The Secret of Willow Lane

by Virginia Rose Richter

  “Rats! How could I forget it?”

  “Jessie!” called her mom. “Come on!”

  “Coming!” she yelled over the din of the rain. She left the pieces in the mud. I’ll clean it up later.

  Her mother hunched forward and squinted through the rain-washed windshield. The wipers thumped a steady beat. The car’s tires sent out water waves as they passed through giant puddles.

  “The farmers will love this,” her mom said. “The crops were drying up.”

  Jessie didn’t answer. She sat glumly, looking out the passenger window. What kind of a detective am I? I can’t even keep track of my evidence. That footprint would have been a connection to the watcher in the window.

  Jessie stiffened at the sight of a green car coming in their direction. She twisted around in her seat as it passed. The license read GCK 995.

  “Mom! There goes the green car! That’s the one!”

  Her mom glanced up into her rear view mirror and then back to the street ahead. “That’s Mr. Simms’ new car. You know—the Johnsons’ yard man. I think he just got it. I guess you haven’t seen it before. You don’t think that’s the car Mrs. Winter was talking about do you? What would Mr. Simms have to do with the man that got into our house?”

  Jessie said nothing. I know it was the same car, she thought. But I’d better act dumb. I’m in so deep now, Mom would never understand. But why was the “snapshot-carpet guy” in Mr. Simms’ car?

  “Does Mr. Simms have a family?” She looked at her mom who was concentrating on her driving. “Mom?”

  “Wha…? Oh,” her mother said. “He has a wife. And a son— somewhere back east. Maybe Wisconsin. He was in an accident when he was young. A leg injury, I think. I haven’t heard anything about him in years.

  They pulled up to the library at Courthouse Square.

  “When you’re finished, come right to the office and we’ll go home. Mrs. Winter has to leave early today.”

  “Okay.” Jessie opened the car door and jumped onto the soggy grass. In a minute, she was inside the library.

  She noticed right away that Miss Tyler wasn’t up on her tall stool. In her place sat her assistant, Mr. Palmer. Miss Tyler and Mr. Palmer were opposites. She was tall and skinny and he was short and chubby. They were alike in only one way—neither ever smiled.

  Jessie approached the high desk. “Hi, Mr. Palmer,” she said softly. “Miss Tyler called me at home and said she would leave something for me at the desk.”

  Mr. Palmer thought for a moment and said, “Yes, Jessica. I think there’s an envelope for you on one of these shelves.”

  His head disappeared below the level of the desk. Jessie could hear the slow shuffling of paper.

  “Ah,” said Mr. Palmer. His head reappeared. “Here it is. Now remember, you must not take it from the building.” His face was solemn as he said, “This material is the property of the county and it cannot be checked out of the library.” He handed the envelope to her. “Please return it to me when you finish.”

  “Oh, I will.” Jessie took the manila envelope and carried it to a table by the window.

  Rain rolled down the windowpane and thunder rumbled in the distance. Jessie removed her damp jacket and settled into the broad polished seat of a wooden armchair.

  The envelope lay on the table in front of her. She opened the flap with one hand and slipped out its contents with the other.

  On the very top of the pile of newspaper clippings was a picture of JESSIE! She looked closer. The girl in the picture was older, maybe eighteen. But everything else was the same. Same fair hair. Same dimple in the chin. Same wide eyes and turned up nose. Same full lips. Jessie read the print below the photograph.

  Miss Alice Jorgenson of Madison, Wisconsin

  Betrothed to Carl Gustave Johnson of Fairfield

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Jessie felt dizzy and confused. She sorted through the remaining news photos. Every one was of Alice Johnson or of Alice and C.G. Johnson together.

  And every one of the pictures of Alice looked like Jessie. She dug into her jacket pocket and pulled out a quarter. She pushed through the clippings and chose two clear photographs of Alice. She slid the rest of the news clips back into the manila envelope, put on her jacket and walked to the copying machine.

  At the machine, she copied the pictures of Alice and tucked the copies into her tee shirt pocket. She returned the originals in the manila envelope to Mr. Palmer at the front desk.

  Mr. Palmer looked up. “All finished…? Why, Jessica. Are you ill? You look very pale. Should I call your mother?”

  “No,” Jessie said. “I’m fine. Thanks.” She ran to the library doors, shoved them open and let go. They slammed behind her as she half-ran, half-stumbled down the steps.

  Rain fell on her head and trickled down her face. She tore across the lawn and darted into the street. Brakes squealed and a horn honked. “Jessie Hanson!” yelled the driver as he rolled down his window. “Watch where you’re going! I almost ran you over!”

  Breathless, she turned in at her dad’s office building and dashed up the stairs. At the top, she leaned on the wall and waited for her heart to stop pounding and her knees to stop shaking. She wiped rain off her face with her sleeve. That was a close one. Mr. Larson nearly ran over me. Get a grip, Jessica. Or Mom will be suspicious.

  She walked into her dad’s inner office and plopped onto a chair next to the table holding the Atlas and the Bible.

  “Hi,” said her mom. She didn’t look up but continued to write in a ledger. “We can leave as soon as I finish this entry.”

  Jessie leafed through the Atlas. She tried to be casual, but her stomach felt tight and her heart was racing. She glanced at her mom, still absorbed in her writing.

  Jessie slid the gold key bookmark out of the Atlas, put it in her jacket pocket and closed the pocket zipper.

  “Ready?”

  Startled, Jessie jumped.

  “You sure are edgy today,” said her mom. “When we get home, we’re all taking naps.”

  “When’s Daddy coming back?”

  “Tonight. Let’s go.” They walked downstairs and through the rain to the car parked at the curb.

  All the way home, Jessie was quiet—trying to put the pieces together in the C.G. Johnson puzzle. I need to talk to someone, she thought. But who? If I tell mom, she’ll keep me home for years! Daddy’s out of town. Tina can’t talk to anyone.

  As they pulled into the driveway, Jessie spotted the green car parked down the street from the Johnson house. Mr. Simms stood across the street on the front porch. He held a baseball cap in his hand while he scratched his bald head and surveyed the wet lawn. Jessie studied him. If he didn’t have those dark eyebrows, his head would look like an egg sitting on his shoulders.

  “Keep an eye on Phillip while I drive Mrs. Winter home,” said her mother. “Then we’re all going to lie down.”

  Phillip came into the hallway—arms held high—crying for his mother. She scooped him up and gave him a kiss. “Stay with Jessie. I’ll be right back.”

  The toddler cried louder. Jessie took him from her mother and waved her hand. “Say bye-bye to Mrs. Winter.”

  After her mother and the sitter left, Phillip went into a full howl. Please don’t throw a tantrum, thought Jessie. She jiggled him up and down and said, “Come on. Let’s go to Jessie’s room and she’ll read you a story.”

  He started to quiet down and laid his head in the curve of Jessie’s neck.

  She climbed the stairs. “Boy, you’re getting heavy. Pretty soon I won’t be able to lug you around.”

  In her bedroom, Jessie took a picture book from her shelf and sat down with Phillip on the window seat. “Once upon a time, there were three bears. See, Phillip?” Jessie pointed to the bears one by one. “There’s the Baby Bear. He’s like you—the baby in the family. Then there’s Mama Bear. And this one is Papa Bear.” The artist had drawn them with heavy dark eyebrows.

  “That’s IT!” she cried. “The
‘snapshot-carpet guy’ is Mr. Simms’ son. They both have the same eyebrows!”

  Phillip looked from the book to Jessie. He laughed and clapped his hands. “Dat IT, Dat IT, Dat IT!” he screeched.

  Jessie gave him a squeeze. “Thanks, Phillip,” she whispered in his ear. “I needed someone to talk to.”

  When her mother returned, Jessie was still in her window seat with Phillip asleep in her arms.

  “I’m putting him in his crib,” said her mom. “I’m going to lie down too. Be sure to get out of those wet clothes—and it wouldn’t hurt for you to take a nap.” She took Phillip from Jessie and left the room.

  From her tee shirt pocket, Jessie removed the newspaper pictures of Alice Johnson. She gazed back and forth between the image in her mirror and the clippings. Then she put the copies into the middle drawer of her desk.

  She changed into dry jeans, shirt, socks and tennis shoes. Then she pulled a dark windbreaker from her closet and slipped it on. She retrieved the gold bookmark from her wet jacket and zipped it into the pocket of the windbreaker. From her chest of drawers, she took out a black rain hat, pulled it down tight over her head and tiptoed into the upper hallway.

  Phillip’s door was closed. Jessie passed the master bedroom and saw that her mother was asleep. She crept down the stairs and into the kitchen.

  From a hook by the door, Jessie took down her mother’s key ring. She struggled to remove the Johnsons’ brass house key, and then stuck it into her jeans pocket. Finally, she slipped into the hall and out the front door.

  From her porch, Jessie surveyed the neighborhood. Mr. Simms’ car was gone. She took a deep breath and ran headlong across Willow Lane and up into the shadows of the Johnson doorway.

  Again, she checked the area. The block looked deserted. She pulled the old brass door key from her jeans pocket and inserted it into the lock. In moments she was standing in the grand foyer. She closed the door behind her.

  Jessie leaned against the wall and listened. Boy, is it ever quiet in here. I wonder why I’m not scared? I guess I just want to know what’s behind the wall map. Here I go!

  She darted to the staircase and took the steps two at a time, grabbing the banister only when she needed leverage to turn the corners. In seconds, she was standing breathless before the middle door on the third floor.

  She turned the knob, opened the door and peeked into the study. Empty! Jessie slipped inside and closed the door.

  She ran to the step stool by the bookcase and carried it to the wall map. From her pocket, she retrieved the gold bookmark key then climbed to the top of the stool. With her finger, she traced the border between Sweden and Finland. There’s the slit, she thought. She tried to put the key in the opening. Rats! I need to be a little taller.

  When she rose up on her tiptoes, the ladder teetered. Jessie’s knees began to shake. She slipped the bookmark into the slit. It FIT! She turned the key and pulled. A small door opened out. Jessie reached into the opening and felt paper. She dragged it forward. It was a long envelope that opened on the end. Printed on the outside were the words:

  LAST WILL

  AND

  TESTAMENT

  A chill passed over her scalp. Wait ’til Daddy sees this! she thought. She heard a noise. Jessie shoved the envelope back into its cubbyhole, slammed the little door and returned the key to her pocket. She took a flying leap from the step stool and landed—knees bent—on the thick blue rug. At the door, she heard someone coming up the stairs.

  Jessie darted from the study, closing the door behind her. In the hall, she stood still, unable to think. Her heart raced and her ears rang. She whirled around and headed for her former hiding place behind the door in the adjoining room. She waited, motionless.

  The footsteps came closer, reached the third floor and crossed the hall to the study. Through the crack, Jessie could tell it was a man, but couldn’t see his face. The door to the study opened and closed.

  Then she remembered the step stool. I didn’t put it back! It’s still in front of the map, she thought. When he sees that, he’ll know someone’s been in there! I’m getting out of here!

  She ran from her hiding place and back into the hall. The study door opened. A hand grabbed at her windbreaker. With a lunge forward, she pulled away and raced to the stairs.

  Jessie heard the man right behind her. She saw the banister, threw her leg over the polished rail and started to slide down. Desperately, she tried to balance herself as she gathered speed and whirled around the corner of the second floor.

  Now she was headed for the landing above the main entry. She wobbled wildly and fell to the stairs. Using her momentum, Jessie sprang to her feet and kept going—around a corner and down a long hall. She could hear the man still pounding heavily down the staircase. She opened the nearest door, slipped inside and pulled it shut behind her.

  Jessie stood in a large parlor. Blue velvet draperies hung at French windows that opened out onto tiny balconies. She ran to a window facing Willow Lane and hid behind one of the drapery panels, waiting.

  Footsteps echoed in the hall outside the parlor. The door swung open. Someone was in the room. Does he see me? Jessie wondered. In fear, she stepped backward against the glass door. Something poked her in the back. She reached behind and grasped a door handle. She pushed down and out. The French doors flew open and a gust of wind and rain blew into the room.

  The footsteps rushed in her direction. Jessie leaped outside to the balcony and slammed the French doors behind her. Rain pelted her face and beat on her hat.

  A car was coming up Willow Lane. The French doors were opening behind her. Jessie looked over the balcony rail. Below her was a striped canvas awning. The car turned into her driveway and drove into the garage. Her father stepped out of the car.

  “DADDY!” Jessie screamed. “DADDY!”

  She could feel the man behind her at the French doors. She swung her leg over the balcony rail, let go and slid on her back down the awning and into a huge prickly hedge. As she landed, she heard her dad shout, “HANG ON, JESS! I’M COMING!”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Jessie was buried in the green hedge. She struggled to stand up. Suddenly a shadow loomed over her. The Man! He’s going to grab me! But the face was familiar. “Daddy!”

  “Jessie! What in the world! Are you all right?” He reached down into the bushes, gripped her hand and eased her up out of the shrubbery. Gently, he manipulated her wrists and felt her ankles. “It looks like you’re still in one piece.”

  “I’m all right. Nothing’s broken. But listen, Daddy…”

  “You can tell me all about it at home. Now we’re getting out of the rain.” He was inspecting her face. “You’ve got scratches all over your face. We need to put something on…”

  Tears filled Jessie’s eyes, spilled down her cheeks and mingled with the rain. “Daddy! Please! Listen to me!”

  Her father focused all his attention on Jessie. He took her hand and led her up the steps to the Johnsons’ porch. Taking off his suit coat, he said, “Here. Put this on.” He settled it around her shoulders. They sat on the top step—dry under the eaves. In a calm voice he said, “Okay, Jess. Tell me what happened.”

  “There isn’t time to tell you. We have to go back into the house. There’s a man in there…”

  “What man?” he asked. “Was that why you jumped? Was he chasing you?”

  Jessie’s ankle was starting to throb with pain. “Yeah, he was chasing me. Oh, Daddy. I was so scared.”

  “We’re going home and calling the police.” His face was an angry red.

  “NO! Please, Daddy!” she pleaded. “We have to go back inside because I think I found Mr. Johnson’s Will. But the man in there might get it first if we waste time.”

  “What! Jess, you’ve really gone too far this time. What are we going to do with you?”

  “I know you’re mad at me. But please just go in with me now.”

  A car drove up the street, parting huge sheets of water as it t
raveled. Jessie’s dad ran down the steps and waved to the driver. Emil Sorenson, who lived on the block, stopped and rolled down his window. Jessie saw her dad say something to him, then run back to the porch. The neighbor’s car sped away.

  “I told Emil to call the police,” her dad said. “I presume you managed to get a key to this place.”

  “Yes,” said Jessie in a subdued voice. “I took it off Mom’s key ring.”

  He frowned at her. “We’ll discuss it later. Open the door.”

  Once inside the house, they started up the wide staircase. Pain shot through her foot and leg. A door slammed upstairs.

  “That’s him! We have to hurry!” cried Jessie.

  “Do not move off this step,” her father ordered. He looked her straight in the eyes. “Understand?”

  “Yes, Daddy,” she whispered.

  Her dad ran up the stairs.

  With relief, Jessie eased down and sat on the step. She ran her hand over her right ankle. It hurt! She looked at it. It was twice its normal size. RATS! she thought. Oh, where’s Daddy now?

  Jessie heard footsteps racing down the stairs. She leaned back against the banister and looked up the stairwell. It was the man with the mean voice who ran from the study while Jessie hid behind the door. He was bolting down the stairs and her dad was right behind him.

  When Jessie jumped up, her dad’s coat fell from her shoulders onto the stairs. She ignored it and half-slid, half-hopped down the steps to the front hall, gripping the banister to keep the weight off her foot. At the bottom, she turned the corner and ducked into the slanting space under the staircase.

  From her hiding place, the running feet sounded like thunder. There was a tremendous crash followed by the sound of someone bouncing down the stairs. Oh, Daddy! Are you falling?

  She heard a terrified cry and a loud THUNK as the falling person landed at the foot of the stairway.

  Jessie peeked out from under the steps. The mean man was lying very still, his feet hopelessly entwined in her father’s suit coat. Well, I’ll be! thought Jessie. This is my lucky day!

  Jessie’s dad bounded down the staircase. The doorbell rang. Loud pounding followed. “POLICE! OPEN UP!”