Love for Sale

remembers Pottinger, and ask if they remember what the boy looked like when he grew older. For all we know, when his mother died, some other family took him in. They might have a picture of him.“
    “How would you figure out what town it was to start a search?“
    “Nobby Hazard might know, if they hooked up there. If not, I suppose someone could make a search of census reports of each county. It would be a huge job, but made slightly easier by the unusual name Pottinger.“
    “And who would do that research?“
    “My budget doesn’t allow it. But yours might.“
    “May I remind you that Jackson Kinsey is the executor and it’s in his own best interest to drag this out as long as he can?“ Mrs. Taylor said with a grim smile. “I wonder if the State of New York might step in?”
    “It might. But that would take just as long Imagine the years of red tape to get such a thin approved.“
    “You’re thinking of giving up this idea?“
    “I probably won’t. A thief of police in a tows where a brutal murder of a public figure has taken place can hardly just say he gives up. Muck as I’d like to. To be perfectly frank, I don’t care who did it as much as I care for my own good reputation.“
    “I understand that. My only suggestion is that you contact the people who took away all the paperwork the day his body was found, and ask them to try to find out if, by any chance, Pottinger had kept the letters. There’s where I think I’d start. Or you could spend the time yourself going through the boxes.“
    “I can’t stay in Albany that long. I’m in charge of the welfare of the people of Voorburg. As you say, Pottinger had no reason to save unpleasant letters. Most people wouldn’t. But I appreciate you not throwing me out on my ear. I’ll give it more thought.”

Chapter 25

    When Howard returned to Voorburg, the main road was still closed. So he took a few minutes to look over the vacant house he’d seen on the way up to the Institute. There was no longer smoke coming from the chimney. He found a back door that wasn’t locked. The house looked like he hoped it would—nothing had been harmed. He walked through the rooms and found that no one was there.
    Since he didn’t have a search warrant, he didn’t feel he should look into cabinets or closets. He’d have to drop by again when someone was there to warn them that the y ’d have to vacate if the owners returned.
    He doubted they would. The owners of the house and small, narrow farm behind it were Yoast Gerrit, of long Dutch descent, and his pretty wife, Hildy. Howard had been called out to the house a year ago when Yoast had some of his farming tools stolen.
    “I not only have no sons to help me, but now I don’t even have my tools,“ he’d said.
    That was probably what had caused them to move to California. Yoast often said to friends that Hildy was pretty enough to be in the moving pictures. Too bad they weren’t still here to take a couple of the orphaned boys from the Institute to raise as their own and have the help they needed on the farm.

    Mr. Prinney’s secretary put his afternoon mail on his desk. He glanced through it and came to a return address reading “The Six Companies, Boulder City, Arizona.”
    He opened it carefully with a very sharp paper knife his wife had given him last Christmas.

    Dear Mr. Elgin Prinney, Esq.
    This is to notify you that I have identified the person you wrote to me about. The man referred to in the previous telegram as Rick Taughton was, in fact, Richard Towerton. Several of the men in the dormitory recognized him from the wedding photograph you enclosed. A new Death Certificate will be issued in the correct name and sent to his widow. I’m also enclosing a detailed account of where he’s buried should Mrs. Towerton wish to place a headstone. We extend our sympathy to her.
    I’m sending a copy of this letter to Mrs.Towerton as well as the picture you sent and burial plot information (Grave 6, lot 1, Boulder City Cemetery).

    Best regards, John Roberts
    Superintendent of Housing for the Six Companies
    cc: Mrs. Richard Towerton

    Mr. Prinney folded it back into the envelope and told his secretary that he had an errand to run and would be back shortly. He drove out to Mary’s house, thinking to himself that he was glad he hadn’t actively encouraged her to think it was a mistake. After all, the telegram she received was properly addressed to her home in spite of having the wrong name. Poor