That Boy From Trash Town by Billie Green

trees, no flowers. It was a no-frills kind of place, and there was an impersonal feel to it. Even before Whitney saw the small faded sign with Rooms printed with a green marker, she knew that this wasn't a private home.
    She drove past the house three times before she realized the people on the street were staring at the white Jaguar, and her stupidity made her groan. Of course they were staring. It was a decent neighborhood, clean and uncluttered, but parked in most of the driveways were neat little economy cars or dependable old Chevrolets.
    Not a Mercedes or BMW or Jaguar in sight, she thought as she turned the corner and headed back toward her hotel.
    Twenty-four hours later, the Jaguar her uncle had given her in her first year at S.M.U. was in storage and Whitney was the proud owner of a '72 Buick.
    And that wasn't the only change that had taken place. When she parked the Buick in front of the boarding house and stepped out, Whitney wore faded jeans and an oversized man's work shirt, an ensemble that had always made Anne Grant cringe. Her mother wouldn't see anything funny in the fact that Whitney was finally dressed appropriately.
    Her knock on the front door of the boarding house was answered by a gruff-voiced, gruff-faced woman in her late fifties.
    "Better come on in," Mrs. Skinner said when Whitney asked about a room. The woman seemed nice but abrupt.
    "I don't have any vacancies, but I have a friend who lets rooms, too. Wait here for a minute white I write down the address," she said, already on her way out of the small entrance hall.
    "I particularly wanted a room here," Whitney said, panicking for no good reason. When the woman paused, Whitney moistened her lips and added, "You see, this place was recommended by a friend.. .a friend of my father's. A man named Lloyd Grant."
    Mrs. Skinner shook her head, then paused to adjust a hairpin. "No, no one called Grant lives here. There was a man last year. Couldn't stand him, something about the way he was always clearing his throat. What was his name? No, it was Greer. I sure can't remember a Grant." She turned away again. "I'll get that address for you." And she was gone before Whitney could stop her.
    "Lloyd ain't lived here for four or five years at least."
    Startled, Whitney whirled around and saw an elderly man making his way slowly down the stairs.
    "What did you say?" she asked as the blood began to pound in her ears.
    "I said old Lloyd hasn't lived here for quite a while now," the man said, speaking loud and slow as though he suspected her of being hard-of-hearing.
    Whitney swallowed around the lump in her throat and wiped her damp hands on her jeans. "I wonder—I wonder if it was the same man. His... his wife was a tall, dark woman."
    The-old man shook his head. "Naw, couldn't have been him. Lloyd was an old bachelor like me. Still is as far as I know. Least, he didn't say anything about a wife when I saw him last month."
    "You saw him? Where was that?"
    When Whitney saw the old man's features close up, she realized the questions had been too urgent, too sharp.
    Softening her lips into a smile, she said, "Maybe I was mistaken about the wife. I mean, I never actually met her. It might be the same man. The thing is, Mr.... You see, I'd really like to get in touch with Mr. Grant."
    "What for?"
    Oh, yes, he was definitely suspicious, she told herself ruefully.
    Perspiration had gathered in her palms again, but as she nervously tangled her hands in the bottom of her shirt, she maintained the smile.
    "I—I owe him money," she said, searching desperately for a plausible excuse. Everyone understood about an honorable debt. "He was kind enough to lend me some money several years ago, and now that I'm doing better, I'd like to repay him. Do you know where he's living now?"
    He shook his head. "That sounds like Lloyd and I'd sure like to help him out, but he didn't say a word about where he's staying. I ran into him over to Rick's Pub out on Rale Street. I think Lloyd's