The blunt force of her fury sent a wave of blackness through Birdie’s vision. Sharp pinpricks of pain followed, and a crushing shame. Natasha stormed off.
The silence left in her wake was deafening. One by one, the other women drifted back to work. Abandoned, Birdie pressed her palm to her stinging cheek.
For the remainder of the day, she worked in a miserable stupor. No one else physically accosted her but with each new apology, another bit of her soul disappeared. Natasha was right—she wasn’t fit to live in a world where neighbors sat on front porches and met for coffee in the town’s only restaurant. If she’d ever been foolish enough to dream about staying in Liberty, those hopes were now dashed.
She was a misfit, a con artist. No better than her conniving mother and blundering father.
By closing time, her feet were swollen like lava-filled balloons and her jaw ached from gritting her teeth. With her order pad shaking in her hands, she’d taken insults and orders in equal measure. It was no less than her due.
One more duty lay ahead. She’d promised to see Officer Tim at the police station on Elm.
* * *
At the southeast corner of Liberty Square, the sorrowful thief paused long enough for a layer of snow to gather on her army coat. The flowing gilt of her hair hung in stringy cords and her shoulders sagged.
Moved beyond speech, Theodora watched the child turn east toward Elm and resume walking.
Approaching, Finney joined her at the window. “Should we follow her?” the cook asked.
“Don’t fret. She’ll go straight to the police station.”
Finney slowly wiped her hands on her apron. “I went through her coat this morning looking for all the cash she’d stolen.” She drew in a quivering breath. “There was a sight more than money in her pockets.”
“What else did you find?”
“Good grief—all sorts of stuff. I found a novel, a pocketknife, three candy canes and a church bulletin. There was also a sewing kit. She probably stole it from Ethel Lynn.”
“Which church was the bulletin for?”
“New Faith Congregational in Lexington, Kentucky. Imagine—our sassy girl attending church, in Lexington no less.” The cook shook her head. “None of it broke my heart, though.”
“What did?” Theodora asked, curious.
“Birdie’s got an old-fashioned book—must’ve come from an antique shop. There are the prettiest pictures of ladies inside. The text is full of instruction for all sorts of social situations, how to make a proper introduction or write a thank you note—” The cook paused, her generous bosom heaving with shuddering emotion. “A pretty book hidden beside all the stolen money. An etiquette book! Why would a pickpocket carry around such a thing?”
“She wants to be a lady,” Theodora replied, amazed that Finney couldn’t see what was so patently obvious. “What a person does and what they dream of becoming doesn’t always match up.” She grunted. “I put my faith in the dreamers. You don’t become something better if you can’t see it first.”
“I suppose.”
“Birdie was raised by vermin. Doesn’t matter. She hankers to become something better. Fights the urge, but it grows thick as ivy in her.”
Finney seemed to chew this around for a moment. “She also has an old pack of children’s cards in one of her pockets. Go Fish. Mind telling me why a grown woman carries around Go Fish even if she dreams of becoming respectable?”
“I expect it reminds her of something pleasant from her childhood.”
“I’d like to think she’s known some happiness, all evidence to the contrary.” The cook leaned toward the window as if searching the darkness for clues. “Are you sure she’ll go to the police station? She might hitchhike out of town. If I were in her shoes, it’d be more than a passing thought.”
“She said she’d go straight to Officer Tim. She will.” Theodora paused, considering. “Birdie’s stronger than you think. She’ll do what’s right.”
“I can’t imagine why.” Finney retrieved the front page of the Register from where she’d hidden it in her apron pocket. “With a family like hers, who can blame her for going astray?”
Dog-tired from worry, Theodora returned to the counter. Delia poured her a cup of coffee. Sipping the brew, she suffered through her worry. While Birdie took heat from customers they’d all read the article on the sly.
Showing her the Register had seemed an added cruelty, and they’d decided against it. The shocking connection between Birdie’s mother and Landon Williams—to think, Birdie’s mother was the Greyhart woman. Which wasn’t the worst part.
Timothy Ralston had written with heartbreaking detail about the life Birdie led with her mother. Sticking a child in a wheelchair and pretending she was an invalid! Only a viper would use a defenseless child in such a manner.
A vile hatred for Wish Kaminsky filled Theodora, forehead to toe.
Taking a seat at the counter, Finney gently asked, “How’s Landon taking the news?”
The question put sadness in Theodora’s heart. Landon was her closest friend. Even seeing the name Greyhart was enough to upset him.
“He doesn’t know,” she replied. “I spoke to his housekeeper, Reenie. She’s kept him away from the television and is screening his calls. Tommorow is the bigger problem. The story comes out in the Cleveland paper. Landon will see it.”
“And Meade?”
“She saw the Register this morning. I called her office this afternoon. She was mighty upset. She’s at her father’s house by now.”
Delia looked up sharply. “Are you sure Meade is with her dad?”
A dark and menacing sensation crept across Theodora’s shoulders. “Why do you ask?”
The waitress frowned. “I’d swear I just saw her Mercedes driving down Elm Street.”
* * *
“Miss Kaminsky, I don’t care if you’ve been searching for a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow,” Officer Tim Corrigan said. “What concerns me is the money you’ve stolen.”
The other police officers, bored on what appeared to be a slow night for the Liberty force, stood nearby eavesdropping. They chuckled every time Birdie’s original reason for coming to town—the search of the rubies—came up during her interrogation.
She wasn’t sure what was worse, the grilling she endured over her activities as a pickpocket or how the officers regarded her as if she needed a straitjacket, not a jail cell. They didn’t believe the story of the treasure hunt they’d read about in the Register.
Who could blame them? The story was outlandish. The clues she’d unearthed, even the key in the storeroom—where had they led her? Exactly nowhere.
They’d led her nowhere because the rubies weren’t hidden. Justice must’ve sold them during her lifetime. The story handed down in Birdie’s family was nonsense—a fable, and nothing more.
“I’ve returned all the money I took,” Birdie said, praying it would be enough to satisfy Officer Tim.
“I’ll have to interview each of your victims.”
She nodded. “Sure. No problem. Why should you believe me?”
“I don’t,” the officer replied flatly.
Swallowing, she kept her attention planted on her tennis shoes. In the corridor beyond, she’d glimpsed an intimidating row of jail cells. Was she headed for a stint behind bars? She’d seen what jail did to her father, how it took away his dignity. Suffering the same fate was terrifying—something she should’ve considered before recklessly following her parents into a life of crime. In retrospect, it seemed a miracle that she’d managed to avoid prosecution for so many years.
Well, she was caught now, in Officer Tim’s viselike stare, while the other officers, chuckling at the story of the rubies, studied her as if she were a flea.
“We’ve been receiving complaints about you all day,” Officer Tim said, drawing her attention back to him. “It’ll take time to sort through this mess so you’ll remain in town. You won’t leave for any reason. Understood?”
> “Yes, officer.”
He picked up the Register and gleaned the front page. Birdie wished she had the courage to ask to read the story. Hugh had only given her the basics of her mother’s involvement in the Trinity Investment scandal and she wanted a more thorough understanding of the damage Wish had done.
Or maybe it was better not to know. Either way, it seemed wiser to wait until she’d returned to The Second Chance to see the article. Surely Finney had a copy by now.
“About your mother.” Officer Tim tossed down the newspaper. “She’s wanted for questioning in nine jurisdictions, including this one. There are warrants out for her arrest in Alabama and Minnesota. Do you know her whereabouts?”
“She’s somewhere in Mexico. I don’t have an address.”
“A phone number?”
If she weren’t so scared, Birdie might have laughed. Her mother was too cunning to allow the authorities to track her down through a phone number. “My mother only calls from public phones,” she explained, trembling as the officer’s mouth formed a thin line of impatience. “We don’t have much contact.”
“How do you get in contact?”
“Through my father.” She hated bringing Tanek into this; he only had three more years on his present stint before being released. Hurriedly, she added, “He doesn’t like to do it, but sometimes I give him my phone number to pass along to my mother in case she gets in touch with him. If she does—and it’s not often—she uses the number I’ve left.”
Officer Tim leafed through the police report. “Tanek Kaminsky, Arizona State Penitentiary. Car theft.” He grunted. “Small time, compared to your mother. When she’s apprehended—and we will find her—she’ll face a long incarceration.”
“Then I hope you don’t find her.” The officer frowned, and she added, “She is my mother. Would you want your mother doing time?”
He set the report aside. “Your loyalty, misplaced as it is, is understandable. From what Finney tells me, you’ve been trying to go straight. She says you’re a reliable employee.”
Finney had come to her defense? “I’m trying.” Appreciation for the cook’s loyalty washed through her. Finney’s skillet might be dangerous but she was true-blue.
“Continue to abide by the law.”
“Yes, officer.”
“Frankly, I’d like to see you prosecuted. Finney’s good word alone wouldn’t be enough to sway me. If it weren’t for Mrs. Hendricks, the county prosecutor would’ve drawn up charges. Given the letter she’s written, he won’t.”
“Theodora wrote a letter… defending me?”
“She sent copies to this department, the prosecutor, and Mayor Ryan. First thing this morning.”
“We spent all day together. She never mentioned a letter.” Love for the old woman spilled through her ravaged heart.
“Thank her the next time you see her. Mrs. Hendricks has a lot of clout in Liberty.” Officer Tim escorted her to the door. “If she hadn’t stepped forward, every one of your victims would press charges. They haven’t out of respect for her.”
It was past ten o’clock. The moonless street was glazed with ice. Lights from the police station cast a muddy glow on the silent storefronts of Elm Street and, further up the hill rising to Liberty Square, many of the houses lay in darkness.
With the frigid wind at her back, Birdie listened to the doors of the station swing shut. She didn’t relish a long trek back up Elm, to where a rumpled bed awaited her throbbing head and overworked emotions. Only the promise of escaping her woes in the blessed relief of sleep started her feet moving.
She’d barely stepped forward when Meade Williams climbed out of a white Mercedes.
Approaching, she narrowed her regard with unmistakable contempt. “Wish sent you back to Liberty, didn’t she? Don’t waste your time lying. I’ve read the paper.”
Nervously, Birdie backed up against the frosty concrete of the building. “I haven’t seen the Register yet.” Exhaustion made her movements clumsy. She wasn’t prepared for the confrontation.
“Well, if it’s true what they say and Hugh Shaeffer has a crush on you, it’s quite evident in his reporting. He made your childhood sound like Dickens. Was it rough, being raised by thieves?”
Mention of Hugh pummeled her heart. “Hugh didn’t write the article. Someone else did.”
But Meade wasn’t listening. “You little bitch. Do you still have my father’s money? Or have you and your mother run through it?”
“Look. I’ve only learned about Trinity Investments the other day. Whatever my mother did to your father—I’m sorry.” Scared, Birdie tried brushing past. “I’m tired. I need to get some rest.”
“Wait.” Meade blocked her path. “Do you mean you don’t have the money?”
“No, I don’t. Now, get out of my way.”
“Didn’t your mother send you back here to scam my father again?”
Birdie tamped down her irritation. The emotionally trying events of the day had lowered her normally impregnable defenses. And there was something else, the incomprehensible yet deep, nagging regret. When they’d first met she’d tried to make a good impression on Meade. She’d hoped they’d become friends. The reasons were as unfathomable as Birdie’s own heart.
And because she sensed the same indefinable emotions churning inside Meade, the same unanswerable questions, she said, “The pictures you showed me in your office… I was the little girl with your father.”
“So you lied to me.”
“I don’t remember any of it. I was so young. I don’t remember him.”
“My mother gave me the photos.” In her expression something died, something long-held and coveted. “She was a wonderful person. Important. Your mother destroyed her world.”
“What happened to your father’s investment firm… after?”
“He closed it.” Meade studied the sky. The ash-colored clouds blotting out the starlight were as grim and unwelcoming as the pain canvassing her features. “Your mother carried on with him for years. He couldn’t resist her. She took so much—two hundred thousand dollars and change. My father gave it to her willingly, by the way.”
Astonished, Birdie rested her head against the wall of the station. Her knees dissolved and she locked them tight, to stop from falling. Bending, she clamped her palms to her thighs and took deep, steadying breaths of winter air. Her mother had stolen thousands of dollars and sent a woman to her death on the waters of Lake Erie. Hugh blamed himself for Cat’s death but he wasn’t at fault. Her mother was. She’d known Wish was cruel and grasping. But she was malevolent—
“You must know about the money,” Meade prodded, breaking into her thoughts. “Fourteen years ago you were in high school. You must have accompanied Wish back to Liberty. The money would’ve altered your life radically.”
“I left my mother when I was sixteen. We were heading through New Mexico and we fought. It was our last fight. She moved on, and I stayed. If she came back to Liberty, I never heard about it.”
“Oh, please. You were on your own at sixteen?”
“I swear it’s true. I got an apartment in Santa Fe. I dropped out… of school, life, everything.”
They’d been rollercoaster years, a disheartening spiral of dead-end jobs and nights alone in the spare apartment, with her stomach empty and the cockroaches sending a wicked clatter across the floor. She held down low-paying jobs until the month when, despondent, she couldn’t make the rent. Then she went back to doing what she did best, hanging around street corners while the legal types hurried by on their way to happier lives. Darting through their pockets like a hummingbird starving for nectar, she clung to her adolescent logic: if she only took enough to tide her over she wasn’t really breaking the law.
By the age of twenty-one, she’d somehow managed to earn her GED and enroll at New Mexico State University. The ridiculous stint ended when bill collectors started calling and she’d restricted herself to one meal a day. She found her landlord outside her apartment, swearing
in Spanish. He’d hauled her meager belongings into the hallway and would’ve thrown them on the street if she hadn’t come up with her rent within hours.
She thought she was a failure for relying on the tricks learned after years of coaching by her mother. It didn’t matter if she’d left Wish’s side. Birdie finally understood. She was like her mother—worthless.
After awhile, she had stopped thinking at all.
“You dropped out of high school and left your mother?” Meade was saying with bitter disbelief. “Do you practice this stuff? Or does it come naturally?”
She’d had enough. “Get out of my way.” Heartache clogged her throat.
Meade caught her by the arm. “I don’t care if Theodora has it in her head to befriend you. She’s always collecting strays. If you stay here, I’ll make your life miserable.” She pushed Birdie against the wall with enough force to knock the air from her lungs. “My father will never run into you. He’ll never suffer the pain of seeing you and remembering the heartless bitch he loved.”
“Get off!”
“Leave, Birdie.” Sealing the threat, Meade added “If you don’t, I’ll make it so you wish you had.”
Chapter 28
The eddying pool of moon glow retreated across the floor. Giving up on the pretense of sleep, Birdie showered then turned on the coffee pot.
Despite her exhaustion she’d slept fitfully, her dreams marred by despair. Frowning, she watched the coffee drip into the pot. She felt no better now; in fact, she felt worse. Facing the truth was awful, but she wasn’t having much success evading the facts. She was losing everything she’d come to hold dear.
Meade had warned her to leave. Dismissing the threat was reckless. Running afoul of Officer Tim’s mandate to stay in town meant the police would follow, but what choice was there? A woman as powerful as Meade could easily make Birdie’s life miserable.
Where to go? Seated at the kitchen table, she opened her army coat and unzipped the secret pocket sewn into the hem. Withdrawing the U.S. road map, she considered the possibilities. Given the unwanted publicity in the Register and Officer Tim’s mandate, she’d put as much road between herself and Ohio as possible.
Treasure Me Page 26
