Free For Whom the Minivan Rolls by JEFFREY COHEN Page B

number of the call at exactly dinner
time on the evening in question. I hadn’t received a phone call for
an hour before or after, so there wasn’t any way to make a
mistake.
    “It might be my cellular, but I’ll have to check,”
MacKenzie said. “My daughters gave me the silly thing for when I’m
working back here in the greenhouse, but I never use it. You know
they charge you even when someone calls you? ” He shook his
head at the impudence of the phone companies—probably had a
nostalgic rush of warmth for the times when Ma Bell was the only
monopoly in town—and walked over to a small metal box on a table
near some hothouse roses.
    MacKenzie opened the box and sorted through a number
of “3x5” index cards, each of which bore a phone number neatly
printed in dark marker. He found one marked “CELLULAR,” and
compared it to the paper I’d handed him.
    “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said in a dreamy voice.
“It’s my number, all right.”
    “And I’ll bet you didn’t call me that night,” I
offered as he stashed the card in the box and set the box back
carefully in exactly the same place.
    “Mr. Tucker, before your unannounced arrival here
tonight, I had never heard of you, and no offense, my life didn’t
seem all that much emptier.”
    “No offense taken,” I said. I was starting to like
this guy.
    “I’m sorry I can’t help you gentlemen,” he said,
“but I’m sure, Mr. Tucker, I’ve never called you and threatened
some woman I’ve never met.”
    “Are you sure nobody else could have used your
phone, Mr. MacKenzie?” Okay, so I was grasping at straws, but I’d
driven all that way, and was looking at another two-hour trip down
the musical memory lane of my youth on the way back. I had to come
home with something.
    MacKenzie shook his head. “No, nobody ever comes in
here except me and occasionally one of my daughters. Besides, I’d
never leave someone alone in here. I’m very protective of my
plants.”
    “Maybe somebody picked up the phone without your
hearing. . .”
    “I know my hearing isn’t what it used to be, Mr.
Tucker, but I like to think I would have noticed someone using my
phone while I was in the room. And as I said, only my daughters
come here to visit me. You did say the caller was male, didn’t
you?”
    I forced a smile and shook MacKenzie’s hand. “Yes, I
did. And I’m sorry to have taken up so much of your time, Mr.
MacKenzie.”
    “Not at all. And put that phone down, Mr.
Mahoney.”
    Mahoney looked sheepish and replaced the phone in
the drawer. “Sorry.”
    “Don’t be. You needed to try. But you see, I did
notice. I hope you didn’t call out of the area. They charge you for
that, you know—at least on my plan.”
    “I didn’t get to call anybody, Mr. MacKenzie. You
were too quick for me.”
    MacKenzie laughed until he started to cough. “That
is the first time anybody’s said that to me since Jimmy Carter was
in office,” he said.
    Mahoney pointed at one of the flowers MacKenzie had
ready to plant. His brow wrinkled, which usually means he’s about
to say something you wouldn’t expect from a rent-a-car
mechanic.
    “I’ve never seen roses like these before, Mr.
MacKenzie. The pink petals with the blue specks in a diamond shape
like that.” See what I mean?
    “Yes,” MacKenzie beamed. “I’m real proud of those.
They’re a hybrid I developed myself.”
    “But can’t these roses be planted outside at this
time of year?” Mahoney asked. “I’d think they’d be able to
withstand even one of the colder nights this late in the
season.”
    “You have a keen eye,” MacKenzie nodded. “I actually
could plant them outdoors now, but the fact is, my knees are shot.
I can’t bend and plant things in the ground the way I used to. It’s
one of the reasons I took my retirement savings and built this
greenhouse six years ago.”
    “It’s an impressive set-up,” Mahoney said. He took a
few steps around, nodding. If he were wearing a