Confessions to Mr. Roosevelt Page 17

  “What was the name of the man who disappeared?” Ellen took a deep breath.

  “That’s what’s driving me crazy. I can’t exactly recall. Seems like it was McMahon or maybe it was Monahan. Something like that. Maybe you could find out.”

  “I’ll try. I might find a newspaper story, and if there are city directories, those would have the names of people and their occupations.”

  Ewell shook his head. “The first city directory was 1885. I know that for a fact, because I asked my wife if I should buy an advertisement in it. The smallest one cost two whole dollars, and I thought that was too much, but she told me to go ahead. It was good for business and showed our civic pride.” Ewell laughed. “At least I think that’s what she said. Her English got better over the years, but sometimes I misunderstood her.”

  “Do you recall the year this happened?”

  “Well, it was only a year or two after we got here. I know that because we didn’t have that much furniture, and Mom was counting on that shelf to dress up the living room.”

  Ellen closed her notebook and promised she would do some research. Despite the lack of a specific name, she thought Mr. Morgan had given her a good start.

  Ewell called out to his daughter that their guest was leaving, and the woman appeared, her hands stained strawberry red. At the door she thanked Ellen for coming and added, “Sorry Dad couldn’t stand to greet you the way a gentleman should, but he’s chair-bound. Usually, he’s in a wheelchair, but he insisted you see him in a regular chair.”

  Ellen shook her head slightly. These old pioneers never ceased to amaze her. “Tell your father that if I come up with a name, he’ll be the first to know.”

  Before going to the courthouse to type up Ewell Morgan’s interview, Ellen went to see Grover Calley. She expected him to be impressed with the information she’d uncovered and was disappointed when he only raised an eyebrow.

  “Pull up a chair,” he growled, pointing to a straight-back chair in a corner. “I’ve known Ewell Morgan all my life. He’s a steady sort of man. Not given to flights of fancy. In fact, I doubt Ewell has an ounce of imagination in him. So I believe what he says, but he doesn’t remember an exact name.

  “Meanwhile, Iris Hewitt is downstairs going through old newspapers. She’s been at it most of the morning. She’s popped in here twice to give me an update.” He made a face as he readjusted his spectacles and waved a sheet of paper at Ellen. “So far, she’s come up with a man who took off when the wife he abandoned in NewYork showed up at his door here in Opal’s Grove. Iris is of the opinion that when the man tried to leave town, the jilted wife followed him and took her revenge with a gun. Then she found a newspaper story about a man named Meeker, who stole money from his employer and hightailed it out of town. The sheriff and his deputies chased after Meeker but never found him.” Calley put the paper down. “Those are just the ones she’s found this morning. Lord knows what she’ll come up with next.”

  Ellen started to speak, but Calley cut her off. “Wait, there’s more. When I talked to the sheriff this morning, his office had already heard from three people. A woman down in Williamsville says it’s her great-grandpa. A family the next county over believes it’s great uncle Herbert, who was known to take a drink or two and wander off when inebriated. My favorite is the high-school teacher who claims the skeleton was stolen from his classroom by some prankster students, and he wants it back.”

  Ellen had to smile at that but said she was determined Mr. Morgan’s story not be ignored. Calley agreed. “I’ll pass it on to the sheriff. He’ll probably go see Ewell, and, when the interview you did gets to my desk, we’ll put it in the paper, just like all the other pioneer stories. Satisfied?”

  She wasn’t, but carefully reading through decades of old newspapers would take more than a few days. Besides, Iris was already going through the earliest issues. If the man Mr. Morgan remembered was there, she was sure to find him.

  Deflated, Ellen saw her big scoop slipping away. She thanked the newsman and got up to leave.

  “Heard the WPA is shutting the project down,” said Calley, sitting back.

  “It wasn’t such a big surprise. We knew when we were hired the project might not last longer than a month or two. I’m hopeful I’ll find something before too long.”

  “That’s the spirit.” He pulled his phone across the desk. “I’ll call the sheriff right now.” Ellen took that as a dismissal and left the room.

  CHAPTER 21

  AUDREY

  Ellen returned to the boardinghouse, still brooding over the chances of identifying Ewell Morgan’s mystery man. Normally, she might discount Iris Hewitt’s research abilities, but she knew the woman well enough by now to concede that Iris had the drive to scour the newspapers for possibilities.

  As she stepped onto the porch, Audrey came bounding out the front door.

  “You’ll never guess!” She pulled Ellen into the house, down the hall, and into the dining room, where Miss Jewell was setting out lunch. The landlady’s smile was almost as bright as Audrey’s.

  “Remember this morning when Mrs. Hewitt called me aside after the meeting?” Audrey didn’t wait for an answer as she paced around the room. “Well, she gave me a solid lead on a job. She’s been talking to a woman at the state historical society about sending the interviews to Topeka. And Iris, bless her heart, asks the woman if she knows of any librarian jobs.” Audrey stopped to take a deep breath. “And the woman says, what a coincidence, a position just opened at the historical society. Can you believe it?”

  “That’s wonderful!” Ellen dropped into a chair. “So, you’re going to call or write this woman?”

  “Already done!” Audrey finally took a seat. “Mrs. Hewitt was in a terrible hurry to get to the newspaper office, but she took me over to the library and let me use her personal telephone to call this woman, who passed me on to a man named Grayson. And Tuesday morning I have an interview.” Audrey threw up her arms like a runner who just crossed the finish line.

  Ellen clapped and cheered. Miss Jewell applauded, too.

  Even if this job didn’t pan out, it was a tremendous boost for Audrey, and Ellen realized there was one way she could help. Promising Miss Jewell to pay for the call, Ellen went to the hall telephone and asked for long distance. As she waited to be connected, she hoped that either Nancy or her mother was home.

  When the call went through, Ellen was relieved to hear Nancy’s voice. Her friend’s shout of surprise reverberated down the line.

  Ellen assured her there was nothing wrong—something people tended to assume when they received a long-distance call—and told Nancy what she had in mind.

  Nancy agreed, and, after they discussed the details, Nancy turned the subject to Jason, asking if he had stopped in Opal’s Grove.

  “Yes,” Ellen answered. “I’m not going to run up a bill giving you the details, but you’ll be pleased to know we didn’t fight. In fact, it was nice to see him, but don’t get any wild ideas like planning my wedding.” She laughed, thanked Nancy again for doing the favor she asked, and called the operator to know what the charges were. She dug the coins out of her satchel, which she realized was still slung over one shoulder.

  Returning to the dining room, where Audrey had already started her lunch, Ellen took her seat. “It’s all set. I called my friend Nancy in Topeka. She’s going to meet you at the train station on Monday. You’ll stay with her, and she’ll get you to your interview and then back to the station.”

  “You did that for me? I don’t know what to say. Are you sure your friend doesn’t mind?”

  Ellen shook her head. “She’s thrilled to do it and says she can’t wait to meet you. I have a feeling you two will get along just fine.” Ellen reached for her ham and cheese sandwich. “You should wear that dress you got at the church basement. It’s very becoming, and you’ll need a hat. I don’t know why women are expected to wear hats, but they are, especially when they want to look fashionable or, in your case, profession
al. I’ve got a little straw one that will go great with that dress.”

  Ellen realized she was almost as excited as Audrey.

  CHAPTER 22

  NETTIE

  It was time for another run of Saturday deliveries. Ellen was looking forward to it. At Agatha’s insistence, she’d brought Ivy and her parcels to the Bright house. They would have supper together before Ellen and Thelma set out in Ellen’s Packard. She thought it was safer than taking a chance on Thelma’s heap of a car. Although it was running, Hugh wouldn’t guarantee it would last much longer, and Ellen hadn’t liked the sound of the motor when Thelma drove them out to what people were now calling the Indian burial.

  Iris Hewitt was responsible for that, and not even Grover Calley’s front-page story in Friday morning’s edition could change a name that had already stuck in people’s heads. He reported every word uttered by the archaeologist. In Saturday’s edition there was a follow-up story, sketching out the plans to transport the skeleton, once it could be moved, to the funeral parlor. The sheriff’s department, Calley reported, was making every attempt to identify the remains, but Sheriff Logan could already say that, going back some thirty years, there were no unsolved missing person cases in the county.

  Finding earlier cases was going to be difficult. Older records were gone, if they ever existed, and the sheriff was hearing the same from officials contacted in surrounding counties. Ellen noticed Calley had chosen not to enumerate the possible identities being offered up by private citizens or those put forth by Iris Hewitt.

  Around the supper table in Agatha’s dining room, Ellen was praised for her story about Kansas archaeology, and there was some talk of the sheriff’s angry reaction to Maynard’s photos of the skeleton in the paper, not to mention Iris Hewitt’s threats to cancel her subscription when she saw the front-page picture of her facing down the archaeologist, her face contorted in fury.

  “Mrs. Hewitt hasn’t entirely given up,” Ellen told the ladies. She went on to recount the woman’s newspaper search, as well as her own discovery from the Ewell Morgan interview.

  “We’ll probably never know,” Agatha said as she glanced at Ivy seated to her right, who’d grown quiet and seemed to have lost some of her healthy color.

  “Aren’t you feeling well?” Ellen asked, concern creeping into her voice.

  “Just a little tired. It’s the heat, I expect.”

  “And the phone calls,” inserted Agatha.

  Ivy gave her friend a small smile but seemed to perk up. “Since my interview appeared in yesterday’s paper, I’ve heard from people I haven’t seen in years. And, of course, Constance is preening like it was her interview, not mine.”

  She looked at Agatha. “What a relief she and Dell already had plans to visit those friends in Wichita this weekend. I don’t think I could take another day of her calling me ‘pioneer mother.’ ”

  Ellen relaxed. This was the Ivy she knew.

  With supper finished, Ellen and Thelma, who’d just said goodbye to Bill at the back door, carried the last of several sacks to the car. Through an open kitchen window, they could hear Ivy and Agatha talking with Martha. Words were punctuated with laughter.

  “They’re having a grand time with this,” said Ellen, a bag of groceries in each arm.

  Thelma nodded. “Miss Agatha says it keeps her young. Let’s put these on the floor of the back seat,” she suggested.

  Ellen carried her bundles to the passenger side, while Thelma took the other. Together, they loaded the bags, pushing them toward the middle and packing them together as tightly as possible.

  Ellen stood up and peeked over the top of the car. She felt rather than saw a whisper of movement. “What was that?”

  Thelma struggled to right a sack that threatened to spill its contents across the car floor. “Did you say something?”

  Ellen shook her head. “I felt something go past.”

  Just as the words left her mouth, she caught a flash of white outside the kitchen door. Then, there was the sound of the door banging shut and cries of surprise from inside.

  Thelma rose off her knees while Ellen scurried around the car. They raced toward the sound. Just as Thelma reached to open the door, Ellen pulled her back. She gestured toward the figure standing just inside the kitchen. The bird-like woman’s hands were extended in front of her. She held a small gun. Agatha sat at the far end of the kitchen table, Ivy next to her. Martha stood backed up to the sink.

  Ellen focused on the weapon and the shaky hands that struggled to keep it pointed at Ivy and Agatha. Ellen didn’t know anything about firearms, but this looked like a derringer she’d once seen in a movie about a riverboat gambler.

  “They found Malcolm. Did you know that, Ivy?” The woman’s voice was eerily calm, although her hands trembled. “That fool Iris Hewitt thinks it’s some dead Indian, but we know better. Don’t we?”

  When no one answered, Nettie’s voice rose in anger. “Don’t we?”

  Ellen felt her stomach knot in fear. She put her mouth next to Thelma’s ear. “Go next door. Call the police. Tell them Nettie Vine has a gun.”

  Thelma nodded, turned, and ran along the grassy edge of the driveway toward the street.

  Nettie shouted again. Ellen jerked at the sound. Through the screen door, she saw Nettie pointing the gun at Martha and then panning it back to Agatha and Ivy. Ellen looked around frantically for some sort of weapon. She couldn’t wait for the police.

  The tire iron! Hadn’t Thelma already gotten it out of the trunk and put it on the front seat? Ellen sprinted to the car and leaned through the open window. The tire iron was there. She almost cried with relief. Gripping the piece of metal with one hand, she dashed back to house and threw open the kitchen door.

  As Nettie turned in surprise, Ellen brought the iron down on the woman’s hands with a smashing blow. The gun went off before hitting the floor and skidding across the room. Splinters of linoleum erupted. Someone screamed; Ellen thought it was Martha.

  Nettie came at Ellen with clawed hands, trying to scratch and tear at her. Ellen dropped the tire iron and threw her arms around Nettie, pinning her arms to her sides. The woman struggled with rage, and Ellen found herself hanging on for dear life. As Nettie bucked to get away, she slipped. They fell to the floor, Ellen on top of the writhing Nettie.

  “She won’t stop fighting!” Ellen shouted breathlessly.

  “This’ll quiet her.” Martha brought a can of cling peaches down on Nettie’s head. There was a groan, a trickle of blood at the scalp, and Nettie lay still.

  “You’ve killed her!” Ivy hurried over, hands to her face in horror.

  “No, listen to her groan. At least that got her still.” Martha patted the can and placed it on the counter.

  Ellen rolled off the woman, breathing hard. She gripped the edge of the kitchen table to pull herself to her feet.

  Ellen heard Ivy’s voice, and then Agatha’s, calling out to ask if she was hurt. Ellen shook her head. She was shaky, but the only visible signs of her tussle with the woman were a few scratches along one arm.

  Ellen stared down at Nettie. “We can’t leave her there. Martha, help me get her into a chair.”

  Ellen pulled a chair away from the table. Nettie groaned again as Martha lifted her onto the chair like a sack of flour. The delicate fabric of Nettie’s summer dress was torn at the sleeves. Her braided crown of hair hung loose from its pins, falling limply over one ear. With great efficiency, Martha took off her apron and wrapped it across Nettie’s torso, tightly tying the apron strings around the back of the chair.

  “There,” said Martha, brushing her hands together. “She can’t fall out of the chair and break her fool neck, and she can’t do more fighting when she comes to. Do you think we ought to tie her feet, too?”

  The other women stared at the otherwise shy cook with surprise and some admiration. Ellen began to giggle. She realized she sounded slightly hysterical. She clamped a hand over her mouth and looked around. Ivy wet a dish towel
and handed it to Ellen with instructions to clean the scratches on her arm. Martha was sent to Agatha’s medicine cabinet for a bottle of iodine. Meanwhile, Ivy used another towel to wipe away the blood along Nettie’s scalp.

  From outside came the wail of a police siren. “Now this is what we have to do.” Agatha pounded the table with her cane, taking charge. “Sounds like the sheriff is almost to our door.”

  Ellen pushed back a strand of hair. “Thelma ran next door to call the police.”

  “Well, I guess that can’t be helped,” sighed Ivy. She moved away from Nettie and picked up the gun, where it lay against a baseboard. Holding it gingerly with two fingers she carried it to the counter and placed it in the sink.

  Agatha again rapped the cane. “Martha, please call Dr. Fox. Tell him this is an emergency, and, if he’s not here within five minutes, he won’t see one cent of my money for that new hospital wing. Then call my son and tell him what happened.”

  Just as Martha hastened to the phone in the hall, Thelma pushed through the kitchen door. “Sheriff Logan just pulled up.” She stopped short and gasped at the sight of Nettie Vine hog-tied to the chair.

  “Tell the sheriff we’re fine and to come on back,” Agatha commanded. She glanced at Ivy. “Things will be fine. Don’t worry.”

  Thelma went outside, and the women heard her calling to the sheriff. Then he was there, stepping into the kitchen. Standing over six feet and strongly built, he blocked the door. Ellen had only a glimpse of Bill Snyder hovering outside. There was no sign of Thelma.