Jubilee's Journey (The Wyattsville Series) (33 page)

“How come you got chained to the bed?” she asked.

“They said I shot somebody,” Paul answered.

Jubie frowned. “You ain’t never shot nobody.”

Paul’s eyes began to water. “They say I did. So maybe I did.”

“That’s a lie! A big, fat, dirty lie!” The screech of her voice was so loud it brought both Mahoney and the guard running into the room.

“What’s wrong?” Mahoney asked.

“Paul’s lying!” Jubilee’s voice trembled as she spoke. “He’s saying he maybe shot—”

Mahoney grabbed the girl’s arm with a firm grip and gave her a look that quickly silenced her. “I don’t think that’s what Paul intended—”

“Maybe not,” the guard dog said, “but sometimes the truth slips out.”

When Jubilee went back to reminding Paul of all the things he should be remembering, Guard Dog slipped out of the room. Moments later Mahoney spied him talking on the telephone and turned to Paul.

“Son, I’m trying to see justice done, but justice isn’t always quick to see the truth of things. I’d suggest you hold back on saying you maybe shot Sid Klaussner until we’ve got something more to go on.”

Jubilee gave Mahoney a hard glare. “I told you—”

“I know, I know,” Mahoney mimicked her words. “He didn’t shoot nobody.” 

Jubilee gave a satisfied nod and turned back to her brother. “Remember when—”

Mahoney interrupted. “Let’s try something else,” he said and lifted the bag they’d brought onto the chair. He reached in, pulled out the Bible, and handed it to Paul. “Remember this?”

Paul held the book in his hands and leafed through the pages, studying the names.  After the Bible, he was handed the photographs one by one. He smiled and touched his finger to the faces of those he loved. Mahoney knew when a look of anguish settled on his face he was remembering the passage of years and the death of his parents.

The last thing Mahoney took from the bag was the miner’s hat with “Jones” printed across the back in black letters.

Paul took the hat in his hands and held it as though it were something precious. He brushed his thumb across the rough edge and said nothing. Moments later a tear dropped from his eye.

“You remember your daddy wearing this hat, don’t you?”

Paul pulled his gaze away from the hat and gave a sad nod.

“Do you remember the last time you saw him wearing it?”

Paul took on the pained look of trying to remember; then the left side of his face crumpled into a grimace. “Yes.”

“That was the day he died, wasn’t it?”

Paul nodded. “I thought Daddy was just late coming home, but then Mister Brumann came and told us there’d been an accident…” Paul’s voice trailed off, and a flow of tears began.

“I’m sorry, son,” Mahoney said. “I know this is painful.”

Jubilee looked up at Mahoney. “Then why you doing it?”

“Because, like you, I don’t think Paul was involved in the robbery—”  

“I ain’t just thinking,” Jubilee said. “I know for sure.”

“Fair enough,” Mahoney conceded. “We know for sure Paul wasn’t involved. But the only way we can prove it is for him to tell us what actually happened that day, and in order to tell us he’s got to remember.”

“Oh. Okay.” Jubilee stepped back and allowed Mahoney to continue.

Bit by bit the memories began to surface: the house, the school, the garden, teaching Jubilee to read and count numbers. All of those things came back, but after their days on the mountain, there was nothing. Paul had no recollection of the bus ride, Aunt Anita, or the reason why they’d come to Wyattsville.

“Try harder,” Jubilee urged. “Remember the big bus? What about the place with turnaround stools? The lady gave me a free biscuit and told where to get sleeping rooms, you remember that?”

Although Paul was still shaking his head side to side, Mahoney’s eyebrow shot up. “The biscuit place? Was that after you got off the bus here in Wyattsville?”

“Unh-huh.” Jubilee nodded.

“If I took you back to the place, you think you’d remember it?”

She gave another sad-eyed nod. “Yeah, but it ain’t me what’s gotta remember.”

Mahoney smiled. “That’s true, but maybe what you remember can fill in some of the holes to help Paul remember.”

A few minutes later they left the room. Mahoney stopped at the nurses’ station, scribbled a telephone number, and handed the piece of paper to Barbara Walsh, the head nurse. “Don’t forget,” he said.

“I won’t.” She nodded.

Mahoney took Jubilee by the hand, and they left the hospital. The slightest trace of a smile was visible under his mask of determination.

The Bread Basket Café

M
ahoney’s original intention had been to go directly to the bus station and try to retrace Paul’s steps, but Jubilee insisted on first stopping at the apartment.

“Grandma Olivia’s a worrier,” she explained, “and I ain’t supposed to go nowhere ‘less she says okay.”

“You call her Grandma Olivia?”

“That’s her name, even if you ain’t blood kin.”

“Who said?”

“Ethan Allen.”

Mahoney laughed and shook his head. “Figures.”

Once Mahoney told Olivia of his plan, she insisted on coming along to see to Jubilee’s welfare.

“Don’t worry,” she said, “I’ll sit quietly in the car, and you’ll never even notice I’m there.”

“I’m gonna have to go too,” Ethan Allen said, “’cause I promised Jubie—”

“…that you’d stick by her,” Mahoney said, finishing the thought.

Although he knew the likelihood of Olivia going unnoticed was improbable, Mahoney agreed because he’d seen the way Jubilee clung to Ethan Allen. If she was in doubt about one thing or another, she’d look his way and wait for a nod or a shake of his head.

“Okay,” he said, looking over at Ethan Allen, “but we’re going to let Jubilee be the one to decide what she remembers and what she doesn’t, right?”

Ethan Allen gave a sheepish nod.

Within a mile of the Greyhound Bus Station, there were five coffee shops. Two were on the north side of station, but Main Street was to the south. Mahoney pulled up in front of the station and turned to Jubilee. “You remember which way you and Paul walked?”

She hesitated a moment then pointed toward the front of the car, which was north.

Mahoney pulled out, circled the block, and parked on the back side of the station, facing the opposite direction. “Which way now?”

Jubilee craned her neck looked around and shrugged. “This ain’t where we was.”

Three times Mahoney circled the block and parked in different places, and all three times he got the same answer. While the back side of the station remained unfamiliar, Jubilee was consistent in pointing north from the front of the station.

Mahoney was feeling good when they pulled up to Millie’s Luncheonette. “Does this look familiar?”

Jubilee scrunched her face and shook her head. “Unh-unh.”

“Not even a little bit?”

She shook her head again.

“Let’s go inside and take a look.”

“This ain’t the place, but we can look if you want.”

As it turned out there were no stools at all, just square tables with straight-backed chairs. They moved on to the Happy Burger, but that fared no better.

“This ain’t the place,” Jubilee said. Her answer was absolute, no shred of doubt.

They got back in the car and headed south. Mahoney drove past the bus station and parked in front of the Bread Basket Café. “Does this look familiar?”

“Unh-huh.” A smile spread across Jubilee’s face.

When she jumped out of the car Ethan Allen was right beside her and before Olivia could tell him not to go, he was through the door.

“See, Ethan.” Jubilee climbed on the first stool and started swiveling herself around. “It’s like I said.”

Mahoney followed them. He stood behind Jubilee and put a halt to her spinning. “Is this where you and Paul had breakfast?”

She nodded. “I got two biscuits.”

“Is that the woman Paul spoke with?” Mahoney pointed to a short stocky woman standing at the register.

Jubilee shook her head. “That ain’t her.”

Mahoney asked if Jubilee could describe the woman who waited on them that day, but the best she could do was, “Real pretty.” He looked around, and the only other person he saw was a skinny man stooped over and clearing dirty dishes from a back booth. Mahoney rose from the stool and walked over to the register to ask about other employees, but before he could do so Jubilee squealed, “That’s her!”

She pointed toward the kitchen and the blonde who came through the door carrying three dinner plate specials. She gave a bright smile and waved to the waitress. “Hey, there,” Jubilee called out. “Remember me?”

The blonde looked over. “Be with you in a minute, sweetie,” she called back. Connie set the plates she’d been carrying in front of the three elderly gents at the far end of the counter and walked up to where Jubilee was sitting. “With all that hollering, you must be wanting another biscuit real bad.” She laughed.

“I don’t want no biscuit,” Jubilee answered. “I’m just looking for you to say me and Paul was here.” Before Connie had time to answer, Jubilee launched into the story of how a man said Paul shot somebody when he didn’t shoot nobody.

Mahoney reached over and clamped his hand onto the girl’s arm. “Hold on, Jubilee,” he said. “Before you start telling your side of the story, let’s hear what Connie has to say.”

“Maybe it’d be good if Jubie gave her a bit of reminding first,” Ethan Allen said. He was going to mention how folks can possibly forget something important, but the look Mahoney gave him put an end to his saying anything.

Mahoney started with the simplest question. “Do you remember Jubilee being in here on Wednesday, March sixth?”

“I remember her being in here, but the date? Hmm…” She turned and called out to the stocky woman at the register. “Hey, Martha, you remember when you had that dentist appointment?”

“Wednesday ‘afore last.”

Connie turned to Mahoney. “That’s when this little sweetie was here. I know ‘cause I was all alone that day and worked my butt off.”

“Was she with anyone?”

“Yeah, a boy. Not this one.” She gave a nod toward Ethan Allen. “A bigger kid, seventeen, maybe eighteen. Her brother, or maybe her daddy, I ain’t too sure on that.”

“You recall what the time was?”

“Seven, maybe a bit after. It was before the rush, I’m sure of that.”

“How long were they here?”

“Half-hour or so. The boy was in the back a good part of the time.”

Mahoney glanced toward the rear of the store—two phone booths and a shelf with three telephone directories hanging from it. “He make a phone call?”

Connie shook her head. “Don’t think so. He was looking in the phone books. Trying to find an aunt, I believe.  I doubt he found her, ‘cause before they left he asked about a place to stay.”

“You suggest any place special?”

“Missus Willoughby’s,” Connie said. “It’s clean and cheap.”

“Did the boy ask for cheap?”

“No, but I knew. You work here long enough and you can tell when a body’s looking at the prices and figuring how much they can afford to eat.” Connie gave a saddened sigh. “Kids like them manage to get along on next to nothing.”

This discussion of money piqued Mahoney’s interest. “Did the boy order anything?”

“Just coffee for him, but for the little one he got milk and a biscuit. I give her an extra biscuit on the house, but him nothing. Giving somebody who’s down on their luck a handout just makes them feel poorer,” Connie said. “I know, ‘cause I’ve been there.”

Mahoney turned to Ethan Allen and Jubilee and asked if they’d like something. They both nodded yes. Ethan ordered Pepsi and a bag of chips. Jubie listened to his order, then said she’d have a Pepsi also along with another of those good-tasting biscuits.

While the kids ate, he continued asking questions. Did the boy meet anyone here? Did he talk to anyone? Did he seem nervous, edgy? The answers Connie gave substantiated Mahoney’s suspicion that the boy had no plans beyond those of watching over his sister and finding a place to stay. Before they left Connie recounted most everything that had transpired, including her directions to the Willoughby house.