Jubilee's Journey (The Wyattsville Series) (21 page)

“Oh, Loretta,” Olivia said, “you know how kids are. They were just looking for adventure. Ethan Allen has been watching that
Dragnet
show on television, and I think it’s influencing—”

“Don’t give me that malarkey, those kids know something!”

“Well, if they do, it’s news to me.” Although Olivia cringed at giving an answer so borderline close to a lie, it was, in actuality, true. If she knew who the family was and where the boy was headed, she would deliver Jubilee Jones to the mysterious Aunt Anita and be done with the whole affair.

“Harrumph,” Loretta snorted. “If that’s your answer, then so be it. I’ve got other sources for finding what I want to know!” She paused a moment, then added, “Including the name of that girl Ethan’s been running with!” She slammed down the telephone without bothering to say goodbye.

For the first time in more than a year, Olivia’s heart began fluttering again. In an effort to calm herself she took three different cookbooks from the kitchen shelf and searched them page by page, but there was not a single recipe for okra soup. Time had not dulled the memory of those days following Charlie’s death. It was Canasta’s okra soup that had restored her will to live. The soup had magical powers, it enabled a person to look inside themselves and find a cure for the heartaches of life.

Olivia searched long and hard but there simply was no recipe for the life altering soup.  Left with no other resource, she retrieved the card she’d hidden in the bottom of her jewelry box months earlier and dialed the number printed in the lower right hand corner.

Reaching Out

T
he telephone rang once and a voice answered, “Detective Griffin.”

“Oh,” Olivia said, “I was looking for Jack Mahoney.”

“He’s off today. Maybe I can help you.”

“I don’t think so,” Olivia replied. “It’s about Aunt Anita—”

“Gotcha, a family matter. Jack’s at home; give him a call there.”

Without correcting the impression that Aunt Anita was Jack’s aunt, Olivia replied, “I don’t have his number handy, do you…” She made note of the numbers he rattled off.

This time the telephone rang five times before a childish voice answered, “Hello.”

“Good morning,” she said. “This is Olivia Doyle, and I’d like to speak with Jack Mahoney.”

“Big Jack or little Jack?”

“Um, big Jack, I think.”

Without any further conversation there was the clunk of a dropped telephone and the voice yelled, “Hey, Dad, it’s for you.”

Olivia didn’t count the number of heartbeats she waited but she easily could have, because each thump banged against her chest like the gong of a clock. It wasn’t long before she started wondering if the mention of her name was enough to make Jack Mahoney reluctant to answer the call. On three different occasions, she came close to hanging up but didn’t. Finally the familiar voice said, “Mahoney.”

“Good morning, Mister Mahoney,” she said. “This is Olivia Doyle, Ethan Allen’s grandmother.”

“Is something wrong?”

“With Ethan Allen? Oh, no, not at all.”

“Good,” Mahoney replied. “That’s good.” He waited to give her time to say something more, but all he got was a lengthy silence. “So,” he said cautiously, “to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”

Olivia had planned to start the conversation by inquiring about Mahoney’s family; from there she would ask about the healing of Sam Cobb’s knee, then segue into a few comments about the coming summer. Once the pleasantries were over, she could address the issue of Jubilee’s missing aunt. But that plan was lost when Jack asked the point-blank question. Olivia’s courage failed her and she stammered, “I just wanted to say hello and once again thank you for all you did for Ethan Allen,” then hung up without asking what she’d called to ask.

“Strange,” Jack murmured as he replaced the receiver in the cradle.

After the call Jack went back to the porch he’d been painting, but thoughts of Olivia’s call picked at his mind. He knew unexplained silences were not simply a lack of words. Silences often covered a secret. What secret could Olivia Doyle be harboring, he wondered. There were no loose ends in the Doyle case, at least none he knew of…unless he’d missed something. A small detail he’d overlooked? A threat that still lingered?

He rolled through the case in his mind. Horrible as the murders were, the facts confirmed every detail of the story. Scooter Cobb was dead. Sam Cobb had retired from the police force a broken man, a man who, despite the number of friends he had, never once stopped by the station to say goodbye. Who else could pose a threat to Ethan Allen, he wondered. Who else, and why? By eleven thirty a number of questions pushed against Mahoney’s brain, so he left the porch half-painted and went down to the station house.

Dan Griffin was sitting at the desk. “Your aunt get hold of you?”

“My aunt?”

“Aunt, cousin, something like that. Can’t recall the name but she telephoned here this morning, and I gave her your home number.”

“Oh, yeah,” Mahoney said, “I spoke with her.”
Why would Olivia Doyle pretend to be my aunt?
  Something wasn’t right.

“Aunt Anita,” Griffin said. “That was it; some problem with Aunt Anita.”

“Anita, huh?” Mahoney prided himself on remembering the details of a case. Small details; that’s what made the difference in nailing the guilty guy and exonerating the innocent one.
There was no Anita involved in the Doyle case. Unless…

Five minutes later he was in the storage room digging through a carton of closed case files.
Da…De…Dod…Dol…Dur 

The Doyle file was missing.

A double murder produced reams of paper, hundreds of pages of investigative reports, interviews, lab tests, blood analysis, fingerprints. How could a file of that size disappear?

Mahoney turned to the storeroom manager. “Hey, Charlie, anybody sign out the Doyle file from that double murder last year?”

“Nope, nothing’s out right now.”

“Nothing, huh?” Mahoney went back to his desk. A troubled feeling had already settled in his stomach. He’d taken longer than he should have to tag Scooter Cobb as a suspect in Benjamin Doyle’s murder. Maybe he’d also missed something else. Maybe friendship blinded him to other involvements. It was never easy turning against a fellow officer, and given his fondness for Emma he’d been reluctant to see the truth of the Cobbs, even when it was staring him in the face. If he’d been blinded then, was he being blind now? Was there a chance Scooter Cobb’s death didn’t end the story?

If there was nothing more to hide, why was the Doyle file missing? Something wasn’t right. After eighteen years on the force, Mahoney knew there was seldom a smoking gun. The truth hid behind small, everyday details that were right there in plain sight. The Doyle murders had been an especially troubling case, one that bothered Jack to the point where he kept a slim folder of notes in the locked drawer of his desk. He unlocked the drawer and pulled the folder out. No mention of an Anita. He dialed Olivia Doyle’s number.

When Olivia picked up the receiver a familiar voice said, “Missus Doyle, this is Detective Mahoney.”

Thinking this time she’d start the conversation the way she originally intended, Olivia answered, “How delightful to hear from you, Detective. The family’s well, I hope.”

“Everyone is fine.” Without giving Olivia a chance to ask about Sam Cobb’s knee, he said, “Why don’t you just go ahead and tell me what’s wrong?”

“Wrong?” Olivia tried to sound casual, not like a person whose stomach was turned inside out from a serious case of nerves. “Why on earth would you—”

“Who’s Aunt Anita?”

Olivia hesitated a moment, then said, “Well, it’s a long story.” She started at the beginning, told of the robbery at Klaussner’s, and how Ethan Allen brought seven-year-old Jubilee Jones home with him that evening. 

“At first I thought the child was lost, that maybe she’d wandered off and forgotten where she was to meet her brother. Then Ethan told me she’d been sitting right where the brother had left her.”

“And the brother didn’t come back?” Mahoney asked.

“That’s right,” Olivia replied. “According to what Ethan Allen said her brother went into Klaussner’s, and that was the last she saw of him.”

“Are you saying the girl’s brother was involved in the robbery?”

“I don’t know for certain, but I have my suspicions. I suppose it’s possible her brother was, but I know for certain she had nothing to do with it. Jubilee honestly believes her brother went into the store looking for a job.”

“What about the parents?”

“Deceased. I think the kids came here expecting to live with their aunt.”

“Do you have the aunt’s name or address?”

“Regretfully no.” Olivia’s answer was tentative at best. “I think Anita was related to the mother, which would make her maiden name Walker. But she could have been a sister-in-law, not sister, and in that case her maiden name would be Jones.”

“This aunt, is she married?”

“No idea,” Olivia said.

“What’s the brother’s name?”

“Paul. Paul Jones.”

“Any chance he has the aunt’s name and address?”

“I can’t say.” Olivia went on to tell him the boy could be in the hospital, or he could be the escapee who disappeared. After explaining the belongings in Jubilee’s travel bag she asked, “Don’t you find it rather hard to believe a boy who’d value that sort of memorabilia over more material things would be involved in crime?”

“You never know,” Mahoney answered. “You just never know.”

Olivia went on to tell the few facts she knew. Anita lived in Norfolk twenty years ago. Seven years ago she’d mailed five letters from Wyattsville, and in her younger days Anita and her sister, Ruth, had lived somewhere close to a bay.

When there was nothing more to tell, Olivia said, “Detective Mahoney, I’ve trusted you with the fact that Jubilee is staying with me, but I’m hoping you’ll not tell anyone else.”

Mahoney chuckled. “Well, I’m not going to report it, but if the child has a family she really should be with them.”