The RagTime Traveler

by Larry Karp

  Alan shook his head. “Sorry, I won’t accept a fiat decree. I have too much unfinished business in 1899 to just stop time-traveling—but I won’t go off again without talking to you first.”

  ***

  Tom woke to an unseasonably cool atmosphere. It wasn’t the first time his grandparents had been at odds, but it wasn’t common, either. Even half-awake, he knew better than to step into the middle of the disagreement before he knew what the issue was. Keep my mouth shut, go about my business, and they’ll sort it out. Aside from morning greetings, he didn’t say a word until he was showered and dressed. At that point, he figured he should make sure one important issue was resolved. “What are we doing about breakfast?”

  Alan started. Breakfast hadn’t been anywhere on his mental to-do list, but he rallied quickly. “Depends. We should bring JJ and Elvira up-to-date. Why don’t you give them a call? Make sure JJ doesn’t go to bed as soon as he gets home from work, and see if they want us to bring something over.”

  “Or if Elvira volunteers to make another of her pancake spreads. Got it.”

  Tom was still on the phone when Saramae knocked on the door. Miriam let her in, then interrupted Tom. “Whatever you’re agreeing to, make it a half-hour later. We need to get this girl some fresh clothes.” He nodded, and Miriam turned back to Saramae. “I should have thought of that last night. Sorry, Honey.”

  “S’okay, Ms. Chandler. I’m fine for now, and I can run out and pick up somethin’ later.”

  “Don’t be silly. Nobody can do their best work if they don’t feel their best—and nobody feels their best wearing the same clothes day after day.” She fixed Alan with a quarter-strength glare. “Something you gentlemen might want to keep in mind. How many days’ clothes did you pack?”

  “Enough.”

  Saramae was jittering in place. “I appreciate the thought, Ms. Chandler, but I can’t take—”

  “Nothing to worry about,” Alan broke in. “We’ll swing past your house on the way over to JJ’s. Your father’ll be at work by then, so you can run in, change, pack up enough clothes for a few days, and leave him a note saying you’re chasing a lead. You won’t even need to talk to him until this is settled.”

  “Elvira says to come over in about an hour and a half.” Tom tried to duplicate the old woman’s soprano, “‘So’s I kin show Miz Chandler some proper Sedalia hospitality.’” Halfway through, he choked and finished in his usual tenor.

  “Perfect. Okay, Saramae?”

  “I suppose. But what if Daddy’s workin’ from home?”

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. I can come in and talk to him. Or, better yet, Miriam can—he’ll believe her, where he’d doubt anything I told him.”

  Miriam shook her head sadly. “Anyone would doubt you.” She looked at Saramae. “He’d have starved to death decades ago if I hadn’t been booking gigs and looking after him.”

  Tom nodded to himself.

  That’s what they’re fighting about, all right. Gramma wants to get Alan home, close to his doctors, and he’s not ready to leave Sedalia. He’ll out-stubborn her, but it’s going to be frosty for a while.

  “This is more of the same thing he always does,” Miriam went on. “Loves to make everything up on the fly. Half the time, he doesn’t even have a set list when he goes on stage.” She crossed her arms. “Is there any more of a plan than the next step? You brief JJ and his grandmother, then what?”

  “Well…” Alan paused to think, but went on quickly when he saw Miriam opening her mouth again. “We can’t plan without JJ. He’s as much a part of this as anyone else.”

  Tom decided it was time to step in. “Alan…JJ is going to bed when we leave. Whatever we do today will be without him. And we gotta do something, so let’s figure out what.”

  Come on, Alan. Don’t argue.

  Alan gave in. “Sorry, guys, you’re right. I suppose I’m just being ornery.” He looked around the room. “What are we going to do today? Anyone?”

  “We’re gonna prove my daddy didn’t kill anyone.”

  “Yeah, but how?”

  Saramae shot Tom a poisonous look. “Duh! Like we agreed last night: we find out who the real killer is. Abigail or Jarvis, right? I figure it’s gotta be Jarvis. He’s a big man, almost as big as Daddy, and he was runnin’ a bluff, tellin’ Abigail he had the music. No way he’d try a game like that unless he knew the bag wasn’t at Mickey’s.” She turned to Alan for support.

  Alan frowned. “I…think you’re right. I have a feeling we’re missing something, but…” He shrugged. “Sooner or later, I’ll think of it. For now, we focus on Jarvis.”

  “Like Saramae said yesterday, we know he’s locked up,” Tom said. “We never got to look around his house, so let’s do it. See if we can find something to tie him to Mickey. Or Maggione. That’d be almost as good.”

  “Thomas! Are you planning to break into someone’s house?”

  “I guess so, Gramma, since he wasn’t nice enough to give us a key last time we dropped by.”

  Miriam rolled her eyes. “Was picking locks part of that homework I brought you? Social Studies, maybe?”

  “Uh…I bet JJ can teach me. How hard can it be?”

  “If it was easy, everyone would be doing it,” Alan said.

  “We can ask him!”

  “We can. But if he’s going to teach anyone, it’s not going to be you.”

  “Who? You? And why?”

  “No, not me. In case you’ve forgotten, Detective Parks is getting downright mad about us leaving Sedalia. Right now, there are only two people who can go check out Jarvis’ house.”

  “What?!” Miriam sat up straight. “Alan! You can’t be serious!”

  “I’m very serious. You said ‘we’ had to find the killer, and right now you and Saramae are the only ones who can go to Kans’ City.” He smiled. “Think of it as an adventure.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t forget— if you go, I don’t have to. Wouldn’t you rather have me stay here, close to emergency services?”

  Miriam slapped both hands onto her thighs. “You’re being stubborn, as usual. I could stand on my head and spit nickels, and you wouldn’t budge an inch, would you?”

  Alan shook his head.

  “Fine. First you drag your grandson into a life of crime, and now your wife. Saramae, how do you feel about learning to pick locks? At my age, I’d make a poor housebreaker—but I promise I’ll be the best getaway driver you’ve ever had!”

  That drew a giggle from Saramae. “Never had one of those before. If JJ can teach it, I can learn it, and it sure sounds like more fun than anything they teach in school.” She bounced to her feet. “Daddy’ll be at work now. Let’s hit the road.”

  As the rest of the group stood, Alan said, “Don’t get too excited, Saramae. You can learn how to pick locks if you want, but Miriam has to be the one to go into Jarvis’ house.”

  Miriam’s jaw dropped and Saramae stopped mid-step. “What? Why not, Mr. Chandler?”

  “Yes, ‘Mr. Chandler,’ why not?”

  “Because Saramae went into Niecie’s during the Nowlin clan gathering. If Jarvis comes home while you’re there—unlikely as that is, seeing how he’s currently a guest of the K.C. police, he might recognize her. But Miriam’s never been anywhere near him. She could convince him she’s got nothing to do with the duffel bag and the music. Saramae, though…if he remembers he saw her at the restaurant, right before he caught JJ in the house, he’ll know it’s about the bag, and it’s got nothing to do with Abigail.”

  Miriam dropped back onto the bed. “No.”

  Alan didn’t say anything, just widened his eyes and gave her an innocent look. How can you resist those puppy-dog eyes?

  “No, Alan.”

  “Miriam, please. For Mickey’s sake.”

  “That old bum
.”

  Alan lowered himself onto the bed beside her. “All us old bums have to stick together,” he said quietly. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “And do you really think Saramae is the right person for the job? Smart girl, yes, but impetuous. Undisciplined. What if she misses a clue because she skips a room or doesn’t recognize it? Leaves a clue to her identity behind?”

  “Well…”

  “You’d err on the side of safety. Take precautions, miss nothing.”

  Miriam sighed and buried her face in her hands. “You’re the consummate bullshitter. You know that, right?”

  “So you’ve told me, many times.” Alan stood and held out a hand. “Come on. Elvira makes a mean pancake.”

  ***

  Alan couldn’t help smiling as he looked around the room. Elvira wasn’t taking half-measures in showing Miriam real Missoura hospitality. The white tablecloth on the dining room table was spotless. Polished silverware gleamed. Six settings, dishes neatly placed, sparkling water glass and small juice glass at each location. At the center, a pitcher of orange juice, a steaming coffee pot, and a platter heaped with enough pancakes for a small army. Which, Alan thought, was probably the way his hostess conceived of Tom and JJ. He couldn’t argue.

  As the younger members of the party demolished the feast, the old man ate slowly. On one hand, he needed to keep up his nutrition: as hard as he was working, traveling between centuries and getting little sleep, he was putting his octogenarian, cancer-and-chemo-ridden body under a nasty stress. Eat slowly, get more down.

  Bringing the group up to snuff on his latest trip and how Saramae had found the duffel bag, now carefully tucked under his chair, helped him stretch out his dietary intake.

  JJ shot Alan a curious glance as the story ended. “Hey, Man, you be something different from anything I ever know ’bout. You probably crazy, but you know what—I almos’ believe you. Maybe you really is runnin’ around in Sedalia more’n a hundred years ago. Guess that mean I a li’l bit nuts too.”

  A sympathetic chuckle circled the table. Tom speared the next-to-last pancake and set it onto his plate.

  JJ nailed the last cake. “So, where we goin’ from here?”

  Alan took a moment to lean back in his chair. “Well, we’ve taken care of the matter of the missing music—found it, got it, won’t lose it. Eventually, we’ll have to deal with Saramae’s dad, but there’s no hurry. I’ll take care of it—”

  “Hey! Don’t I get a say in dealin’ with my own daddy?”

  “What? Oh, yes, of course. We’ll deal with it later. Sorry, Saramae. But what’s topside now is to find the bastard who killed Mickey, and give him to the cops. We both said our man almost has to be Jarvis. It’s either him or Abigail, and all in all, he’s certainly more of a logical suspect.”

  JJ drummed his fork on the tabletop. “So? How you figurin’ we supposed to nail him?”

  “Unless you can think of any better way, I’d say we need to get into his house again, and look for something, anything, to tie him to the murder.”

  “Oh, man.” JJ sagged. “Two things. One is, I’m wasted. Last night was a bitch at the paper, didn’t stop for a minute the whole night through. An’ besides. If that big mother…” He picked up Elvira’s expression. “…sees me in his house again, I’m a dead man, for sure. I think you gotta do better’n that.”

  “I can and I will. For one thing, it’s not likely Jarvis’ll come in again. Remember, the K.C. cops are still showing him their hospitality because of what he did to Abigail. But you’re right, JJ, you can’t go back in, that’s for sure. Neither can Saramae. Jarvis might’ve seen her in the restaurant. As for Tom and me, we’d be best off not leaving Sedalia again and getting our friend Parks exercised. And Elvira’s confined to her quarters to keep watch on your dad.

  JJ looked around the table. “So that leaves…” His eyes settled on Miriam, and he threw a hand over his mouth. “You’re serious?”

  Alan judged Miriam’s Gramma Glare to be three-quarters strength. “Very serious, JJ. And Saramae will be her getaway driver. The two of them will get this job done. Your job is to show Miriam how to get into the house.”

  “Like I’ve gotta tell her how to pitch a rock through a window? Listen, Man. I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ against her, but you just don’t show a person how to pick a lock in ten minutes. It’s complicated, and it takes a ton of practice…but hold on, hold on, wait a minute. That lock on Jarvis’ door ain’t a worldbeater…I know what. Miz Chandler, I can show you how to bump a lock. If you can’t do that, I’ll be very disappointed in you.”

  Bump a lock? That was a new term to Alan.

  “S’cuze me a sec.” JJ pushed back from the table and trotted down the hall. He came back less than a minute later and dropped a door key onto the table. Alan picked it up. “Funny looking—the teeth are set so low, but they’re really steep and jagged.”

  “Right on, Alan. You’re one sharp ol’ guy. That’s what’s called a universal bump key. Ain’t really universal, but it’ll work on a whole buncha locks, includin’ that Jarvis dude’s. Made it myself, back when I were learnin’ ’bout locks. Got a whole set that’ll open near any lock.”

  Tom asked “How come you didn’t use ’em at Jarvis’ place?”

  “’Cause it be a damn fool move for a black guy to carry a buncha bump keys around. Cops stop him, he go straight to jail.” He jerked a thumb at Alan. “Iff’n I had ’em with me when that Detective P. picked me up at Fitter’s, ain’t no way he woulda let me walk outa the joint, no matter what your grandad tell him. My picks be a whole bunch easier to hide or get ridda quickly, but I don’t carry them around alla time neither. That’s why I take my notes in code, too. Always a risk somebody might get into my business otherwise.” He plucked the key out of Alan’s hand and handed it to Miriam with a flourish. “But one key on a white granny-lady’s key ring? No cop even gonna notice it. Come on. Take you out by the back door and show you the ropes.”

  Everyone scrambled from the table and followed JJ. Alan trailed the group, having stopped to grab the duffel bag.

  Once they were all in the backyard, JJ closed the door, locked it with a house key, then pulled a big jackknife from his pocket. “Here’s all you need, Miz Chandler: the universal key and a decent-size jackknife. Some people use a hammer, but I don’t like that, it can damage the lock, and besides, it’s a hell of a lot easier to carry around a knife than a hammer. Now, watch. I puts the key in the hole, just like any key, see? All the way in. Then I pulls it out, slow. And right when I feels two clicks—remember, it’s gotta be two—I gives the key a pretty decent hit with the knife. And right at that same time, I turns the key to the opening side…like so. Gotta be real together on it, y’know?”

  As the door glided open, the little group applauded. JJ made an exaggerated bow, then reached to pull the door shut and re-lock it. He passed the key and knife to Miriam. “Your turn.”

  Miriam smiled without showing teeth, then slid the key into the lock, started pulling it out, then suddenly slapped the knife against the key and twisted clockwise. The door slowly swung open.

  JJ whistled. “Holy shit, first try! Miz Chandler, seriously, my hat is off to you. You’s right, Alan. She really be goooood.”

  Miriam humphed and pulled the door shut. “Lock it again, Teacher. I don’t want Alan thinking that was beginner’s luck.”

  “He wouldn’t dare, Miz Chandler. That were slick!” JJ locked the door and gave Miriam a wink and a grin, then stood back.

  Miriam’s second attempt went as smoothly as the first. “Nothing to it.” She scowled momentarily at the key. “I’m surprised there’s any house in the country that hasn’t been burgled.” She turned her disapproving look on the knife, then smiled and tossed it nonchalantly in the air, caught it, and held it out to JJ.

  He pushed her hand away. “You jes’ hold onto that key and knife. Take good
care of them, an’ good luck to you—I’m goin’ off to grab me some shuteye.”

  “Tom and I’ll go back to the room and get into the music,” said Alan. “See if we can start making some headway into cataloguing it.”

  Miriam turned an undiluted glare on Alan. “And God help us housebreakers, we’d better head out too.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Miriam slid out of the car, leaving the driver’s door open.

  Saramae scowled. “You get to go inside and do all the fun stuff,” the girl said. “I don’t get to do anything.”

  Miriam turned a hot eye on her. “And if I get caught, I’ll be dead, and you’ll still be alive.”

  The girl walked around the car to the driver’s side. “Hell, it’s not even legal for me to drive this car.”

  “Young woman, it’s no more legal for me to break into that house. Now, calm down. I don’t like this any better than you do, but we all agreed on the plan, and here we are. I’ll get back as soon as I can.”

  Saramae slammed the driver’s door just a bit harder than strictly necessary.

  Miriam clutched her purse and the clipboard JJ had forced on her “just in case you gotta look like some kinda social worker, or somethin’.” She strode up the block, stopped in front of Jarvis Nowlin’s house, drew herself up, and put on her busy executive face. She couldn’t repress the urge to look right, left, and behind her before she rang the bell. No answer, of course. Good.

  She opened her purse, pulled out the key and knife, bumped the lock. The door swung open. Smooth as silk. She walked inside, gently pulling the door closed behind herself. An odd thought occurred to her: this is kind of fun…oh, damn you, Alan.

  She sighed, blew out a long breath.

  All right, woman, get to work. What am I looking for?

  Something to tie a man I’ve never met to a murder I’ve only heard about.

  Easy.

  She made a sour face, then got to work.

  ***

  “Can we really afford to spend time washing clothes?” Tom asked as they entered the Elite Laundromat. “We’re, like, a zillion miles from the hotel, and this is going to take forever.”