Chasing Pearl, page 5
Just then, Wilma came up the stairs. “Hey,” she said, “where do you want me?”
“Hey there.” Violet popped the earbuds out of her ears and, seeking any explanation for the tidiness before her asked, “Did you already flip room 6?”
“No. I just this minute finished with all the grain grinding.”
Violet gestures. “Look-a-here at this room and tell me whose mamma raised him right.”
Wilma looked in the room and let out a low whistle. “Well he is just a three-jump cowboy. Maybe you can hire him to flip rooms part-time in the evenings.”
Violet chuckled and left the vacuum in the hall, figuring she would not need it in that room today. She held out the cleaning basket and said, “Do a light clean on the rooms on this floor, except three and five. Hit them with a broom and vacuum, make the beds if needed, and wipe down the bathrooms.” Wilma took the cleaning basket from her. “There’s a checklist in the little notebook in the basket on top.”
Wilma nodded. “Got it.” As she grabbed the handle of the vacuum cleaner, she asked, “Can you pay me today? I need to get diapers and pay my water bill and those are two entirely different buckets of ‘possums. If a trip around the world cost a dollar, I couldn’t get to the Oklahoma line this week.”
“Sure thing. Just let me know when you’re done.”
Unexpectedly, Wilma frowned. She pulled her phone out of her jeans pocket and looked at the screen. “Great,” she muttered.
Violet knew, but she asked anyway. “What’s the ruckus?”
“Don’s riled up ‘cause I’m here. It’ll be fine.”
“Is he even hittin’ a lick?”
“Naw.” Wilma shakes her head. “Work’s scarce as hen’s teeth in the summer. He’s just hanging out. He hangs out more often than Mama’s washing.”
Violet quietly offers, “There’s that parking deck job going up. He look into that?”
“He went out there a few times. When it opens it’ll just be shift work.”
Violet sighed and said, “Wilma, you know—”
“Yes, Violet, I do know.” The young mother’s cheeks turned bright red. “Don’s my husband, and he’s Donny’s daddy. I don’t understand why you insist on trying to make me disrespect him.”
Contrite, Violet put a hand on Wilma’s shoulder. “I don’t mean to put you in that position but, Shoog, Donny could start a fight in an empty house. I don’t want him to ever hurt you.”
“If it ever came down to that, I would be done. I’ve learned in my two-year marriage that I can tolerate a lot. But that’s the line, and he better know it. Besides which, if he ever laid a finger on me I reckon Daddy would lay him out faster than a sneeze through a screen door.” Wilma stepped closer to her. “Quit worrying. Quit warning. Just let me do what I can do here to help you, and allow me to earn a paycheck. Please.”
She looked into her cousin’s eyes, searching them, seeing the sincerity and the embarrassment. Finally, she nodded. “Alright. For now, alright.”
Wilma chuckled. “I reckon I’ll take what I can get.” She turned to walk down to the end of the hall. “You know what? I’ll do the football star’s room first. It’ll cheer me up to think of the hero worship from all those kids. Daddy was so excited when Mr. Anderson agreed to come. You go work on your book or something. I got this.”
Violet shook her head and decided to go get a chapter written before she took a nap. She’d set an alarm in time to help Scarlett set out the dinner meal.
CHAPTER 4
Mandalynn slipped the rabbit fur lined gloves off her hands as the waitress poured steaming coffee into the two mugs in front of her. The heavenly smell made her mouth water.
Not wanting to wait, she picked up a cup and gently blew on the surface, watching the dark liquid ripple. She took a small, hesitant sip to test the temperature. As she set the cup down, she noticed the bright red lipstick mark she’d left on the edge of the mug.
The bells jingled from above the door and a cold burst of wind followed NYPD Homicide Detective Lance Peters into the diner. He slipped his Fedora off and tossed it onto the booth seat beside him as he slid into the booth across from Mandalynn.
Mandalynn Clementine would never admit just how happy it made her to see him, though she suspected he knew by now. The joy at seeing him was tempered by the complexity and the nature of their connected past and their intertwined present.
“How tall are you today Detective? Have you put on some height?” Mandalynn didn’t even breach the five-five mark. The detective was easily six inches taller than her. She swore she even had to look up at him sitting across from him in the diner.
Lance parlayed with ease. “Maybe you misplaced some inches? How short are you?”
“I can still reach my garters.” She took another sip of coffee.
“If you want, I can help you look for ‘em. I am a detective, you know.”
She grinned, enjoying their repartee. “Glad you could make it. You were nearly late.”
“Nearly late? That a fancy way of saying ‘early’?”
She slid the spare mug toward him. “I took the liberty of scaring us up some Joe.”
He wrapped his large hand around the ceramic mug and lifted it as if in a toast. “As a longtime bachelor, I never object when a lovely war widow takes liberties, Mrs. Clementine.”
She smiled very sweetly. “Well, I only ordered it, Detective. You’re digging up the lettuce to nix the tab.”
“So? In that case, I might even splurge for toast.”
She raised an eyebrow very dramatically. “Big spender.”
Shrugging his wide shoulders, he said, “You’re the Dame that passed the buck. The buck stops here. Rarely, and in small denominations, but it does occasionally stop. Peanuts, really. I dig this joint. It’s cheesy.”
Despite herself, she laughed. “Quit your gammin’ and masticate your mud.”
As he took a sip, he made a grimacing face. “Never the same without sugar. Confounded rationing.”
“Surprised you even remember what sugar tastes like.”
“I miss sugar. But, there’s a war on.”
Dryly, she said, “So I’m reliably informed.”
He sighed. “I suppose sugar will come back some day when the war’s over.”
He took another sip and scowled at the mug. She laughed. “Maybe just dip your finger in it. You’re sweet enough aren’t you?”
Waving a finger at her, he said, “You’re a crack up. Fracture me, you do. Straight off the cob. Don’t you miss anything from before the war?”
Immediately, the play ended. All fun and levity abandoned her like air from a balloon. She felt her shoulders stiffen, felt her face fall, and looked him in the eye. “I miss my husband, Lance. But as you know, he’ll won’t be coming back when the war’s over. I think I could do without sugar forever if I could change that somehow.”
His hard face softened. “I miss your husband, too, doll. He was a good egg. If not for flat feet, this flatfoot might have been there to watch his back.” He unbuttoned his coat and shrugged his shoulders out of it. She wondered how he could move so efficiently in such a small space. “Think Detective Clemetine would approve of his wife chasing murderers around all day with his old partner?”
She lifted her chin, trying not to feel defensive. “Likely he’d approve. My husband got clipped chasing Hitler, after all, the biggest murderer in all of human history.”
After a pause, Lance said, “Say. I heard on the radio Hitler might be sick. Some kind of illness or other.”
Feeling some of the heaviness dissipate, she bantered, “Oh, dear. I certainly hope it’s nothing trivial.”
“Yeah. I wouldn’t attend his funeral personally, mind you, though I’d send a nice letter of approval.”
On that quip, she smiled.
The door jingled and another blast of cold air swirled around her feet. Lance’s eyes narrowed as a man shambled into the diner and walked past their table. He smelled of stale cigarettes and boozy perspiration. He fell into the booth behind them, facing Mandalynn. His pockmarked face had a sheen of unhealthy sweat on it, and a strand of greasy black hair fell across his forehead when he tossed his Fedora onto the top of the table. He winced and she could see the dirty sling on his left arm.
Lance raised an eyebrow. “I take it your nocturnal miscreant has finally made his appearance.”
She pursed her lips and nodded. “That’s him, alright. A real parasite for sore eyes.”
Lance glanced casually behind him. “Holy smoke. That is truly a face only a mother could love.”
“A mother gorilla, maybe.”
“Looks like you might have winged him.”
Remembering the fear, the loud burst of gunshot, the scrambling of guests and her mother in the boarding house, she felt the slow burn of anger heat up. “If so, my shot went high by several feet. I was aiming for his brains.”
Lance chuckled. “Well, it was dark.” His face growing serious again, he added, “You got moxie, Mrs. Clementine.”
Feeling heat flare in her face, she glared at him. “Lay off, Lance. I’m a lamb.”
He leaned toward her. “Think Chucklehead over there deflated the squiddy?”
She studied the man’s face, hoping he didn’t catch her staring, then shook her head. “Use your peepers and get a load of his mitts. Whoever gave the swabbie what for was smaller. The eager beaver over there was definitely in cahoots, though. Maybe a gunsel?”
With a nod, he said, “In a jiffy, I’ll have some uni’s take that crumb to the can to stew until I can grill him. We’ll put him through the wringer and squeeze him ‘til he spills his guts.” He picked up the menu sitting on the edge of the table. “Meanwhile, I got some greenbacks. Let’s order up some hen fruit and maybe some goo and the moo to go with our bean juice. Fresh milk, not that armored heifer. We can flap our lips some more over breakfast. Whadda ya say, doll?”
Suddenly, Mandalynn heard the raucus and disturbing ding-dong of a bell. Frantically, she looked for the source of the sound. “Christopher Columbus! Did you hear that?”
Violet frowned as the doorbell pulled her out of the New York diner in her imagination. She left behind the detective and the suspect who had occupied her thoughts while she straightened the family area and the bookshelves and crossed the room, glancing at the clock. One-thirty. A little early for the guests coming from Phoenix, but at least she got their room ready to go an hour ago. Thankfully, the prior guests had checked out before breakfast.
She opened the door expecting to see a family of three, but instead came face-to-face with Harvey Clepp, senior high school disastrous prom date and current postal carrier. Great. She could already feel the day starting to sour.
“Howdy, Vi,” Harvey said. “Those bushes are a little shaggy out front. Might want to take a Weedeater to ‘em.”
She scowled. “I see what you did there. You have me all in stitches.”
He clearly expected her to ignore him. Instead, his eyes widened, and then he laughed. “Good one!”
“Uncle Drew has poked fun at me all week. Pretty sure I’ve heard them all.” Out of habit, she ran a finger along the bumpy scar on her chin. “Just call me Frankenstein’s monster.” When he opened his mouth, she held up her hand. “Not really. Why the doorbell, Harvey? The baby’s sleeping downstairs.”
He held up a brown leather box. “I have a very special delivery.”
Violet raised an eyebrow. “Special in what way?”
He leaned toward her as if to whisper conspiratorially. “You aren’t going to believe this.”
Her patience thinning and the polite social niceness slipping away, she snapped, “I don’t have any information to even know whether I’d believe it or not, yet. Cut to the chase.”
“‘Cut to the Chase.’ That’s funny.”
Violet put her hands on her hips. “How is your deliberate stalling in any way funny?”
Never one to be swayed by subtle clues, or obtuse ones for that matter, he just held the box toward her “1940. That’s the postdate. But, it’s addressed to one of your guests, if the gossip concerning Chase Anderson’s current residence has it right. So, you tell me. How special is that?”
She took the box from him and gave it a quick examination. It looked old, worn. The edges were reinforced with metal, with smooth round bolts securing the corners. A belted canvas strap secured it closed. A metal frame, like what could be found on the front of a filing cabinet, held a card with the address:
CDR Chase Anderson
Texas Pearl Boarding House
4 Avenue C
College Station, Texas
For some reason, her heart started beating a little faster. “Thanks, Harvey,” she said, using her foot to nudge the door shut.
“Wait! Don’t you want to see—”
The door clicked shut before he could persuade her to unfasten that belt and see what the box contained.
Texas Pearl Boarding House? That’s what her great-grandmother named the place when she first opened up to rent rooms. It didn’t become a bed and breakfast until her parents were newlyweds. Three years ago, she and Scarlett had rebranded it as an inn.
The postmark on the card inside the frame said 1940.
1940?
Feeling overcome with curiosity, she put the package under the counter of the front desk. What to do with it? Should she open it? It wasn’t addressed to her. Of course, if you looked at the postmark, it wasn’t technically addressed to anyone.
Seeking some counsel, Violet went through the kitchen and out the back door. She found Grandma Vi on her knees in the herb garden, her straw hat shielding her face from the sun. “Hey there, Gran!”
Grandma Vi looked up, her face beet red and wet with sweat. “Howdy.” Her voice sounded weak and unsteady.
Violet rushed to her side. “Gran, it’s so hot out here the hens are laying boiled eggs. You couldn’t wait until evening?” Grandma Vi started to get unsteadily to her feet, and Violet grabbed her arm, feeling the dampness from her sweat.
“I only came out to get some fresh thyme for the soup, but then I got carried away piddlin’.” They slowly walked to the shaded area, and Grandma Vi shakily sat down in a chair. “Foolish at my age, I know. I am very familiar with the Texas sun and what it can do.”
“Just sit there. Just wait.”
Violet ran into the kitchen and grabbed two bottles of water out of the refrigerator and a clean towel from the drawer. She had one bottle open before she even made it to Grandma Vi. “Here. Drink this. I have another.”
Dribbles of water slipped down Grandma Vi’s cheeks as she greedily chugged the water while Violet soaked the towel with water. When she had finished half of the bottle, she took her hat off and used it to fan her face. Violet noticed that her entire head was wet. She put the towel on the back of her grandmother’s neck. “Whoo! That’s better. I was so dry I was spitting cotton.”
Once Grandma Vi had finished the first bottle and started on the second, Violet said, “Gran, we got a strange package today.”
“Oh? Define strange.”
“It’s addressed to Chase Anderson but it has a postmark from 1940.”
Grandma pondered while she took another sip. “Well I’ll be. Violet, I reckon that is mighty strange.”
Violet leaned toward her grandmother. “How is that even possible?”
Grandma Vi frowned and continued to fan her face. “I read our Mr. Anderson’s bio for that football camp he’s doing with Jacob. His grandfather went to the school. Maybe that’s him.”
“Yeah, but a school kid wouldn’t stay at a boarding house.”
“A lot of men came and went just before the war. There was a training camp here. When it was getting set up, we had a lot of military in rooms. That was about 1940. There’s been so many people come and gone. No way we could remember them all.” She gestured at the house. “We have the log books from every year in the storeroom. Even back that far. Might be worth looking to see if there was another Chase Anderson here. Could always just ask our Chase Anderson if he knows.”
“Our Chase Anderson wasn’t even alive in 1940.” Violet performed some quick mental addition. “Heck, his parents might not have even been alive back then.”
Grandma Vi shrugged. “He may know who it is, though. Chase is not what you’d call a common Christian name.”
“Assuming it’s not just a huge coincidence.”
After a moment, Grandma Vi said, “Right. Assuming so. Worth looking and worth asking I figure.” She took another sip of water. “Think I’ll head on back inside. Cool down a bit. Watch one of my shows.”
Violet walked Gran downstairs and had her settled in front of her television, then went to the storage room. She went to the shelf in the back corner and found the leather registers, neatly lined up on the top shelf, labeled with months and years. Most of them spanned five or six years. She found the one that included 1940 and carried it to the front of the house. She set it on the counter next to the computer and accessed a search engine. It didn’t take long to find the bio that Grandma Vi had talked about. “A native of Boston, Massachusetts, Chase Anderson served as the Texas A&M starting quarterback for three years.” She did an Internet search on him, and an article stood out. “Army First Lieutenant Chase Anderson visits Pearl Harbor Memorial where his great-grandfather, Navy Commander Chase Anderson, is entombed with his shipmates.”
Violet looked at the box. She ran her finger over the dry leather and fingered the belt. Chase was from Boston; so was this box. His great-grandfather had served in the war. Maybe he spent time here, too.
She couldn’t make out the month on the postmark. So, she went ahead and opened the register to the beginning of January 1940. He would have only registered once, and back then, people could stay for weeks or months at a time, depending on the need. Letting the tip of her finger run down the aged paper, she skimmed names and cities, looking for the name Anderson or the city of Boston.
Several minutes later, she found it. November 18, 1940, CDR Chase Anderson of Boston Massachusetts signed the register, checking in at 4:07 in the evening, and checking out December 30th.
