The Hunting Wind: An Alex McKnight Mystery by Steve Hamilton Page B

is why we’re here. Randy and I were both hanging on their words now.
    “It was an interesting name,” she said. “Something exotic.”
    “The whole family was exotic. What were their names? There were four of them.”
    “The man’s name was . . .” she said.
    We held our breath.
    “Gregor!” she said. “That was his name! I remember wondering what happened to the
y
at the end!”
    “Yes, Gregor,” Mr. Meisner said. “And the woman was . . . Oh Lord, what was her name?”
    “Arabella,” she said. “I remember it. It’s such a nice name, isn’t it?”
    “Yes,” I said. I looked at Randy. He was lost in his own world, now that he had those names to think about.
    “They had one boy and one girl,” Mr. Meisner said. “The boy’s name was . . .”
    “Leopold,” Randy said. “His name was Leopold, wasn’t it?”
    “Yes,” Mrs. Meisner said. “That was his name. He was a tough-looking little guy, wasn’t he?”
    “Ha! I remember now!” Mr. Meisner said. “He painted that room for us, remember, Muriel? That’s what he and his father did—they were painters!”
    “That’s right!” Randy said. “I should have remembered that!”
    “They were good, too. They did a good job on the room. Anyway, when they were done, I said something like ‘Thank you, Leo!’ And he said to me—what did he say? He said, ‘My name is Leopold! My name is not Leo! Leo is a name for American men who drink beer and sit on their front porches in their undershirts.’ Lord, how did I remember that?”
    “He was a strange one all right,” Mrs. Meisner said. “Ah, but the daughter . . .”
    “Maria,” Randy said. He said it in a way that stopped them. Both of them.
    “Yes, Maria,” Mrs. Meisner said. “She was such a beautiful girl.”
    “I’m looking for her,” Randy said. “That’s why we’re here.”
    They both just nodded. Apparently, it didn’t seem like a crazy idea to them. Of course, they had both seen Maria. So maybe that was enough of an explanation. Or maybe when you live that long, nothing seems crazy anymore.
    “Do you have any idea where they might have gone?” I said. “After they left the Kowalskis’ house?”
    “No,” Mr. Meisner said. “They just disappeared. They left the last month’s rent under Mickey’s door, and just vanished.”
    “Well, we have the names now,” I said. “That could mean a lot. And wait a minute—didn’t you say that the Kowalskis still send you Christmas cards?”
    “Mickey and Martha,” he said. “Yes, every year. We don’t ever talk or anything, but every Christmas we get a card.”
    “I tell you, he’s real sick,” she said. “I heard that somewhere.”
    “Nonsense, Muriel!”
    “Would you happen to have their address, then?” I said.
    “Oh, sure,” he said. “We send them a card every year, too. It would be kinda rude not to, don’t you think?”
    “Could I trouble you for that address perhaps?” I said.
    “Yes, of course,” he said. It took him a little while, but he got up off the chair. “You’ll have to excuse me. I turn ninety-two next month.”
    “How long have you been married?” Randy said.
    He looked down at his wife. He touched her hair. “Seventy years.”
    “We’ll get a divorce someday,” she said. “We’re waiting for the children to die.”
    “Ha! I love that one,” he said. “All right, now where did you put those addresses!”
    “They’re in the box,” she said.
    “I know they’re in the box! Where’s the box?”
    “It’s where it always is! In the bedroom, on the dresser!”
    “No, that’s where
you
always put it! Oh, never mind. I’ll find it myself!” He disappeared into the bedroom.
    “I can’t tell you how much we appreciate this, Mrs. Meisner,” Randy said.
    “It’s nice to have the company,” she said. “I haven’t thought about the old neighborhood in a long time.”
    “I found it!” Mr. Meisner called from the next room. “Right where I put it!”
    Mrs.