Jubilee's Journey (The Wyattsville Series) (32 page)

I guess Paul’s right. Good things don’t always last forever.

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fter Carmella Klaussner overheard the conversation between Mahoney and Gomez, she began to sizzle inside. For more than a week she’d sat beside Sid’s bed, watched a machine force breath in and out of his almost-lifeless body, and counted heartbeats as the neon green monitor light zigzagged up and down.

Even when her arthritic hip was inflamed and painful, Carmella fell to her knees and prayed. “Please, God,” she said, “spare my Sid.” Every time there was an involuntary muscle twitch, she’d jump to her feet believing Sid was now going to open his eyes and speak. Each time she’d been wrong, and her dashed hopes brought more heartache. 

Carmella had cried enough tears to fill an ocean, but she’d also cursed the evildoers who caused this turn of events. For the first three days Carmella’s prayers asked only that Sid be healed. On the fourth day she added a second prayer asking for vengeance on those responsible.

“Curse them,” she’d prayed. “Strike them down as you would Satan!”

Two doors down from Sid’s room, Paul had opened his eyes. He had spoken and today he had family come to visit. “How can this be?” Carmella asked God. “How can it be that a sinner is healed, and a saintly man lingers on death’s doorstep?”

Not long afterward, she’d overheard the heated conversation that took place outside the boy’s room. The thought of someone even suggesting the boy might be innocent was like a razor slicing through Carmella’s heart. “Are you not listening, God?” she raged. “Do you not care about justice?” After nearly an hour of arguing with her soul, Carmella Klaussner decided that it was on her shoulders to see justice was done.

Gomez was still in Paul’s room questioning the boy about things he had no memory of. “Where did you first meet Hurt McAdams?” he asked, but the look in Paul’s eyes was nothing more than one of confusion.

When he heard a rap on the door, Gomez turned. It was Carmella Klaussner. “May I speak with you for a moment?”

Gomez gave Paul a menacing look and snarled, “Don’t think this is over. I’ll be back.” He walked outside to where Carmella was waiting.

“Is it true?” Carmella asked. “Can that other man get this boy off scot free?”

Gomez gave a disgusted shrug. “Yeah, I guess it could happen.”

“You know he’s guilty! How can you let a man go free when he’s guilty?”

“It’s not me,” Gomez said defensively. “It’s Mahoney. He’s the one.”

“Why do you let him get away with it? Don’t you care?”

“Of course I care,” Gomez said. “I care, but sometimes caring ain’t enough. You need proof positive.”

“My Sid shot him!” Carmella’s bottom lip quivered as she spoke. The anger she was holding back was almost too much to bear. “Sid’s a God-fearing man. He would never shoot another human being if he didn’t have good reason!”

“I know that, and you know that,” Gomez replied, “but try telling the rest of the world.”

At that point Gomez walked away and left Carmella stewing in her own rage. “That’s exactly what I will do!” she grumbled. Already a plan was forming in her mind.

Carmella returned to Sid’s room, and for almost three hours she sat beside his bed. Only now she wasn’t listening to the whoosh of the machine pushing air into Sid’s lungs, nor was she watching the green bleeps traveling across the monitor screen. Now Carmella was thinking of how to get the revenge she wanted. It was four-thirty when she picked up the phone and dialed Lucinda’s number.

“I need a favor,” Carmella said.

“For you, sweetie, anything,” Lucinda answered.

Carmella explained that it wasn’t just for her, it was for her dear, sweet Sid. She went on to remind Lucinda how Sid supported the school baseball team, hand-delivered groceries when anyone was sick, and gave generously to the church. Then she launched into the unfairness of the man who shot Sid getting off scot free. “Is that a fitting tribute for a man like Sid?” she sobbed.

“But,” Lucinda stuttered, “what can I do about that?”

Carmella’s sobbing stopped. “Not you. Mike.”

“Mike?”

“Yes,” Carmella answered. “If Mike were to run a story about how someone is trying to circle around justice, I think public opinion would turn against that detective and he’d have to do the job he’s supposed to do. As the editor of the paper, he has an obligation to let folks know what’s happening.” 

“You could be right.”

“I absolutely am. Remember when Mike wrote about that butcher over on Elm weighing meat with his thumb on the scale?”

“Seven or eight years back, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Carmella answered. “But people remember. Now everyone insists on getting a pound–and-a-half of sausage for every pound they buy.”

“That’s true,” Lucinda agreed.

By the time Carmella finished pouring out her version of a crooked cop getting a hoodlum off scot free, Lucinda was nearly in tears. She promised that Mike would do something to right this travesty of justice, or he’d be cooking his own dinner for a month.

On Friday morning the headline in the
Wyattsville Daily
read, “SHOOTER TO GO FREE?” Mike felt putting the accusation in the form of a question would serve the purpose, but an angry Lucinda disagreed. Numerous times he’d explained how making an unsubstantiated statement could be cause for libel, but his wife turned a deaf ear and suggested a week of sleeping on the sofa might change his mind.

When Mahoney arrived at the hospital that morning, he was greeted by squinty-eyed looks of suspicion. It was not until he saw the newspaper on the nurses’ station countertop that he understood why. The bold headline was all but impossible to miss, and the story went on to describe how the suspect was shot by Sid Klaussner, the store owner. After detailing a myriad of good deeds attributable to Klaussner, the article reported that according to a reliable source the suspect in custody had not yet been charged with the shooting. Mike had added a closing paragraph.

“Certain sources indicate that despite the preponderancy of evidence, it is questionable as to whether the suspect will in fact be set free. We have to ask you, Detective Mahoney, is this justice?” Twice the article had mentioned his name, and it had also questioned why a detective from Northampton would be involved in a Wyattsville case.

Mahoney cringed. “Damn.”  He walked into Paul’s room. The boy remembered nothing more than he’d said yesterday. Mahoney questioned him about whether he might have seen a “Help Wanted” sign and gone into the store to ask about a job.

“Is any of it even a little bit familiar?” he said.

Paul’s expression was an absolute blank. None of the suggestions generated a smile, a frown, or even a blink.

After almost twenty minutes Mahoney knew nothing more than he did when he walked into the room, and given the article in today’s paper there was sure to be a greater push than ever for prosecution. So far the evidence was all circumstantial. The truth was out there, but only three people saw what happened that morning in Klaussner’s Grocery. Hurt McAdams was missing and Sid Klaussner was still in a coma, which left only Paul.

Paul knew what happened, but the image of it was hidden in the darkest corner of his mind, a place where ugly, mean, and hurtful things could be forgotten and left to die a death of anonymity. Normally that was a good thing; this time it wasn’t. The road to redemption ran smack through that black hole, and Mahoney had to uncover whatever was there.

He thought back to yesterday. Seeing Jubilee had jogged the boy’s memory; not all of it, but some. Questions went without answers, but Paul had responded to visual stimulation. Things he could see, touch, and feel brought back memories.

Mahoney left the hospital and headed for Olivia’s apartment.

Before she had the door fully open, Mahoney started asking about the things Olivia had found in Jubilee’s travel bag. He followed her into the living room, then said, “Mind if I take a look at them?”

Olivia pulled the tattered bag from the closet and set it atop the coffee table. “This is everything,” she said. “There were a few pieces of underwear but no other clothes or…”

Mahoney ignored the words as he pulled the miner’s hat from the bag, then the pictures, and a child’s story book. These were all personal treasures, things that had little or no value to anyone but the boy who had carried them with him when he left home. For a few moments Mahoney stood there leafing through the worn pages of what was obviously a family Bible. Then he said, “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to take Jubilee and this bag back to the hospital.”

“I don’t know,” Olivia said. “Seeing her brother in such a state is awfully hard on Jubilee, and she was there just yesterday.”

“I think Jubilee and the things in this bag might help us unlock Paul’s memory,” Mahoney answered. “Unless he can tell us what actually happened in that store…” The rest of the sentence trailed off, too unthinkable to consider.

When Olivia suggested they wait a bit for Ethan Allen to return from school, Mahoney said it would be better for him and Jubilee to go alone. “I’m trying to do this as quietly as possible.” He made no mention of the newspaper article. When Olivia appeared reluctant, he added, “Let’s ask Jubilee if she wants to go.”

Since they both knew what the child’s answer would be, Olivia went ahead and nodded her consent.

On the drive back to the hospital, Mahoney explained that he was hopeful the things Paul had packed in the bag would jog his memory of leaving home.

“Oh, they will,” Jubilee said confidently.

Mahoney smiled and said nothing. He knew children Jubilee’s age had a faith that was all too soon outgrown. They believed in princesses, fairy tales, and happily-ever-after endings.  Even when there was no bread for the table, they believed Santa would show up simply because it was Christmas Eve. Times like this Mahoney wished he could slide back into such a faith instead of struggling with the reality of a situation. 

When they arrived back at the hospital, a uniformed policeman stood at the door of Paul’s room. For three days there had been no one. Now he was back.

“What’s up?” Mahoney asked. “I thought they’d called off the guard dogs.”

“Things change.” The patrolman gave a chagrined shrug.

Paul was alert and sitting straight up. The large bandage that had swaddled his head was now gone, replaced by a smaller one held in place with strips of adhesive. He looked considerably better than he had earlier in the day, with one singular exception.

Paul was now handcuffed to the bed.

“What the…” Mahoney stormed out the door and headed for the nurses’ station.

Jubilee stayed behind and stood beside her brother. At first she made no mention of the handcuffs and spoke only about how they were going to help Paul remember.

“Mister Mahoney got good intentions,” she whispered. “You can say the truth and he don’t get mad, even if you say stuff what ain’t like he’s thinking.”

“Say the truth about what?” Paul looked at Jubilee quizzically.

She went through the same things she’d told him yesterday. Mama died. Daddy was killed in the mine. They were gonna find a new place to live. Only after she’d gone through all of those things did she mention the handcuffs.