Lightly stroking the grain of the leather with my fingers, I notice a frail silver chain hanging out one side of the box, and I open the lid. Gorgeous earrings, cuffs, and cocktail rings, many using colorful semi-precious stones in their design fill the box. But it’s a beat-up, tarnished silver locket attached to that thin chain that draws my attention, and I carefully lift it out, trying not to disturb the other jewelry.
I study the swirling design on the front. Flipping it over, I read
To MTG, with love, FEB
…or is it FLB? Hard to tell, because the letters are scratched and difficult to read. I run my fingernail down the side of the locket and open it to find a small cluster of dark hair inside. But then I hear the front door slam, and I snap the locket shut.
Suddenly voices echo from below, and I quickly drop the locket into the box and drape the chain over its side, hoping this is the same way that I found it. I put the box back in its place, quietly shut the drawer, remove my glasses and leave.
I come down the stairs and identify the voices of my niece, nephew, and my nephew’s wife, who are all in the kitchen. Heading through the door, I greet them cheerfully. “Now what have you three been doing all afternoon?”
Chapter Nine
“So I talked to a friend I did a favor for a while back. She’s a social worker in Stroudsburg, Pennsylvania,” Will Benson says. He and I have made it official—he now works for me as a private investigator, though I haven’t yet told Laura, my niece. I think it best to keep this secret for the time being. That way if Frank finds out, Laura won’t get into trouble for knowing about my misbehavior.
It’s the day following my further snooping among Juliana’s things, and Will texted me to meet him, so we sit in a coffee shop around the corner from the Aikido dojo. “Won’t this social worker get into trouble for sharing information about a juvenile case with you?” I take a bite of my grilled cheese sandwich.
“Look, it’s true those files are sealed,” Will answers me. “But the case is twenty-five years old, and the kids aged out of the system a couple of decades ago. Anyway, you’re interested in what’s happened to them more recently. So my friend called a colleague who’s been a social worker up in Scranton for thirty years.” He sips his coffee. “This woman remembered the gang, looked up a couple of things, and gave us a rundown of what happened to the kids.”
That news excites me. “Are they still around that area?” I ask. I’m thinking about the dead-bird-box delivery and hang-up calls from Scranton and Moosic when Juliana and Frank first arrived at Meadow Farm. I’m trying hard not to think about the van with Pennsylvania plates that ran my brother off the highway.
“Even though shots were fired, mostly by Teresa, nobody was injured. Fortunately.” Will pulls out a notepad. “So the court took mercy and placed all of them in juvenile detention centers. The oldest, Joe Taylor, appears to have turned his life around.”
“How’d he do that?” I ask.
“First, Joe never fired a gun or was even found with one when arrested, so that helped. Plus the juvenile system worked for him, and it also seems he showed remorse and humility,” Will says. “Joe kept his head down and worked hard while in detention up near Scranton. He made good grades and did community service during those years.”
Will flips through the pad, stopping on one page and reading a bit. “Let’s see. Once he was released, he went to community college and then Marywood University in Scranton. He has a criminal justice degree. Pretty amazing.”
“Wow.” I finish my sandwich and take a drink.
“Get a load of this,” Will goes on. “Today Joe Taylor runs a school drug abuse program in Scranton.”
“That’s impressive.” I’m truly surprised, even moved. “But what happened to his little brother, Bobby?”
“That’s a whole different story. Since Bobby Taylor turned eighteen and was released from juvie, he’s been in and out of prison numerous times. Mostly for smalltime stuff—burglaries, passing bad checks, conning money from old people. Until the last one,” says Will. “That was a serious felony charge involving drugs where he beat up a guy so badly he put him in a coma. Plus he had a gun. That landed him a ten-year sentence.”
Will flips through a few more pages of his notes. “His files say he’s a psychopath. There were even rumors years ago that he went after his cousin Theresa a few times—you know, attacked her. But I couldn’t find a record of any charges on that.”
He glances at a page in his pad and drinks his coffee. “So, Bobby was released from prison three months ago, this time in Maryland, although he’s pretty much dropped out of sight. Nobody knows where he is.”
So why is Bobby Taylor calling Juliana Wentworth? My brother’s elegant girlfriend and this smalltime violent crook couldn’t come from two more different worlds. But what if there’s a perfectly sensible explanation, such as… “Will, what happened to Teresa?” I ask.
Will checks his notes. “Her case was more serious, even though she was only thirteen when arrested—it’s because she fired a weapon a number of times at the police during the gang’s crime spree.”
Will turns to another page in his pad and reads further. “Following two years at a detention center, Teresa was placed in a girls’ group home when she was fifteen.” He closes the pad. “But a year later, after repeatedly breaking the home’s strict curfews, she ran away.”
“Ran away?” My curiosity is further aroused. “What happened to her? Where’d she go? Did they bring her back—”
“Hold it!” Will laughs. “Let me finish, Ronnie. The Pennsylvania Juvenile Justice system was never able to find her—”
Wow. “You’re kidding me. She dropped out of sight completely? How could they blow this? Who was in charge of her case?” I hate not having an answer to a mystery like this.
Will throws his hands up. “Time out, Ronnie. I don’t know you except from class, but I’d guess this is a different world from yours. I get the sense from the methodical way you practice Aikido that you like to be in control of things in your life. For a kid like Teresa, a lot in her life was out of her control. So she could’ve easily slipped through the cracks at that point—because she wanted to.”
Will finishes his coffee. “While Teresa was at the group home, it seems she talked a lot about Disney World, how she was going to live there one day.” He waves for the check. “After interviews were conducted with other residents at the home, the thought was that she probably ran away to Florida. But they never tracked her down.”
I shake my head. What a terribly sad story. “She was just a kid, Will. How could they lose her?” I practically spit out lose.
“Calm down, Ronnie,” my private eye buddy says. “Lots of kids run away. Remember, Teresa was sixteen and apparently looked older. So who was going to stop her as she made her way South?”
Will closes his notebook and shrugs. “I’ve gotta be somewhere in twenty minutes. If you’d like, I’ll run up to Scranton in the next couple of days and talk to Joe Taylor. You know, see what I can find out about Teresa.”
“Thanks, Will. But let’s hold off on that for the moment.” I grab the check when the waitress brings it to the table. “I’ve got this one. You go. Get to your appointment.” He tucks the pad in his pocket and leaves.
I wonder what Teresa was up to all those years after she left Scranton. Calling up the image of the dead bird holding the scrap of paper in its beak with the names Teresa & Frankie, I consider the bizarre trio of Teresa, Bobby Taylor, and Juliana. Or was it a foursome with that guy Frankie? OK, Bobby and Teresa were cousins. It’s also clear that Bobby and Juliana have some kind of baffling connection, where he could ruin everything for her, I guess with my brother. But what exactly is Teresa’s relationship with Juliana? Simply friends? Or how about… Nah. That’s just too big a stretch. Or is it?
Whatever, the story has to be a fascinating one, at the very least, and more importantly, would help me further understand Juliana. I might even find out whether
she could be the best or worst thing that’s happened to Frank since Joanie’s death.
~~~~~
I stop by Meadow Farm to drop off a book I think my brother would enjoy reading. That’s my excuse anyway, should anyone ask. My real purpose is to dangle information on Joe Taylor in front of Juliana and gauge her reaction.
I breeze into the foyer ready to call out, when I hear a woman’s voice speaking in low tones. The voice comes from the library, and the speaker is Juliana. I tiptoe closer and stand quietly beside the door, hidden from view.
“…oh, darling, don’t cry. I’ll see you very, very soon.” Her voice is gentle and reassuring. A pause comes as she apparently listens. “Middle school girls can be so mean. Believe me, I remember.”
Then I hear Juliana walk across the room and unlock a French door to the outside. “It sounds as if Tía Connie took care of it,” she says to the person on the other end of the line.
I peek in and see my brother’s girlfriend from the back, outlined against the open French door with the phone to her ear. Then she kisses into the mouthpiece. “Oh, darling, I love you very much, too.” Her voice is surprisingly warm. Who in the world is on the other end?
Juliana continues. “Now please put Tía Connie on the phone.” Who is Tía Connie? “Are you OK, Connie?” she asks. “Shall I send more money?” She listens. “OK. Love you, too.” She clicks off and hangs up the phone.
I wonder if Frank knows who Tía Connie is. I go back to the front door and slam it as if the wind has blown it shut. “Hi! Anybody home?” I call out.
“In the library, Ronnie,” Juliana shouts back.
Walking across to the door of the library, I stick my head in with a big smile. Juliana is sitting on a long white sofa flipping through a magazine. She looks up, cool as a cucumber.
“Hi, Juliana.” Smiling at her, I march over to Frank’s desk. “Found a book that my brother might enjoy.” I place the book on top of his stack of mail and sigh, rubbing my forehead. “I thought when my kids left the nest, I would stop worrying. No such luck. You have kids, Juliana?”
First a long pause as she puts the magazine aside, then, “I have four stepchildren.” She looks at me with curiosity. “Is one of yours giving you a tough time?”
“My youngest. Jess,” I answer honestly. “We’re working on financial responsibility…I remember it being much easier with Tommy and Brooke, but maybe that’s my imagination.” I scribble a quick note to Frank and tuck it inside the book.
“Frank and I love to read, and we’re always trading books. You have any brothers or sisters, Juliana?”
“No, I was an only child.” Her voice is even.
“Oh.” I pause. “I can’t imagine growing up as an only child. Frank, Peter, and I, well, we always had each other’s back. Frank and I still do.”
“When you’re an only child, you learn to look out for yourself.” Juliana looks neither sad nor happy, but merely neutral.
“How about cousins?” I then ask. “They can be like siblings.”
“No, no close cousins.” She volunteers nothing more.
The silence is deafening, and I’m eager to fill it. “So, how’s your day going?”
“Great. Frank will be back in about…” She looks at her watch. “…twenty minutes. He’s taking me to visit a farm that he says makes the most delicious cheeses.”
I like that place. “Oh, that’s Valley Farm Creamery. I only call them for special occasions, or I’d be eating their cheeses nonstop. You’ll have a great time.” I straighten some books on a shelf. “I also have a fun outing on the agenda.”
Juliana smiles politely. “Where are you going, Ronnie?”
“Well, I’m on the board of a foundation that funds programs for kids. I just found out about one that I want to check out over in Pennsylvania.” I sit on the corner of Frank’s desk where I can look directly at Juliana to watch for a reaction. “So it’s a little further than driving to the creamery.”
“How interesting.” Juliana’s eyes say tell me more. She’s giving me her full attention, the same way I watched her listen to our guests at cocktails the other night. “What do they do?”
“It’s supposed to be a successful school drug prevention program up in Scranton, of all places.” I give her my version of her laser-beam gaze. “And what’s really interesting is that the guy who created it had a police record as a teenager. He used to be in a gang, was arrested, then placed in juvenile detention.”
I watch Juliana’s face carefully for any sign of recognition. Okay then, the moment of truth. “The man’s name is Joe Taylor. He really turned his life around, and now he helps other young people do the same.”
Nothing. I see no flicker of reaction when I say the name. Whatever Juliana may know, she gives nothing away. “What an amazing story, Ronnie. How exciting to go meet someone like that.”
She’s polite in a reserved way, but I don’t give up. “If Frank deserts you for a conference call or unexpected meeting, would you like to come along? I’m probably going tomorrow and I’d love some company,” I say. “It’d be fun.”
“Thanks, Ronnie, but Frank says he wants to take me into the city tomorrow.” She looks at her watch and suddenly gets up from the sofa. “He should be back any moment. I need to run upstairs now and get ready. Please excuse me.”
She heads for the door but stops before leaving the room, turning back to me with that enigmatic smile. “Thanks for the invitation, though, Ronnie. Some other time.” She leaves.
She’s smooth. She’s very smooth. Yep, Frank’s got himself a real woman of mystery.
Chapter Ten
A funny thing happens when I pull off the highway halfway to Scranton. While waiting in line for a cup of coffee, I look through the window by the cashier and notice a nondescript Toyota idling off to the side. I wouldn’t give it a second thought except this particular vehicle has a good-sized dent on the passenger-side front fender, very much like the dent in the nondescript Toyota at Meadow Farm.
I can’t read the numbers on the license—too far away—but the car has New Jersey plates. Hard to see who’s sitting behind the wheel. As I pull out my distance glasses to get a better look, the car shifts into drive, and all I see is the blur of a baseball cap and big sunglasses going by before the Toyota darts back onto the highway.
Wait a minute. Couldn’t be. At any rate, isn’t Juliana on her way to New York with Frank today? Strange.
Anyway, when I made the appointment with Joe Taylor soon after talking to Will, I told him I’d heard all about his successful drug abuse prevention program. And since I planned to be in the area, would he have time to tell me more about it? Of course I’m really interested in finding out what’s become of the Scranton Gang.
Truthfully, some friends do have a small family foundation in New Jersey, and I’m on the board. Joe Taylor’s program does actually fit the funding mission of this foundation. So he and I spend a half-hour discussing the challenges his nonprofit faces.
“Joe, this is all very intriguing,” I say. “I’ll bring it to my fellow board members at our next meeting.” I leaf through the contents of a folder Joe has given me. “We’ll see if we can be helpful and get back to you shortly for an official funding request.” I stop when I get to his biography and read through it quickly.
“Thank you, Mrs. Lake,” Joe then says. “I appreciate your interest and the possibility of the foundation supporting our work. With the economy so tough, outside funding dropped thirty percent last year, and, to be honest, we’re scrambling.”
“Please call me Ronnie,” I say. “And I hope it’s all right if I call you Joe?” He nods yes and pushes his thinning black hair off his high forehead. I refer to his bio page. “Your personal story is compelling, and I’m sure a big reason why you’ve been successful.” Joe smiles modestly, leaning back in his chair and stretching out his khaki-clad legs.
I flip through other pages in the folder. “Before coming here for this appointment, I researched
both your program and you.” He looks at me curiously. “I even read up on the Scranton Gang.”
Joe’s dark, almost black, eyes become more guarded. “That’s so far back. How’d you—”
“No, please, Joe. The way you turned your life around is an inspiration. And from what I’ve been able to learn, your brother, well, his life went in the opposite direction.” I lean back in my chair too. “What I want to know is how does one brother make his life work so well, while the other one blows it?”
Joe gives me a long, hard look. “Are you really here to consider funding my program? How’d you even hear about the Scranton Gang?”
“It’s not so difficult to find out these things,” I say, sidestepping the fact that it also helps to have a connected P.I. working for you. “I’m definitely here to learn about you and your program so the foundation can consider a grant.”
His expression is now one of suspicion. “Is something else going on that I should know about?” He stands up. “I think we ought to wrap up this meeting.” He walks to the door.
“Please, Joe, wait.” Damn. Did I blow it, again, like at the Moosic Motel with the desk clerk? Am I coming on too strong, too direct? In a panic, I dive back in. “Joe, I mean no harm. You worked hard to turn your life around and have succeeded brilliantly in doing so. You’re an inspiration. Please, I mean that sincerely.”
He walks back to his desk. “Thank you.”
But I can’t leave it alone. “Why was it the opposite for your brother?”
Joe stares at me, sits down, and, I guess, makes a decision to play ball. “I believe in the power of one-to-one mentoring. In my case, a teacher early on took an interest and helped set me on the right path.” He shakes his head. “Bobby never had that important advantage. Plus he didn’t want to work very hard. I tried over and over to talk to him, but he never really wanted my help. So his troubles continued.”
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