It was at the beginning of rush hour by the time Billy exited Route 110 and proceeded east until he found the address on Colden Ave. It was a yellow stucco duplex.
Billy rang the doorbell. A woman in her mid twenties holding and infant came to the door.
“Good afternoon, Ma’am,” Billy said. “I used to live here many years ago. Can you point out the homes on this block of folks who have lived here the longest?”
She looked at him suspiciously. “You’ll have to do that on your own. I’ve lived here for only a month.”
“Girl of boy?” Billy said.
“Boy,” she said.
“In the basement you will find in the rafters a toy airplane,” Billy said. “I can’t remember exactly where it’s at, but I left it there. It’s the kind made of light wood. All it needs is a rubber band. It will make a fun toy for your son when he gets old enough.”
She smiled. “My husband found it.”
“Well be careful,” Billy said. “Don’t let him chase it into the street.”
She nodded toward a house across the street. “There’s an old couple in that grey house. They act like they own the block. I bet they’ve been here about as long as anybody.”
“Thanks, Ma’am,” Billy said.
“Good luck,” she said.
“What do you mean by that?” Billy said.
“I don’t know,” she said. “you just look like you could catch a break.”
“Thanks,” Billy said he took two steps from the porch and turned around. “Remember watch the streets.”
She smiled and waved.
Billy crossed the street and rang the door bell of the house she pointed out. An older lady came to the door. Likely in her late 70s or early 80s.
“Can I help you?” she said.
“I hope so,” Billy said. “Have you lived her for over 40 years?”
“Who wants to know?” she said as if annoyed.
“Of course,” Billy said. “I’m sorry. My name is Billy Smith. This may all sound strange to you, but I lived on this street around 45 years ago. In fact I lived in that house.” Billy nodded to the house he had come from.
“Am I supposed to remember you?” she said.
“No,” Billy said, “but I was hoping you might. If that’s the case do you know the names of the people who lived there.”
“It seems like you should know,” she said
“It seems that way,” Billy said, “but something has happened to my memory and I’m just trying to find out who my mother and father were or whoever raised me.”
“It all sounds very suspicious to me,” she said. “Are you investigating an unsolved murder or something or are you a writer trying to write about and unsolved murder.”
“I am who I said I am,” Billy said.
“I can’t help you so you’ll have to go,” she said.
Billy smiled. “Thank you ma’am, I’m sorry to trouble you.”
She closed the door only part way and watched Billy walk down the walk toward the street.
Billy turned around. “Ma’am, you mentioned murder twice; was there a murder there?”
She swung the door open. “Come in for a moment.”