Charles Ayer [Ayer - Finding David Chandler

FINDING DAVID CHANDLER

A MATT HUNTER NOVEL

By Charles Ayer

This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.

Finding David Chandler

A Matt Hunter Mystery

All Rights Reserved

Copyright 2019 Charles Ayer

The book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent from the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

But why had he always felt so strongly the magnetic pull of home? He did not know. All that he knew was that the years flow by like water and that one day men come home again.

Thomas Wolfe

DOREEN CHANDLER looked good.

Of course, Doreen has looked good to me since the moment it first dawned on me that girls looked good: a hot June day when shed shown up at the town pool sporting this summers body in last summers bathing suit. Shed smiled at me.

It was June again, and hot. A lot had changed in my life since that day over a quarter-century ago. Doreen hadnt.

Doreen, I said, stupidly, standing in the front door of the newly rented apartment I already didnt like. It was part of a complex called Devon Wood, but the name belied the reality of the place: two acres of parking lot with red brick apartment buildings randomly erupting from the asphalt like pimples on an adolescent boys nose. But I needed cheap, and cheap was what I got. I had signed a month-to-month lease and hoped for the best.

So are you going to let me in? said Doreen, hands on her hips, giving me that same smile, or are you going to stand there staring at me like were both still twelve?

I should have known that she could still read my mind. She was almost forty now; we both were, but she still got away with a snugly tailored blouse and a tight pair of jeans that most women her age had quietly dropped into the Goodwill bin years ago. The couple of pounds shed put on over the years made her look better, if anything, and I found myself wondering if the view from behind was still what it used to be. Her once shoulder length auburn hair was now short, but it was still thick and wavy, and had lost none of its rich luster. And those eyes, those witch hazel eyes, still teased me.

Matt?

Oh! Sure! Come on in, I said, opening the door, wondering how long Id been gaping. I stepped aside as she walked in and gave the place the once over. The view from behind, I was happy to confirm, was still splendid.

You just moved in, I guess, she said, as she scanned the living room that so far Id managed to furnish with a beat up sofa, a banged up coffee table, and a TV that wasnt plugged in.

Wednesday, I said.

Gee, only three days and look what youve done with the place already.

It wasnt like I was expecting guests, I said, looking around and wondering if I could look like any more of a loser. How did you even know where to find me?

This is still a small town, Matt, and in case you havent noticed yet, youre still a pretty big name around here. It wasnt tough.

I guess.

You havent changed much, she said, turning her attention to me and giving me an appraising stare like I was a Weimaraner in the Sporting group. I was wearing an old pair of khakis and a faded NYPD tee shirt that Id snatched up off the bedroom floor and thrown on when Id heard the doorbell ring. I hadnt shaved in two days, and I was in bad need of a shower. She was being kind.

Neither have you, Doreen, except for the better.

She gave a quick nod of her head, as if to say that she knew that, but thanks anyway.

So, do you think you could scare me up a cup of coffee? she said, already heading toward the kitchen.

Sure, I said, following her, and Ive even got cream and sugar.

Thanks, but I drink it black now, she said, as she took a seat in one of the two scarred chairs placed around a tiny kitchen table that Id picked up at a tag sale the day before.

So do I, I said, as I busied myself with the coffee maker, the only appliance on an otherwise bare counter.

Wheres Marianne? said Doreen.

Mariannes not here, I said. Doreen knew damn well where Marianne was, and where she wasnt. She knew that Marianne wouldnt set foot in a hovel like this, and if I was living here, I was living alone. But we had to get past acknowledging the obvious.

I gathered that from the dcor. When is she going to get here?

Shes not going to get here, Doreen.

I hope shes all right.

Shes fine, shes just not going to be here, thats all.

Im sorry to hear that, Matt. Are you divorced?

Not yet, but its just a matter of time. Shes staying in the house in Mount Kisco with the kids. Shes making all the money anyway, and shell get the house in the divorce.

While Id been busy deciding how best to ruin my life, Marianne had kept her nose to the grindstone, and she was now Senior Vice President of Human Resources at Allied Mutual Insurance Company, headquartered in White Plains.

I dont mean to be nosey, but was there somebody else?

No. At least I dont think so. But Marianne has a lot of friends, and she doesnt like to be alone, so Im sure therell be someone soon.

Im really sorry, Matt.

It is what it is, I said, trying to sound final. Doreen and I had grown up on the same street; wed gone to school together from kindergarten right through high school, and shed been my first crush. But I hadnt seen the woman in ten years, and this was all starting to get way too personal. The last year had left me rubbed raw. It wasnt like I hadnt seen it coming for a long time; but a divorce is like a death after a long illness: it still comes as a shock. Besides, there had never been any love lost between Marianne and Doreen, and I just didnt want to open up that can of worms.

So what brings you back to Devon-on-Hudson? she said. Why didnt you just move to the city?

I dont know. I guess home is home.

A good place to come and lick your wounds, right?

Maybe.

You were gone for so long. We were starting to think you had something against the place, or maybe us.

Ah, cmon, Doreen.

Ah, cmon, nothing, she said. We were all like family. We all had a great time at the ten-year reunion, and then you jilted us like an ugly date. What were we supposed to think?

She was right. What was everybody supposed to think? But the only thing that I was thinking at the moment was that I didnt want to talk about it, at least not now, and not with Doreen, no matter how close our friendship had been. What was left of my male ego wasnt ready to have that conversation, especially with her.

Thankfully, the coffee was ready and I poured it into the only two coffee mugs I had. I gave Doreen the blue one that said, John Jay School of Criminal Justice. I kept the commemorative 1986 New York Mets World Series Champions one for myself. There are some things you just dont share.

Nice of you to remember that Im a Yankees fan, said Doreen, staring at my Mets cup.

Even with Jeter gone?

Even with Jeter gone.

We sipped our coffee in silence. I was hoping it would last for a couple of minutes, but Doreen was relentless.

I knew youd broken up with Marianne the minute I pulled into the parking lot, she said. Marianne doesnt love anybody enough to live in a place like this. Its not even up to your standards. How long are you planning on living here?