Mahoney interrupted. “What if Sidney was aiming at someone else, and the kid just got in the way?”
Carmella’s face turned as red as the inside of an overripe watermelon. “Get out of here!” she screamed. “Get out, and don’t come back. There ought to be a law protecting people from the likes of you!” Before Mahoney could get another word in, she whirled on her heel, stormed back into Sidney’s room, and closed the door behind her. By then Carmella’s heart was thumping with such force you could see her chest rising and falling.
Mahoney watched as she walked away. The light in Sidney’s room was on, and through the plate glass window he saw it. Sidney Klaussner was sitting up in the bed. Maybe Sidney had the answers; maybe not. It would depend on how much he remembered. With Carmella on the rampage, it would be impossible to try to question him right now, but if Mahoney waited...
Luckily Barbara Walsh was on duty. After letting Mahoney down last time, she owed him. He walked over to the nurses’ station and started up a conversation.
Sidney Klaussner had been married to Carmella for more than thirty years. He knew her moods as well as he knew the roundness of her body and the timbre of her laugh. She was a kind woman, a patient woman, a woman who didn’t anger easily—a woman whose behavior was uncharacteristic of what he’d seen outside his hospital room. He waited until she sat down and let go of a deep sigh; then he asked, “Who was that?”
Still tight lipped and red-faced, Carmella answered, “That detective from Northampton.”
“Northampton?” Sidney repeated curiously. “What did he want?”
Caught up in a burst of anger and forgetting she’d been told not to keep reminding Sidney of his experience, she answered, “He wants to get the kid who shot you off scot free. Can you imagine? The nerve—”
“What kid who shot me?”
“The robbery at the store. Remember?”
“Yeah, I remember the robbery. But I don’t remember any kid.”
“He was one of the robbers—tall, lanky, sixteen or seventeen years old.”
“One of the robbers?”
Carmella nodded. “You shot this one, but the other one got away.”
Since they’d already started talking about it, Carmella saw no harm in showing Sidney the newspaper. She reached down and pulled her copy of the Wyattsville Daily from the lower shelf of the bedside table. “This is the kid,” she said, thrusting the paper in front of him.
Sidney lifted the paper and stared at the picture below the headline.
“That detective was trying to get him off,” Carmella said, “so I spoke to Lucinda. She agreed such a thing wasn’t right and got Mike to do the story.”
Sidney looked up with a furrowed brow. “This isn’t the guy who shot me.”
“He’s the shooter’s accomplice and every bit as guilty.”
Sidney let the newspaper fall into his lap and placed his hands over his eyes. Behind his darkened eyelids he saw the day as it had happened. He saw the boy in the picture, not with a large white bandage taped to the side of his head, but with a full crop of dark unruly hair. Sidney’s mind flooded with memories. Before this he had only vague shadows of the shooter, but now he saw him clearly. He was older—not old but older than the boy. He walked with long strides and an angry stance. Without saying a word, he’d pulled a gun from his pocket and raised his arm to fire. The boy lunged. The gunman fired.
Sidney saw that split second. It was a moment frozen in time, a moment waiting to be rediscovered. But after that there was nothing. No image of either bullet hitting its mark, no image of falling, nothing but a big void of black nothingness. Tears came to Sidney’s eyes and he began to sob.
“Dear God,” he moaned. After several minutes had passed, he lifted his head and looked at Carmella.
“That kid saved my life,” he said.
Carmella shook her head vigorously. “No. It’s impossible. You shot him. The police said it was your bullet. You wouldn’t shoot an innocent—”
Barely able to speak because of the sorrow rising from his chest, Sidney held up his hand and motioned for Carmella to stop talking. “I wasn’t trying to shoot him,” he said, squeezing the words out. “I was aiming at the gunman.”
Carmella’s face twisted itself into a mask of fear. “But how…?”
Sidney couldn’t answer.
Jumping up so fast you’d think she’d been zapped by lightning, Carmella dashed out of the room and ran toward the nurse’s station screaming, “Wait, wait, there’s been a mistake!”
“A mistake?” Barbara Walsh and Mahoney replied simultaneously.
Now almost out of breath, Carmella nodded. “The boy didn’t do it.”
Taken aback, Mahoney said, “I don’t understand—”
“Don’t understand? What is there to not understand?” Carmella’s words came like the rapid fire of a machine gun, landing on top of each other and not leaving a millimeter of space in between. “The boy is innocent. He’s not the one. He saved my Sidney’s life!”
“Sidney said that?”
“Yes.” Carmella grabbed hold of Mahoney’s arm and tugged him toward the room. “Come ask him yourself!”
For the better part of an hour Mahoney sat and listened. Sidney sobbed, and Carmella sobbed with him. The memories were painful. They caused his hands to tremble and his heart to pound hard against his chest, but Sidney had to remember. He had to know. The locked vault of memories opened slowly, and he began to recall the bits and pieces of that day. In looking back he began to see even the smallest things: the key in his hand, unlocking the door, switching on the lights, Martha Tillinger asking for a cake mix. A few minutes later, a boy came in, a tall skinny boy carrying the “Help Wanted” sign he’d plucked from the window. Sidney recalled the overalls the boy was wearing, clean but frayed at the bottom.
“I’m ready for working,” the boy had said with a grin.
Before there was any further discussion, the bell above the door jingled and a second man walked in. The boy stepped to the side of the counter and said, “I can wait.”
“We’d been having a warm spell,” Sidney recalled, “and it struck me why that man would be wearing a heavy leather jacket on such a hot day.” He went on to tell how the man came at him, not looking left or right but with dark hooded eyes fixed straight ahead.
“There was early morning sun, and for a second, maybe less than a second, I saw the glimmer of it on the metal thing he was pulling from his pocket. That’s when I grabbed the Browning I keep under the counter.”
The encounter had come and gone in less than a minute, but in Sidney’s memory it stretched itself to an expanse where he could stop and look at each frame of action, each tiny movement. He could see the shooter’s boots, smell the anger he wore. He could detail every move the boy made—how his head swiveled, his arm shot out, and he slammed his shoulder into the shooter. The shooter had taken dead aim, but he was off balance when he fired. Sidney clenched his fist and once again felt the pressure of his finger pulling back on the trigger of the Browning. He closed his eyes and listened; then he heard it. A noise roared through his head, two shots so close together they had the sound of one.
Three times Sidney told the story, and each time he recalled another small piece of the puzzle—the time, the amount of money in the register, even the brand of cake mix Martha Tillinger had been looking for.
Once Sidney had told all there was to tell, Mahoney stepped out to the nurse’s station and telephoned the Wyattsville station house. He asked to speak to Gomez.
“Not here,” the voice said. “Can someone else help you?”
“Afraid not.” Mahoney explained that he was a detective with the Northampton Precinct and asked for Gomez’s home number.
“It’s probably better to wait ‘til Monday,” the voice said. “Gomez is none too fond of you Northampton boys.”
“Will do,” Mahoney said and hung up. He then grabbed the Wyattsville directory and started calling the Gomezs. Althoug
h the directory listing was for a Maria Gomez, Hector answered the third number he called.
“I’ve got something for you,” Mahoney said.
“Who’s this?” Hector replied.
“Jack Mahoney, Northampton.”
“What the hell—”
“Look, I’m doing you a favor here,” Mahoney said. Then he went on to explain what he’d just heard. “I’m off the case, so this’s a chance for you to step in and grab the glory.”
“How do I know this ain’t another one of your hot shot deals?” Hector asked.
“You don’t,” Mahoney answered. “But I’m at the hospital right now, and it’s seven o’clock. I’ll sit on it until eight-thirty. If you’re not here by then, I’m going to turn it in to Captain Rogers.” He hung up the telephone.
Mahoney’s next call was to Christine. “I’m going to be later than I thought,” he said and promised to make it up to her.
Minutes later he called Olivia Doyle.
The Carmella Encounter
When the telephone rang Olivia didn’t answer it. She glanced up at the clock. Seven-fifteen; it was probably Clara. If not Clara, then Seth, or perhaps Jeanine. I’ll call back in a few minutes, she thought and slid a tray of cookies into the oven. While the cookies baked she washed the dishes, tidied the kitchen, and leafed through the latest issue of Ladies Home Journal. It was nearly a half-hour later when she remembered about the call.
Olivia hurried to the answering machine and pushed the Play button, expecting to hear Clara’s voice. Instead it was Detective Mahoney.
His message was short and to the point.
“Missus Doyle, this is Jack Mahoney,” he said. “I’m at the hospital and wanted to let you know your suspicion was right. We’ve confirmed that Paul Jones was not involved in the robbery.”
That was it. No details saying how such information came to light, just that it was. Olivia waited for a moment, thinking there would be another message trailing the first. An explanation of sorts. The tape stopped, and the machine clicked off. Not trusting she’d heard the message correctly, she played it a second time, then a third. Each time the words were the same. And each time she could almost hear Mahoney’s voice sounding a bit happier than the time before.
After she’d listened to the recording three times, Olivia snapped off the machine and hurried into the living room.
“You were right about your brother,” she told Jubilee. “Detective Mahoney called and said they know Paul was not involved in that robbery.”
A smile such as Olivia had never before seen lit up the girl’s face. “Can we go see Paul now?”
“Yes, I believe we can,” Olivia answered happily.
While Ethan went in search of the shoes he’d been wearing, Olivia called Clara to share the news. “It seems a small miracle that the children will finally be reunited.”
“Thank heaven!” Clara replied. Then she went on to say how all along she’d suspected Jubilee’s brother couldn’t possibly be involved in something so scandalous. “Family upbringing shows through, and I’m betting the brother is a fine young fellow.”
By then it was after eight and rapidly approaching what should have been the children’s bedtime. Instead of telling them to go brush their teeth and get their pajamas on, Olivia loaded both kids into the car and started for the hospital. Mahoney had only mentioned that he was there. He’d said nothing about Paul, but Olivia’s listening was love-impaired and she heard what she wanted to hear.
When Sidney regained consciousness, Carmella Klaussner’s heart swelled to five times its normal size and overflowed with the joy of living. For the past three days she’d walked around so deliriously happy she found it impossible not to smile. She held on to that smile from the time she opened her eyes in the morning until she closed them at night. When Carmella crawled into bed, her face ached from all that smiling but she didn’t care. She once again had her Sidney.
Until today nothing in the entire world could have taken Carmella’s smile. But in mere moments everything changed. Now a sliver of regret stabbed her skin like a steel splinter. She thought back on the phone call she’d made. She remembered the words she’d said. They were cold, heartless. She hadn’t waited for justice to take its course. She’d demanded it right then and there. The boy who had saved Sidney’s life was in jail, and she was to blame. After three days of thanking the Lord for returning her Sidney, Carmella fell to her knees and began praying for forgiveness.
Just as she uttered her last “Amen,” she lifted her eyes and saw the boy’s sister coming down the hallway. Certain it could only be divine providence, Carmella jumped up and ran from the room. Without any explanation, she squatted and hugged Jubilee to her chest. “You poor child,” she moaned. “I have wronged you and your family terribly.”
Olivia and Ethan Allen exchanged looks of confusion.
“Do we know you?” Olivia asked.
Carmella stood. “Maybe not, but I’m the one responsible for your boy being in jail.”
“I’m not in jail,” Ethan Allen said, “Paul is.”
“And it’s entirely my fault,” Carmella acknowledged. She explained that she was Sidney’s wife. “I was beside myself with grief over Sidney, and I wanted your boy to suffer the way I was suffering.”
Olivia noticed how the woman continued to refer to Paul as “her boy.”
“I was wrong,” Carmella said. “I see that now, and I’m going to make things right. I’ll make certain your boy goes free. In fact, I’ll do it right now,” Carmella added. “I’ll march myself into that police station and demand they let your boy go free!”
After several minutes of listening, Olivia began to put the pieces together. “So, you’re saying it was you who put that story in the newspaper?”
“Yes, and I’m ashamed to admit it.” Carmella’s shoulders drooped. She stood hunched over with a penitent gaze focused on the floor. “According to Sidney, your boy came into the store looking for a job and had nothing whatsoever to do with what happened. He got in the way of that bullet because he tried to stop the robber.” After she’d finished her story, Carmella grabbed Jubilee’s hand and tugged her toward Sidney’s room. Olivia and Ethan Allen followed along.
Mahoney stood to the side of the room. Gomez was next to Sidney, asking questions and scribbling notations of what was said.
“The boy came in asking for a job,” Sidney said.
Gomez wrote “asking for job.”
“Then what?” he asked.
“The man in the leather jacket came in maybe a minute later.”
Mahoney’s eyes were fixed on Sidney, so at first he didn’t notice Olivia standing behind Carmella. When he finally caught sight of her, he asked, “What are you doing here?”
“You called, and Jubilee was anxious to see her brother.”
“Paul’s not here,” Mahoney said. “He’s still in holding.”
In an unexpected burst of generosity, Gomez said, “I can fix that.” He gave a sheepish smile. “Now that I’ve got Mister Klaussner’s testimony, there’s no longer a reason to hold the kid.”
“Blessed be the Lord,” Carmella murmured. “Your boy will be at home with you tonight!”
Jubilee’s grin stretched ear to ear. “Tonight?”
“I guess so,” Gomez nodded. “I’m gonna need an hour or so to wrap up the paperwork. Then he can go.” The grumpy face Hector Gomez usually wore was gone; he’d returned to thinking about the possibility of a promotion.
Without looking inside her head, a person could tell Jubilee was celebrating the thought of being with her brother again.
Happy as Olivia was for Jubilee, she couldn’t help thinking about how Carmella kept calling Paul “her” boy. The lower part of her face was curled into a smile, but her forehead was creased with worry lines. Where would she put another child? And what would the Rules Committee have to say about it? Olivia could already picture a steamy spiral of smoke coming from Jim Turner’s ears. While there had been a remot
e chance of her remaining in the building once she’d taken Jubilee in, with three children such a thought was beyond thinkable.
Gomez finished questioning Sidney Klaussner, then left with a smile on his face and a fistful of notes in his pocket. Mahoney followed him out a few minutes later. It was already nine-thirty. On the way out of the hospital, Jack stopped in the gift shop and bought Christine a bouquet of yellow daisies and baby’s breath. He’d hoped to get roses, but this was the last remaining bouquet and the florist had closed hours earlier.
Olivia stayed behind because Carmella latched onto her hand and said, “Please don’t go, Sidney just loves talking to the children.”
It was apparent that Jubilee and Ethan Allen were enjoying it also, because they were both locked into listening to Sidney’s account of the robbery.
“I knew that man was ill-intentioned when I saw the look on his face,” Sidney said. “Then a speck of sunlight flashed against the gun he was pulling from his pocket, so I reached down and grabbed the Browning.”
“Was you scared?” Ethan Allen asked.
“Sure I was, but being scared don’t count for much when you’re facing up to a hell-bent crazy person with a gun.”
“And Paul punched the crazy man?” Jubilee added.
“More like shoved him,” Sidney said; then he continued with the story.
While the children listened wide-eyed to Sidney, Carmella kept a tight hold on Olivia’s hand. “I can never begin to make up for the heartache I’ve caused you and your boy, but rest assured, I will spend the rest of my days trying.”
“Well, I don’t really think that’s necessary.”
“I insist. Surely there’s something I can do. Some way to help? Some way to atone?”
“Well, I suppose if you really want to, you could make a contribution to the Bicycle Ball. It’s an event the Wyattsville Arms hosts every August.”
Olivia told how the ball got started the summer Ethan Allen came to live with her. “We use the proceeds to buy bicycles for needy children.”
Jubilee's Journey Page 24
