“Yes, as a matter of fact.” Michael reached for his messenger bag and pulled out his tablet, swiping the screen until he came to the photos.
“You’ll notice she has red hair and freckles. Her DNA shows that gene, but we also did the photo with both dark and blonde hair so you could compare.”
“My, my,” Carla shook her head, “what science can do.”
Rosemarie handed Carla her glasses and with a sigh, she slipped them on. How she hated to wear them. Just another sign of old age, although she knew many young people wore glasses, too.
Michael watched as Carla swiped through all three photos and then back to the original picture of Jane Doe. Every once in a while, she looked up, trying to concentrate, even closing her eyes as if to picture one of these women sitting on her porch.
“Yes,” she murmured, “sitting and knitting. That’s her, the redhead.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure as I can be. It was seventy years ago or more, you see.”
“Can you remember her name?” Michael asked softly, trying not to interrupt Carla’s concentration.
“No. No, I don’t think so.”
“Do you remember where you saw her?”
“Yes, that I remember,” Carla nodded. “On my own front porch. We were maybe fifteen or sixteen and Mama was teaching a group of us girls to knit. Just squares to start. We put them together to make afghans and then we sold them for charity at the Christmas Fair up at the church.”
“Did she go to school with you or was she a member of your church?”
“Yes, to school, but I don’t know about church.”
“Anything else you can tell me about her?”
“No … wait a minute. Her father was in the military and this was right after the war. But he was stationed in Germany and things were still bad over there. Yes, I remember the day her mother got the telegram that he’d been killed.”
Carla heaved a sigh as she remembered. “So many boys had been killed over there during the war. Hard as it was, we all knew it was the price of freedom. But this was a year after D-Day and we were all shocked that our soldiers were still losing their lives.”
“It must have been devastating for your friend.”
“Yes, in fact she was at our house the day the telegram arrived. Her mother came over to tell her and bring her home. I never saw her again after that.”
“But she kept on knitting, I think,” Michael murmured. “Maybe it was the last happy memory she had before her world fell apart.”
“That’s nice, Michael. I’ll remember that. And if she turns out to be Julie … Julie! That’s it!” Carla cried out.
“Wonderful!” But Michael didn’t push Carla further, again afraid he might break her train of thought.
But the light faded from Carla’s eyes as she came back to the present. “I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you except that she wasn’t at our school for very long. Less than a year, I think. I probably only remember her at all because she was on my porch when she got the terrible news.”
“Carla, that’s more than I need to find this woman’s name. Bet you a dollar I’ll have a whole history on her in twenty-four hours.”
“No bet,” Carla chuckled. “I’d rather put my money on you.”
Chapter Thirteen
Michael was dying to dash home to hit the Internet in search of Julie. But even greater than that was his desire to see Carla settled comfortably in her new room. There were plenty of professionals there to see to Carla’s comfort and even her safety, but Michael needed to make sure she was alright himself.
At least the room was spacious, painted a soft, sunny yellow with cheerful pictures on the walls. There was even a recliner and a table with four chairs and Michael guessed visitors might be able to share a meal with Carla there.
“Now don’t you be fussing around me, boy,” she admonished him. “There’s plenty of folks to see to me. Isn’t that right, young lady?”
Carla was turned toward a middle-aged lady wearing scrubs who was putting away Carla’s clothes.
“Are you a nurse?” Michael asked.
“No, sir,” she replied with a smile. “I’m a C.N.A.”
“And what does that stand for?” Michael couldn’t help wearing his reporter’s hat and asking questions.
“Certified Nursing Assistant.”
“So, you’re trained?”
“Yes, sir. I keep the patients clean and comfortable and sit with them when they are outside of their rooms.”
“She means she wipes my butt and sees that I don’t go wandering off to chase after the men,” Carla cackled, pleased at her little joke.
“Now, Miss Carla, pretty as you are, all the men will be chasing you,” the woman retorted.
“Michael, get this sweet lady’s name and say something nice about her in your article.”
“You heard Miss Carla,” Michael grinned. “Name, age and serial number and don’t hold anything back.”
“You can have my name but not my age,” the woman grinned back. “The name’s Lila Demming and I don’t have a serial number, at least not one I’m going to share with you.”
“Well said, Lila. I think you and Miss Carla are going to get along just fine.”
“Yes, sir. I get along well with all my ladies and gentlemen,” Lila assured him.
“And I’ll bet you like your job, too.”
“Yes, sir, I do. It’s the only job I’ve ever had and I find it very rewarding.”
“Wiping wrinkly butts?” Carla asked skeptically.
“It’s not about that,” Lila told Carla, shaking her head. “It’s about keeping people clean and giving them some dignity while you’re doing it. It’s about making them smile and letting them know they still have a place in this world.
“Rosemarie told me you’re eighty-nine years old, Miss Carla. You lived a good long life and you must have had some hardships along the way. Everybody has. And you made it this far, so I figure you’re entitled to some peace and comfort until the good Lord calls you home.”
Nobody noticed that Michael had turned on his phone to record Lila’s speech, but he was glad he had. Everything she’d said was going into his article.
“Well said, Lila,” Michael murmured. He hadn’t noticed how Carla had reacted to what Lila had said until he heard her blowing her nose.
“Yes, Lila. We’ll get along splendidly,” Carla sniffed, wiping tears from her cheeks.
“Dinner in fifteen minutes, Miss Carla,” Lila said, bringing everyone back to normal. “How about I bring you a nice warm washcloth and a towel so you can wash up. Might want to put on a little lipstick and comb your hair your first night in the dining room.”
“Yes, Lila. I think I will,” Carla replied. Bless the woman, she thought. Lila knew she had to be a little nervous about meeting all new people. At least she’d go into the dining room with her head held high and looking her best.
“Well, then, I shall leave you to whatever secret rituals you women get up to so you can dazzle us poor, unsuspecting men,” Michael declared with a smile. “I’ll stop by as soon as I know something. And you promise to call me if you need anything. Anything at all. Even if it’s a tube of lipstick at three in the morning.”
“Hah! You’ll regret that, Mr. Michael Broderick. Us old folks are very likely to be awake at three in the morning. Or four in the morning for that matter.”
“Then I shan’t sleep a wink until I hear from my lady fair. In the meantime, my heart, I bid you adieu.” Bowing low and pretending to sweep a broad-brimmed hat from his head, Michael left the room to the sound of feminine giggles. In his opinion, one of the sweetest sounds in the world.
* * *
As soon as he hit the road, Michael told his Bluetooth to call Chief.
“Positive ID, Chief.”
“Positive?”
“Absolutely. That’s the good news.”
“And the bad news?”
“The last time Carla saw Julie …
that’s the only name Carla remembered … was some seventy years ago when they were both in high school.”
“Not much to go on, but it’s more than we had,” Chief pointed out.
“Right. I’ll be at the school first thing in the morning. Sure hope they scanned in all those old records. I don’t relish wading through dusty files full of decaying paper and silverfish.”
“Better you than me, Mikey,” Chief laughed.
“One more thing. This Julie’s father was in the military, probably Army, stationed in Germany after the war. He was killed sometime in the summer of ’46.”
“So, if we get this girl’s last name from the school, we can probably track down her father’s military records, maybe find some next of kin.”
“Yeah, I’m hoping,” Michael said. “Anyway, I’ve got to call Mia. Looks like her idea about the knitting shops is a dead end since Julie left the area right after her dad died.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Chief mused. “Let Mia and her friends make the rounds but with both the old and the young photos here and in Graceville. You never know what might turn up. Julie could easily have moved back into the area at some point.”
“Okay, Chief. You’re the boss.”
“Mikey, I’m shocked!” Chief chuckled. “I thought you knew your mother was the boss.”
On that note, Chief hung up which didn’t surprise Michael at all. What did surprise him was the lack of mention about Sunday dinner or calling his mother.
That’s when the text came through. Call your mother and confirm Sunday dinner. And bring Sammy. Your mother really took to that dog.
Okay, Michael texted back. Chief never failed to get the last word.
Michael was still smiling when he told the Bluetooth to call Anna. Maybe she couldn’t see him smiling, but he knew she would hear the smile in his voice.
“Dinner tonight? Lots to tell you but that’s only an excuse. I just want to see you.”
“Michael,” Anna chided him, “you don’t need an excuse.”
“I take it that’s a yes.” Anna’s husky voice coming through the speaker seemed to fill the car with her presence and he couldn’t help but sigh with pleasure.
“But, Michael, no more poems, please.”
“You didn’t like it?” he grinned. “I thought it was both descriptive and romantic.”
“It wasn’t even original, not to mention it didn’t rhyme.”
“Okay, but I added my own touch. Hair as black as ebony, lips as red as the rose, skin as silky smooth as an olive, eyes as blue as sapphires.”
“Yes, Michael. Every woman wants to be compared to an olive. Is that a pimento-stuffed olive or a garlic-stuffed olive?”
“Well, the pimento could be your rosy red cheeks,” Michael tried, thinking it was a pretty good comeback.
“More like teenage acne,” Anna muttered.
“Okay, may I point out that you are no longer a teenager and your skin is not only clear, but it is definitely satin smooth. I stand by my poem.”
“It was a lovely attempt,” Anna conceded, thinking she’d teased him enough.
“You’re welcome and I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Casual tonight, okay, Michael? Talking about being a teenager, I have a sudden urge for a burger and a malted.”
“Avalon Diner it is,” Michael agreed. “See you then.”
“See you,” Anna said with an inward sigh of happiness.
Michael’s grin lasted all the way to his house. Things sure were looking up. A possible identity for Jane Doe and a dinner date with the woman he loved.
Michael skidded to a halt in the middle of the living room when he realized where his thoughts had led. He didn’t even notice Sammy pelting in from the kitchen to paw at his knees, demanding attention.
Still in shock, he was only dimly aware of the little dog’s whines. He had a vague idea that there was something he did when he came home every night, but he’d be damned if he could think what it was. Maybe if he kept walking, his feet would lead him in the right direction.
Sure enough, Michael was at the back door and he was reaching for the knob to open the door. It was only after Sammy streaked past him into the yard that he came back to earth.
“Uh-uh,” he said out loud to nobody. “This can’t be happening. It’s too soon. Too fast.”
Michael looked down at Sammy who’d just dropped his mangy yellow ball at his feet, sat back and barked.
“Okay, little guy,” he grinned, giving in to his feelings. “we’ll play for a little while. But then I have to get ready to meet the love of my life for a cheeseburger. And that’s hold the onions, because there’s going to be a lot of kissing tonight.”
* * *
The next morning, Chief called Charlie Gordon into a meeting with himself, Graceville’s police chief, Scott Patterson, and Officer Dan Carter.
As soon as everyone was settled with coffee and pastries, Chief went right into the heart of the matter.
“This bakery truck. Y’all traced it from Graceville to Joseph but didn’t have any luck either before or after.”
“That’s right, Chief,” Charlie nodded. “We only found one witness at either end.”
“Do we have statements?”
“Yes,” Charlie said, consulting his notebook. “Statements from Rebecca Matthews in Graceville and Madge Fielding from Coffee and More.”
“What about this Madge woman. Do they get bakery deliveries?” Chief Patterson asked.
“Yes,” Charlie replied, “but the van that delivers their bread and rolls is white. Officer Forbes on the night shift confirms that.”
Chief leaned back, looking up at the ceiling as if seeking inspiration.
“No confirmation that they crossed the state line,” he murmured.
“No confirmation that this mysterious van is even the right vehicle used to transport the seniors,” Patterson added.
“No, you’re right about that,” Chief nodded, sitting forward again. “But even so, I’m calling in the Feds. This is still a kidnapping even though there’s been no ransom demand.”
“You sure you want to do that?” Patterson asked. “You know how we feel about government interference around here, and without any evidence, there’s no guarantee they’ll even bother.”
“I know, Scott, I know. But we don’t have the resources they do. Charlie and Dan have been up and down the county looking for a lead, and they probably haven’t even scratched the surface. Too many back roads to cover and all that farmland? Impossible.”
“Okay, but what reason are you going to give the FBI to get them interested?” Scott asked. “Besides possible kidnappings, I mean.”
“The dead man in the marsh,” Chief told them. “It’s likely the fibers found in his mouth and nose were from scrubs. Add on to that, I just got a report that the plant matter found in his hair grows next door.”
“Across the state line?” Scott whistled. “And is that the only place it grows?”
“Well, might be it grows in other places. Sort of a weed and weeds can blow hither and yon. So, there’s no telling where this particular batch of weed came from so there’s nothing to keep the Feds from claiming jurisdiction,” Sutherland finished, smugly.
“And we all know how they love to stick their noses in. Clever, Andy. Very clever,” Scott chuckled.
“Thanks, Scott. I thought so.”
“It’s your case and your decision, Andy, but much as I hate the idea of letting those suits into our territory, you have our complete cooperation. Whatever we can do.”
“Thanks, Scott. Most appreciated.” On that note, Andy reached for his phone and asked his secretary to get the FBI on the line.
An hour later, a helicopter landed in the field behind the station and two men in black emerged wearing dark aviator glasses and shiny shoes. Both men were in conservatively cut dark suits with white shirts and dark ties. They not only sported identical buzz cuts, but appeared to be the same height and build. The only diffe
rence they could see behind those dark glasses was that one appeared to be in his mid-thirties while the other one looked like he was fresh out of college. Andy and Scott exchanged sideways glances at the stereotypical sight. But that didn’t mean that these men weren’t more than capable and Andy, for one, was happy to have them on his side.
Chapter Fourteen
Michael was grateful that the high school classes seventy years ago were much smaller than they were now. The number of levels was different, too. Junior high was sixth through ninth and high school was only tenth, eleventh and twelfth. That made his job much easier.
What didn’t make his job easier were the boxes of school records stored in a damp basement with poor lighting. “Move over, silverfish, here I come,” Michael muttered.
Mrs. Delaney, the current school secretary, provided him with a roll of paper towels to wipe down the dusty boxes and a can of bug spray. “Watch out for black widows.
“We haven’t gotten around to putting these old records on microfiche just yet. It’s been a project for each senior class for the past ten years or so, but we never seem to get very far,” she sighed.
“I’m sure they do the best they can,” but he knew he was in for a dusty time of it. And with the only light a single, bare bulb, he was sure to get eye strain on top of everything else. But if he could find Julie, it would all be worth it.
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Denise Delaney said, looking at the pile of boxes and shaking her head.
“Thanks, Mrs. Delaney. I hope I won’t be long.”
Michael glared at the stacks of boxes, defying them to hide their secrets from him and he was pretty sure they glared back. Too many shadows in this dank, dark place. Too many places for a black widow spider to hide. Darn Mrs. Delaney. He hadn’t even thought of spiders until she suggested it.
“A journey of ten thousand records starts with but a single box,” Michael muttered to himself, paraphrasing the old saying.
Mrs. Delaney had given him a general idea of where he could find records from the mid-40s, and he trusted her instincts. In his experience, nobody on this earth ever knew more than the school secretary.
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