Jubilee's Journey (Wyattsville #2)(55)

He eased the paper from beneath the counter and flipped it over. “Help Wanted” it read. “Stock Boy -- $30 week.” Based on where he had found the sign, it seemed likely that Paul had been holding it in his hand when he was shot. Mahoney photographed the sign, then returned it to its original position.

After spending almost an hour in the store Mahoney switched off the light and left. As he relocked the door, footsteps came up behind him.

“Saw the light on and thought I’d check,” the man said. “I’m Ernie, barber shop next door.” He stuck out his hand.

After the handshake, Mahoney asked, “Were you here on the day of the robbery?”

“Yeah, I was,” Ernie answered. “Awful, ain’t it? You just never think in a town like Wyattsville…”

The only witness report in the file was that of Martha Tillinger, but Mahoney took a chance and asked, “Did you see or hear anything?”

“Sure did,” Ernie answered. “Ken Spence was here for a shave that morning. Since he lost sight in his right eye he don’t trust himself with a razor, so he comes in same time every Wednesday and Saturday. I was lathering him up when I saw the young one come from across the street and head into Sid’s place. I was shaving Ken when the second one came by.”

“They didn’t go in together?”

“Not when they passed here, but after that who knows?” Ernie shrugged.

“How long was it from the time the first man went in and when you saw the second one go by?”

“A minute maybe.”

“Did the two men come from the same direction?” Mahoney asked.

“Can’t say. I know the boy came from across the street, but I didn’t see the second one ‘til he passed by here.”

“What happened after that?”

“I heard the gunshots. Three or four of them, so close together I can’t say for sure how many there were.”

“Anything else?”

“A minute or so later the second guy hightailed it past here and disappeared.”

Mahoney asked if he had seen the girl sitting on the bench across the street or noticed anything else unusual the morning of the robbery, but Ernie shook his head and said he couldn’t tell much else because he wasn’t facing that direction.





As Mahoney climbed back into the car and headed for the ferry, he again thought, Too many questions. Jubilee said her brother went into the store. Could it be that he wasn’t there to “do” a job but to get a job? To a seven-year-old kid the two things most likely sounded the same, so did she say one and mean the other? And which one was the truth? If Paul had by some chance partnered with Hurt McAdams, then why did they come into the store separately? Where was the gun that shot Klaussner? As the questions accumulated, it seemed as though each new thought muddied the water a bit more. It was like trying to put together a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces missing.

Mahoney’s earlier indigestion kicked into high gear, and halfway to the ferry he had to stop and buy another roll of Tums.





Once Mahoney was back at the Wyattsville station, he began a search for Freddie Meyers. He started with Property Records and then moved on to Voter Registration. Neither search produced any results. His next move was going to be a telephone directory search, which was none too reliable because people not looking to be found used fictitious names or had no listing. There were nine directories that covered the stretch of land considered the Eastern Shore. Two of the areas were across the state line in Maryland, and five were in Virginia. Mahoney went through the first three and found nothing. In the Watertown County directory, he found a listing for F.W. Meyers in Exeter.

It was on the same road as the Doyle farm had been.

“Impossible,” Mahoney mumbled. “What are the odds of…”

He dialed the number and let it ring seventeen times before finally hanging up. It was just about dinnertime. Maybe Freddie Meyers, if this was Freddie Meyers, didn’t bother to answer a ringing phone if his mouth was full of food. Mahoney sat for a moment and thought. He dialed a second number.

“Hello,” a youthful voice said.

“Hi, Jack,” Mahoney replied. “Is Mommy there?”

“Hi, Dad.” A whisper of disappointment was threaded through young Jack’s words. “Yeah, she’s here. Mom made spaghetti tonight. Are you coming home soon?”

“In a while,” Mahoney answered. “Let me talk to Mommy.”

“Mom!” Jack yelled. “Daddy’s on the phone!”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” she called back. “Ask if he’s on his way home.”

“Mom said are you on your way home?” Jack repeated.

“Not yet,” Mahoney answered.

A disgruntled grunt was the only answer. Mahoney heard the sound of the receiver clunk against the table and waited. A few minutes later Christine’s voice came on the line.

“What now?”

“I’ve got to take a run out to Exeter, so don’t hold dinner.”

There was a space of silence, the kind of silence that meant Christine was angry. “I spent the whole day making a pot of that homemade spaghetti sauce you like. With meatballs.”

“I appreciate that, but this is something I’ve got to take care of.”