Characters in Holly

That was before Alfie had his heart attack.” “Do you have a picture of Cary?” “Come out to the Bowlaroo with me.” The Bowlaroo turns out to be a restaurant where a tired-looking woman (masked, Holly’s glad to see) is serving burgers and beer to a couple of bowlers.

He straightens up and idly thumbs the thick folder of writing samples. This spring semester’s writer-in-residence at Bell’s greatly respected (almost legendary) fiction workshop will be a woman named Althea Gibson, author of two novels that reviewed well and sold poorly.

Summer job. You want to talk to Althea Haverty. Owns the place. She’s in the office.” He points. Holly walks to the office as more pins explode and a woman gives an exultant whoop. She knocks. Someone inside says “Yow,” which Holly takes as an invitation and opens the door.

… and the pretty lady next to her is Andrea Stark. They work for me. Rhoda’s my notary. Have you been inside yet?” “No. I was waiting for you.” Did not want to face Pinocchio and the Pillsbury Doughboy alone, she thinks. It’s a joke, but like many jokes it’s also …

This is Andy Vickers. “His mother’s a—” He tips an invisible bottle to his mouth and makes a glug-glug sound. “Got arrested for drunk driving once.” The boy with the acne shakes his head. He’s Ronnie Swidrowski. He looks solemn. “He didn’t run away and he didn’t go to Florida.

This baldy with the big shoulders is Avram Welch. He’s in one of those Lakeside condos. Wife died some years back, if you’re wondering. Still bowls.” He moves to another baldy. “Jim Hicks. We called him Hot Licks! Ha! He and his wife moved to Racine. How’m I doing?” “Terrific!”

“Ben Richardson is dead, heart attack two years ago.” “Was he married? Wife still in town?” He gives her an odd look. “Ben was divorced when he started rolling with us. Long divorced. Ms. Gibney, do you think one of our guys had anything to do with Cary’s disappearance?”

He’s in Lost Wages. At least as far as I know. Billy and Hinata went on to LA, but Tom stayed. Which doesn’t surprise me.” Holly frowns. “Lost wages?” “Slang, my sister. For Las Vegas. A town made for such as Monsewer Higgins.” “When did he go there?” “June.

… thinks) is HAVE YOU SEEN MY DAUGHTER and BONNIE RAE DAHL and CALL 216-555-0019. Holly parks her Prius next to it, which isn’t a problem. There’s no shortage of spaces in the lot; it used to be packed by nine, with the SORRY FULL sign out front, but that was …

“I just don’t know what I’m going to do without him,” said Brittany Angleton, who has just sold her first fantasy novel (werewolves!) to Crofter’s Press. She added that he had promised to line-edit her work in progress. Jeremy Brock said, “He was the best writing teacher I ever had.”

… September 10, 2015 Cary Dressler is young, unattached, not bad-looking, cheerful, rarely prone to worrying about the future. He’s currently sitting on a rocky outcrop covered with initials, high on good grass and sipping a P-Co’ while he watches Raiders of the Lost Ark. On a weekend, …

The woman customer—Cora by name—is now waiting to pay for an Iron City sixer and a loaf of Wonder Bread. “Nope,” Herrera says, but he’s not looking at Holly anymore, who isn’t a customer. Cora is.

… company: Herbert Beale and another FBI man named Curtis Rogan. Rogan, a profiler who specializes in serial killers, flew in with the FBI team. Izzy asks Holly if she’s seen that day’s paper. Holly read the headline on her iPad—WERE THEY CANNIBALS?—and that’s enough for her. “I guess the DA …

Thinking, I also hated that crazy piece of poop. “So stipulated,” DA Tantleff says. “Do you have the other earring?” Izzy asks. “I do. In the top drawer of my desk at the office.

It’s Dana Aaronson with the forensics team. I asked him to call if they found anything particularly... Hello? Dana? What have you got?” She listens, looking vaguely sick.

Holly is struck by this, wondering if that was what Charlotte was to her: a stone in her shoe. She thinks of Daniel Hailey, a thief who never was, and decides it was quite a bit more. “Ms. Gibney? Holly? Are you still there, or are you gathering wool?”

… another one when Elaine from next door and Danielle from across the street come over to tell her how sorry they are for her loss. They both attended the funeral. Neither are wearing masks, and they exchange an amused look (an oh, Holly look for sure) when Holly quickly pulls …

… sees the nametag pinned to his shirt says DARREN. “Want shoes? What size?” “No thank you. My name is Holly Gibney. I’m a private investigator—” His eyes widen. “Shut up!” Holly takes this as an expression of surprised respect rather than an actual command and pushes on. “I’m looking for …

“Hello, Ms. Gibney, this is David Emerson. Call me back as soon as convenient, please. It concerns your mother’s estate.” After a pause he adds, “So sorry for your loss, and thank you for your remarks at her final gathering.”

The conclusion, however, was the same. The investigating detective, David Porter, believed (or said he believed) that Peter had run away. Part of Detective Porter’s reasoning was based on his interview with Katya Graves, one of two guidance and health counselors at Breck Elementary School.

“Desmond Clark isn’t in the picture—guess he wasn’t there when it was taken. Des and his wife are dead, too. They were in a light plane crash down in Florida. Boca Raton. Des was piloting. Damn fool tried to land in heavy fog. Missed the runway.”

… Dr. Brown—her oncologist—says it’s a cancer you die with, not the kind you die of. At her advanced age it just crawls along. Over the last two years it’s crawled a little faster.

Margaret Brenner, Edith Brookings, Lakeisha Stone, and Bonnie Dahl saw out the last few visitors by five past. Before locking they split up and took a quick sweep through the stacks for anyone who either didn’t hear the closing bell or chose to ignore it while reading one more page …

… 3 She’s thinking about lighting another one when Elaine from next door and Danielle from across the street come over to tell her how sorry they are for her loss. They both attended the funeral. Neither are wearing masks, and they exchange an amused look (an oh, Holly look for …

This girl, though, this Ellen Craslow, is different from either of them. Because she’s female? Em doesn’t believe it. She descends the stairs to the basement, carrying the tray in front of her. On it is a pound and a half of liver, uncooked and swimming in its own juices.

She has gotten one reply to her Craslow query. Elmer Craslow (Eagles fan, MAGA fan, Nyack Strong!) says he’s never heard of Ellen Craslow, of Bibb County, Georgia. Holly isn’t terribly disappointed. She has eleven more chances. In baseball it’s three strikes and you’re out.

“Emilio Herrera. He’ll be on tomorrow, three to eleven. Eleven’s when this dump closes up.” “Thank you.” Holly considers driving up to the college and asking some questions about Ellen Craslow at the Belfry and the Life Sciences building, but what would be the point?

“Ernie Coggins. Lives in Upriver with his wife. He still bowls with us on Monday nights, if her caregiver can come in. Advanced degenerative disc disease, poor woman. Wheelchair-bound. But Ernie’s in great shape. Takes care of himself.”

“Well, come on,” Evelyn Anderson says cheerfully. “I doubt if he can help you, but his mind is as clear as ever and it will do him good to see a new face.”

… doesn’t know if that was Rosalyn’s idea or if Frankie showed up on his own. For all Barbara knows, Frankie is a fan of Olivia’s work. That wouldn’t surprise her. This evening nothing would surprise her. She has never felt so simultaneously sad, …

She sighs. “Freddy Martin—his partner—was devastated. Freddy left shortly after, I think to look for Jorge. The love of his life. Came back broken-hearted and with a monkey on his back. Stayed six months and then left again. The Wicked Witch of the West said it best.

“That’s right.” Sounding relieved. After a month or so Keisha asked Freddy Warren, the Union’s head janitor, if Ellen had been switched to Life Sciences full-time. Warren said no, one day she just didn’t show up. Or the next. Or at all.

He’d like to be in Ayers Chapel, listening to one of Reverend Gallatin’s boring-ass sermons. He’d like to be in a doctor’s office, waiting for a proctological exam. He would like to be anywhere but here.

… one by one pleases him almost as much as writing the letter to Gut that will knock down Professor George Hawkins’s flimsy house of cards. He has forgotten Emily’s command to stay out of the basement. Even if he had recalled it, he would have dismissed …

The sign features a photo of a smiling moon-faced man who is identified as George Rafferty, Your City Real Estate Specialist. Holly parks in front of the roll-up doors and notes down the agent’s name and number. She keeps a box of nitrile gloves in the console.

Waiting for her are Izzy, Izzy’s partner, George Washburn, the plump-cheeked District Attorney, and a sharp-dressed man of about fifty who introduces himself as Herbert Beale of the FBI. Holly assumes he’s there because of the kidnapping aspect, even though there’s no Interstate angle.

“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. I had dreams like that after your Gramma Annie died. I was always sorry to wake up.” “Yeah. Like that.” Barbara scruffs a hand through her hair and thinks about what dream-Olivia was saying when the phone woke her.

“Sure, I remember that bike. When nobody came for it after a year—no, more like sixteen months—I gave it to my kid. Does someone want it back?” “No, nothing like that. I just—” “Good, because Greg wrecked it doing jumps in a gravel pit near here.

Hamish Anders is the head of the Life Sciences Department, and Em doubts if Roddy’s fulminations—which is what they are—will move him much. She and Roddy still take active roles in the doings of their respective colleges, but their status is largely honorary.

Hair Today is supposed to be closed because of the pandemic, but Helen makes exceptions for longtime customers who tip well through the year and remember her at Christmas. “Yes? May I help you?” “I wonder if I could talk to you. It’s about...” Barbara gulps. “It’s about writing.”

President Crumley comes and so does this year’s writer-in-residence, Henry Stratton (Emily would never say it, but thinks it’s nice to have a straight white male holding down the job again).

… sharp-dressed man of about fifty who introduces himself as Herbert Beale of the FBI. Holly assumes he’s there because of the kidnapping aspect, even though there’s no Interstate angle. Bill Hodges told her once that the Feebs always like getting involved in high-profile cases, especially when they’re winding down. Gluttons …

She watches the fireflies. She has always had a short fuse—both Herbert Dahl and Bonnie would testify to that—and by ten o’clock she’s not just simmering, she’s boiling. She calls Holly again and waits for the beep.

Billy and Hinata went on to LA, but Tom stayed. Which doesn’t surprise me.” Holly frowns. “Lost wages?” “Slang, my sister. For Las Vegas. A town made for such as Monsewer Higgins.” “When did he go there?” “June. Middle of. And left owing his share of the rent.

Which was seldom. Howard Gibney was a salesman for Ray Garton Farm Machinery, Inc., and spent his days traveling the Midwest, selling combines and harvesters and Ray Garton TruMade tractors, all in bright red, as if to make sure nobody mistook Garton farm gear for John Deere equipment.

… 2020 1 On December 4th, Bell College President Hubert Crumley announces that he is sending all students home early because of rampant Covid infections on campus. On the 7th—Pearl Harbor Day—he decrees that the spring semester will consist of remote classes only. Roddy Harris is horrified. “That’s all right for …

… are gone, but a few are left, including Hugh Clippard, once of the Sociology Department. Hugh has to be pushing eighty himself these days, he’s made a pile in the stock market, and he’s still got a wicked hook. Too bad it’s to the Brooklyn side. Emily comes out of …

… carrying pictures of Olivia at various stages of her life (the most common is the one of her and Humphrey Bogart standing in front of the Trevi Fountain). Some bring flowers. One is wearing a tee-shirt, surely specially made for the occasion, reading …

I think Ellen and Imani McGuire used to be friends. Did their laundry together, you know? Women talk plenty then. And she’ll be home. Her husband still works part-time at the city impound, but Imani’s retired from some other city job. These days she just knits and watches TV.

Jeremy Brock said, “He was the best writing teacher I ever had.” Other students talked about his kindness and sense of humor.

“It was here for a year at least, maybe longer. Jerry Holt finally took it home and gave it to his middle kid, who’d been yelling for one. But he tuned it up first, because—” “Because it was noisy. Went blak-blak-blak.” Yard laughs. “Yuh, pretty much just like that.”

… interview began—scared stiff, more like it—but the editor, Jim Haggerty, was so obviously at sea when it came to indexing that Holly was able to tell him how she’d proceed without stuttering and getting all tangled up in her own words, as she had so often in her high school …

Still bowls.” He moves to another baldy. “Jim Hicks. We called him Hot Licks! Ha! He and his wife moved to Racine. How’m I doing?” “Terrific!” Holly exclaims. It seems to be catching. Midge wanders in. “Having fun, kids?” “You betchum bobcats!”

She started keeping them in October of 2012, shortly before the murder of Jorge Luis Castro. Agent Rogan here has been studying them.” “I’ve got a long way to go,” Rogan says. “There’s over a thousand pages.” He’s a soft-spoken man with short, thinning hair and rimless spectacles. “Fascinating stuff.”

Part of Detective Porter’s reasoning was based on his interview with Katya Graves, one of two guidance and health counselors at Breck Elementary School.

… CELEBRATED NOVELIST LEAVES SUDDENLY By Kirk Ellway Award-winning scribe Jorge Castro, author of such novels as Catalepsy and The Forgotten City, has suddenly and unexpectedly decamped from his position as writer-in-residence at the world-famous Bell College fiction workshop.

Margaret Brenner, Edith Brookings, Lakeisha Stone, and Bonnie Dahl saw out the last few visitors by five past. Before locking they split up and took a quick sweep through the stacks for anyone who either didn’t hear the closing bell or chose to ignore it while reading one more page …

“You know about Maleek Dutton, right?” Holly nods. “That’s a perfect example of how five-O operates in this town. Kid got killed for a busted taillight. You’d expect them to take a little more interest in a white girl, but no.” That’s a minefield Holly doesn’t want to walk into.

Most of whom will be there. I’ve told you all that already, but you’ve been lost in the clouds. Do you even remember Mara’s last name?” Barbara admits she does not, although she’s sure Jerome has told her. “Roberts. What is up with you?”

Margaret Brenner, Edith Brookings, Lakeisha Stone, and Bonnie Dahl saw out the last few visitors by five past. Before locking they split up and took a quick sweep through the stacks for anyone who either didn’t hear the closing bell or chose to ignore it while reading …

Oreos, in fact. “Marie Duchamp, this is Barbara Robinson.” “Very nice to meet you, Barbara,” Marie says. Then, to the old poet, “You have ninety minutes, Livvie. Then it’s naptime.” Olivia sticks out her tongue. Marie returns the favor.

The man, Marvin Brown, wanted to know if it belonged to someone who worked at the library, or maybe someone who used the library a lot. Otherwise, he said, he guessed he probably should take it to the police station. Because of the note on the seat.

Welch points at the picture now. “I ought to remember. It was the next day that Mary was diagnosed with lung cancer. Died a year later. And do you know what? She never smoked.”

She nods. “Mary Edison, Tommy’s mom. That was at nine o’clock, half an hour after he was supposed to be in. I had numbers for several of his friends’ parents. I was a good mother to him during that last year, Mr. Robinson. Conscientious.

During the summer, the library closes at seven. The head librarian, Matt Conroy, sometimes stays until closing, but that night he didn’t. Margaret Brenner, Edith Brookings, Lakeisha Stone, and Bonnie Dahl saw out the last few visitors by five past.

… never and all that, but one look at Midge Clippard has told her that she’s not the old woman Imani McGuire saw cleaning out Ellen Craslow’s trailer. “Cary!” Clippard exclaims, shaking his head. “He was a hell of a good guy, I can tell you that much, and he could …

… Why, Mr. and Mrs. Cullen have been here for I’m going to say twenty years. We like the older folks, Phil and me.

She says they’ll take up a collection at Olivia’s memorial to pay for them. Mr. Greer says that will not be necessary. She drives to the Bell campus and joins Rosalyn and Marie. Others come.

Nevertheless, she goes around the block again. Mrs. Caltrop, who is watering her flowers under an enormous sunhat, looks at her like she’s crazy. Probably she is.

… Why, Mr. and Mrs. Cullen have been here for I’m going to say twenty years. We like the older folks, Phil and me.

Fainted in the hall. Mrs. Lothrop found him and called 911. I’ve been with him all night. No heart attack, no goddam ventilator, thank Christ for that. He seems better this morning, but I guess he might be one of those goddam long haulers.

The woman on desk duty, Mrs. Norman, checks her computer and makes a brief call. She says Henry Sirois is currently having a sponge bath and getting his hair clipped. Victor Anderson is in the sunroom, and although he’s alert and aware, he’s very hard to understand.

… day as he walked toward Neil Armstrong Elementary School (where he was currently enrolled in Mrs. Stark’s third grade class), he was pretending he was Jackie Chan, fighting a host of enemies in an empty warehouse with his excellent kung fu …

“I just like to read. The thing is, I love Olivia Kingsbury’s work. It’s what made me want to write poetry. Dead Certain... End for End... Cardiac Street... I’ve read them all to bits.”

“Hello, this is Penelope Dahl. I know you’re closed, but this is very important. An emergency, in fact. I hope you’ll call me back as soon as possible. Your agency was suggested to me by Detective Isabelle Jaynes—” That’s where the message ends.

“If you speak with Peter Steinman’s mother, and if the boy is really gone, ask if she has his skateboard.” “Will do. Anything else?” “Yes. Watch the road.” She ends the call and listens to the voicemail. “Hello, Ms. Gibney, this is David Emerson.

“I remember now. Phil—my husband—held that trailer vacant through January of ’19 because she was a good tenant. No yelling, no arguments, no loud music, no cops showing up at two in the morning. That’s the kind of tenant we prefer, and the only kind we lease to long-term.”

I have to believe Randall Murphy is thanking his lucky stars that he was still in Minneapolis when all of them except Bonnie Dahl were taken. The reason we’re here is because of what our forensics guys and the FBI team found in the Harris bedroom closet.” “What?”

… edge under other circumstances, but this young man, Randy Holsten by name, strikes her as about as dangerous as Pee-wee Herman, at least in his current state. He rolls down the passenger window of Holly’s Prius and holds his face out into the hot breeze, like a shaggy dog eager …

“And I’m David. This is Rhoda Landry, and the pretty lady next to her is Andrea Stark. They work for me. Rhoda’s my notary. Have you been inside yet?” “No. I was waiting for you.” Did not want to face Pinocchio and the Pillsbury Doughboy alone, she thinks.

Two of them are: Richie Glenman (the boy with a habit of sticking French fries up his nose, and sometimes in his ears) and Tommy Edison (redhaired, freckles, the acknowledged leader of their little gang).

Like I said, he wasn’t in school the next day.” “Skippin,” Ronnie Swidrowski says. “Stinks did it all the time. Cause his mother’s a—” “Nah, it was later,” Richie Glenman insists. “I know because I was matching quarters with him in the park after that. Over in the playground.”

He told English Department head Rosalyn Burkhart that the idea of remote learning in an intensive writing program was absurd. According to Emily, who got it from Rosalyn, Stratton said it would be like making love while wearing boxing gloves.

… Sam can’t stand me, but he was very good about those payments. Still is. He knows Peter is missing, but he still sends the support checks. I think it’s superstition. He loves Peter. It was me he couldn’t stand. He asked me once why I drank so much, was it …

It is, as Shauna Huntley might say, a goddam bad way to start a goddam day. She remembers Althea Haverty at the bowling alley talking about fake flu and looking at Holly’s offered elbow with mild contempt. Saying no offense, but I don’t do that.

At the words private investigator, Stella Lacey loses interest in her game and becomes interested in Holly. “Really? Who? What did she do?” “Nothing that I know of. Do you recognize her?” Holly offers her phone. Lacey takes it and holds it close to her face. “Sure. That’s Ellen Caslow!”

“This case has taught me a lesson, Gibney. Just when you think you’ve seen the worst human beings have to offer, you find out you’re wrong. There’s no end to evil. I took Stella Randolph with me.

Billy and Hinata went on to LA, but Tom stayed. Which doesn’t surprise me.” Holly frowns. “Lost wages?” “Slang, my sister. For Las Vegas. A town made for such as Monsewer Higgins.” “When did he go there?” “June. Middle of. And left owing his share of the rent.

… his nose, and sometimes in his ears) and Tommy Edison (redhaired, freckles, the acknowledged leader of their little gang). Two is better than none, but they are out of money, it’s getting late, and they’re just getting ready to leave. “Come on, hang out awhile,” Stinky says. “Can’t,” Richie says.

“What address did he want?” “A Vera Steinman. She lives in one of those tract houses near Cedar Rest Cemetery. What do you want?” “I have Bonnie Dahl’s Visa and Verizon information. I need to know if there’s been any activity on either account.”

That leaves Roddy Harris, Avram Welch, and Ernie Coggins. There’s also Victor Anderson, but Holly doubts if a stroke victim is sneaking out of Rolling Hills to abduct people.

The Whip is open and he’d kill for a cheeseburger, but he only has fifty cents. Plus, Wicked Wanda is on duty. If he asks her for credit—or maybe a buck and a half out of the tip jar—she’ll laugh in his face.

She finds the number for the city impound and asks if Mr. Yardley McGuire is there. “Speaking.” “Mr. McGuire, my name is Holly Gibney. I spoke with your wife yesterday—” “About Ellen,” he says. “Immi says you had a good talk. Don’t suppose you tracked Ellen down, did you?”