The work was over. Henry Mohlenrich returned to his hotel room to pack up for his departure the next day. It had been a busy trip, but now he had finished the final presentation to his client and it was time to relax just a bit. Tomorrow morning he would fly back home, a flight of a couple of hours. He was really in no great hurry. It was Thursday, a weekend was coming, and for a bachelor of 43, with no family other than a dog at home and a sister in a distant town, no particular excitement was in the offing. Henry worked with numbers and dollar signs, as a partner in a small accounting firm, and his only hobbies were a bit of gardening and his occasional travel. Tonight he would enjoy a leisurely dinner and then retire to his room for a bit of TV.
He finished the packing. He checked his ticket, placing it in his coat pocket. Wearing his accustomed two piece suit, he walked out of the hotel looking for a quiet place for dinner. A block or so down the street he found it - a small restaurant offering Greek cuisine - one of his favorites. The Thursday night crowd was not large, and he entered and was directed to a small table at one side. The table was set for two.
"You are alone, sir?" the waiter inquired. "Indeed I am," was the reply. "Just a table for one."
Henry made a menu choice, ordered a carafe of wine, and settled into his seat for a quiet meal.
After taking his time over the food and wine, he requested the check. He withdrew his wallet, producing a credit card, which he presented to the waiter. A few moments later, the card was returned to him. He stood up, replaced the card into his wallet, and left the restaurant.
Henry checked the cash in his wallet before replacing it in his pocket. A bad habit, he knew, in a public place, but one he had never shaken. He had less than a hundred dollars, more than enough for his requirements, as most of his expenses were handled on credit cards. He began to slip the wallet into the pocket of his trousers.
Suddenly he jumped abruptly and turned, as a very loud crash of metal sounded behind him. As he looked where he had been a few moments earlier, he saw the aftermath of a two car collision, as one of the two vehicles careened onto the sidewalk and came to rest only a few feet away.
Henry watched the scene for a few minutes, partly out of curiosity, partly out of a duty to help should there be injured parties. It soon became evident that no one was hurt, and two angry drivers emerged to confront each other. Henry watched for a few minutes, then decided he had better things to do and returned to his hotel.
He entered his room, thankful to have escaped what might have been a serious incident, and sat down to peruse the TV offerings.
On a whim, he decided to recount his cash and reached into his pocket.
He felt for his wallet. It was not there.
He quickly glanced about the room. There was no sign of the wallet. Alarmed, he began to search the room more thoroughly. He opened the door and checked the hall. He felt all of his other pockets. There was no sign of the wallet.
Back where the collision had occurred, a small crowd had gathered, not unusual for the scene of a collision. The crowd somewhat obstructed the traffic on the sidewalk, and a middle aged woman tried to push her way through, attempting to get to her car parked a short distance down the street.
Frankie Dumont managed to get to her car. Frankie was 49, a bit matronly, that is to say, somewhat overweight, not terribly tall, and with her brown locks showing just an occasional touch of gray. She opened the car and started to get in, when she noticed something lying in the gutter just under the side of the car. She reached down, and retrieved what appeared to be a wallet. She quickly looked about for a possible owner, but seeing none, took it with her into the car. She started the car and headed for home.
Henry was a bit shaken. He hadn't lost a wallet before, but now that seemed to be his misfortune. He wasn't terribly worried about getting home; his ticket was still in his coat pocket, and the hotel already had the imprint of his credit card for the bill. But he was distraught at the prospect of having no cash other than a few coins, and at having to go through the ritual of reporting the loss of his credit cards, drivers license, and other items he carried with him. At best, it was a nuisance, even if survivable.
Henry retraced his steps to the restaurant where he had eaten, searching every step of the way. He inquired at the hotel desk, and at the restaurant. He got little encouragement. A missing wallet, whether dropped or stolen, wasn't likely to make its way back to its owner intact. He contemplated making a police report, and calling in to report lost credit cards. Clearly he was annoyed and upset. He was, however, still able to get home in the morning. He decided he would wait until morning to report the loss, hoping that somehow the wallet might turn up.
Frankie sat down in her apartment to examine the wallet she had found under her car. She first looked at the cash it contained, which came to exactly eighty four dollars. However, there were also several credit cards, business cards, and a drivers license, all bearing the name of Henry J. Mohlenrich, who, according to the business card, was an accountant. The business card bore an address and telephone number of a small town in Ohio, several hundred miles away.
Frankie meditated on what to do. Her innate honesty told her she must return the wallet, but how to do it? Clearly the owner was not a local resident, and there was no local address. She could turn it in to the police, but would that effectively get it back to its owner?
Frankie thought for a bit. From the papers in the wallet she knew what the owner looked like, where he lived, and what his occupation was. Frankie also was just a bit of a dreamer. She tried to visualize the man whose wallet she held. She knew he was 43, just a few years younger than herself. From the picture he was wasn't bad looking.
Now, Frankie was quite a bit of a dreamer. A divorced mother of two grown children, she hadn't really had men in her life in recent years, at least not in any big way. Mostly, she kept to herself socially, except when she visited her children. She had a few friends, mostly female, and operated a small clothing store with a female partner, which allowed her some freedom in her working hours.
She fantasized just a bit about Henry. It would be interesting to meet him, just to see what he was like. And, surely, he would be grateful to her for returning his wallet; if, indeed, she could find him. That might be quite a challenge. She picked up the telephone, and dialed the number listed on the business card.
Not surprisingly, there was no answer. It was an office number, and it was now late evening. The office would, understandably, be closed. She saw another number, probably a home phone, and tried that. There was no answer there, either.
She was about to give up until morning, until she noticed a scrap of paper stuffed into the cash compartment. On it was written a phone number, one she couldn't recognize. She dialed it.
After a number of rings, a sleepy response was heard.
"Yes?" a male voice inquired.
