‘What kind of friend gives you an address which is wrong?’
‘One from a very long time ago. Twenty to thirty years ago.’ Stephen flashed her a smile that would rival any Hollywood star’s. She narrowed her eyes, but I could see she was softening.
‘It was apartments back then.’
‘I expect a lot of the residents would’ve shopped in your market?’ Stephen asked. So, he wasn’t so clueless about gathering information – or he was a fast learner.
‘Some,’ she said dryly.
‘Would you mind looking at a photo and telling me if you recognise him at all?’
A photo? This was a new one on me. The plot was thickening. Why wouldn’t Stephen tell me he had a photo of the man and who had he gotten it from?
‘I suppose.’ She wrapped up her kitting tightly and pulled some wireless glasses from a case resting on top of a newspaper by her feet.
Stephen slipped a photo from his pocket and crouched down in front of her, showing her the picture. I tilted my head trying to get a look myself, but she took it from him and held it up to her nose. Then she nodded and handed it back.
‘I remember. He was English like you, yes?’
Stephen nodded and slid the photo away quickly again in the back pocket of his pants.
‘Peanut butter and plums,’ she continued. ‘He came in every week for them. Tried to ask my daughter out once or twice. She wasn’t interested, more sense than that. Always polite though. Very polite.’
Stephen’s smiled but it was tight. ‘Thank you.’
I caught hold of the side of his shirt because for some reason I thought he was getting ready to walk. The heat of his ribs against my knuckles made my stomach flutter. ‘When did the apartments get turned into a parking lot?’
‘About ten years ago. But he left before that.’
‘Any idea where he went?’
‘Oh, sure, he left me a forwarding address.’ She rolled her eyes as she removed her reading glasses. ‘No, of course not. But he used to work for an Italian restaurant around here, delivering food. Might still be there.’ She shrugged. ‘All I know is, he doesn’t shop in our market anymore.’
‘That’s great, thank you so much.’
‘If you’re grateful, why not go buy some food from my family’s market?’
We both nodded obediently, and I herded Stephen towards the double doors on the corner of the building.
‘Good luck, young man,’ she called after us. ‘I hope he’s worth finding.’
‘I doubt it,’ Stephen muttered under his breath, but he smiled again and waved his thanks to the woman.
‘Why d’you doubt it?’ I asked as we got inside the blessedly air-conditioned market.
He shrugged and turned quickly down the fruit and vegetable aisle, his shoes squeaking on the shiny tiles. ‘After all this effort, it’s likely to be a two-minute conversation.’
‘You want more than that?’ I pretended to be focused on picking a carton of strawberries, while watching him from the corner of my eye, but he was pretending just as hard to be interested in the peaches.
‘No.’ He grabbed a box of peaches, took my strawberries, and we headed to the cash desk. ‘I just want it sorted.’
‘Well, so far so good. One conversation and we already have two – no three – important bits of information.’ I got out my notebook and started scribbling in it as we queued.
‘And what would they be? He liked peanut butter and chatting up women?’
‘Not where my mind was going but no information should be discounted. You never know when it might become helpful.’
‘Should we need to bait a trap?’
