Love for Sale

would be eleven dollars a month. That includes meals, cleaning, and washing of linens. Mrs. Prinney would even pack you a lunch.“ It was a dollar more than twice what Phoebe paid.
    “I should tell you I’ll think it over.“ Lily could hear the smile in her voice. “I won’t, though. It’s less than I feared. Much less for what I get, even aside from the good company. I can probably even afford to buy a more reliable car. Do you have a deadline of any sort?“
    “No. That’s up to you,“ Lily said. “Don’t you still want to see it in the daylight?
    “No, I’ll trust that there’s a good view. I’ll get busy trying to rent or sell my house first thing tomorrow then.”

    The next day Chief Walker decided he needed at least one more talk with Mrs. Taylor at the Institute. He wanted to pry more out of her about this son of Pottinger’s. He was barely out of Voorburg when he met with a roadblock. A truck full of hay had taken a corner too fast going north and shifted the load all over the road.
    He took a detour onto a side road and noticed in passing that a big farmhouse that had been abandoned when the family took off for California had smoke coming out the chimney.
    Someday when he had more free time, he’d check whether the family had come back or squatters had appropriated it. If it were squatters who were taking good care of it, they’d have to be informed they’d have to leave if the owners came back. If they were simply trashing it, he’d have to get them out.
    He only had to drive two miles out of his way, so it was still early when he arrived at the Institute. He’d called ahead so that he’d be let in.
    Mrs. Taylor greeted him and said, “Come in out of the cold. I have a fire going and strong coffee.“ As she led the way to her office, she said, “I’ve thought and thought about Pottinger’s son. I think I already told you all I know about him, which isn’t much.“
    “Do you know how long it had been since Pottinger had last seen his son?“
    “Ages, I suppose.“ She thought for a moment. “I seem to recall one of the son’s letters talking about his father leaving when he was only a year or two old. Of course, I gave the letters to Pottinger, so I can’t check this. I doubt that he kept them. They were very unpleasant and accusatory.”
    Walker was silent as he took a sip of the coffee she’d served. It was so strong that he could probably have stood a spoon in it.
    “I have a rather bizarre idea I want you to consider,“ he said, “and tell me if I’ve gone totally mad. You told me you thought the boy / was nineteen or twenty. How did you know that?“
    “I believe he said so in one of his letters. Probably the same one I just referenced. He said Pottinger had ignored him for eighteen years and it was too late to make up for the time and experiences lost.”
    When it came down to telling her his theory, it seemed even more harebrained to him. He’d come all this way to ask her, though, so he might as well just spit it out.
    “I presume when people apply for a job, you don’t require them to prove that they’re using their real name. Birth certificates and such?“
    “Lots of people don’t even have birth certificates, and if they weren’t christened, there’s no way to prove they are who they say. We really had no need to know if they were using their real name, as long as they did a good job. But I know what you’re thinking. The idea occurred to me as well. Had the son come here under a false name to get a job and decide whether he wanted to acknowledge Pottinger as his father? And if he disapproved of him, or actively hated him, he might have killed him, hoping he could claim his fortune. Isn’t that what you’re getting at?“
    “Exactly. Of course, he’d have to change his appearance. Grow a mustache, dye his hair or something to keep from being recognized as a former employee.“
    “I think you said it was a bizarre idea. I thought so, too. But the more I think about it, the more likely it becomes. The problem, of course, is proving it. We hired a great many young men out of work over the years. Some didn’t work out for long because they were incompetent to do their job. I don’t recall that any of them even faintly resembled Pottinger. Of course, he could have taken after the looks of his mother’s family. Going back to the problem of proof, how could you go about it?“
    “Find out where in Nebraska they were, contact anyone there who