The Mysterious Photograph

"Thank you," said Lucy, putting away her notepad. "You've been a real help."

"Sure," said the girl behind the counter. "Do you want to order anything?"

"No thanks," said Lucy.

"I do," said Danielle. "Give me one of those cinnamon rolls. No (on second thought) give me two."

---

Outside the bakery, Danielle contentedly munched on her food.

"I can feel it, we're this close," said Lucy. "If he came here every day then he definitely has to work nearby."

"I know," said Danielle, wiping the sticky sauce off her chin with a napkin, "but Luce, look how many offices there are. There's got to be a million. How can we find which one he works at?"

"Come with me," said Lucy. "I've got an idea." She took her friend's hand and together the two girls crossed the street.

"Uh, she said an office building. This is a hotel, Luce," said Danielle.

"I know," said Lucy, a confident smile on her face. "Excuse me, sir. I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time."

The hotel doorman, elegantly outfitted in gold braid and a red cap, nodded slightly. "Certainly."

"I have an unusual question for you. My name is Lucy Kitteridge and this is my friend Danielle. We're both students at the local high school and I'm here as part of a journalism investigation and we were wondering if you could help us. Do you see this coat I'm wearing?"

"Very nice," said the doorman. "I hope I am not overstepping my bounds here, but I must admit that it looks very fetching on you, miss."

"Thank you," said Lucy, flashing the doorman her most coquettish smile. "My project is to track down the origins of this coat. Through my investigation, I have come to believe that it used to belong to a man who worked near here. Is there any chance in the world that you know who I'm talking about?"

"Well," said the doorman, "I see several thousand people pass by here every day, you know. But in this case I think I might be able to help you. My uncle was in the Navy and I remember that he used to have a coat just like that. I do remember seeing a young man with a coat like yours pass by here every day but I haven't seen him in a while."

"Oh my goodness, Luce!" squealed Danielle.

"Thank you, sir," said Lucy, retrieving her notebook. "Can you give me a physical description of what he looked like?"

"Real strapping young man," said the doorman, slightly repositioning his cap on his head, "looked like a go-getter to me. Always dressed nice in a suit. Hm, I'd say brown hair. About this tall. Had a confidence about him. That's what I noticed, I mean beyond the coat."

"Excellent," said Lucy, writing as fast as she could. "And do you know where he worked?"

"Well that I can't help you with," said the doorman. "He wasn't an employee of the hotel, that's for sure. All I know is that he always used to come out of that entrance there." With one gloved finger, the doorman pointed to a tall building a few hundred yards down the street.

"You have been more than helpful," said Lucy. "Thank you."

"Yeah thanks," said Danielle as the two girls skipped away.

---

The two young women walked up to the building. Lucy craned her head and looked upwards. "I know we're close," she said.

"Yeah but look at this place," said Danielle. "Has to be at least 25 stories at least. Think we'll find him?"

"I know we will," said Lucy. Together they walked through the revolving door at the entrance and into the lobby. The walls were covered in marble and ahead of them were several elevators. There was an information booth in the center of the entrance but unfortunately no receptionists or security guards.

The two girls spent several long minutes perusing the company listings. "Some of these we can cross off the list," said Lucy. "Obviously a man in a suit and tie isn't going to work for a painting company or a construction firm."

"Unless he's the manager," said Danielle.

"Shit," said Lucy. "You're right. And it looks like there are several law firms in this building as well. I was really hoping there'd be somebody here at the entrance to ask. How in the world are we going to find him, Danielle?" Lucy's shoulders sagged. So close and yet it looked like her investigation had finally run out of luck.

"Wait, I've got an idea," said Danielle, a grin on her face. "Stay here." Leaving her confused friend in the center of the lobby, Danielle ran into the restroom.

Lucy continued to stare at the building directory. In her mind she had narrowed down her search to about 10 different companies. She was resigning herself to a floor by floor search when Danielle re-emerged from the bathroom and rapidly strode over to her friend.

"Come on, let's go," said Danielle. She pulled her friend by the hand and together they entered the elevator. Once the doors had closed, Danielle pressed the button for the seventh floor.

"I don't understand," said Lucy. "How do you know he works on the seventh floor?"

"Remember how I took that trip to Mexico with my family last summer?" said Danielle.

"Yeah, what about it?" asked Lucy.

"Well I knew if there was anybody who would know all the comings and goings in a big building like this, it would be the janitors. I saw the cleaning cart outside the bathroom down there in the lobby so I went in. Sure enough, it was a lady cleaning in there and I used my Spanish with her. And guess what? She definitely remembered the guy!"

"Wow, Danielle, are you sure? Your Spanish isn't that great, is it?"

"Well," said Danielle, batting her eyelashes, "I definitely understand what muy guapo means."

"Handsome?" said Lucy tentatively.

"Exactly!" cried Danielle. "And the janitor lady definitely remembered the guy. She said he was the most handsome man in the building. And yes, she definitely remembers the coat too."

"So where does he work?" asked Lucy, panting with excitement. "Is it a law firm?"

"Dunno," said Danielle. "The cleaning lady just said it was on the seventh floor."

Just then the elevator doors opened and the two girls stepped out onto the seventh floor. In front of them was a large reception desk staffed by an attractive young brunette woman wearing a headset. Above her were emblazoned the company's logo.

"Bubbles and Squeaks?" said Danielle.

"Shh, let me handle this," said Lucy, marching up to the desk.

"Can I help you?" said the pretty receptionist.

"Hi there," said Lucy. "My friend and I are students down at the local high school. We're doing a journalistic investigation for a school project and we were hoping you could help us."

"Sorry," said the receptionist. "If you have any PR questions you need to see our media relations department, which is located in another building. I can give you their phone number if you like."

"No, no," said Lucy, "I'm hoping that won't be necessary. Well, you see, it's not so much the company we are interested in. It's this coat that I'm wearing."

The receptionist cocked one eyebrow but said nothing.

"Our project is about tracing the origin of the clothes we all wear. I'm actually trying to find the original owner of this coat. We have reason to believe that he works here."

For the first time, the receptionist smiled, her face no longer an impassive mask. "That's a very nice coat," she said.

"Thanks," said Lucy.

"But I'm sorry to tell you that the man who owned it no longer works here."

Danielle let out a small cry of disappointment.

"So you do remember him?" asked Lucy.

"Of course," said the receptionist. "Victor was one of our best fundraisers. We definitely miss him here."

"And what exactly is it that you do here?" asked Danielle, earning her a furious look from her best friend.

"Bubbles and Squeak is a non-profit charity," said the receptionist. "Our mission is rescuing elderly and unwanted animals from zoos or circuses and rehousing them in more humane conditions. It's very rewarding work."

"I see," said Lucy, bringing out her notebook from the pocket of her coat. "And can you tell me where we can find... Victor?"

"Sure," said the receptionist. "We were definitely sorry to lose him. But hey, he got a better offer so who can blame him for moving on? Let me write down his information for you."

Lucy was vibrating with excitement but did her best to appear calm and collected as she took the piece of paper from the receptionist.

"Thank you," chimed both girls as they stepped back into the elevator. Only when the doors had closed and the elevator started to move did they both let out a loud squeal, giggling and laughing as they hugged themselves.

---

The next day, Lucy made her way across town to the address on the paper. Danielle had wanted to accompany her but had been forced to go to school after numerous angry protestations from her mother.

Lucy was brimming with confidence. She'd already researched Victor's new company, another non-profit firm that worked in war-torn African countries to dig wells to provide clean drinking water for impoverished villagers. The organization had several glowing write-ups in the local newspaper, especially after they had secured a sizable grant from the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation.

Entering the building, she glanced at the directory and saw that Fountains of Joy was located on the 11th floor. Impressed by the shiny brass elevator, she took several deep breaths as the car slowly made its journey upwards. Was this the day she would meet the man in the photograph? Nervously, she played with the Polaroid in her pocket.

As the doors opened on the 11th floor, Lucy's ears were assaulted by the loud sounds of a busy office. Printers and ringing phones vied with loud voices as Lucy saw several dozen cubicles in front of her. There was no elegant reception area, only a small desk near the entrance staffed by an African-American woman with tightly braided hair who was busy shouting into a telephone.

Nervously, Lucy approached her. "Excuse me, hello."

"What do you want?" snapped the receptionist.

"I'm looking for Victor Lipscombe."

"He's not here."

"Well can you tell me when he's expected back at the office?" asked Lucy.

"No I cannot," said the surly receptionist. Her phone had several blinking lights and the fax on her desk was spitting out paper with a noisy clatter.

Startled, Lucy did her best to regain her composure. "Can I perhaps schedule an appointment to meet with him?" she said in her most polite voice.

"Nope," said the receptionist.

"He does work here, yes?" said Lucy.

"I already told you he's not here. Is there anything else I can help you with?" snarled the receptionist.

"No, uh, thank you," said Lucy, her hands trembling. So close and yet foiled by this aggressive receptionist. Lucy was downcast, utterly dismayed by the hostile stonewalling. But as she turned to retreat back to the elevator, she spied an unusual object sitting on a shelf in one of the cubicles. It was a Polaroid camera.

Suddenly her heart began racing. Surely, she had found the right place! After all, what were the chances of someone in this day owning a Polaroid camera if it wasn't the person connected to the photograph? Maybe it was Victor himself! Ignoring the receptionist's angry stare, Lucy took one step closer to the cubicle, straining to see who the owner of the Polaroid camera was.

"Miss, you best be getting on your way," said the receptionist, rising to her feet to intercept Lucy.

Lucy said nothing but grinned to herself as she rapidly entered the elevator. She'd only gotten a glimpse but it was enough. The person working in the cubicle was a blonde lady with chin-length hair, wearing a burgundy blouse and beige slacks.

As Lucy exited the elevator and made her way out of the building, she checked the time on her phone. It was still early morning and surely the office workers would come downstairs on their lunch breaks. If Lucy kept her eyes open, she would be sure to spot the woman who worked in the cubicle with the Polaroid camera.

An hour later, Lucy's intuitive hunch paid off. The woman in the burgundy blouse came striding out of the front door of the building and Lucy hustled to catch up with her.

"Excuse me, excuse me," Lucy called out.

"Yes? Can I help you?" asked the woman, turning to look at her.

"Hi there," said Lucy, extending her hand. "My name is Lucy Kitteridge. Do you work at Fountains of Joy?"

"What's this all about?" said the woman, crossing her arms. "I'm on my lunch break. What do you want?"

"Ma'am, I'm sorry to bother you," said Lucy. "I'm a student at the local high school. I'm actually doing a project on your colleague, Victor Lipscombe. I was hoping you could answer a few questions."

"Don't call me ma'am and we'll get along much better," said the blonde woman, slowly uncrossing her arms. She reached out and shook Lucy's hand. "My name is Monica Poza. Now what's all this about Victor now?"

"It's, uh, I'm doing a journalism project for school," said Lucy.

"Oh my," said Monica. "It sure is a terrible shame."

"What's that?" said Lucy as she dug out the notepad from her coat pocket.

"The accident," said Monica. "I assume that's why you're asking about Victor."

"Oh goodness," said Lucy. "No, I actually don't know anything about that. My project is, uh, actually about tracking down the origins of this coat."

"My, that is a rather good looking coat," said Monica. "Come to think of it, Victor used to own a coat just like it. I just assumed when you said it was a journalism project that you were interested in the accident."

"Please tell me about it," said Lucy, her pen poised over her notepad.

"Such a tragedy," said Monica. "I wasn't there but I heard all about it. Victor was downtown near the Spring Street Plaza. He was doing something, I forget what, when he saw a car come racing down the street, totally out of control. There was this woman pushing a stroller with her two kids inside and they were crossing the street. Victor saw that the car was gonna smash right into them so he ran out into the middle of the road and pushed them out of the way at the last second. The car ended up plowing right into Victor and almost killed him. Fucking asshole was drunk."

"I assume you mean the driver of the car," said Lucy.

"Of course," said Monica, the irritation in her voice clearly evident. "Cops said he'd lost his license three times for drunk driving. Don't matter though, does it? Asshole still ran over Victor. It's a miracle he's still alive. Apparently though the woman and her two kids were all right though."

"Wow," said Lucy, writing everything down as quickly as she could. "And Victor, you said he's all right?"

"No, I said he's alive," said Monica bitterly. "He's practically a vegetable though."

"Is he at a hospital?" asked Lucy.

"Yeah," said Monica. "Last I heard they got him up at Saint Richard's, you know, the long-term facility on the north end of town. Real shame what happened. I don't think that he's ever gonna come back to work though."

"I see," said Lucy.

"Hey, that is Victor's old coat isn't it?" asked Monica.

"Yes, I believe so," said Lucy, putting the notebook away in one of the pockets. "As I said, my journalism project was about investigating the origin of this coat. I'm sorry to hear about the car accident though. I didn't know anything about that."

"Yeah well, what can you do?" said Monica. "Hey, you didn't by any chance find any photographs in the pocket of that coat, did you?"

"What? No," said Lucy, struggling to keep her face neutral. "Why?"

"No reason," said Monica. "Listen, I got to run and grab some food before I starve to death. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No, but thank you for your information," said Lucy as sweetly as she could. "You've been very helpful."

"If you see him, tell him hi for me," said Monica before turning away and heading down the sidewalk.

---

The next day Lucy had a long time to think as she rode the cross-town bus to the hospital. What would happen when she finally met Victor? She'd started off this journey as a curious girl interested in finding the man in a racy photo. But now it looked like he was some kind of invalid. Lucy knew that everyone who had met him had high opinions of him but what kind of conclusion to her research would it be to have everything end with a comatose man in a hospital bed?

Lucy sighed and stepped into the hospital. It was an antiquated brick building and it smelled simultaneously of mildew and bleach. The hospital was located in an older part of town that had once been prosperous but now was relegated to liquor stores, pawnshops and dilapidated public healthcare facilities such as this one.

The nurse at the front desk was obese, her red jowls sagging with exhaustion. "Can I help you?" she asked as Lucy approached.

"Yes, I'm looking for a patient of yours. I hope he is here. His name is Victor Lipscombe."

"My, my," said the nurse. "Yes, of course Victor is here. He's been a patient of ours for quite a long time. But I must say that he usually doesn't get too many pretty young girls coming in here and asking for him."

"Why, thank you," said Lucy, her face blushing a bright crimson.

"You're definitely going to brighten up his day," said the nurse. "He's on the third floor, last door on the right. But you really should've come a little sooner, miss. Visiting hours are over."

"Oh no," said Lucy, her face crestfallen.

"Well," said the larger woman, checking the watch on her plump wrist, "actually visiting hours end in seven minutes. Normally I wouldn't let anyone on the floor but if you hurry, I think I can turn a blind eye this one time. It'd be such a shame for a nice young man like Victor not to get a visit."

"Oh thank you," said Lucy. She hurriedly dashed down the hallway towards the elevators. Riding the creaking cage up to the third floor, she again wondered who she would find. The third floor was labeled Long-Term Care and stank of despair and hopelessness. But at least the nurse hadn't said Victor was in a coma. If he was able to be cheered up by a visitor he must at least be conscious.

In for a penny, in for a pound, Lucy told herself as she slowly made her way to the end of the hallway. The door to the last room on the left was slightly ajar. Lucy peered in and had to put a hand to her mouth to stifle her gasp. If there was a man in the bed in the room, she couldn't see him. All that was visible was a white zombie, arms and legs attached to overhead pulleys. Only a tiny slice of brown hair gave evidence to the fact that a person was actually in there.

"Hi, uh, I hope I'm not disturbing you," said Lucy as she cautiously entered the room.

"No problem," came a voice, rich and confidently masculine.

Lucy slowly made her way closer to the bed. The man before her was encased in a full-body cast. Slowly she let her eyes travel upwards, hoping to herself that his face was not similarly bandaged. To her enormous surprise, she saw that his head was undamaged, his eyes a deep, liquid brown, his handsome and rugged jaw perfectly complimenting his wavy hair.

"Hi there," she managed to say. "Are you Victor Lipscombe?"

"Live and in the flesh," said the man in the bed. "I'd shake your hand but, as you can see, I'm slightly indisposed at the moment."

Lucy giggled for a brief moment and then regained her composure. "Sorry, I didn't mean to laugh at you."

"A girl as pretty as you, she can laugh as much as she likes," said Victor, his eyes sparkling. "Are you the new physical therapist? You seem a little young."

"What? Oh no," said Lucy. "I don't work here. I'm actually looking for you."

"My day just keeps on getting better and better," said Victor, his face creased with a large smile. "Let me guess. I died and now I'm in heaven and you're an angel."

"Oh gosh," said Lucy, once again giggling. The cast ended right at his neckline but it was clear that whatever damage his body had sustained, Victor's mind was perfectly functional. "No, I'm actually a student at the local high school."