Jubilee's Journey (Wyattsville #2)(61)

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.





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.