Jubilee's Journey (Wyattsville #2)(56)

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow morning?”

“Afraid not,” Mahoney answered. After several more apologies and a promise to take everyone for ice cream when he got home, he hung up. He scribbled the listing address on a note paper and started out to Exeter.





The town of Exeter was not really a town but a stretch of back roads that twisted and turned with not a single house visible from the next one. Mahoney took the same turn he’d taken when he’d gone out for the Doyle murders. He drove for nearly a half mile and did not see even one house until he came to the long drive leading past the field in front of the Doyle house. Standing at the end of the driveway was a mailbox with the number painted on the side: 1722.

“Damn,” Mahoney said. Apparently F.W. Meyers lived in the house where Susanna and Benjamin Doyle were murdered. He turned down the drive and continued to the house.

The front window had been replaced, but other than that there was no visible change in the appearance of the place. It still had the look of a house in need of repair. The lights were on, and strains of Gogi Grant wailing “The Wayward Wind” came from inside. Someone was obviously living there. Mahoney stepped to the door and rang the bell. Nothing; no sound. It was still broken. He knocked on the door. No answer.

After knocking several times and getting no answer, he banged his fist against the door and shouted, “Hey there, anybody home?”

The music clicked off, and moments later a small, paper-thin man opened the door. “Sorry,” he said, “couldn’t hear, what with the music.”

“I figured,” Mahoney answered.

F. W. Meyers was indeed Freddie Meyers, and, yes, he had moved here from Norfolk. Freddie explained how he’d bought the Doyle place at an auction. “Paid the past due taxes and the house was mine. ’Course, the place needs a bit of fixing up, and the farmland’s nothing but a weed patch, but in time…”

Freddie Meyers was as pleasant a man as Mahoney could hope to meet, until he heard the mention of his ex-wife’s name.

“I’ve got no more money,” he snapped, “so if that’s what this is about you’re wasting your time.”

“It’s not about money,” Mahoney assured him. “I’m just looking to find Anita.”

“Why would anybody want to find Anita?” His words had the sound of an ex-husband filled with bad memories.

“I’ve got a little girl with no place go, and I think she’s Anita’s niece. Her parents were Bartholomew and Ruth Jones.”

Freddie nodded his head sadly. “Yeah, Ruthie was Anita’s sister, but they haven’t talked for maybe six or seven years.”

“Unfortunately, Ruth died several years ago.”

Freddie winced. “Damn. She was the one who deserved to live. What about Bartholomew?”

“He’s gone too.”

“The mine got him, didn’t it?” Not leaving room for an answer, Freddie continued. “That’s one thing Anita was right about. She was always harping on Ruthie about that life being unfit for man or beast. Anita used to write Ruthie letters saying she ought to leave Bartholomew and come live with us. She thought if Ruthie left, Bartholomew would see the error of his ways and move back to Norfolk.” He hesitated a moment, then added, “That was the better side of Anita.”

“Then she ought to be pretty pleased to learn she’s got a niece who’d like to come and live with her.”

Freddie crumpled his face into a giant question mark. “It all depends.”

“Depends on what?” Mahoney asked.

Freddie shrugged. “If I could’ve figured that out, we’d still be living together.”

When Mahoney asked for Anita’s address, Freddie wrote it on a piece of paper and handed it to him. “When you talk to Anita, you might mention that if she and the girl want to come out here to live I’d be willing to consider it.”

“I’ll do that,” Mahoney answered and turned to leave. Before he got to the door, Freddie asked about Ruthie’s boy. Mahoney had hoped to avoid that issue, but now he had no choice.

“He was involved in a shooting, and he’s now in the hospital.”

“Paul? Ruthie’s boy? Involved in a shooting?”

Mahoney nodded.

“Damn,” Freddie repeated. “I’d’ve never figured Ruthie’s boy for such a thing.” He stood there shaking his head sadly as Mahoney scooted out the door.

When Mahoney finally arrived home it was almost ten o’clock, the kids had gone to bed disappointed at not having another ice cream outing, Christine was barely speaking to him, and the plate of spaghetti sitting on the kitchen counter had turned a cold greyish pink. On top of all that he spent another sleepless night—tossing, turning, rolling the still-unanswered questions over and over in his mind. He worried about a dozen different things but didn’t realize Carmella Klaussner was the one thing he should have been worrying about.





Jubilee



I’m still feeling mad inside, even though Ethan Allen done said nobody means nothin’ by those mean things. He claims they was just guessing at what the truth might be.

Paul never did nothin’ bad to nobody, and I’ll fight anybody what says he did! I know girls ain’t supposed to fight, but I figure folks ain’t supposed to tell lies neither. If they can tell lies, then there ain’t nothin’ wrong with me fighting.