her hands. “I’m not sure I get this.”
“It’s not a tennis tournament, it’s a shuffleboard tournament. Tell me you know the game.”
She had probably studied shuffleboard in some class or other, but Tracy didn’t remember. Time had passed, and some of the games had been remarkably dumb. “I probably played it on a cruise ship.”
“Well, you’d better bone up. You’re in charge of the Coastal Florida Adult and Youth Singles and Doubles Tournament. Labor Day weekend right here in Palmetto Grove. I’ll tell you, our shuffleboard players take this very seriously. There’ll be no greater test of your skills than keeping them happy.”
“You so clearly hired the right woman,” Marsh said, taking the hat from Tracy’s hands and plopping it back on her head. “She’s just going to be a natural, isn’t she?”
Janya watched Tracy fidget as she drove. She knew little except that Tracy had just been given a job at the recreation center. How she felt about it was a mystery, although the fidgeting was a clue.
“I can’t believe I said yes,” Tracy exploded as they pulled into the municipal parking lot in front of city hall. “Really! What was I thinking?”
“Perhaps that the salary would pay your bills?”
“It’s a huge job. Why on earth do they think I can do it?”
“Can you do it?” Janya asked.
“Well, how would I know?”
“Perhaps this is a good way to find out.”
“We have to be quick about this. I’ve really got to go to the library now and learn everything I can before Monday.”
The sidewalk was hot enough to melt the soles of Janya’s shoes, and the sun beating down on her head felt familiar, if not pleasant. City hall was three stories and modern, with siding so blindingly white it hurt her eyes. Inside, they were hit by a wall of air-conditioning. Janya wondered why the city paid so much to air-condition a hallway.
In a room on the second floor Tracy explained their situation to a man with a crewcut and wrinkly ears; then she asked for help. He seemed more interested in Tracy than the question, but perhaps that was the reason he so quickly agreed to see what he could find.
They waited, leaning against the counter.
“He’s going to run a records check,” Tracy explained. “If this doesn’t turn up anything, maybe we can nose around some of the other offices another day.”
“You asked about Clyde Franklin, too.”
“Well, you know, if they were friends and Clyde has family around here, or he’s still alive, maybe he can tell us whatever he knows. I did search the Internet without any luck. But I thought it was worth a try. And this guy is eager to assist.”
“Do men often look at you that way?”
“What way?”
“As if they want to devour you.”
“Don’t they look at you that way? I bet you have to fight them off.”
“In India I was usually with someone, my brother, a cousin, a servant. They would do the fighting if it was necessary.”
“Always? You were chaperoned everywhere?”
“For safety, yes.”
“Well, I guess I can understand that. There were plenty of places in L.A. where I only went if I was with somebody else.”
They chatted about the dance aerobic class until the man with the crewcut returned. “I did a quick check for you,” he said. “On the computer. The only records I found for Herbert Krause were fishing licenses.”
“Oh, we actually found a bunch of those. Nothing else, huh? Nothing that would help us locate his next of kin?”
“Not that I could find.”
“Well, we appreciate your help.”
“I did find something for a Clyde Franklin.”
Janya had already started to turn away. “You did?” she asked before Tracy could.
“A Clyde Franklin married a Louise Green right here in Palmetto Grove back in 1942. Would that be the one you’re looking for?”
“I guess it could be,” Tracy said. “Did you find anything else about him?”
“No, that’s all I saw.” He leaned over the counter. “I could maybe do a more thorough search if both of you come back tomorrow.”
Janya saw Tracy wink at him. “We might just do that.”
Back in Tracy’s car, Janya pondered what little they had discovered. “Mr. Clyde Franklin lived in Palmetto Grove. Perhaps this is where he and Herb met. Neither of them was born here. They met, and perhaps they became friends and went into the military together. Could Clyde have died in the war?”
“No, remember? We found his discharge papers, not Herb’s.”
“Oh, that’s correct.” Janya reconsidered. “So he survived the war, and of course we know