tour?”
Nick hobbled up to the window. “We need to talk to one of your residents. Mr. Owen Peale.”
“I’m afraid it’s too early for visiting hours. Most family members come on evenings or weekends.”
Kat joined Nick at the window and flashed her badge. “I’m Chief Campbell of the Perry Hollow Police. We really need to speak with Mr. Peale.”
The receptionist’s eyes widened and she put a hand to her chest. “Is he in trouble?”
“No,” Kat said. “Should he be?”
“Of course not.” The receptionist checked the area for prying coworkers before leaning forward and whispering, “But we’ve had some complaints.”
“What did he do?” Nick asked.
The woman at the window wouldn’t say, which made her the worst kind of gossip—a tease. Nick much preferred Lou van Sickle’s all-or-nothing approach.
“I’ve already told you too much,” the receptionist said. “You can usually find Mr. Peale in the common room at this hour. And a word of warning: it would be wise to watch your wallets.”
She gave them directions to the common room before pressing a black button on the wall. There was a low buzz, followed by a click as a door to Nick’s right unlocked.
“Security,” the receptionist explained.
Nick assumed the system was intended not to keep visitors out but to keep residents in. It was understandable. Thrown into a place like this, his first order of business would be to hatch an escape plan. But on the way to the common room, he saw that most of the residents seemed, if not content, then at least resigned to their fates. They roamed the halls aimlessly, using a wide array of mobility devices. Orthopedic canes. Walkers. Wheelchairs. Gripping the pit bull handle of his own cane, Nick realized it was all downhill from there. Soon he’d be making the same sad progression. At the entrance to the common room, he and Kat were cut off by a woman riding a motorized scooter. At least that was something to look forward to.
The common room was nicer than Nick expected, and a far cry from the waiting area. There were real plants there, catching the sun from a row of windows along one wall. Plush armchairs ran the perimeter of the room, broken up by shelves loaded with books and board games.
In the center of the room, a silver-haired cluster sat in front of a television, watching the news. Giving the TV a cursory glance, Nick saw yet another report about China’s trip to the moon. The mission had been in the news all summer, with so-called experts squawking nonstop about what it meant for the United States and the rest of the world.
The attention had reached fever pitch now that the mission was finally under way. Nick couldn’t turn on the TV or open a newspaper without seeing something about it. He understood why it was big news, yet he just couldn’t bring himself to care. The moon had been there since the beginning of time and would exist until the end of time. It didn’t really matter who walked on it and what country they were from.
Turning away from the TV, Nick asked an elderly woman sitting nearby to point out Owen Peale. She did, gesturing to a man in sweatpants and a plaid robe sitting alone with a deck of cards. Next to his elbow was a tattered shoe box.
Nick approached the table. “Mr. Peale?”
The man studied first Nick, then Kat. “That’s me.”
“Do you have a minute to speak with us?”
“Am I in trouble?”
That question again. Hearing it a second time made Nick wonder just how much of a handful Owen Peale really was.
“Of course not.”
“I was just wondering,” Owen said, cocking his head in Kat’s direction. “Because most people who visit me don’t bring a cop along.”
Kat extended a hand. “Mr. Peale, I’m Kat Campbell—”
“Jim Campbell’s girl. I know. You look like your dad.”
“So you remember working for him?”
Owen started shuffling the cards while muttering, “Of course I remember. I’m old, not senile.”
“Then if you remember that,” Nick said, “you most likely recall an incident involving a boy named Charlie Olmstead.”
“I remember. I wrote the report.”
“I know. That’s why we’re here. To ask you a few questions about the incident.”
“That’s an old case, son. Let sleeping dogs lie. That’s my motto.”
“Even if the boy’s mother thought he was kidnapped?”
That seemed to get Owen’s attention. The former cop eyed Nick’s cane. “Looks like you need to sit down, son. You’re in worse shape than me.”
Nick took a seat. Kat remained standing. It was a wise decision, because Owen Peale started dealing cards as soon as Nick got situated.
“What’s this?” he asked, staring dumbly at the cards being tossed in front of him.
“Poker,” Owen replied. “Five-card draw. No wilds.”
“I don’t play poker.”
“If you’re staying, you’re playing. That’s the only way I’m going to answer your questions. Now ante up.”
“Ante?” Nick said. “You’re joking, right?”
“Poker isn’t played for fun, son. This is a money game. Now, I need to see some cash on that table or you and your cop friend can take your questions elsewhere.”
Nick sighed his response. “How much are we betting?”
“Five dollars to start.” Owen opened the shoe box, which was filled with loose bills and rattling change. He placed a five-dollar bill in the middle of the table. “We can go higher if you think you can keep up with me.”
“Five? That’s extortion.”
“But I might have some juicy information about the Olmstead boy. You’ll never know if you don’t play.”
Nick opened his wallet. Save for three ones, it was empty. He thought of the four dollars he had spent for a coffee at Big Joe’s. Without the java, he could have played at least one hand. Unless the old coot decided to raise.
He turned to Kat. “Could you spot me?”
“This is ridiculous,” she announced, digging through her own wallet. Still, ridiculous or not, she found a five and slapped it on the table.
When Owen saw the cash, a wide smile spread across his face. “Let’s look at our cards.”
Nick peeked at his hand. It was weak—a pair of twos, a four, a seven, and a king.
“You going to start asking your questions?” Owen said from behind his own cards.
“The report states you were with Chief Campbell and Maggie Olmstead the night Charlie vanished,” Nick began.
“That’s not a question,” Owen said. “But I’m gonna answer it anyway. Yes, I was there.”
“Who was the first person on the scene?”
“The chief. Normally, it was just me on duty at night, but the chief thought it’d be a good idea to have more manpower on the streets in case something happened with the moon folks. The whole town was buzzing about it. Parties and singing in the streets and worrying about something bad happening up there.”
“What does the moon have to do with any of this?”
Owen lowered his cards and flashed him a look seen only from grandmothers, teachers, and other exasperated authority figures. “Don’t you know your history, son? Apollo 11.