by Ace Collins
Reese waved his hand. “Unless Helen objects, everyone except Mr. Johns is free to go home now.”
“Except for Mom and me,” Angel announced. “We’re staying with the Halls tonight.”
“That’s right.” Rose laughed. “I can’t wait for you to see my room. It’s just like it was when I left.”
“Sam,” the sheriff announced as he put his hand on the attorney’s left wrist. “As soon as I get these cuffs on you, you’ll be going with me. They’ve got a nice warm cell for you down at the county jail.”
Johns said nothing as the group looked on, and his old friend slapped what some called bracelets on his wrists. Once they were locked in place, Atkins gently pushed the man toward the door. Just before he walked outside, the attorney took a last look at those who were witnessing his fall from grace. It appeared as though he were trying to come up with something to say, but this time words failed him. So when the sheriff placed a hand in the middle of his back, Johns moved silently out into the darkness.
As he disappeared, Meeker put her arm around Janet Carson’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not surprised about Jim,” Janet answered. “But I can’t believe Mr. Johns was in on it.”
“He just let his greed overrule his common sense,” Meeker explained. “That happens all the time. If you don’t believe it, come visit me in Washington.”
Carson nodded.
“And you’ll get back some of the money,” Meeker assured her. “Sorry we couldn’t get it all.”
Janet smiled. “I’ll be giving it to a children’s home that Aunt Abbi loved. So whatever is left will go for something pretty special.”
Carson picked up her coat, slipped it on, and headed toward the door. As she did, the Halls and Coffmans moved from the main room into the office. Reese walked back in.
“So I hear you bought the Packard?” Reese quipped, as he strolled over to Meeker’s side.
“Sure did,” she answered. “I felt I owed that car.”
“You probably paid too much for it.”
“Probably,” she agreed. “But I’m not worried about resale value. I’m keeping it forever.”
“Where you staying tonight?” he asked.
“I’ve got a room at the Regis in Danville.”
He smiled. “Get a good night’s sleep. And I hope we can work together down the road.”
He then surprised the woman by leaning forward, looking deeply into her eyes, and bringing his lips to hers. He let them linger there for a moment then pulled back just enough to whisper, “I still need to show you how to have fun.”
“I’m ready,” she whispered back. “You name the time and place.”
“It will be soon.” After leaning forward for a final soft kiss, he turned and strolled to the door.
Chapter 86
I’m checking out,” Meeker announced, setting her bag down in front of the main desk in the Regis Hotel’s lobby. She was studying the counter’s green leather padded top when the older gentleman dressed in black slacks, a white shirt, and red vest moved forward from his station behind that desk.
“Hope you enjoyed your stay.”
“I had a good night’s sleep,” she assured him. “In fact, it might well have been the best I’ve had in years.”
“What was your room number?” he asked.
“Four-thirteen,” she announced as she handed him her key.
“If you’re Miss Helen Meeker,” he replied, reaching for what looked like a shoe box, “then someone left something here for you.” He set the small package on the counter. “Wonder what it could be.”
“I have no idea,” she answered. She met his eyes. “And as I have more enemies than friends, do you have the name of the person who left it?”
He glanced at his notes. “No, but I do remember he was young, good-looking, and the maid said he was very charming.”
“That narrows it down.” Meeker smiled.
“Well, miss, you paid in advance, so do you need help with your bags?”
“I only have two,” she replied. “I can handle it.”
“Thank you. Please stay with us the next time when you’re in town. And I hope what is in the package will bring you a great deal of happiness.”
Meeker placed the shoe box under her arm, put her purse over her shoulder, and picked up her bags. She waltzed through the small lobby and pushed out the door where she was rudely greeted by a relentless, cold north wind. Turning to her left, she quickly marched the half block to the hotel’s parking lot. Among all the gray, blue, black, and cream colored cars, her bright yellow Packard was easy to spot. Unlocking the door, she reached around, popped the handle on the back door and scooted her bags onto the backseat. Closing the back door, she tossed her purse into the front seat and slid in. Taking her place behind the wheel, she closed that door, slipped the key into the ignition, pulled out the choke, pumped the gas pedal twice, and hit the starter. After the motor roared to life, she slipped it into neutral, lifted her foot from the clutch, and adjusted the choke. It was time to examine the surprise.
There was a single red ribbon holding the lid onto the box. She untied it and set the top to one side. Inside was a white business envelope with her name written in pen. She recognized the handwriting. Taking the envelope, she carefully opened the flap to discover a single piece of typewriter paper. She unfolded it and read the short message.
Dear Partner,
When you told me you had nothing of your sister’s, not even a photo, I did some quick digging. Your father didn’t destroy everything, simply because he didn’t have everything. I had these things pulled from the case box on Emily’s kidnapping. I don’t know if it will bring you any peace, but at least you have something.
Henry
She was filled with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. Taking a deep breath, she placed the letter on the seat and looked into the box. On the top was a rag doll large enough to fill the small cardboard container. As soon as she saw it, she could picture Emily dancing across the floor with it. Grabbing and clutching the doll to her chest, Meeker closed her eyes and, as if by magic, a wealth of lost memories flooded her mind. The instant they reached her heart, the tears began to flow. Both the memories and the tears continued relentlessly for five minutes.
As she sat alone in the Packard, she remembered a dollhouse, a trip to the zoo, presents under a spruce, a Christmas tree, and hot dogs at Coney Island. There were birthday cakes and matching Easter dresses and eating apples after climbing a tree. She could remember scores of forgotten elements of her life with Emily, including the way she laughed and talked, but no matter how hard she squeezed the doll she simply couldn’t see her sister’s face. Finally regaining enough composure to set the doll aside on the car’s seat, she pulled a handkerchief from her coat pocket. After drying her eyes, she looked back into the box.
The only other item was a four-by-six-inch photo. Her hand shaking, she carefully lifted it from the box. Staring back at her was the face she had forgotten. What a beautiful face it was! She had dark, straight hair, and a cowlick at the top of her forehead. Her smile was so natural and a bit lopsided; her eyes, large dark eyes, were so very expressive. And it was those eyes that seemed to call out to her. It was the eyes …
“My Lord,” Meeker whispered. “My Lord,” she said again.
Setting the photo back in the box. She pushed open the car door, locked it, and raced back to the hotel. Running over to a phone booth, she dumped her purse and began counting out change. When she was convinced she had enough, she called the operator.
Chapter 87
The drive to Chicago took over two hours, and for one very intense and personal reason it was the longest trip of Helen Meeker’s life. It was just past noon when she parked the Packard in a lot on Jackson, picked up the shoe box and her purse, paid the attendant, and with a determined step made her way to Michigan Avenue. After taking a left, she waited impatiently for a light and crossed the street. A half block later
she opened the door to Foster’s Café.
“May I help you?” a finely dressed older woman asked.
“I’m meeting someone for lunch,” Meeker quickly explained. “I don’t know if she beat me here or not.”
“How old would this person be?” the hostess asked.
“In her early twenties and she’s pretty.”
“Is she a brunette?”
“Yes,” Meeker whispered.
“If I’m right, she’s in the side booth all the way to the back, on the street side. Would you like me to lead you?”
“No,” Meeker hurriedly answered. “I’ll find her.”
As she swept by the coat check stand and into the restaurant’s main room, she didn’t notice any of the other people dining at one of the city’s hottest lunch spots. She was barely aware of the smell of the food or the plush feel of the carpet. Her eyes were locked onto a single booth. Nothing else mattered.
The trip across the congested room took only thirty seconds, but to Meeker it seemed hours. She was literally breathless when she arrived at that booth and got her first real glimpse of the young woman sitting in that tall-backed bench seat.
“Hi,” came a crisp, happy greeting. “I guess you’re Helen.”
Meeker was too busy studying every feature of the face that was now just a few feet in front of her to respond. She didn’t speak or take her eyes from that face, even as she awkwardly pushed her body into the bench opposite her guest.
“You must be Helen,” the now confused woman noted again. When Meeker didn’t respond, she shrugged. “When my supervisor at Marshall Field’s told me that someone from President Roosevelt’s office wanted to meet me for lunch, I couldn’t understand why. It was even a little bit scary. But I wasn’t going to turn down a chance to eat at Foster’s. I can’t believe I’m here. The menu is amazing!”
Meeker nodded.
“Hold it!” the young woman noted. She titled her head to the right as if trying to summon a memory and carefully studied Meeker with those dark, expressive brown eyes before continuing. “I’ve seen you before. I think I recognize your face. Was it at college?”
“No,” the agent finally found her voice, “it was in St. Anne’s. You were waiting tables.”
“Yeah, that was it. I was staying with my friend Marie. I was working for Mrs. Thornton, trying to make enough money to pay for tuition and room and board.”
“Did you?” Meeker asked.
“Did I what?”
“Make enough money for college?”
“No,” she sadly replied. “I fell short. So I haven’t finished yet. I’m working at Marshall Field’s. Of course you know that. After all, you called me there. Sorry I couldn’t come to the phone, but they don’t allow us to take personal calls.”
“What about your family?” Meeker asked. “Can’t they help you with college?”
“No family,” she explained in a matter-of-fact manner as if she’d told the story a hundred times. “I was raised in an orphanage. A woman dropped me off there and told them my parents had died. The woman claimed to be my aunt, and she said she was too poor to take care of me. The staff thought I was about three. Because the woman didn’t have any proof as to who I was and she disappeared before she could sign any papers, they couldn’t put me in the adoption pool. At the time I didn’t even have a name. I called myself by one letter—M. They had enough Marys and Marthas there, so they gave me Alison. And, at some point, when they gave up trying to find where I came from, I got the last name of Ward. You know, like ward of the state.”
As Meeker digested the information, she sadly nodded. “That had to be tough.”
“Well,” Alison replied, “it was no walk in the park. But the staff was really nice. I did well in school. Christmas was a little lonely, but I’m fine now.”
“I guess you don’t even know your birthday?” Meeker observed.
“Well I have one,” she smiled. “It’s August 17, 1918. They figured I was about three, and that was the date I was dropped off at the home.”
Meeker nodded. The timeline fit. That was about three weeks after Emily had been abducted.
“I am so sorry I spilled out my life story,” Alison said. “I’m sure you aren’t interested. In truth, my life has been kind of boring. So why do you want to speak to me? The note I was given by my supervisor about meeting you for lunch said your name was Helen Meeker?”
“That’s right,” Meeker quickly assured her. “And your life is anything but boring. I want to know all about it.”
A waitress set two glasses of water in front of the women and asked, “Do you know what you’d like to eat?”
“You can have anything on the menu,” Meeker assured her.
“I always wanted to try one of their steaks.”
“Then we’ll do it.” The agent smiled. “Bring us two T-bones.”
“We only have sirloin today,” the waitress explained.
“How do you want yours cooked?” Meeker asked.
“I’ve never had one,” she replied. “I don’t know.”
“Two steaks, medium, with baked potatoes and some of your incredible homemade rolls.”
The woman jotted the information on her pad. “And to drink.”
“A Coke,” Alison quickly answered.
“Me, too.”
After the waitress left, the young woman looked back at Meeker. “Why did you want to see me?”
Opening the shoe box, Meeker pulled out the photo. Holding it with the back side to her guest, she asked, “Would you smile for me?”
The question was strange enough that it evoked an involuntary smile followed by an obvious question. “What?”
Meeker looked from the picture to the woman on the other side of the table and returned the smile she’d asked for. Handing the photo to Alison, she watched as the girl studied the image. Looking up for a moment to Meeker, she tilted her head as if to pose a question she was probably too tongue-tied or confused to voice.
“I think you called them dents,” Meeker softly said. “But our father always called them dimples. I didn’t remember that until this morning. Your dimples are on the top side of your cheeks.”
“You said our father?” the shocked woman whispered.
“Yes, I did.”
Alison shook her head and looked back at the photo. “You’re not just playing with me, are you?”
“No,” Meeker assured her, “you and I are sisters. I was eight when you were kidnapped. And the reason you called yourself by a letter was that I called you ‘Em’.”
Meeker reached back into the box and pulled out the doll. As soon as it emerged, Alison dropped the photo onto the table and reached for it. Tears filled her eyes as she whispered, “Molly.”
“I’d forgotten you called her ‘Molly,’” Meeker whispered back, trying her best to keep her composure. “But I remember now. Molly Bee.”
“Molly Bee Good,” Alison corrected her as she pulled the doll to her body. “We’re sisters!” She met her gaze again, wonder in her face.
Meeker nodded.
“And my real name is?”
“Emily Ann Meeker.”
“And our folks?”
“They’re dead, but I’ll help you get to know them. I can tell you so much about them. We can look at pictures.” She paused, bit her lip, and sobbed. “It would mean so much to them to know that we found each other. They loved you with all their hearts.”
“I have a name!” Alison quietly said.
Meeker nodded and added, “And I have a sister!”
ACE COLLINS lives to write! His writing career spans over two decades with more than sixty titles to his credit. Ace has won numerous awards for his writing including three Golden Quills, an America’s Writing Award, and the Angel of Excellence Award. An Arkansas-based writer, Ace has been married for thirty-five years. He and his wife Kathy have two sons. Ace’s hobbies include restoring classic cars, collecting movie memorabilia from the Golden Age of Hollywood, and follow
ing college basketball.
