The Legend of Joe Moran
Chapter 11The flight from Jackson to Hot Springs was uneventful, and Stu dozed on and off. Once they'd landed he rented a car and drove to Glenwood. He looked around when he got there and had a single thought. It would fit in the palm of my hand, Stuart chuckled to himself. The main street had a stoplight and a motel that looked like it had maybe ten rooms. He'd overestimated, he later learned, the Glenwood Inn only had eight. Fortunately there was at least one unoccupied, and Stu took it. Like the room in Hattiesburg, it was nothing to write home about, but it was neat and clean.
He'd passed a small diner on his way into the town, and he went there now. He ordered coffee and a turkey sandwich, and asked the waitress if Glenwood had a newspaper. "Yes sir, and a new edition just came out today. Would you like a copy?"
"Yes, please. How often is it printed?" The woman pulled a copy out of a pocket on her apron and handed it to the P.I.
"Weekly, sir. Do you need any cream or sugar for the coffee?"
"No ma'am." Stu opened the paper and looked through it. It was full of local news, gossip, ads and comic strips. He saw nothing that would lead him to discover the whereabouts of Virginia Moran. When the waitress brought his sandwich he asked her another question. "Do you happen to know Virginia Moran?"
A chuckle from the waitress, followed by, "I should, sir. She's my grandmother."
"Is Joe your father?" Stu didn't see how that was possible, but he wanted to explore all avenues.
"No, sir. Lorena is my mom. Joe is her younger brother."
"Do you think your grandmother would be willing to answer questions about her son from a complete stranger?" Stu removed his card case and handed her a business card.
"Wooee. A private investigator all the way from Hollywood. We thought California was a myth. I'm Susan Myers, by the way. It's nice to meet you, Stuart Bailey."
"You too, Susan. About your Grandmother . . . "
"Oh I'm sure Grandma would see you. She'd be curious and cranky the way she always is, but underneath all the bluster she's just a sweetheart. I can call her, if that's okay with you."
Stu's head nodded. "I'd appreciate it."
Susan disappeared into the kitchen while he ate. The sandwich was above average. By the time he was finished, she had returned. "Grandma asked me if you were good looking. When I told her yes she said she'd be more than happy to talk to you. Be careful, Grandma is notorious for trotting out the picture albums."
"Where does she live, Susan?"
"See this street outside? Go down to the light and turn left. It will be the fourth house on the right. It's pink with a white fence in front, 220 South Street."
Stu stood and reached for his wallet. "What do I owe you for the sandwich?"
Susan giggled, then smiled at the man she'd called good looking. "Oh no, lunch is on me. Now I can tell people I served lunch to a real Hollywood celebrity."
"Susan, I'm not . . . "
"Oh yes you are, Mr. Stuart Bailey. You're the biggest celebrity this town is ever gonna see."
Stuart smiled at her small-town naiveté. He tucked two dollars in her apron pocket. When she stared at him with her mouth open, he smiled as he told her, "It's the least I can do."
Stu walked back to the Glenwood Inn and sat in his car for a few minutes. He lit a cigarette and blew smoke out into the vehicle, then started the engine and drove the five minutes it took him to find Virginia Moran's house. It was obvious someone enjoyed gardening. There were oaks that looked like they'd been there since the house was built; maples, plums and hickories that were somewhat younger and flowers lining the fence and walk. He parked in front and got out, went up the walk and knocked on the door. "Coming," he heard a voice call, and he waited patiently for Virginia Moran. When the door was finally opened he was surprised but not shocked. Although it was obviously dyed, Virginia Moran's hair was bright red.
"Mr. Bailey?" An unusual voice asked. It was soft and low, and didn't display any of the crankiness her granddaughter warned him about.
"Yes, ma'am. I have some questions to ask you. May I come in?"
She looked at him with an appreciative glance as she held the door open. "By all means, Mr. Bailey, please do."
He followed her in and she led him into what could only be described as a parlor. There was a lot of chintz and lace, but the furniture seemed old, although neatly kept. Virginia Moran had to be in her seventies, yet she still possessed an attractive face and a reasonably shapely figure. She directed him to a chair and asked, "Would you care for some coffee, Mr. Bailey?"
"I would like that very much, Mrs. Moran."
"Please," she told him as she headed for what had to be the kitchen, "call me Virginia. Everyone either calls me that or Grandma. Somehow you don't strike me as the Grandma type. Do you need anything for you coffee or do you take it black?"
"Black, Virginia, and please call me Stu or Stuart."
She returned with two cups and a coffee pot on a serving tray. She poured Stu's first and handed him the cup, then poured one for herself. "What is it you want to ask me, Stu?"
"Tell me about your son Joe."
Her face fell noticeably. "We might do better if you asked me questions, Stu."
"Why is that, Virginia?" Stu took a sip of coffee and waited for her answer.
"Let's just say that my son and I don't see eye-to-eye. He's done some things in his life that don't make me proud."
Stu genuinely felt sympathy for the woman. "I'm sorry, Virginia. Did Joe volunteer for the service or was he drafted?"
"Drafted."
"And was he honorably discharged when the war was concluded?"
"Yes, he was." There was a note of something in her voice that he didn't expect . . . sadness perhaps.
"I understand he went to work for Ollie Hedgepath in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. Why did he move to Hattiesburg rather than stay here in Glenwood?"
That elicited a laugh. "Really, Stuart, you've seen this town. I don't know where he could have gotten a job, unless he wanted to repair automobiles. My son is not mechanically inclined."
"But why so far away?" This question had driven Stu to distraction. He wanted . . . no, needed to know the answer.
"Because of me."
"Could you explain that, please?"
"I made it perfectly clear that if he intended to pursue the path he had in mind, I didn't even want to be in the same state with him."
"And what was the path he wanted to pursue?"
"He wanted to be rich, Stu, and he didn't care what he had to do to get there. Lie, cheat, steal, they were all acceptable to Joe."
Stu nodded. "That must have been very upsetting for you." Susan had described her grandmother as curios and cranky. The P.I. had seen neither of those so far.
"Beyond upsetting. Joe was a happy surprise, a son that my husband and I didn't expect. But he was a handful, from the time we brought him home from the hospital until the last time he walked out that door. Oh, he could be a sweet, gentle boy when he wanted to be, but those times were almost non-existent once he came home from the war. So, my invitation to leave – and never come back."
"I'd like to give you some information you might not be aware of. Joe has been married four times . . . all four wives with red hair. It's almost like he's trying to get approval from a woman that looks remarkably like you." It was a conclusion Stu had come to a while back, but couldn't confirm until he met and talked to his mother.
There was a noticeable gasp from Virginia Moran. "Seriously?" she asked a few moments later.
"Yes, ma'am." There was not much more that Stu could say. He'd actually divulged information he probably shouldn't have.
"Why are you looking for my son, Mr. Bailey?" The friendliness in her voice had vanished. It was replaced by polite iciness.
"Someone in California hired me to find Joe. "
"Someone in law enforcement?"
Stu shook his head. He'd gone this far, he might as well go all the way. "No, ma'am."
A sigh of relief. "So he's not in any legal trouble?"
Word this carefully, Bailey, he told himself. "He wasn't when I left California."
"Hmpf. Must be an ex-wife then."
Stu smiled. It was all he was prepared to do.