Jubilee's Journey

by Bette Lee Crosby

  This discussion of money piqued Mahoney’s interest. “Did the boy order anything?”

  “Just coffee for him, but for the little one he got milk and a biscuit. I give her an extra biscuit on the house, but him nothing. Giving somebody who’s down on their luck a handout just makes them feel poorer,” Connie said. “I know, ‘cause I’ve been there.”

  Mahoney turned to Ethan Allen and Jubilee and asked if they’d like something. They both nodded yes. Ethan ordered Pepsi and a bag of chips. Jubie listened to his order, then said she’d have a Pepsi also along with another of those good-tasting biscuits.

  While the kids ate, he continued asking questions. Did the boy meet anyone here? Did he talk to anyone? Did he seem nervous, edgy? The answers Connie gave substantiated Mahoney’s suspicion that the boy had no plans beyond those of watching over his sister and finding a place to stay. Before they left Connie recounted most everything that had transpired, including her directions to the Willoughby house.

  When they returned to the car, Olivia turned to Mahoney. “Well?”

  He smiled. “It’s all good,” he answered and slid his key into the ignition. Once they’d turned onto Rosemont Street he explained. “Given the timeline the waitress indicated, I think Paul just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He didn’t meet anyone at the restaurant, and he didn’t have enough time to strike up a new acquaintance before the robbery took place.”

  “Is it enough to prove he’s innocent?” Olivia asked.

  “Probably not, but it’s enough to generate serious doubt.” Mahoney glanced in the rearview mirror at Jubilee; he could see she was listening. Addressing the comment to Olivia, he said, “Don’t mention the S-H-O-O-T-I-N-G.”

  “I can spell,” Jubilee said, “and I know those letters spell shouting!”

  Ethan Allen looked up from the Superman comic he’d been reading. “I ain’t shouting.”

  “Well, see it stays that way,” Olivia said. Then she turned around and chuckled.

  After Mahoney dropped Olivia and the kids at the apartment building he turned the car around and headed for Harrison, a town thirty-eight miles west of Wyattsville. It was almost five o’clock, and he was hoping to catch Anita Walker Meyers, or whatever name she was now using, on her way home from work. If she worked. Mahoney found himself wondering if he’d find a woman with red lipstick and high heels or an ex-housewife who flip-flopped her way to the door in a gingham duster.

  After a week of searching, he was oddly intrigued by the thought of actually meeting the elusive Anita. She seemed to be a woman everyone remembered but no one knew. Hopefully she was a woman who loved kids, because she was about to get two of them.

  Mahoney had thought of going there early this morning but waited because he was uncertain of what to say about Paul. Paint the wrong picture, and the boy would look like a low life or a criminal. In either case, it was a brand that would stay with him. Unfortunately human nature was such that when people whiffed the scent of scandal they closed their heart and snapped a padlock on it, lest they also be caught up in the horror.

  Now that Connie had brushed away the last crumbs of suspicion, things could be seen in a more positive light. Now it was nothing more than an unfortunate accident. He could say Paul had been shot but was recovering nicely, making no mention of how the boy had been suspect in a robbery. It was much better that way. In a week, two at the most, he would be out of the hospital and he’d need a place to stay. After all he’d gone through, Paul certainly didn’t need a cloud of ugly suspicions hanging over his head.

  Without knowing when it started, Mahoney found himself whistling when he pulled into the parking space a few doors down from Anita’s building.

  The Alcove

  Mahoney rang the doorbell labeled Walker and waited. Several minutes passed; then he rang it again. He’d been waiting almost ten minutes when a stooped woman hobbled into the vestibule.

  “Most of them doorbells don’t work,” she said. “You gotta bang on the apartment door.” She slid a key into the locked entrance door and nodded for Mahoney to follow.

  “Who you looking for?” she asked.

  “Anita Walker.”

  “Three-ten, two flights up. But she most likely ain’t there.”

  “Oh? You know where she is?”

  “Probably Ocean City,” the woman answered. “Anita and that man she claims to be her husband go there most every weekend.”

  “Husband? A skinny man, short, narrow-faced?”

  “Him, skinny? You got to be kidding. He’s wide as a trailer truck.”

  “Oh?” Freddie Meyers had said nothing about Anita being remarried so Mahoney asked, “This fellow she’s married to—”

  The woman cut in with a cynical guffaw. “I never said they was married. He moved in one day, and she started calling him her hubby-dubby. Does that sound married to you?”

  After fifteen minutes of talking with the woman who lived in the next-door apartment, Mahoney learned Anita would most likely not be back until Monday. Nonetheless he trudged up the two flights of stairs and pounded on the apartment door.

  “I told you she wasn’t there,” the woman repeated, then disappeared into her own apartment. Mahoney pulled a card from his wallet and wrote a note on the back, asking Anita to call when she returned home.

  By then it was seven o’clock on Friday evening, and the probability was that Gomez was also gone for the day. Mahoney called Olivia and told her that it was unlikely anything more would happen until Monday. He didn’t mention finding Anita. Before saying anything he wanted to make certain the woman he’d been tracking was actually Jubilee’s aunt.

  It was close to eight when Mahoney pulled his car onto the ferry destined for the Eastern Shore of Virginia. He planned to make a quick stop at the Northampton station house, then head home for the weekend. By now Christine was already more than a little bit peeved about the number of dinners he’d missed this week, but he’d make it up over the weekend. Hopefully.

  Since Jim Turner had stepped back from dogging Olivia’s every move, she relaxed her restrictions on Ethan Allen and Jubilee.

  “You can use the elevator to come and go,” she said, “but there is to be no running, shouting, or playing in the hallways. Is that understood?”

  Ethan Allen, glad to have the curfew lifted, nodded agreeably. “If Jubie had a bike,” he wheedled, “we could ride across to the park and not be bothering anybody.”

  “Well, she doesn’t have one,” Olivia replied and left it at that.

  Shortly before noon on Saturday Seth Porter rang the doorbell, and when Olivia answered he was standing there with a green bicycle shined up and ready to go.

  “Emily rode this when she was a teenager,” he explained. “It might be a bit big for Jubilee, but I was thinking that maybe she could use it while she’s here.”

  “Did Ethan Allen ask you to—”

  Seth shook his head no before Olivia could finish, but the sheepish grin on his face told another story.

  As soon as they’d gobbled down a quick lunch, Ethan Allen and Jubilee left for the park. Olivia stood at the window and watched as they pedaled away, Ethan in the lead and Jubilee following behind like the tail of a kite. He was fond of Jubilee; it was obvious in the things Ethan said and did. Without Olivia knowing when it happened, he had somehow stepped into the role of being Jubilee’s big brother. This new position made him seem taller, more grown up, more responsible. He was wearing a look of pride that Olivia had never before seen on his face.

  Aglow with the warmth of a new observation, she picked up the telephone and dialed Clara’s number. “I need help,” Olivia said and explained her plan. The second call was to Seth Porter; she also asked for his help and told him the same thing she’d told Clara.

  Before Ethan Allen and Jubilee returned from the park, the alcove Olivia used for a sewing room had been converted into a tiny bedroom. Sara Perkins had donated the rollaway bed she used for sleepover guests, and while Oli
via covered the walls with bubble gum pink paint Clara drove over to Greenblum’s Home Store and returned with sheets, a pink comforter, and a tiny lamp. The small chest of drawers from Olivia’s bedroom was now in the alcove, and the sewing machine it replaced was in the bedroom. The easy chair that once occupied the alcove was in Seth Porter’s storage bin in the basement.

  Although Seth had been agreeable enough about moving the chair, he reminded Olivia that the girl was only here on a temporary basis. “Don’t go getting attached,” he said, “else you’ll be in for a load of heartbreak.”

  “I’m not,” Olivia assured him, but in the back of her mind there was a troublesome tick warning that she already was.

  When Mahoney arrived back at the Northampton station house, he expected the place to be near empty, a few duty officers on hand perhaps, but not Captain Rogers. He was wrong.

  Rogers was sitting behind his desk and looking none too happy. He spotted Mahoney walking in and called out to him.

  “I’d like a word,” he said, but the truth was he wanted way more than a word.

  “What’s going on with this Wyattsville case?” Rogers asked, the agitation in his voice apparent.

  “I’ve located Jubilee’s aunt,” Mahoney said, “but she’s away for the weekend. I’m figuring to talk to her on Monday.”

  “I’m not talking about the girl.” The captain moved to within inches of Mahoney’s nose. “I’m talking about the kid involved in the Klaussner shooting!”

  “I just happened to get lucky and—”

  “Lucky? You didn’t get lucky, what you did was piss off the entire Wyattsville department. I got three calls today, and they want you off the case.”

  A look of defeat swept across Mahoney’s face. “Off the case?”

  “Yeah, off the case. That means keep away from the Wyattsville station house and have no further involvement with the kid.”

  “Before you make that call,” Mahoney said, “I think there’s something you ought to know.” He lowered himself into the chair opposite the captain’s desk and began the story. It started with how the Doyle case had unfolded and went on to tell how the then-Sargent Gomez was ticked off by losing the chance for a conviction. “He’s got a grudge going, and the bottom line is that he’s going to railroad this kid to prove a point.”

  Rogers shook his head doubtfully.

  Mahoney explained how the sister’s story had been confirmed by the waitress, and the timeline left no room for an unplanned meet-up with Hurt McAdams.

  “Then why did Klaussner shoot the kid?” Rogers asked.

  Mahoney grimaced; he had theory, nothing but theory. “I believe it was a stray bullet intended for McAdams.”

  Captain Rogers leaned back in his chair. “Damn. This puts me in a tough spot.”

  “It puts Paul Jones in an even tougher one,” Mahoney replied.

  After nearly an hour of back-and-forth discussion the captain agreed Mahoney could continue to investigate, but he had to stay clear of the Wyattsville station house.

  “And,” he added, “I don’t want you anywhere near Detective Gomez.”

  It was nine-thirty when Mahoney left the Northampton station house, and by then he’d decided to take the weekend off. He’d spend some time mending bridges at home and let the Wyattsville boys cool down a bit before he went back. With Anita gone until Monday, nothing much would happen until then anyway.

  Olivia

  There’s a lot of merit in what Seth Porter says. I am opening the door for heartache to come crawling through, but now it’s too late to do anything about it.

  Looking back, I can see the truth; I made a place in my heart for Jubilee the night I saw her tiny little shoe with a piece of cardboard covering up the hole. She had the look of a stray kitten that comes mewing at your door asking for nothing more than a bit of kindness and some warm milk. If you can turn your back on a child like that, you’ve lost your worth as a human being.

  The good Lord is probably laughing up his sleeve by now, and He sure enough has cause for doing it. After all those years I spent running away from marriage just because I couldn’t bear the thought of children hanging to my coat-tail, now here I am wanting a second one who’s not even mine to want.

  It’s not just me; Ethan Allen’s also taken Jubilee to his heart. I know he’s wishing she could become a part of our family. He doesn’t come right out and say it ‘cause that’s not his way, but I see the things he does, the way he watches out for her. Yesterday they came in from playing, hungry as bears and wanting a snack. Of course they both wanted chips. I looked in the cupboard, and there was just one packet left. Given the way Ethan loves his chips, I figured he’d be first to grab for it but he didn’t. He gave it to Jubilee and took a bag of pretzels for himself.

  Mister Mahoney has yet to find that Anita, and in my mind it’s just as well. Any aunt who doesn’t know her niece is wandering around with no place to go doesn’t deserve to have the child. Maybe Anita feels the way I used to, and if that’s the case I’m going to say right up front that Jubilee’s welcome to stay here and live with us.

  Once I do that, the probability is I’ll have to find someplace else to live.

  Jim Turner’s calmed down for now, but me bringing another child into the building is not something the Rules Committee is likely to overlook.

  When Monday Comes

  As far as Detective Mahoney was concerned, the weekend passed uneventfully. On Saturday afternoon he took the kids fishing; then in the evening, he and Christine had dinner at Mario’s. Over a bottle of red wine, he promised to be more conscientious about getting home in time for dinner.

  “I should hope so,” she answered. Before she got to the part where she’d list all the dinners he’d missed, Jack switched to saying how the blue of her dress made her eyes twinkle. Christine smiled, and the evening moved on with no further discussion of missed dinners.

  Sunday was sunny and warm so Mahoney finished painting the porch he’d started more than a week ago, then settled into an easy chair with a book he’d been wanting to read. Before he finished the first chapter he began thinking of a way to help Paul Jones.

  On Monday morning he crafted a “Help Wanted” sign exactly like the one he’d seen at Klaussner’s store; then he drove back to the Bread Basket Café and took Polaroid pictures of both the inside and outside. He even took one shot of Connie holding a plate with a biscuit on it. Although Paul had trouble answering questions, he responded well to visual images. Mahoney hoped these things would bring back the memory of that ill-fated Wednesday.

  It was almost noon when Mahoney headed over to the hospital, totally unprepared for what he found.

  The bed Paul had been shackled to was empty. The officer at the door, gone.

  A sick feeling settled in Mahoney’s chest, and his heart started beating faster. On Friday he’d given Barbara Walsh a card with his home telephone number; she was supposed to call if anything happened. He looked around. No Barbara.

  Mahoney stopped the first nurse passing by and asked, “Where’s Paul Jones, the kid who was in this room?”

  “I dunno.” She shrugged. “I been off for a week.”

  After fifteen minutes of searching for Barbara Walsh, Mahoney learned she’d come down with the flu on Saturday and was expected to be out for the remainder of the week.

  “One-hundred-and-two fever,” Maureen explained.

  “Damn,” Mahoney said.

  “Is there a problem?”

  Mahoney explained he was looking for Paul Jones, the boy who’d been in room 412. “Has he been transferred to another ward?”

  “No, he was discharged yesterday.”

  “Discharged? How could you let him—”

  “I didn’t do anything. Doctor Brewster decided the kid was well enough to leave and released him.”

  Mahoney began growing hot under the collar. “Who picked him up? Signed him out? Did you just let the kid walk out of here with no place to go?”

  “Don’
t use that tone with me!” Maureen snapped back. “Detective Gomez signed the kid out. They took him out of here in handcuffs, so he’s probably on his way to jail.”

  “Barbara was supposed to call me if anything happened—”

  “Barbara wasn’t here!” Maureen turned and walked off in a huff.

  Although Captain Rogers had expressly instructed him to stay away from the Wyattsville station house, Mahoney got back in his car and sped across town. He bypassed the front desk and went looking for Hector Gomez. He found him in the coffee room.

  “We’ve got to talk!” Mahoney said.

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” Gomez replied with a smug smile.

  Mahoney pulled out a chair and sat opposite him. “Yes, there is.” Weighing his words carefully, he continued. “Paul’s profile, his movements on the day he arrived in Wyattsville, the fact that he had his sister with him, everything points to him being nothing more than a kid in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “The store owner shot him,” Gomez argued. “Sid Klaussner wouldn’t shoot someone for simply being there.”

  “It could’ve been a stray shot.”

  “Not likely.” Gomez took a bite of his sandwich and began chewing.

  “Hear me out,” Mahoney said. He went on to detail the things he’d found. “I believe the kid came in there looking for a job. When I went out to the store, there was a Help Wanted sign on the floor over by the counter. I think Paul was holding that sign when he was shot. Check it out. My bet is you’ll find his prints on the sign. That alone is enough to raise a question of doubt.” He ended by showing Gomez the duplicate sign he’d made and the Polaroids. “The boy responds better to visuals. Give it a try; maybe you’ll get his side of the story.”