CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Now I have a name out of the blue. Someone called Charlie Andrews, and I have Mr. Benjamin keeping a sales slip for a 1940 Ford under lock and key until we can see if this leads anywhere. There’s no use in trying to find out anything more about Harold Severson. He’s new in town, hasn't had time to make friends and establish regular places where he eats or shops, plus he spends most of his off hours with his mother, but George Williams is another story. The obvious thing is to find Williams or someone who knows where he went, or what his plans were before he disappeared. With this in mind, I find myself standing in front of the Williams residence.
The wind chimes are still tinkling. As I get to the front porch, I can hear Bing Crosby and his son, Gary, doing their swi
