Next I visited the travel agency where I was greeted by a young woman wearing a big smile and a name tag, “Karen.”
“I’m thinking of taking a vacation. it doesn’t matter where. Something that costs about…” and I named the figure on Uncle Henry’s credit card bill. Karen listed several distant and exotic destinations while my head pendulumed. “No.”
“Do you plan to get married soon?”
“Are you proposing to me?” She grinned. Fortunately she caught my facetious sense of humour. “No,” I told her, remembering my first marriage, the best part of which had been the divorce. “Why?”
“Because we have a honeymoon special for just that price to Niagara Falls, round-trip air tickets with room, meals and a tour of the city all included.”
“That sounds like exactly what I want.”
“Then you are getting married?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll have to charge you the regular rate. The special is for two.”
I booked a ticket for one for the next day, then called Ms. Friend. “I’m taking a trip.”
“With Uncle Henry still missing?”
“Yes. No. I’ll contact you when I get back.”
The next day I was on a flight to Niagara Falls (for one, return), reading Pierre Berton’s book about the international geographical phenomenon. I checked into the hotel that was part of Karen’s special. Sight-seeing was tempting, but business before pleasure, so after dropping my luggage in my room, I returned to the desk and asked the clerk if my old friend Hank — Henry Homewood — was staying there.
“Yes. They’re in room 522.” I was only slightly surprised by the plural pronoun.
This could be an embarrassing situation for everyone, but I suppressed the urge to pretend to be a plumber, a pollster, or a person knocking on the wrong door. I knocked on the right door. A man who looked like Uncle Henry’s photo’s answered. “Yes?”
“Uncle Henry? I mean, Henry Homewood?”
He wore a thick hotel bathrobe and a puzzled expression.
“Yes.”
“I’m a friend of your niece, Ms. Friend. She’s worried about you.”
“Oh dear. I was afraid of that. Poor Amanda.”
“Who is it, Henry?” A pleasant female voice came from the bathroom, followed a moment later by an attractive woman in her forties, also wearing a heavy bathrobe. I hope I had not interrupted a pre- or post- shower.
“This is my wife, Cynthia. Cynthia, this is a friend of Amanda’s. You didn’t mention your name.”
“It’s Tuff. Rock Tuff.”
“You certainly don’t match your name.”
“It’s not my real name.”
“What is your real name?”
“That’s a professional secret.”
Obviously Uncle Henry was in no danger. I suggested that we meet in the hotel dining room at six for dinner and went out to see the Falls, the grave of Captain Webb, and the Skylon Tower. I also called Amanda to tell her that I had found Uncle Henry and that he was safe and well. I didn’t mention his companion.
