Spare Change

by Bette Lee Crosby

  “Hmm.” Canasta hesitated a moment then said, “Most women’s got a built-in ability for this, but if you got doubts, practice up by looking in your Pastor’s eye. A man of God has most always got the light.”

  “Pastor?”

  “Pastor, Preacher, Minister, whatever.” Canasta waited for a bit, then hearing no response, asked, “You been going to Sunday services, ain’t you?”

  “No,” Olivia answered hesitantly. “I’ve had intentions of…”

  “Well, no wonder you got all these troubles. Land sakes, Sugar, if you ain’t on speaking terms with the Lord, what right you got to ask Him to help out?”

  Olivia could see the merit in such thinking. It was the same as having a neighbor who snubs you, walks by week after week pretending you don’t exist, acts like you’re a person they have no cause to bother with; then one day they knock on your door looking to borrow a shaker of salt. She’d never intended to snub God, in fact, she’d said a number of prayers in the past two days—most were requests for Him to send help. She was by no means Godless, it was simply that she’d been so wound up in the everyday problems of her life, she’d been too busy to pay Him a call. “I suppose you’re right,” she answered solemnly, “I’ve no right to expect an answer to my prayers, when…”

  “I never said, He wouldn’t help out; but I’m fairly certain that church-going people get shuffled to the front of the line when He’s passing out favors.”

  “Well then, I’m just plain out of luck.”

  “No you ain’t,” Canasta said. “But quick as you can, get yourself to services and sit right up front, in the first pew. When the choir gets to singing you and that boy sing out loud as you can, so the Lord’s certain to take notice.”

  “You really think such a thing would work?”

  “Sugar, I’d swear to it.”

  “Let’s see,” Olivia mumbled, thinking out loud, “there’s a Methodist Church on the corner, and a block down there’s a Baptist, then over on Grant Street, a Catholic Church…they’re all reasonably close by; which one do you think He’s more likely to listen to?”

  Canasta laughed out loud. “It don’t make a bean of difference,” she finally said, “the Lord listens in all those places. They’re just different slices of the same pie.”

  Fortunately, the next three days were rather uneventful. Ethan rode his new bicycle back and forth to school; then came home and ran errands for the neighbors. At night he did his homework with no argument and then worked on piecing the Baltimore Orioles jigsaw puzzle back together. Olivia kept a close eye on him at all times. She had his arrival home from school timed to the minute and usually found some reason or another to be standing in the lobby or outside on the walkway to greet him. Wherever he went—whether it was the store, the playground, or circling the block on his bike—she stood at the window and watched. A fistful of fear had taken hold of her heart—it was the fear of Cobb grabbing the boy if she lost sight of him for even a moment.

  On Sunday morning, she woke Ethan early. “You’ve got to dress for church,” she said and handed him the brand new suit she’d bought. Olivia was already dressed with white gloves and a yellow felt hat.

  “But,” Ethan moaned, rubbing sleep from his eyes, “I ain’t had no breakfast.”

  “We’ll go to the Pancake Palace, after we’ve finished praying,” she answered.

  Taking no chances, Olivia first took him to the eight o’clock mass at the Catholic Church, where, because they were a bit late, they had to sit five rows back. With so much being said in Latin, and not knowing exactly when to kneel, stand or sit, she lost track of what was happening a few times, but once the hymnal was opened, not only the Lord God but also half of Wyattsville could hear her voice. Afterwards they went to the ten o’clock service at the Baptist church, where they were able to get a seat smack in the center of the first pew. Lastly, they hurried over to the Methodist Church, and although they arrived just moments before the eleven o’clock service started, they were able to sit right up front. Olivia sang louder than any other member of the congregation and Ethan, with a look of pure pleasure on his face, matched her note for note. By the time they arrived at the Pancake Palace, they’d worked up such an appetite that both of them ordered the fat boy special—ten pancakes, stacked alongside a pile of sausages, ham and bacon.

  “You sure you want the special?” the waitress asked Ethan, “…it’s an awful lot of food for a little fella like you.”

  “I’m sure, ma’am,” he answered, “I been singing real loud!”

  That afternoon Olivia felt somewhat less worried about Ethan and permitted him to take Dog over to the park, which was a full five blocks away. When started out the door, she warned him, “Don’t stay longer than an hour and be real careful.” Later that afternoon, he was also permitted to ride his bicycle over to Liggett’s Drug Store so he could fetch a bottle of cough medicine for Walter Krause.

  By Monday morning a relative peacefulness had settled over the Doyle household. Olivia, feeling considerably less threatened, now that she had the Lord on her side, hummed What a Friend We Have in Jesus as the milk cascaded over Ethan Allen’s cereal. As she spread peanut butter on bread she switched over to Onward Christian Soldiers and as she wrapped the sandwiches and put them in his lunchbox she finished up with a chorus of Bringing in the Sheaves.

  “You sure you ain’t overdoing it?” Ethan asked.

  “There’s no such thing as overdoing your service to the Lord,” she answered, then kissed his cheek and sent him off to school. As soon as he was out the door, Olivia began work on the project she was planning as a surprise for the boy. One by one, she carted the dining room chairs down to the basement storage room, then she turned the dining room table on its side and unscrewed the legs. Seeing how it was too large for one person to lift, she simply shoved it against the living room wall and continued on. She was halfway through giving the walls a coat of royal blue paint, when the doorbell rang. If she hadn’t been preoccupied with fixing a bedroom of his own for Ethan Allen, she might have been more on guard; she probably would have pressed her eye to the peek hole, seen who it was, then refused to open the door. But, with figuring the Lord had already taken care of the problem, and having a head filled with thoughts of what color bedspread to buy the boy, she flung the door wide open without a moment’s hesitation.

  “Good morning,” Mahoney said with a smile.

  “You?” Olivia gasped in astonishment. “What are you doing here?” She glanced over at the wall clock—twelve-fifteen; luckily she had three hours till Ethan was due home. Before Mahoney had time to answer her question, Olivia said, “He’s not here. Your obnoxious friend frightened the child into running away. God only knows what…”

  “Cobb? I can see why the boy would be frightened by him; I’m glad to say he’s not working this case anymore. Anyway, what’s this about Ethan Allen running off?”

  With her guard now on full alert, Olivia answered, “Don’t even think about asking where he went, because I assure you I don’t know.”

  “Actually, I was hoping to maybe have a word with you.”

  Olivia would have preferred not to; she would have preferred to go back to her painting, or better still to have never even answered the door—but she knew if she refused the detective would get suspicious. If he got the impression that she was hiding Ethan Allen, he’d keep coming back and eventually he’d find what he was looking for so it was probably better to deal with the issue now. After a few moments of hesitation, she stepped to the side and said, “Okay, you can come in. But,” she added, “I’m in the middle of redecorating, so you’ll have to make it quick.”

  “I apologize, for the way Officer Cobb acted last time we were here,” Mahoney said as he followed her into the living room. “Given the way he acted, I don’t blame you for slamming the door in our faces. A man who behaves like Cobb has it coming.”

  “Isn’t that the God-honest truth,” Olivia added. She motioned toward the sofa and sugge
sted Mahoney have a seat; then she sat in the club chair on the far side of the room. “Ethan Allen was scared to death of the man,” she said, “and I know that’s the reason the boy ran off.” Olivia wanted to act weepy to add a measure of conviction to her story but, with being so concerned about time, the most she could manage was fidgety.

  “The poor kid—off on his own again,” Mahoney shook his head in a way that seemed sincere, “with all he’s been through…I was rather hoping he’d settle in and stay here with you. Anybody can tell you’re the sort of grandma who’d watch out for the boy and see that he’s taken care of.”

  “How could he stay here, with you policemen hounding him?”

  “Me?” Mahoney registered a look of surprise. “Not me. I had no intention of questioning him. If the lad doesn’t want to tell what happened that night, then so be it.” Mahoney had made detective long before most patrolmen, simply because he put people at ease and threw them off guard so they’d willingly tell things no one else could beat out of them.

  “Oh sure, that’s what you say, but Officer Cobb—”

  “He won’t be coming around, he’s off the case.”

  “Altogether?”

  Mahoney nodded. “He’s on report. The captain—”

  “Excuse my manners,” Olivia interrupted, “I’ve forgotten to ask if you might like a cup of coffee or a cold glass of tea?”

  “Umm, coffee sounds real good.”

  When Olivia returned from the kitchen with two cups of coffee she sat on the sofa alongside Mahoney. From across the room she’d thought she’d seen a speck of sparkle shinning in his right eye and wanted to check it out. She focused on that right eye and leaned forward into his face, “So,” she said, her nose barely inches from his, “if you’re not looking to question Ethan Allen, why did you come here?”

  “Primarily to apologize; but, I also wanted to let you and Ethan know that I’m gonna continue working the case. I’ll do whatever I can do to find the person responsible for the murder of his mama and daddy.”

  “That’s it? You didn’t come to arrest the boy, take him back for questioning?”

  “I’d never do such a thing!” Mahoney said with an air of indignation.

  Olivia leaned in a hair closer and became almost certain, there was indeed a sparkle in his right eye. “Never?” she asked.

  “Of course not.” With Olivia leaning into his face as she was, Jack Mahoney had to ask, “Is something wrong?”

  “No,” she answered, moving back. “I was just wondering if you go to church?”

  “Yes. My whole family does. We belong to the Methodist Church in Back Bay.”

  Now she was certain, the light was there. “What if,” she asked giving him one last test, “the child told you that he saw the murder and the person responsible for the killing was your daddy—what then? Would you believe Ethan Allen or jump to the conclusion he was lying?”

  Mahoney chuckled, “My folks passed on a good number of years ago, but regardless of who the boy said was to blame for the killing, I’d be duty bound to investigate the matter. I’m sworn to uphold the law and there’s no allowance for friends or family.”

  “Of course,” Olivia sighed, “I was speaking of a purely hypothetical situation, because as I’ve already told you, the boy’s gone. But,” she added, “if he were to come back and if he decided to talk to you…”

  “I’ll leave you my telephone number,” Mahoney said, “then if he does come back and wants to help find the killer, you can give me a call.”

  “You’re not coming back unless I call?”

  “No reason to,” Mahoney said; then he thanked Olivia for her time and left.

  Olivia smiled, without a smidgen of doubt she knew, he had the light.

  When Ethan returned home from school, Olivia said, “I’ve got two surprises for you.” First she led him into what that morning had been the dining room and was now a bedroom, “This is your room,” she said proudly. “I had planned on having it finished by the time you got home, but I had a bit of an interruption this afternoon.” She then told him about her conversation with Mahoney. “He’s a well-intentioned, church-going Christian,” she said, “and I’m certain he’d do right by us. He’s definitely got the light.”

  “I don’t know,” Ethan Allen sighed, a look of worry tugging at the corners of his mouth, “…suppose he says one thing and does another? Suppose it’s just a trick?”

  “I believe he’s a man who can be trusted, but you’ll have to be the one to decide whether or not you want to tell him the truth of what happened.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because,” Olivia answered, “the truth belongs to you. It’s yours to hide away in your head, or let loose so he can arrest the man responsible for your daddy’s death.”

  “But…he said he wasn’t coming back if we didn’t call him. Couldn’t we just—”

  “Sure, we could hide out here and say nothing; but then Detective Mahoney might never find out Scooter Cobb was the one who killed your daddy. Figuring he could get away with murder any old time he wanted to, Scooter might kill some other child’s mama or daddy, and after that who knows where it would stop.”

  “Jeez,” Ethan moaned, “you gotta put it that way?” After a considerable amount of back and forth conversation he reluctantly agreed to talk to Jack Mahoney. “But,” he said, ‘I gotta do it my way. I ain’t telling him it was Scooter ‘til I see the light, okay?”

  “Okay,” Olivia answered.

  Ethan Allen

  I know Grandma Olivia means well, but I got serious concerns about this light in the eye business. If Scooter’s policeman son would send me off to reform school for lying, what’s he gonna do if I claim his daddy’s the one what did the killing?

  I seen the damage those Cobbs can do and believe you me, I ain’t none too anxious to tangle with either of them. Grandma Olivia says— I call her Grandma Olivia now ‘cause she said that’s what I’m supposed to call her—anyway, she says she ain’t afraid. She says truth and honesty is on our side; maybe so, but size and meanness is sure on their side.

  Other than nagging me for using cuss words, Grandma Olivia’s nice. She treats me good, like I was her true-born grandkid, and she’s always going on about how I remind her of my handsome Grandpa. She says I got his blue eyes and the cut of his chin. I gotta laugh when she says that, ‘cause in the picture I seen, he’s an old man and his chin’s hiding behind a bunch of whiskers.

  Truth be Told

  In the fall of the year, when a carpet of leaves covered the ground and tree pollen was thick in the air, Jack Mahoney’s allergies ran rampant. He swallowed down pills and sniffed inhalants, but still his eyes watered constantly. Sometimes he appeared almost glassy eyed, and at other times you could believe you were looking into a still water pond reflecting the sunlight. When he finally began sneezing with every other breath, he called in sick and did not return to the station house for five days. On Monday, there was a message from Olivia Doyle waiting for him; all it said was— please call, but he knew what it meant.

  Jack called Olivia and told her he would be right over.

  “No,” she answered, “I’d rather you wait until tomorrow afternoon; be here at three o’clock.”

  Although preferring sooner to later, Jack agreed.

  When Ethan arrived home from school on Monday afternoon, Olivia told him Detective Mahoney would be there the following day and they set about making their plans. First off, they had to know for certain that Mahoney came alone, that Officer Cobb was not waiting outside in the car, or lurking in the dark of the stairwell. Secondly, they had to be absolutely positive there was no chance Ethan might be taken back to the Eastern Shore, and lastly, the boy had to see the light in Mahoney’s eyes for himself—if there was no light, there’d be no telling what he’d seen.

  Once Ethan and Olivia decided what they would tell and under what circumstances it would be told, Olivia began calling the neighbors for help. Fred McGinty volunteered f
or the curbside watch, Sam Bowman to patrol the staircase, Clara and Barbara Conklin as sofa-sitting witnesses and Seth Porter planned to hide in the bedroom, his shotgun ready, in the event anybody tried strong-arm tactics. When the doorbell rang at three o’clock Tuesday afternoon, all the pieces were in place.

  When Olivia opened the door, Jack Mahoney said; “Afternoon, Missus Doyle.”

  She took one look at those eyes, glittery as a springtime river, and smiled. “Come in,” she said pleasantly and motioned him into the living room. After Olivia had introduced Clara and Barbara, she sauntered over to the window and looked down at Fred. He gave the all clear signal, waving his right hand. Mahoney had been alone in the car. She spent the next five minutes chattering on about nothing of consequence, waiting until she heard the three loud clunks echo up the radiator pipe. All clear; no one was hiding in the stairwell. “So,” she said, abruptly changing the subject, “I suppose we should get Ethan Allen out here.”

  In response to her call, the boy came from the bedroom. He walked with slow shuffling footsteps, his hands jammed deep into his pockets and his head bent toward the floor. “Afternoon, Detective Mahoney,” he said without raising his eyes.

  Seeing the dread pitched over the boy like a pup tent, Mahoney squatted down until they were face-to-face. “Son,” he said, “you’ve no need to be afraid of me.”

  Ethan looked into the man’s river water eyes.

  “I’m on your side,” Mahoney said in a most convincing manner. “The only thing I really want—is to see the person responsible for killing your mama and daddy brought to justice.”

  “You ain’t gonna try to take me back to Missus Cobb?”

  “Absolutely not! The best place for you is right here with your Grandma.”

  Ethan looked square into Mahoney’s eyes and saw the light—it was bright as the noonday sun shimmering on a still water pond. If such a thing was proof enough for Grandma, then it was proof enough for him. “I wasn’t sleeping,” he said, “I seen it all.”