“What is it you want to know about Tate?” Dave asked, getting right to the point.
“First, I need to tell you that this interview is confidential, Mr. Anderson. Ms. Monroe is not in any trouble nor is she a suspect in any way. But the rooming house where she lives was invaded several days ago and her landlady badly beaten. I just want to ask a few questions, such as, have you seen anyone hanging around the store, someone who might have a particular interest in Ms. Monroe?”
Dave chuckled behind his fist as he crossed his legs. “Have you met Tate, Detective? She’s a knockout. We have lots of guys come in here who notice her, some who practically drool over her.”
Nick had suspected as much. “I’m sure you’re right. But I mean someone who looks just a little different, who sits staring at her from one of these little seating areas you have, who stays longer than is usual. Maybe a tough-looking guy.”
The man looked thoughtful for a moment, then shook his head. “I honestly can’t remember anyone like that. This is a fairly upscale neighborhood. We don’t get many tough-looking guys in here.”
“That’s why someone like that would stand out, eh?”
“I suppose. But I don’t believe anyone like that’s been in here. If I had a good description, perhaps I could watch out for him, maybe call you if I spot him?”
A junior detective, but he couldn’t risk civilian involvement. “I can’t give you a good description. Tell me, does Ms. Monroe ever respond to these…admirers of hers?” It was the man wanting to know, not the detective.
Quickly and emphatically, Dave shook his head. “No, never. She’s nice, always polite, but she discourages every one of them. Listen, I’ve tried for years to get her to notice me. I’ve asked her out, done her favors, tried to win her over. She just smiles and thanks me, but she won’t date. Not anyone.”
Why that made Nick feel good he wasn’t willing to think about right now. Rising, he stuck out his hand. “Thanks for your help. And please remember, this visit is between the two of us.”
Dave pursed his lips together and nodded conspiratorially. “I’ll remember.”
“Here’s my card if you can think of anything that could help our investigation.” Nick left the man studying his card as he turned and walked through the big double doors. Keys in hand, he decided he’d drop in on Maggie to see how she was doing after being home from the hospital for two days now. If Tate was there, well, so much the better.
“The problem with growing old, Nick, is that it sneaks up on you and you’re never ready,” Maggie Davis said, then chuckled at her own observation. They were seated on her long corduroy couch across from the fireplace, Maggie stretched out at one end, Nick in the opposite corner, his body angled toward the small widow with the gentle smile. He could easily believe Maggie had been far more than a housemother to Tate, for she just looked maternal and loving. Much like his own mother.
“My mom says the same thing. She just turned sixty and although I don’t think she looks it, she often tells me she feels it.”
Maggie pushed her gold-rimmed glasses higher on her nose, thinking she liked this young man. Liked him a lot. His smile was warm and sincere. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
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