Jubilee's Journey (Wyattsville #2)(17)
I ain’t no do-gooder like Grandma, but I sure felt bad for Jubie. I think it’s ‘cause she’s so little. She said she was seven, but I’m thinking more like five. If she’s really seven, then for sure she’s the runt of the litter.
Late News
Olivia sat glued to the television as she listened to reports of the robbery. According to Martha Tillinger who was being interviewed on the ten o’clock news, two men had walked into Klaussner’s grocery store in broad daylight, brandished a gun, and started shooting. At that point Martha, who had been on the far side of the store selecting a box of crackers to go with her homemade onion dip, ducked behind a large display of cereal boxes and rolled herself into a ball.
“I couldn’t see what was happening, but I know the sound of gunfire when I hear it,” she told the reporter. Martha then went on to render the opinion that it would have been far wiser for Sid to just hand over the money instead of trying to shoot it out with two armed bandits.
The reporter nodded solemnly, then turned back to the camera for a close up. “Sidney Klaussner was shot twice in the chest, and his condition is listed as critical. One of the alleged assailants suffered a head wound and is now in surgery.”
“Thanks for that update, Ken,” the blond anchorwoman at the KWNB news desk said. Then she said they had very few details at this time, and although detectives acknowledged that one of the alleged assailants had escaped, the name of the second young man had not yet been released. “Join us at seven o’clock tomorrow morning when we’ll have more details on this event that has rocked our peaceful little community.”
Olivia continued to watch as the weatherman came on and explained that a cold front was headed their way. After the weather there was a long shot of the news desk, some jovial banter, and then it was over. A voice said to stay tuned for Jerry Lester’s “Broadway Open House.”
There was not one word about Paul Jones or a missing child.
“Oh, dear,” Olivia said. She snapped off the television and sat silently in the chair. It made no sense. Why would these kids have come to Wyattsville, unless…
The more she mulled it over, the more sense it made. Paul had obviously contacted the aunt and said they were coming. Maybe he sent a letter or a postcard. Reasoning that a seven-year-old child quite possibly did not understand the specifics, she began to imagine the aunt frantic with worry.
The bitter taste of memories about the night Ethan Allen disappeared swelled in Olivia’s throat. He’d been gone just a few hours when a search party set out looking for him. People cared. Even though they’d known Ethan Allen only a short while, they cared. In a room so silent you could hear the whisper of wind, Olivia sat and listened. She hoped to hear a voice calling for the girl, but there was nothing. Twice she thought she’d heard the sound of sobbing, but both times it was simply the choke of a motor car miles away.
The clock chimed midnight. Olivia got up and tiptoed into the bedroom to check on the girl. Jubilee was sound asleep, her tiny fingers curled into a fist and a thumb stuck in her mouth. Her dark hair lay scattered across the pillow, in need of a trim perhaps, but clean. Olivia returned to the living room and sat in the same chair, the silk chair that stood where Charlie’s club chair once sat.
Most evenings she went to bed shortly after she’d said goodnight to Ethan Allen. She seldom sat in this spot with everything silent as it was now. It brought back memories—good memories, but too many of them, and they always ended with the same thought, the same longing. The clock ticked, a faraway horn blared, Dog rustled around, scratched at his hind leg, then dropped back to sleep again. Familiar sounds all of them. Yes, familiar and comforting, yet tonight the quiet was disconcerting.
The tiny shoes were still where they had fallen when Olivia removed them before carrying the child to bed. From where she sat Olivia could see a small hole in the bottom of one shoe. She lifted the shoe in her hand and turned it over. A piece of grey cardboard had been trimmed to size and stuffed inside to cover the hole. It was obvious that someone cared for this child, but who? And where were they now?
It was after one o’clock when Olivia dialed Seth Porter’s number. The telephone rang ten times. No answer. Certain she’d not get an answer on the eleventh ring, Olivia was just about to hang up when someone lifted the receiver. She expected a hello, but all she heard was the loud thump of something falling. “Seth?”
“Yeah, yeah,” a hollowed out echo answered back.
“Seth, are you okay?”
“Mostly,” he finally answered. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m not certain. There’s something about the robbery at Klaussner’s that’s troubling me.”
“Good grief, that happened early this morning!”
“Yes, I know, but Ethan Allen mentioned he saw you there, and I was wondering—”
“He was late for school, wasn’t he?”
“Well, yes, but that isn’t—”
“I knew it! Three times I told him to get going and—”
“Were there other kids there?”
“You mean other kids being late to school?”
“Not school kids, little kids. Girls maybe?”