“He was gonna kick the door in, Mama,” the boy explained quietly.
“I know, but you get to your room now, and get to studyin’. You ain’t been in school these past days, but I ain’t gonna let you fall behind, neither.”
Malcolm shuffled away from the door, pouting all the way.
Shelby looked up at Riordan and then spotted Rosie standing behind him. “Oh! Her! She ... she ...”
“Hit your boss with a stapler when he tried to assault her?” Riordan challenged. “I already know that. And you already know that Robert Finch wasn’t the nicest of men.”
“She ... ?” Shelby took turns glancing between Riordan and Rosie. “Is that ... that what happened?”
Rosie nodded earnestly.
“And did you ...?
Rosie shook her head emphatically. “No, I didn’t kill Finch. Did you?”
“No! Oh no! It weren’t anything like that,” Shelby said.
“Well, unless you’re willing to share this story with the whole neighborhood, I suggest we go indoors, huh?” Riordan asked.
Jackson was still skeptical. “I ... I ... I didn’t hurt nobody. I’ve just been so afraid. That’s all.”
“I know. And I’m sure you’ve had every reason to feel afraid. But there’s safety in numbers. Besides, you and Mrs. Keefe here could probably find some comfort in commiserating with each other.”
Shelby’s body language relaxed. With a nod of her head, she led them into the lower-level apartment. Featuring hardwood floors and carved wood trim, the space was small but gracious, and the windows, although smaller than those in the upper-level apartments, still allowed for adequate light. The gently used furnishings—lace curtains, delicately carved tables and seating, and upholstery in an array of feminine fabrics—reflected both the gender and petite stature of the primary adult of the house and, although mismatched, created a sense of cozy warmth.
Jackson waved them to an antique Victorian settee upholstered in a dark red fabric while she, herself, took the only other seat in the room, a chintz slipcovered armchair.
Rosie looked at the fragile-looking piece of furniture, her face a question. “Are you sure it’s okay?”
“No, no, you go ahead and set. That there belonged to my grandmama. You ain’t the first to set down and you won’t be the last.”
Riordan and Rosie eyed each other surreptitiously before following their hostess’s orders. The settee was narrow and its back rigid, forcing its occupants to maintain perfect poise and posture. But the most unnerving feature of all was its lack of length. At just forty-four inches long, with two-inch arms on either side, the slight seating space forced Rosie and Riordan to sit hip to hip.
“So.” Riordan cleared his throat. “Miss—”
But before the lieutenant could pose a question, Shelby rose from her chair. “Where are my manners? Can I get you anything? Maybe some ice water?”
“I’m fine, thanks,” Rosie instantly rejected the offer. In truth, she was as dry as the Sahara, but she wanted this ordeal over and done with.
Riordan, meanwhile, cleared his throat again. “Some ice water would be great. Thank you, Miss Jackson.”
Dewitt was certainly right about Shelby’s hospitality. She tottered off to the kitchen as if this were a social call instead of a police investigation.
Rosie and Riordan, meanwhile, sat in awkward silence, neither one looking at the other.
“I’m sorry,” Riordan finally said. “I know you want to get home, but—”
“That’s okay. You’re thirsty,” she said.“It is rather warm outside, isn’t it?”
“Mmm. Especially for April. Seems like we went from winter right into summer.”
“That’s what usually happens. Though I notice it a lot more now that I’m working on a scaffold.”
“Yeah, you do look like you got a bit of color today. Better make sure you wear a hat so you don’t burn. Perhaps something with a wide brim—like what your sister wore this morning.” He grinned broadly.
“My sis—” She hadn’t time to ask, since Shelby had returned with a tray bearing a pitcher of ice water and three mismatched glasses.
“Thank you, Miss Jackson,” Riordan said graciously.
“Yes, thank you,” Rosie echoed, her mind all the while on Katie.
Riordan stood up to pour himself a glass, but Shelby shooed him down. “You set and let me fix that.”
“Thanks again. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. When I was a beat cop, most folks told me to drink out of their garden hoses.”
“Some people have no decency,” she proclaimed and poured a green hobnail glass to a half-inch from the brim.
“I’d like to think that most do, Miss Jackson, but you’re right. There are those rare few who seem to delight in the misfortunes of others. I feel sorry for them, though, in a way.”
“Well, that’s the Christian way—not to hate but to take pity,” she agreed as she passed the green glass to Riordan.
“Thank you,” he said as he took the glass into his hands. “Oh, it’s more than that. It’s that people who act that way miss out on the good things that life offers. Like your boy, for instance.”
Rosie slid her eyes toward Riordan. This was supposed to be a hard-nosed police investigation. What on earth is he talking about?
Although her female guest had stated she didn’t want water, Shelby poured some into a short, pink glass and absently passed it to Rosie. “Why, thank you, Lieutenant Riordan. I try. Lord knows I try, but it’s tough without his daddy around.”
“I know it is, but you’re doing a great job.”
“Oh, but he gets sick. He gets sick a lot.”
“So did I once,” Riordan said.
“You?” Jackson laughed. “You couldn’t tell now! You’re as big and healthy as an ox.”
“Exactly. Feed him well, let him play out in the sun, and he’ll grow out of it.”
“Why, that is music to my ears. You have no idea how much I owe in doctors’ bills.” She rested in her chair without pouring a glass of water for herself.
“I can only imagine. My mother had the same problem,” he sympathized. “She took any old job in order to help us to get by. Some were good and others ...”
Jackson stared into the distance. “Yeah, I hear you.”
Rosie was at a complete loss. Here she had wanted to run the interview and shut Riordan out, but he seemed to be getting farther than she was.
“So tell me about Finch,” he urged. “I know he cut your wages.”
“He did,” she confirmed. “He pulled me outta the hull and for no good reason. No good reason at all.”
“And insulted you on top of it,” Rosie added.
“I know.” Shelby’s voice rose. “To tell me I gained weight and then say what he did about—about my people! I ... I gotta say I wasn’t feeling very Christian then.”
“Can’t say I blame you,” Riordan sympathized. “It would take a saint to overlook something like that. Was that the first time Finch had ever acted in an untoward manner?”
“No ...” Shelby frowned.
Riordan glanced at Rosie; she took her cue. “What is it, Shelby?”
“I ... I ...”
He stood up. “I beg your pardon, Miss Jackson, but is there a washroom I could use?”
“Of course. Go out of this room, through the kitchen, and it’s just there on your right.”
“Thank you.” Riordan rose from the settee and strode out of the room.
While he was gone, Rosie continued the conversation. “That wasn’t the first time Finch behaved as less than a gentleman toward you, was it?”
Shelby shook her head solemnly.
“What did he—” Rosie nearly choked on her words. “What did he do to you?”
“I’d rather ... I can’t say.”
“Yes, you can. And you should,” Rosie urged. “Would it help if I told you what he did to me?”
“No, I couldn’t ask you to do that... .”
“But I want to. I want you to know you’re not the only one.”
“I’m not?”
“Not by a long shot.” Rosie proceeded to tell Shelby what had occurred in Finch’s office.
“And that’s ... that’s why he was bleedin’. You hit him in order to keep him from ...”
Rosie nodded. “I knew I had to get out of there. I had to do whatever I could to escape.”
“I had no idea... . Here I thought I’d done somethin’ wrong. Somethin’ to make him do what he did.”
“What did he do?”
“We was down in the hull one day. It was cold and rainy, so I stayed down there to eat my lunch ’stead of climbin’ out. You know we only get thirty minutes; unless you have to go to ... you know. It doesn’t pay to climb out. Well, Mr. Finch came down to check the work we was doin’ and asked if I was there alone. I said ‘yes,’ but Lord, how I wish I hadn’t. He ...” Her eyes welled with tears.
“Go on, Shelby. It’s okay,” Rosie encouraged. “Let it out. You’ll feel better.”
“Mr. Finch leaned down all low like and whispered in my ear. He said he could break me in half and then he ...”
She was sobbing by now. Rosie got up from the settee and knelt in front of the woman. “It’s okay.” She offered a white handkerchief from the pocket of her dark blue coveralls.
Shelby wiped her nose. “He licked my neck to see if I tasted different than a white girl.”
Rosie felt her stomach turn.
“I thought he was gonna ... gonna ...” Shelby stammered.
“I know. I know what you thought. But did he?”
“No. He said I tasted the same. Not like chocolate the way he thought I would. Then he laughed and went back up top.”
With a clearing of his throat, Riordan announced his approach to the living room.
“This will be our secret, Shelby,” Rosie promised. “The police don’t need to know all the sordid details.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Keefe. I do appreciate it. I don’t know if I could tell it to another living soul.”
“You don’t have to, but if you ever need to talk again, you let me know.”
“I will, Mrs. Keefe.”
Rosie nodded and sat back on the settee, just in time for Riordan to join her. “Sorry for keeping you waiting,” he apologized.
“That’s okay,” Rosie said as Riordan wedged himself onto the cushion beside her, causing the color, once again, to flow into her cheeks. Why couldn’t he question Jackson while standing up?
“So, Miss Jackson, why don’t you tell us what happened the day Finch was murdered?”
“After the mornin’ announcements, I went to work sweepin’, just like Mr. Finch told me to. Finished out my day. But I still couldn’t believe I wouldn’t be in the hull. Sweepin’ wouldn’t make me enough money to pay for groceries, let alone pay for Malcolm’s doctor bills.”
“What happened at the end of the day?” Riordan asked.
“I followed Mr. Finch,” Shelby admitted. “But not to do him harm! I swear it.”
“No one’s suggesting you did,” Rosie said soothingly.
“I know, but I just ...”
“You worry.”
“Uh-huh. I do ... always. Sometimes so much that I don’t sleep at night. Anyways, I talked to Wilson—you know, Wilson Dewitt—about what had happened and he told me to speak to Mr. Finch directly. Course, I hadn’t told him ’bout ...” Shelby’s eyes slid to Rosie’s.
Rosie nodded sympathetically.
“So I did like Wilson said. I followed Mr. Finch outta the yard thinkin’ I’d be tough, be strong, and ask him for my old job back. You know, down in the hull.”
“Did you?” Riordan ventured.
“Didn’t get the chance. I watched Mr. Finch leave, waited a few minutes, and then followed. But he’d disappeared. Just disappeared. I’d seen him walk down by the docks after work a few times before—”
“You had?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Did other people at the yard know this? Because no one I spoke to mentioned it to me.”
“I’m sure a lot of folks knew ’bout it. At least those who’d been at the yard any length of time or walked the same way he did to get home at night.”
Riordan, deep in thought, bit his lip. A few moments passed before he spoke again. “So you checked out the docks, thinking Finch might have gone there?”
“Yes, sir. It was mistin’ out, so it was hard to see at first, but when some of the fog cleared, I saw ...” She drew a trembling hand to her mouth.
“It’s okay. Take your time, Miss Jackson.”
“He—he was dead! There was blood everywhere and his head, it was ...”
Riordan got up and poured some water from the large hobnail pitcher on the coffee table into a small, clear glass tumbler and handed it to Shelby Jackson. “Here. Drink up and take a deep breath.”
“Thank you, sir.” Shelby did as instructed and handed the glass back to Riordan.
“Feel better?”
She nodded. “A little. I’m sorry for gettin’ so worked up.”
“No need for apologies.” Riordan placed the glass back on the tray and sat down on the settee.
This time, Rosie didn’t mind his presence at all.
“Why didn’t you tell someone what you saw? Why didn’t you call the police?” he asked.
“I was scared. I was so scared I couldn’t move at first. Then, all I could do was run. I had to get away from there and see my boy. I needed to know he was okay. I wanted him to know I was okay.”
“So you came home?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You didn’t stop anywhere?”
“No, sir. If that bus coulda flown, I woulda paid the driver to do it.”
“And what time was this?”
“Oh, I don’t rightly know. I was so—so besides myself... .”
“A guess. It doesn’t have to be completely accurate.”
“I left work around ten after four, maybe four fifteen. And ... well, it must have been the four twenty bus I caught. But I didn’t take note of the time when I got home. I didn’t think of it. I couldn’t. All I remember is thinkin’ of Malcolm. When I got here and saw him in his room safe and readin’? Well, I hugged him so tight you’d think I hadn’t seen him in days. After, I got around to wonderin’ if I should call the police. But by then, so much time’d gone by, you might think I did it. You might think I killed Finch. A Negro woman killin’ a white man? If you’da thought that, I’d most likely get the chair. And who’d take care of Malcolm then? I have a sister in Chicago, but I don’t want him goin’ anywhere without me!”
Rosie thought of her own situation. If she were to go to jail, at least Katie and Charlie would have Ma, but that didn’t mean she didn’t feel accountable to them. Katie had gone to her, not Ma, after Jimmy’s death. Her. “No,” she stated suddenly. “No, you want to look after him yourself. I ... I understand, Shelby. I do. I can’t imagine seeing what you did. You must have been terrified.”
“I was. That’s why I came home and locked the doors. I didn’t want anyone comin’ here and takin’ me away from my boy. I even pulled him outta school so they couldn’t keep him from me.”
“And that’s why you haven’t been at work and why you haven’t answered the door when Dewitt came by?”
“Dewitt’s a nice man. Very sweet, but he ain’t always the smartest. I didn’t wanna tell that sweet dumb oaf what I saw, let alone what had ... had happened in the hull.” Her eyes slid to Rosie. “He’d have gone to Finch himself and then we’d both have been outta jobs.”
“No,” she went on, “I thought it best to lock the door and stay put. In my head I knew it was silly. I knew it was only a matter of time till you came lookin.’ I knew that no locks could keep you out if you wanted in, but ... but for a little while, it made me feel safe.”
“And now?” Riordan asked. “How do you feel now?”
“Better. Better for havin’ let it
all out, but still scared that you’re gonna take me away in your police car. Scared you’re gonna take me away from my boy. Scared you’re gonna think I did it. But I didn’t. I didn’t kill Mr. Finch. I swear to Jesus I didn’t!”
“I believe you, Shelby,” Rosie said quietly. “I believe you.”
Riordan turned to Rosie, his face soft, yet questioning.
He looked away abruptly. “I, um, I think we’re done here for tonight, Miss Jackson,” he announced upon rising from the settee. “Thank you so much for answering our questions.”
Shelby stood up, her mouth agape. “You mean ... ? You mean you’re not gonna take me away?”
“I don’t see any reason to at this moment. We’ll look into your story and see if everything checks out. If we have any more questions, we’ll contact you. Just be sure to let us in on the first knock this time, all right? Malcolm shouldn’t have to see the bottom of my foot any more than he has to.”
Shelby smiled slightly. “I’ll be sure to let you in, and Dewitt, too.”
“Good. Oh, and no trips to the sister or any other out-of-town relatives. Not until this is all over with. At least, not without a call to me first.” He handed her his card.
“I won’t. I don’t have a phone. I can use the one at the corner store, but I don’t reckon to be goin’ anywhere. Not with Malcolm in school and me without a paycheck.”
“Will you come back to the yard?” Rosie asked. It was more of a request than a query.
“Oh, I ... I don’t know.”
“We’re still looking for help. Why, we had another man call up today.”
“I’ve been gone so long now... .”
“Three days. But I’m willing to speak with Del Vecchio, the new foreman, on your behalf. I’m sure Dewitt would, too.”
At the mention of Dewitt’s name, her demeanor became slightly girlish. “It don’t take much to talk Dewitt into anything.”
“Tomorrow’s Saturday—a half day. So, I’ll see you first thing Monday?”
“I don’t know ... I’ll think about it, Mrs. Keefe.”
“Rosie. Please. Call me Rosie.”
Don't Die Under the Apple Tree Page 13
