Theo of Golden: A Novel by Allen Levi - 59
Weariness — from personal grief, from unwelcome attention, from concern for others, from work, and from age — was etched across the face of James Ponder in the days following Theo’s death. When members of the media learned he had been consultant, landlord, confidant, and friend of the renowned Zila,...
Weariness — from personal grief, from unwelcome attention, from concern for others, from work, and from age — was etched across the face of James Ponder in the days following Theo’s death.
When members of the media learned he had been consultant, landlord, confidant, and friend of the renowned Zila, they beat a hasty path to the door of Ponder House in hopes of an interview. They seemed most interested in answering a single question: Why had the great artist taken up residence in Golden?
The front door of Ponder House, the same door at which Theo had stood a year or so earlier, became a well-visited site of dejection as Mrs. Gidley, in full sergeant-at-arms mode, denied entry, one by one, to the steady flow of inquirers.
Consequently, it was all the more surprising when Mrs. Gidley stood in Mr. Ponder’s doorway one morning to announce that someone wished to meet with him. She tapped lightly before speaking.
“There’s a young woman from out of town who’d like to see you.
She’s not with any press or media group.”
Mr. Ponder was preoccupied with a sheaf of documents on his desk. “Anita, you know I don’t have time or energy for anything new, especially today. Our meeting with Theo’s staff tomorrow is taking every minute I have right now. Tell her to come back in a month.”
“She told me she wouldn’t leave until you see her.”
“Did she really?” His irritation was obvious. “Then call the police and have her removed.”
Mrs. Gidley remained calmly in the doorway. “Mr. Ponder, I think you ought to meet with her.”
He looked up. The old Mrs. Gidley, the before-Theo Mrs. Gidley, would have relished the chance to have someone thrown out of the office.
“Why do you think I ought to meet with her?”
Mrs. Gidley shook her head. “I’m not really sure. I just have a feeling you should.”
Mr. Ponder sighed. “Send her up.”
The young woman was well-dressed, soft-spoken, and nervous. The first impression she made did not seem consistent with someone who would force herself, unwanted and uninvited, into a busy office. Quite the contrary.
She walked across the room to Mr. Ponder’s desk. He did not acknowledge her presence or stand until she was directly in front of him. He made no attempt to make her feel welcome. No handshake. No pleasantries. No offer of coffee. He stayed behind his desk as she took a seat and introduced herself.
“Mr. Ponder, my name is Olivia Reese. Your secretary told me you’re not taking any new clients, so thank you for seeing me.”
“That’s correct, Ms. Reese. I am very busy, so just tell me why you’re here.”
She pulled an item from her purse. “Yes, sir. Well, I need you to help me locate someone, like a missing person. I think she lives in this area.”
“Ms. Reese, what you need is a private investigator. I am not one of those, but I can recommend some good ones to you. Mrs. Gidley can give you their names. Why don’t you go back downstairs, and I’ll call her to tell her what you need.”
The woman remained in her chair. “Thank you, but I’d like you to do it. I think you’d be best.”
The unflappable Mr. Ponder snapped. “Young lady, I’m tired. I’ve got all I can handle right now. Please leave. Now.”
The woman’s face went pale, and her eyes watered. Mr. Ponder winced at his own bluntness and made a mild apology but reasserted his unavailability.
Olivia, clearly rattled by the tone of the conversation, did not move. “Mr. Ponder, I’m not here to bother you, and I can tell you’re tired. Your secretary told me you’re working on a really important case, and I’m sorry to barge in like this, but what I’ve got is really important to me, and I need to hire someone to help me. I think you’re that person.” She held out an envelope to him. “Would you read this please?”
She reached across the desk to hand Mr. Ponder the envelope. It was addressed to her home in South Carolina.
He opened the letter, put it on the papers in front of him, placed both elbows on the desk, and cradled his forehead on steepled fingers.
He read the letter slowly. Then again.
For a moment he sat motionless, eyes on the page in front of him. As he lifted his head, gone was the earlier flush of anger and impatience.
He looked tenderly into the young woman’s face.
Willa.