Read Online Redemption Street by Reed Farrel Coleman - Free Book Online

used to be?”
    “On the other side of town, yeah, plenty.” She perked up, grabbing at a stack of brochures. “But up where the old Fir Grove was, no, nothing. No one up there now but the hayseeds and the Hasids.”
    “Hayseeds and Hasids?” I repeated.
    “You know, Hasids: the funny-dressed Jews in black clothes and beards. The women shave their heads and—” She cut herself off. Clamping a hand over her mouth, she clenched her entire body. She blushed red as a cherry cough drop, her eyes darting dizzyingly from side to side. “Oh, I didn’t mean to offend you.” Her voice cracked as she whispered through her meaty fingers. “That was a stupid thing to say. It’s just a local sort of joke—the hayseeds-and-Hasids thing. I forget myself sometimes. Oh God, I’m so embarrassed.”
    “Relax. Relax. It’s okay. No offense taken. If I gave myself a nickel every time an embarrassing thing came out of my mouth, I’d’a made myself a rich man by now. Forget it. Look, I’m the one who should be ashamed,” I confessed. “I knew about the fire at the Fir Grove. I’m up here doing research on the demise of the Borscht Belt and I thought you might let something interesting slip.”
    That did the trick. Her body unclenched.
    “Take me for a drink later and I’ll let something interesting slip.”
    I held up my left hand and wriggled my ring finger. “Sorry, terminally married.”
    “Hey, Moe, I’ve seen last call too many times to fret details like wedding bands. Besides, maybe I could really help you with the research. Sitting in this chair, I know everything about everything in this town.”
    I winked. “Maybe you can help, but first you gotta pass a little test.”
    She was intrigued. “What kind of test?”
    “Remember when I asked about a hotel to stay in?”
    “Yeah,” she purred.
    “Which one of the hotels on the other side of town would still have some old-timers on the staff. You know, people who’ve worked up here since you were a—”
    “The Swan Song Hotel and Resort,” she stopped me. “Here.” She dealt me a brochure out of the handful she had originally pulled out of the rack.
    “Did I hear you right, the Swan Song?” I asked, even as I read the name. “That’s an odd name.”
    “It is?” she wondered, that blank stare returning.
    “Never mind. Listen, I’m sorry, but what’s your name?”
    “Molly,” she said, “Molly Treat.”
    I winked again. “You certainly are. I’ll hold you to that drink.”
    “I’ll be here.”
    I didn’t doubt it.
    The place was exactly what I expected. Just like all the other buildings in Old Rotterdam, excepting, of course, hideous Town Hall, the buildings that made up the Swan Song Hotel and, Resort were well on their way to disintegration. The chill and mask of snow only seemed to heighten the sense of despair. Huge icicles hung off neglected fascia boards. Soffits were missing everywhere, and windows throughout the campus were covered by plastic sheets and plywood. Although the top layer of snow presented the eye with the illusion that the long, twisty driveway up to the main house was paved smooth as an airport runway, my tires and shock absorbers told a different tale.
    The main house, a beast of building, had probably once been a beautiful study in Victorian asymmetry. But, like many of the structures of that era, it had had its turrets and porches, its intricate spindles and fish-scale shingles stripped away and replaced with an incongruent hodgepodge of stucco, aluminum siding, and fake brick. One vestige of the original building remained: a curvy porch extended from one side of the front entrance around the right side of the big house. Even in the dying light I could see it was sagging terribly. The numerous missing spindles from its rails gave it the look of a jack-o’-lantern’s mouth. Before getting out of the car, I popped the dome light on and studied the brochure Molly Treat had given me. Clearly, the pictures for the