Jubilee's Journey (Wyattsville #2)(65)

As he watched Mahoney disappear down the hall, Gomez mumbled, “What the hell was that about?” On the way back to his desk, he dropped the pictures and sign into the trash can.





Mahoney left the Wyattsville station house with discouragement weighing heavy on his heart. This was a part of the job he hated; all too often it made him wonder if he shouldn’t have listened to his father and become an engineer. Engineers had dinner with their family every night. They seldom worked weekends and never carried a burden of guilt for something they could do nothing about. He heaved a regretful sigh, shifted the car into gear, and pulled away from the curb.

Moments after the Wyattsville station house disappeared from sight, he began thinking about what he could do. The most obvious answer was to find a home for Jubilee, because if Gomez didn’t change his viewpoint Paul was not going to be around to look after her. Mahoney knew such a change was none too likely. Men like Hector Gomez were born with a shell around their heart, a shell solid as cement and with about the same amount of flexibility.

He pulled the roll of antacids from his pocket, popped two in his mouth, and headed toward Anita Walker’s apartment. Hopefully she was home.





Mahoney rang the bell for the third time before an answer came through the intercom.

“Go away, I’m trying to sleep.”

“Is this Anita Walker?” Mahoney asked.

“Yeah.”

“Detective Mahoney from the Northampton precinct,” he replied. “I’d like a word with you.”

“If Freddie sent you, I ain’t interested!”

“This isn’t about Freddie, it’s about your niece.”

“Lord God, what now?”

“If you’ll buzz me in, I’ll come up and explain.”

“I doubt there’s anything about those hillbillies I want to hear.”

Mahoney, who by then was weary of this day, said, “Either you let me in, or I’ll come back with a warrant.”

“All right, all right,” Anita answered. Moments later a shrill buzz sounded.





When he rapped on the door of apartment 310, a frowsy-looking redhead answered. “What?” she said impatiently.

“Can we go inside?”

“I’d rather we didn’t; the place is a mess right now.”

“That’s okay,” Mahoney answered and eased past her into the apartment.

Once he was inside she asked, “You want coffee?”

“No, thanks.”

“Well, I gotta have some. I’m no good ‘till I’ve had at least two cups.” She poured a cup for herself, then sat at the kitchen table facing Mahoney. “Now what’s this urgent bit of news you’ve got?”

“It’s about your sister, Ruth. Were you aware she’d passed away?”

“Yeah. It was five years ago.”

“So you knew she had two children?

Anita nodded. “Unfortunately.”

Ignoring the comment, Mahoney moved on. “Apparently their father had been caring for the children, but recently he also passed on. Paul, the older of the two, has been caring for his sister since then. However, he’s no longer able to…”

Up until this point Anita had been fairly disinterested, but suddenly the muscles in her face turned hard as stone.

“…which leaves your niece with no one to care for her.”

“What do you mean he’s no longer able take care of her?”

“The boy is only sixteen,” Mahoney said, avoiding any mention of the fact that he was also locked up in the Wyattsville City Jail.

Anita immediately launched into a story of how it would be impossible for her to take in two kids because her apartment was way too small. “It’s just two bedrooms, and that second one’s the size of a closet.”

“It’s just the girl,” Mahoney said. “Paul’s got a place to stay for now.”

Anita didn’t waver from her original position. “Even one child is way too much for me to handle. Surely there’s someone else—”

“No one who’s family. As far as we can tell, Bartholomew has no living relatives.”

“What about friends? Neighbors?”

“Even if one of those people was willing to take Jubilee, they couldn’t. Unless it’s a family member, an orphaned child has to be turned over to the children’s welfare department.”

“Jubilee, huh? Cute name.”

“You didn’t know your niece’s name?” Mahoney said.

She shook her head, “Unh-unh. Ruth and I had quit speaking by that time.” A look of regret settled on Anita’s face. “When somebody ain’t willing to take care of themselves, you can’t tear your heart out worrying. The only thing you can do is close that door and pretend they already died.”

Mahoney sensed a level of sadness that might have been soft and pliable at one time, but through the years had turned rock hard. “It may be too late to mend fences with your sister,” he said, “but it’s not too late to do the right thing by her daughter.”

“You can’t ever go back; only a fool tries to do it.”

“You wouldn’t be going back, you’d be starting over.”