Jubilee's Journey (The Wyattsville Series) (34 page)

When they returned to the car, Olivia turned to Mahoney. “Well?”

He smiled. “It’s all good,” he answered and slid his key into the ignition. Once they’d turned onto Rosemont Street he explained. “Given the timeline the waitress indicated, I think Paul just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He didn’t meet anyone at the restaurant, and he didn’t have enough time to strike up a new acquaintance before the robbery took place.”

“Is it enough to prove he’s innocent?” Olivia asked.

“Probably not, but it’s enough to generate serious doubt.” Mahoney glanced in the rearview mirror at Jubilee; he could see she was listening. Addressing the comment to Olivia, he said, “Don’t mention the S-H-O-O-T-I-N-G.”

“I can spell,” Jubilee said, “and I know those letters spell shouting!”

Ethan Allen looked up from the Superman comic he’d been reading. “I ain’t shouting.”

“Well, see it stays that way,” Olivia said. Then she turned around and chuckled.

After Mahoney dropped Olivia and the kids at the apartment building he turned the car around and headed for Harrison, a town thirty-eight miles west of Wyattsville. It was almost five o’clock, and he was hoping to catch Anita Walker Meyers, or whatever name she was now using, on her way home from work. If she worked. Mahoney found himself wondering if he’d find a woman with red lipstick and high heels or an ex-housewife who flip-flopped her way to the door in a gingham duster.

After a week of searching, he was oddly intrigued by the thought of actually meeting the elusive Anita. She seemed to be a woman everyone remembered but no one knew. Hopefully she was a woman who loved kids, because she was about to get two of them.

Mahoney had thought of going there early this morning but waited because he was uncertain of what to say about Paul. Paint the wrong picture, and the boy would look like a low life or a criminal. In either case, it was a brand that would stay with him. Unfortunately human nature was such that when people whiffed the scent of scandal they closed their heart and snapped a padlock on it, lest they also be caught up in the horror.

Now that Connie had brushed away the last crumbs of suspicion, things could be seen in a more positive light. Now it was nothing more than an unfortunate accident. He could say Paul had been shot but was recovering nicely, making no mention of how the boy had been suspect in a robbery. It was much better that way. In a week, two at the most, he would be out of the hospital and he’d need a place to stay. After all he’d gone through, Paul certainly didn’t need a cloud of ugly suspicions hanging over his head.

Without knowing when it started, Mahoney found himself whistling when he pulled into the parking space a few doors down from Anita’s building.

The Alcove

M
ahoney rang the doorbell labeled Walker and waited. Several minutes passed; then he rang it again. He’d been waiting almost ten minutes when a stooped woman hobbled into the vestibule.

“Most of them doorbells don’t work,” she said. “You gotta bang on the apartment door.” She slid a key into the locked entrance door and nodded for Mahoney to follow.

“Who you looking for?” she asked.

“Anita Walker.”

“Three-ten, two flights up. But she most likely ain’t there.”

“Oh? You know where she is?”

“Probably Ocean City,” the woman answered. “Anita and that man she claims to be her husband go there most every weekend.”

“Husband? A skinny man, short, narrow-faced?”

“Him, skinny? You got to be kidding. He’s wide as a trailer truck.”

“Oh?” Freddie Meyers had said nothing about Anita being remarried so Mahoney asked, “This fellow she’s married to—”

The woman cut in with a cynical guffaw. “I never said they was married. He moved in one day, and she started calling him her hubby-dubby. Does that sound married to you?”

After fifteen minutes of talking with the woman who lived in the next-door apartment, Mahoney learned Anita would most likely not be back until Monday. Nonetheless he trudged up the two flights of stairs and pounded on the apartment door.

“I told you she wasn’t there,” the woman repeated, then disappeared into her own apartment. Mahoney pulled a card from his wallet and wrote a note on the back, asking Anita to call when she returned home.

By then it was seven o’clock on Friday evening, and the probability was that Gomez was also gone for the day. Mahoney called Olivia and told her that it was unlikely anything more would happen until Monday. He didn’t mention finding Anita. Before saying anything he wanted to make certain the woman he’d been tracking was actually Jubilee’s aunt.

It was close to eight when Mahoney pulled his car onto the ferry destined for the Eastern Shore of Virginia. He planned to make a quick stop at the Northampton station house, then head home for the weekend. By now Christine was already more than a little bit peeved about the number of dinners he’d missed this week, but he’d make it up over the weekend. Hopefully.

Since Jim Turner had stepped back from dogging Olivia’s every move, she relaxed her restrictions on Ethan Allen and Jubilee.

“You can use the elevator to come and go,” she said, “but there is to be no running, shouting, or playing in the hallways. Is that understood?”

Ethan Allen, glad to have the curfew lifted, nodded agreeably. “If Jubie had a bike,” he wheedled, “we could ride across to the park and not be bothering anybody.”

“Well, she doesn’t have one,” Olivia replied and left it at that.

Shortly before noon on Saturday Seth Porter rang the doorbell, and when Olivia answered he was standing there with a green bicycle shined up and ready to go.

“Emily rode this when she was a teenager,” he explained. “It might be a bit big for Jubilee, but I was thinking that maybe she could use it while she’s here.”

“Did Ethan Allen ask you to—”

Seth shook his head no before Olivia could finish, but the sheepish grin on his face told another story.

As soon as they’d gobbled down a quick lunch, Ethan Allen and Jubilee left for the park. Olivia stood at the window and watched as they pedaled away, Ethan in the lead and Jubilee following behind like the tail of a kite. He was fond of Jubilee; it was obvious in the things Ethan said and did. Without Olivia knowing when it happened, he had somehow stepped into the role of being Jubilee’s big brother. This new position made him seem taller, more grown up, more responsible. He was wearing a look of pride that Olivia had never before seen on his face.

Aglow with the warmth of a new observation, she picked up the telephone and dialed Clara’s number. “I need help,” Olivia said and explained her plan. The second call was to Seth Porter; she also asked for his help and told him the same thing she’d told Clara.

Before Ethan Allen and Jubilee returned from the park, the alcove Olivia used for a sewing room had been converted into a tiny bedroom. Sara Perkins had donated the rollaway bed she used for sleepover guests, and while Olivia covered the walls with bubble gum pink paint Clara drove over to Greenblum’s Home Store and returned with sheets, a pink comforter, and a tiny lamp. The small chest of drawers from Olivia’s bedroom was now in the alcove, and the sewing machine it replaced was in the bedroom. The easy chair that once occupied the alcove was in Seth Porter’s storage bin in the basement.

Although Seth had been agreeable enough about moving the chair, he reminded Olivia that the girl was only here on a temporary basis. “Don’t go getting attached,” he said, “else you’ll be in for a load of heartbreak.”

“I’m not,” Olivia assured him, but in the back of her mind there was a troublesome tick warning that she already was.

When Mahoney arrived back at the Northampton station house, he expected the place to be near empty, a few duty officers on hand perhaps, but not Captain Rogers. He was wrong.

Rogers was sitting behind his desk and looking none too happy. He spotted Mahoney walking in and called out to him.

“I’d like a word,” he said, but the truth was he wanted way more than a word.

“What’s going on with this Wyattsville case?” Rogers asked, the agitation in his voice apparent.

“I’ve located Jubilee’s aunt,” Mahoney said, “but she’s away for the weekend. I’m figuring to talk to her on Monday.”

“I’m not talking about the girl.” The captain moved to within inches of Mahoney’s nose. “I’m talking about the kid involved in the Klaussner shooting!”

“I just happened to get lucky and—”

“Lucky? You didn’t get lucky, what you did was piss off the entire Wyattsville department. I got three calls today, and they want you off the case.”

A look of defeat swept across Mahoney’s face. “Off the case?”

“Yeah, off the case. That means keep away from the Wyattsville station house and have no further involvement with the kid.”

“Before you make that call,” Mahoney said, “I think there’s something you ought to know.” He lowered himself into the chair opposite the captain’s desk and began the story. It started with how the Doyle case had unfolded and went on to tell how the then-Sargent Gomez was ticked off by losing the chance for a conviction. “He’s got a grudge going, and the bottom line is that he’s going to railroad this kid to prove a point.”

Rogers shook his head doubtfully.

Mahoney explained how the sister’s story had been confirmed by the waitress, and the timeline left no room for an unplanned meet-up with Hurt McAdams.

“Then why did Klaussner shoot the kid?” Rogers asked.

Mahoney grimaced; he had theory, nothing but theory. “I believe it was a stray bullet intended for McAdams.”

Captain Rogers leaned back in his chair. “Damn. This puts me in a tough spot.”

“It puts Paul Jones in an even tougher one,” Mahoney replied.

After nearly an hour of back-and-forth discussion the captain agreed Mahoney could continue to investigate, but he had to stay clear of the Wyattsville station house.

“And,” he added, “I don’t want you anywhere near Detective Gomez.”