giving notice, I’d have kept my observations to myself.” She paused to look at her watch. “Now unless you need something more, I’d best get on with my day.”

“What’s the name of the gentleman in room number five?”

“Mr. Waibel. Vernon.”

“Is he in?”

“Oh, yes. He lives on his disability checks and seldom goes out.”

26

Vernon Waibel was a bit more friendly than Melvin’s third-floor neighbor, who’d shut the door in my face. Like Downs, Waibel was in his fifties. He had dark brows and dark eyes. His gray hair was thinning and shaved close, as though to anticipate the baldness to come. Like someone facing chemotherapy, he preferred taking charge of the hair loss himself. His skin was tawny, his neck creased from exposure to the sun. He wore a multicolored cotton sweater in earth tones, chinos, and moccasins without socks. Even the tops of his feet were brown. I wondered how he managed to tan if he seldom went out. I saw no evidence of disability, but that wasn’t my concern.

I went through the usual, hi-how-are-you stuff. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Depends on what you want.”

“I understand Mr. Downs moved out. You have any idea where he went?”

“You a cop?”

“Private detective. He was supposed to be deposed as a witness to an automobile accident and I need to track him down. He’s not guilty of wrongdoing. We just need his help.”

“I got a little time to talk if you want to come in.”

I thought about Juanita Von’s rule about no women visitors in a tenant’s room with the door shut. She and I were such good friends by now I thought I’d risk her disapproval. “Sure.”

He stepped back and I passed in front of him. His room was not as large as Downs’s, but it was cleaner and it had a lived-in feel to it. The furnishings had been augmented with personal items: two plants, a sofa with throw pillows, and a quilt folded over the iron bedstead. He gestured toward the only upholstered chair in the room. “Take a seat.”

I sat down and he settled on a plain wooden chair nearby. “You the one put that flyer out about him?”

“You saw that?”

“Yes, ma’am. I did and so did he. Made him nervous, I’ll tell you that.”

“Is that why he left?”

“He was here and now he’s not. Draw your own conclusions.”

“I’d hate to think I was the one who scared him away.”

“I can’t speak to that, but if you’re here to ask questions, you might as well get to ’em.”

“How well did you know him?”

“Not well. We watched television together, but he never said much. Nothing personal, at any rate. We’re both fans of that channel that runs the old movie classics. Lassie, Old Yeller, The Yearling-things like that. Stories that broke your heart. That’s about all we had in common, but it was enough.”