The Stranger

The Stranger

By Michael Z. Lewin

Excerpt

The next few days were very busy ones for the stranger, and increasingly Edie acted as social secretary, taking messages and keeping track of when the stranger was available for lunch or dinner, for this excursion or that.

The stranger went out several times with Lenny Kahlenbeck to look at substantial homes in various parts of Dubois and adjoining counties. Isolation, as they discussed at length, would be essential because of the need for privacy. Kahlenbeck offered to help with a high-tech security system too, through a cousin.

The area the stranger found most attractive was near Patoka Lake in the Lick Fork State Recreation Area. But there were tempting houses too in Celestine, Riceville, Bacon, and in the ironically named English and Ireland.

By the third afternoon, however, it was clear that the stranger could not be easily satisfied and would not make a hasty purchase.

“But don’t get me wrong,” Kahlenbeck said. “I respect a careful man, I truly do.”

“It is beautiful country,” the stranger said. “And I certainly appreciate your generosity with your time. I particularly like the modern log cabins. Do you have any more on your files?”

The Stranger. Photo by Elena

“You’ve seen everything,” Kahlenbeck said.

“But if something else comes up, you wouldn’t mind my coming back for a look?”

“I sure wouldn’t,” Kahlenbeck said.

“Good.”

“Chuck?”

“Yes?”

“I wondered if I could ask you a little favour?”

“What’s that?” the stranger said.

“I don’t begrudge a minute of it, but I’ve put in a lot of time with you the last few days.”

“And I am very grateful, truly.”

“What I was wondering was, would you mind if my little secretary, if she took a picture of the two of us together.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” the stranger said.

“It would be just for me, maybe to hang on the wall behind my desk. I know how you want to make sure it wouldn’t get in newspapers or anything.”

“Even so,” the stranger said. “It’s matter of… well, how things are done. What we call protocol.”

“Don’t you ever have your picture taken with people you meet?”

“Oh, sometimes. For instance, when I’m at a charity function.”

“Charity?” Lenny Kahlenbeck’s eyes narrowed.

“If, say a local philanthropist were to make a large charitable donation to one of the causes I espouse.

Alternative medicine, for instance, or population control. Well, it would be churlish in such circumstances for me to object to a photograph being taken with the benefactor.”

“A donation, huh?” Kahlenbeck said.

“Yes,” the stranger said.

“Like, how big a donation is “large”?

Having had considerable opportunity to assess the best answer to such a question, the stranger said, “Like, two thousand dollars.”

(Ellery Queen, Mystery Magazine, September 1993)