by Larry Karp
Again, Brun shook his head. “I went and talked about it with one of my friends, a guy who writes fiction stories. We came up with a way for me to get out of town real quiet. I guess maybe that wasn’t the smartest thing to do.”
Luella slapped her hands against her thighs. “‘A guy who writes fiction stories.’ The two of you together must have been something to hear. Oh, Brun, I lied to that policeman for you! Told him you weren’t here.”
Ireland cleared his throat. “What’s done is done. Brun, do you want to go to the police and turn yourself in?”
And let you get the journal? Brun thought. “No, I come this far and I ain’t gonna miss the ceremony.”
“All right, then. Let’s try to figure a way out of this mess. The five thousand dollars Alan paid Lottie Joplin for the journal was, uh, stolen from the father of a friend of his in New Jersey, and it cost one of the servants in the house his job. The man followed Alan here, and tried to get the journal away from him, so he could give it back to Mrs. Joplin in return for the money. I’ve managed to keep him out of the way for the time being, but we’re having problems with some other people who also want to get their hands on the journal.”
“Otto Klein and Jerry Barton,” Luella said. “I can’t for the life of me understand why they’d be interested.”
“They found out what Alan paid,” said Ireland. “Five thousand dollars must have looked mighty good to them. They put him up at Kleins’ overnight, then Barton drove him out into the woods yesterday, and got rough with him. It was good luck that all the interest in the journal had made him uneasy, and during the night, he hid it in Klein’s house. He managed to get away from Barton, and came to my place, but when we went to Klein’s, the journal wasn’t where he’d left it. I’ve got to think Klein found it.”
Luella made a face. “We won’t get far talking to Klein, but I wonder whether Eileen could tell us anything at this point.” She glanced at her wrist. “It’s just past eleven-thirty. Why don’t I go down to the school and catch Eileen during lunch hour. We don’t need to take a committee, and get people staring at us, wondering what we’re up to. You can wait for me here.”
“I don’t know,” said Ireland. “I’m thinking when the police don’t find Brun at the Milner, they could decide to come back and talk to you some more, and this time, they might come inside. Maybe when you leave, we should too. We can go to my house, and you could come up there after you’re through. If you wouldn’t mind.”
“Why should I mind?”
Ireland covered his mouth, coughed, then turned to Brun. “Best you wait a little after the rest of us leave, then go out the back door. Just in case that cop’s waiting around out front.”
“Sure. Least I can do.”
***
Miss Judith Allison, receptionist at the Milton Oil Company, studied the man who’d swept through the door and demanded to see Mr. Rosenthal. He was not local, not with that expensive suit and tie, and that accent to his voice. With his bushy eyebrows nearly meeting in the middle, the funny little island of hair front and center, and neatly-trimmed Van Dyke beard, Miss Allison thought if his ears were just a little pointy, he’d be the perfect image of a New York devil. But she was not about to let him intimidate her. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “Mr. Rosenthal is not in the office today. He’s busy all day, elsewhere. Perhaps you’d like to make an appointment for tomorrow.” She gave him her most accommodating smile.
“Miss…” He glanced down to the name plate on the front edge of the desk. “Allison! This time yesterday, I was in New York City. I’ve taken a flight and a train to get here today, and it’s today, not tomorrow, I need to see Mr. Rosenthal.”
“I am sorry, sir. Mr. Rosenthal is preparing for a ceremony this evening. He’s in charge of the whole program.”
Miss Allison fought to hold her ground as Blesh leaned across the desk, but in the end, she pulled back into her chair. “I know about the program.” Blesh’s voice sounded as if he had it on a leash, and was struggling to hold onto his end. “And that is why I’m out here. Now, kindly tell me where Mr. Rosenthal is, and I will take matters from there.”
Miss Allison wondered whether Mr. Rosenthal would be annoyed with her for giving out the information, but decided to take her chances. “He’s at the Hubbard High School,” she said. “That’s where they’re having the ceremony. You go over the railroad tracks on Ohio Street, then turn left onto Jefferson, and right at Osage. The high school’s just a block and a half up from there.”
Blesh smiled. “Thank you, Miss Allison.”
***
Abe Rosenthal wondered whether he was ever going to be left in peace to put the final touches on the evening’s program. “I’m glad to meet you, Mr. Blesh,” he said. “I’ve heard so much about your book.”
But you haven’t read it, Blesh thought.
“One of these days, I will have to take some time and read it.”
Blesh’s smile required a major effort. “I hope you’ll enjoy it. I also hope you can give me some information. There’s a man from California, Mr. Sanford Brunson Campbell, an old piano player. I need to know what part he’s going to play in this evening’s program.”
Rosenthal shook his head. “None. He was here a while ago, asking to play piano and give a talk, but I told him this is a local affair, and that the program is already printed. I told him the mayor could introduce him to the crowd, and he could stand and receive acknowledgement. If you’d like, we can do the same for you.”
Blesh took a moment to compose himself. “That won’t be necessary. Why I’m here…” He glanced toward Miss Fox and Mrs. Ross, then returned his attention to Rosenthal. “Well, it’s a long story, and I don’t imagine you want to take the time to hear it. An important document was stolen from Scott Joplin’s widow a few days ago. I have reason to believe it’s here in Sedalia, and further, that Mr. Campbell might have it. The thief told Mrs. Joplin that Mr. Campbell was going to present it at the ceremony.”
Rosenthal raised a finger. “I think you’re on the right track. Campbell did mention that he wanted to show off some journal of Joplin’s.”
“That’s it!” Blesh pounded a fist into his open palm. “Lord, that man is a loose cannon.”
“But I told him we simply could not accommodate him.”
“He must be going to try something else, then.” Blesh looked wildly around the room. “Mr. Rosenthal, can you tell me where I might find him? I need to get this matter sorted out as quickly as possible.”
Rosenthal whistled softly. “He was here with Mrs. Luella Rohrbaugh. She seemed to be serving as his guide. But I don’t know—”
“I can give you directions to Mrs. Rohrbaugh’s home.”
The men turned to Miss Fox. Blesh broke into a broad, open smile. “I’d appreciate that.”
***
By mid-afternoon, dishes from lunch still covered the scarred wooden table in Tom Ireland’s kitchen. In the living room beyond, Ireland, Brun, and old Isaac slouched on the sofa. Luella sat primly in a faded horsehide armchair. Alan pulled a straight-backed chair as far from Slim as space permitted; the big man couldn’t seem to stop shooting eye-daggers at the boy. Green sat in front of the window, between Slim and Alan, whittling at a stick.
“We’re getting nowhere fast,” Ireland said. “Eileen Klein couldn’t tell Mrs. Rohrbaugh anything. And the two of you found nothing interesting at Barton’s? Are you sure? Nothing at all?”
Slim and Green shook their heads. “We went through the place, room by room,” Green said. “Not a sign of the journal or anything else. Just that the cellar door was stove in. Almost like somebody wanted to make it easy for us.”
Ireland shrugged. “Who knows? I guess all we can do is watch for Klein at the ceremony tonight. See if he’s got the journal on him.”
Green hit the spittoon dead-on. “I just hate sittin’ here doin’ nothing in the meanwhile.”
Alan eyed the piano in the
far corner of the living room, a lovely polished-mahogany Kimball upright. “Mr. Campbell…?”
Brun sat up. “What say?”
“While we’re just sitting here doing nothing, you could give me a piano lesson.”
Ireland laughed out loud. The kid had made away with Scott Joplin’s journal, come out to Missouri on a train, had the journal stolen off him, damn near got himself killed, and all he could think of was getting a piano lesson.
Brun almost leaped to his feet. “Sure, kid, why not?” He set his fedora at a rakish angle, then motioned Alan to the piano bench. The boy was there instantly. Brun sat beside him, raised his hands. “Now. This’s the way Scott Joplin taught me to play.” He lowered his hands, struck the keys.
My God, Ireland thought. Man just dropped thirty years.
***
Rudi Blesh pushed the doorbell at the little house on East Third, but no one answered. A second and a third try were no more productive. He pounded at the door. “Mrs. Rohrbaugh,” he called. “Mrs. Rohrbaugh!”
A window came up in the house to the right, then a woman stuck out a head bristling with pink curlers. “She ain’t home, Mister,” a shrill shout. “Went off just a little while ago.”
“Damn,” Blesh muttered, and gave the porch railing a token jab of resigned disgust. He called a thank-you to the woman, then marched off the porch and down to the street. Go get a sandwich and a drink, he thought. Just have to keep my eyes open at that ceremony and hope I get lucky.
***
One by one, the Klansmen ducked through the smashed cellar door into Barton’s basement. Johnny Farnsworth came in last. He strolled directly to the bar, but before he could pick up a bottle, Klein called, “Hey, Johnny, no booze, remember?”
Farnsworth sagged, then turned and looked around the room. “Yeah, okay. Jerry still ain’t here, huh?”
“No.” One short word from Clay Clayton, pure irritation. “We was startin’ to get worried maybe you was gonna crap out on us too.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry about me. You wasn’t bothered last night when I set up the charge, slick as snot. Wasn’t for me, there wouldn’t be none of us havin’ fun tonight.”
Klein stepped forward. “Come on, boys, let’s cool it off, okay? We’re gonna make us some history tonight. Our kids and grandkids’re gonna read about us in newspapers and history books. Course, they won’t know it’s us, but still.”
“I just can’t figure it with Jerry,” Rafe Anderson said. “It ain’t like him at all.”
“He was pretty sore about Curd,” said Klein. “Probably took him and his whole family off someplace real quiet.”
Anderson shook his head. “Nah, it’s been way too long. You think maybe Curd got him on the wrong end of a razor?”
“Who the hell knows?” Klein growled. “Tomorrow, we can go out lookin’, an’ if it’s Curd we find, we know how to get him to tell us what happened. But let’s first take care of tonight. It’s workin’ out even better’n I was thinkin’ yesterday. Tuesday nights, Rowena’s got her Ladies Auxiliary meetings, so she’ll be there from before suppertime till about eight-thirty. I’ll tell Eileen I’m gonna be havin’ an important meeting myself, in the basement, then go down there and out the cellar door, and meet you guys at the shack behind the school. Eileen won’t even think about me or the basement, ‘cause tonight’s Milton Berle, and you couldn’t get her off the TV with a prybar. By the time Berle’s over, we’ll all of us be back, and when Rowena gets home, she’ll come down an’ find us playin’ poker. Women oughta be good for something, huh?”
Luther Cartwright laughed. “They are good for something, but it don’t hurt if they’re good for something else now and then.”
Everybody laughed. The disagreeable mood from the beginning of the meeting vanished in a cloud of good fellowship.
***
A little past six, twilight of a cloudy day. Brun stood up from the piano bench and stretched. He patted Alan on the back. “That oughta hold you for a while.”
Alan nodded vigorously. “I hope I can remember it all.”
“You will,” Isaac piped from across the room. “Boys your age is sponges.”
Luella walked over to Brun, hesitated, then rested a hand on his arm. “I don’t think he’ll forget that lesson the rest of his life. Did you see his face while you were teaching him those tricks?”
He almost said, Damn, they weren’t tricks, but swallowed the words.
Alan filled the breach. “Did I look funny?”
Luella smiled. “Not at all.”
“Well, I felt sort of funny,” Brun said. “Like I was standin’ on the wrong side of a fence.”
“No,” Luella said. “You weren’t.” She looked at her watch. “When I talked to Eileen earlier, she said that after all she’s heard about the ceremony, she wants to go to it. I told her I’d pick her up before her father gets home from work, and we’d stop for a bite of supper first. Suppose we meet you at the school at a quarter past seven?”
Mixed chorus of “Right” and “Yeah.”
As Luella walked out and closed the door, Ireland jiggled a finger toward the floor at Green’s feet. “Lonzo, look at what a mess you’re making. You figure to just leave all that sawdust sitting on my floor?”
Green laughed an apology. “Don’t worry, Tom. I clean up my own messes.”
Alan grinned. “One of those guys at…one of those guys I was hiding from said he wished they’d brought some sawdust so they could do, something about a school.”
Ireland, Green, Isaac, and Brun all stiffened. “Something like what about sawdust and a school?” Ireland asked.
The heat in Ireland’s words made Alan’s voice shake. “I don’t know. I couldn’t hear real well, and that was all I could make out.”
“What you goin’ on about?” Slim had dozed through the piano lesson, but now he looked fully awake. “Sawdust? Boy just didn’t hear right, that’s all.”
“Yes, he did,” Ireland said. “Out here, sawdust is another word for dynamite.”
“Sweet Jesus.” Green whistled low. “They’re gonna blow up the high school. We better call the cops.” He shot a cuff, checked his watch. “Fast.”
Ireland raised a finger. “Hold on. We’d have to tell them how we know about it, and take my word, if what Alan has been through the past two days ever comes out, we’ll be in the middle of a stew we don’t want any part of. Lonzo, you’ve worked with dynamite.”
“Well, yeah. I did a fair bit with the cops in Kay Cee.” Green clearly didn’t like what he saw coming.
Ireland pulled himself to his feet. “Best if we can take care of things ourselves, but if we can’t, I guess we’ll have to make an anonymous call. Tell the police to close the high school, that it’s going to be blown up during the ceremony.”
“Then who they gonna come after?” Slim asked. “After they trace that call.”
“There are phones in the offices at Hubbard,” Ireland said. “If we don’t have everything under control before the ceremony’s due to start, I’ll sneak in and get hold of the police.”
Slim was halfway to the door before Ireland finished talking. The big man extended a hand like a football player trying to fend off a tackle. “So we’s supposed to go an’ clear out that dynamite? That’s what you sayin’?”
Ireland looked puzzled. “Well, yes. What else—”
Slim shook his head violently. “You can just count me outa that.” He flung the door open. “I ain’t havin’ no truck with no dynamite. The book’s gone, the money’s gone, an’ now I’m supposed to get my balls blown all the way back to Jersey? Uh-uh, forget ‘bout that. I’m gonna take ’em there myself, first train outa this place. I wishes you all good fortune.” He frowned, glared at Alan. “Ceptin’ for you, mammy-jammer.’” He stomped outside, slammed the door.
Ireland hustled into the kitchen, returned in an instant, stuffing a flashlight into a pants pocket. “We’ve got fiv
e less minutes now than we did when we tumbled.” He looked at Isaac, reaching for his cane. “Maybe you ought to stay here and wait. We’re going to have to move fast as we can.”
“Nosir.” Isaac started toward the door. “You all go on ahead. But I ain’t missin’ that ceremony.”
“But they might blow up—”
“Tom, now, get you’self movin’ so maybe they don’t.” Isaac motioned with the back of his hand. “Go on, now, quit wastin’ time. Shoo.”
***
Eileen had the door open practically the instant Luella rang the bell. The girl threw a jacket over her shoulders as she rushed outside. “Your father’s not home yet?” Luella asked.
Eileen shook her head. “Not for about another fifteen minutes.”
Good, Luella thought. “Aren’t you going to say good-bye to your mother?”
Eileen closed the door. “Mom’s off at her Ladies Auxiliary meeting at the hospital. I left her a note. Where are we going for supper?”
Luella smiled. “I thought we could try Puckett’s. They just opened last month.”
“I heard. Sally Arthur was there with her family. She said the fried chicken was super, and the apple pie was just divine.”
Luella held herself to a tolerant smile. God’s very own apple pie. “Well, that settles it, then. Let’s be on our way.”
***
Ireland, Green, Brun, and Alan crouched at the back wall of Hubbard High School. “Ain’t gonna be outside here, where anybody could spot it,” Green whispered. “Odds are they snuck in the basement at night and set it someplace down there. Let’s see if’n we can’t spot anything what tells us where they got in from. Tom, you an’ the boy go around to the right there. Me an’ Brun’ll check the left. Meet here, soon’s we can.”
Within just a few minutes, they were back. Ireland shook his head. “Just windows down into the furnace room on that side, and they’re all locked from inside, and none of them are broken. What about over there?”
“Door down to the cellar,” Green said. “Padlock on it, but it don’t look like it’s been fooled with. Only one other thing.” He made a circular motion with a hand.