My fault entirely. Usually I know better than to try to elicit information by phone. It’s too easy for the other party to duck, evade, and deflect. In a face-to-face conversation, social conventions come into play. People tend to smile and make eye contact, defusing any hint of aggression. I’m five foot six and at a hundred and eighteen pounds, I don’t appear dangerous to the average citizen. I smile a lot and talk nicely, conducting my business in a nonthreatening manner that usually nets me at least a portion of what I want.

All I’d garnered from my exchange with Carolyn was that her father-in-law was retired, which I’d suspected in the first place. She’d ignored my question about whether he was still in town, which led me to believe he was. If he were somewhere else—in another city or out of state—the easy way out would have been to say so. If he lived in Santa Teresa, I’d have a daunting job on my hands. Santa Teresa is chockablock with pricey retirement homes, nursing homes, and assisted-living facilities. If I tried a canvass on foot or by phone, I’d be at it for who knows how long, with no guarantee of success.

Once more, I weighed my need to know against the effort it would take. As usual, my fundamental nosiness won hands down. I knew that without much encouragement, I’d get into the spirit of the hunt and set aside all else until I prevailed. This is probably a form of mental illness, but over the years, it’s served me well. First chance I had, I’d make a run to Montebello Bank and Trust. Maybe I could sweet-talk Walker into giving me the information out of affection for the good old days.

Chapter 15 - JON CORSO

15

JON CORSO

November 1962-September 1966

When Jon was thirteen his mother died. She’d been asthmatic as a child and in later life suffered from countless pulmonary ills. Jon was aware that his mother often felt poorly. She was subject to coughs, colds, and various other upper-respiratory infections—pneumonia, bronchitis, pleurisy. She didn’t complain and she always seemed to bounce back, which he took as proof that she wasn’t seriously impaired.

In November she came down with the flu and her symptoms seemed to worsen as the days passed. By Friday morning, when she hadn’t improved, Jon asked if he should call someone, but she said she’d be fine. His dad was out of town. Jon couldn’t remember where he was and Lionel hadn’t left a contact number. Jon’s dad was an English professor, on sabbatical from the University of California, Santa Teresa. He’d recently published a biography of an important Irish poet whose name Jon had forgotten. Lionel was off giving a series of lectures on the subject, which is why Jon and his mother were on their own.