The Fixer

40

Rick returned to the bed-and-breakfast in Kenmore Square, packed up his suitcase, and checked out. He drove maybe half a mile to a DoubleTree on Soldiers Field Road and booked a room. After checking in, he went online and looked up the Donegall Charitable Trust and found nothing.

Then he pulled out the Rolodex card Joan had given him and looked at Paul Clarke’s phone number in area code 603. Was it still a valid number? For some reason he imagined that people in rural areas-and Paul Clarke’s house was in a rural part of New Hampshire, that was for sure-moved around less often than people in large cities.

He thought about Clarke. He remembered a tall man in faded blue jeans and a barn coat, a man with silver hair and dark eyebrows. He remembered liking the man. He recalled the continual look of slight amusement on Clarke’s face, as though talking to you was like watching a mildly amusing sitcom. Clarke seemed somehow too elegant to be a maple syrup farmer. He seemed out of place in the old farmhouse.

Rick had no idea how old Clarke was, just that he’d been around the same age as Len. To a kid, thirty-five and fifty all look the same. Would he still be alive? If he was approximately Lenny’s age, he’d be anywhere from seventy-five to eighty-five. He might well still be alive.

If Lenny had driven up to New Hampshire to see Paul Clarke the week before his stroke, maybe he really had confided in him what he was worried about. Maybe Clarke would know something useful.

Rick took a breath and called the number.

It didn’t even ring. A recorded message came right on, a woman’s voice: “You have reached a number that is no longer in service. Please check the number and try again.”

So maybe the man had died. He went to his laptop and Googled Paul Clarke, looking for an obituary. Nothing came up. He tried ZabaSearch, typing in “Paul Clarke” and specifying New Hampshire on the pulldown menu. A result came right up:

Found 1 record for Paul Clarke

Paul Wayne Clarke, 82, Redding, NH

That indicated that Paul Clarke was probably still alive. The town was right. He called directory assistance in New Hampshire. A robot voice said, “Say the name or type of business.” When he said Clarke’s name, the robot said, “Let me transfer you to an operator.”

An operator came on a few seconds later. “Yes, in New Hampshire, how may I help you?”

“In Redding, can I have the number of Paul Clarke?”

The operator clicked away at her keyboard. “I’m finding a Paul Clarke, but the number is unpublished.”

“But there is a number.”

“Unpublished, sir.”

He hung up. Then he called his sister’s cell number. She answered right away. She was in some noisy place, probably the back of the vegan restaurant her partner ran. “Do you remember Paul Clarke?”

“Who?”

“Clarke. Paul Clarke.”

“Isn’t that a friend of dad’s, lives out in the boonies someplace?”

“That’s the guy.”

“The maple syrup guy! He used to scoop up snow from the ground and put maple syrup on it and make us eat it?”

“He didn’t make us eat it. We couldn’t get enough of it.”

“Maple syrup on snow. That’s like the most disgusting thing ever, so why were we so into it?”

“We were kids.”

“He and Dad used to go off and have these deep talks and we weren’t allowed to interrupt them, right? And he had this pencil trick he used to do that we couldn’t figure out?”

“Oh yeah. But he eventually taught me how. Anyway, I’m trying to reach the guy.”

“What for?”

“I’ll tell you about it sometime. Soon. For now, I’m just wondering whether you know where Dad might have put his phone number.”

“Did you ask Joan?”

“The number she has is disconnected.”

“Probably in his study someplace.”

“Which is empty now. They’re redoing some of the plaster work and repainting.”

“I have no idea.” In a mournful tone, she said, “I guess you can’t ask Dad.”

“Not exactly. Though he’s making progress.” He told her about the transcranial magnetic stimulation and how it seemed to be working. He didn’t tell her about Lenny’s “I want to die” message.

“What? You’re kidding me! Amazing. Do they think he’ll be able to talk eventually?”

“They don’t know. It’s all pretty experimental, and it’s early. Don’t get your hopes up.”

A few minutes later he hung up and decided to take a drive to New Hampshire.