The next week, Pete took me to see Doc Beckel, who said I was in the ending stages of pneumonia. He said I was lucky to be doing as well as I was, given the fact I’d hardly let myself recover. I nearly asked him to take a look at Pete, who was as pasty as a ghost and thin as a stick.
I had just about given up on clearing Adam. He wasn’t around any more, and now I hoped he’d gotten away—maybe with Lillian. At least then he’d be safe. I liked to think he was turning his life around. I looked after him as best I could, Ma.
I thought about trying one more time to interest Vincent Briggs in the case. At least a big newspaper reporter would get some response from jewelers, while my letters had elicited hardly any answers at all.
But that changed the following Monday.
When I came home from the Academy that day, I planned to eat some bread and have a cup of tea, then head out on my paper route. But on the kitchen table was the day’s mail, brought in by Pete earlier. He was out in the alley, burning some trash.
There were three letters, each with the return address of one of the jewelry stores I’d written to.
Racing up to my room, I slammed the door behind me and ripped at the first envelope. Down below, Pete’s voice called to me, “Carl, there’s some chicken on the table. I have to go out!”
“Thanks!” I yelled down to him through the door.
My heart pounding, I growled in frustration as my stubby fingers struggled to grip the fine paper of the first letter tightly enough to open it without tearing it to pieces. I grabbed a pencil on the floor and slipped it into the tiniest crack where the envelope wasn’t completely glued, and ripped it open. Tissue-thin paper fluttered out into my hands.
“Dear Mr. Baguette. . .” the letter began. I could hardly see straight, I was so excited, but that was short-lived. “. . . I’m sorry to say,” the letter continued, “we do not have any items like the ones you describe in stock. We specialize in fine diamonds and gold. I’d be happy to make a special appointment to show you our inventory should you come this way. . .”
Maybe the next one, I thought, again using the pencil as letter opener. Heavy linen stock fell from this one, but the message was the same—“We do not carry much jewelry at all any longer. Fine watches make up the majority of our stock. We have some lovely ruby-encrusted pocket watches. . .”
I let that letter slip from my hands as I sank onto the bed. One more. With less enthusiasm and haste, I slit open this one, from Pendleton Fine Jewels. Another piece of heavy linen paper slid out of the envelope. Expecting more of the same, I straightened as I read:
“Dear Mr. Baguette: We recently acquired an exquisite set of ladies’ jewelry that could be just what you are seeking. It is so lovely, in fact, that words cannot describe the fine workmanship and stones. But let me try. . .”
The description was perfect: a diamond bracelet, a pearl pin, and a couple pairs of ruby earrings—exactly what the Petersons were missing! I jumped up and shouted, “Eureka!” I wished Adam were there to see the note. I wanted to find him, to say, “See, if only you’d had more faith. I knew we’d do it. Don’t give up. Don’t give up on yourself, Adam!”
I wished Vincent were there, too, and Pete, and even Lillian. I wanted to share the news with everyone. I wanted the world to know, especially those white-robed clowns who’d littered our lawn weeks ago.
It was only a matter of time now before Adam would be cleared, just as I had been cleared. Maybe he’d get a sense of his old self back.
Maybe we could go home together.
I thought of my Baltimore friends and how surprised they’d be to see me. Would Billy still be in school? Julian was—Esther had told me so in her letter. If he wanted to be president, he had to study hard, and he’d even talked of trying for college.
Dancing a little jig while I worked, I scooped up the other letters and tossed them under my pillow. I stuffed the Pendleton letter back into its envelope and stuck it in my shirt pocket, next to my heart. My brother was cleared! My brother was cleared! Good things came your way if you were good enough. I had been, and soon, his name cleared, Adam would be, too.
Skipping downstairs, I went into the kitchen and ate like I hadn’t eaten in weeks. My appetite expanded as my worries receded.
I still had to identify the jewels, of course, and I would, but first, I had to take off for my paper route. I rushed through it at record speed, thinking all the while how to find Adam. All I needed was for him to identify the jewels, to tell me they were the Peterson valuables. He’d been staying with Lillian at her boarding house near the speakeasy. I didn’t have the exact address, but if I headed in that direction, maybe I could ask around.
I’d find the two of them. We were almost in the clear.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Not even bothering to sell my last five copies of the paper, I headed immediately to Lillian’s neighborhood. It reminded me of ours, with old homes in desperate need of paint jobs and repairs. Spotting a bent-over man walking ahead, I stopped and asked about Lillian, describing her flame-red hair, which made her easy to remember. The fellow pointed to a peeling gray house near the corner, where, at the door, a young woman greeted me. She looked sleepy and her hair was a bush of frizzy curls.
“I’m looking for Lillian,” I said.
Without even asking who I was, she let me in and pointed upstairs. “Number three,” she said before vanishing down a dim hallway and behind another door.
Upstairs, I knocked gently on Lillian’s door, but no one answered. Turning the knob slowly so it wouldn’t squeak, I opened the door. The shades were drawn, so the room was darkened by late afternoon shadows. A flowery scent hit my nose, triggering a cough. The noise stirred a figure asleep on the mussed bed—Adam.
He rolled over and stared at me.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, sitting up.
His beard was bristly, and his hair was dirty. Because he’d been sleeping fully-clothed, his shirt was wrinkled—stained, too. I’d wanted to find him, all right. But I’d wanted to find him changed.
“I thought you’d left town,” I said.
“Tonight,” he said, stretching. “I was going to get the ticket now.” He stood.
“Just you? Not Lillian, too?”
“Oh,” he said, as if he’d forgotten something. “Yeah, sure. I need to get a ticket for her, too. She gave me the money.” He patted his pocket, making sure it was still there.
“Before you leave, I need you to do something,” I said. “I need you to go with me to Pendleton Jewelers around Irvington.”
“Wha. . . why?”
“They have the jewels, Adam. They have the stolen jewels. They’ll know who brought them in.”
He didn’t respond. He looked down and then away. He folded his arms across his chest.
“I have to catch this train, Carl. I can’t go.”
“But Adam,” I said, “this could clear you.”
He chuckled softly. “It doesn’t matter. I’m leaving anyway.”
“Listen, Adam,” I said, fingering the hem of my jacket, “it’s going to be over soon—this whole awful nightmare. I know how you feel. I felt the same way when it looked like they could go after me for Peterson’s death. It’s like the whole world wants to hem you in. I know, Adam! I know!”
He stared at me but didn’t say anything. I saw him redden, as if I’d embarrassed him. The old Adam was still hidden deep within—hidden under an invisible white robe all his own—but there was still good underneath, waiting to be rediscovered.
“Adam, I didn’t give up. And you shouldn’t, either. Please, come with me to the jeweler’s.”
He just shook his head slowly. “Carl, it would be a waste of time,” he said.
I waited, hoping he’d change his mind, but he said nothing.
“When’s your train leave?” I asked at last.
Reflexively, he patted his pocket, looking for our father’s watch.
“The watch is on your bed at Pete’s. I
t fell out of your pocket,” I said.
“I was wondering,” he answered. “Couldn’t find it for days.”
“You want me to get it?” I asked. But, if I did, I might return to find him already gone. “Why don’t you come by and get it yourself?” I added.
“My train leaves at six o’clock—sleeper to San Francisco, then on to Chicago.”
I looked around the room. Silky women’s undergarments lay on a dresser. A scarf was tied on the edge of a mirror. Cheap jewelry spilled out of a box, and a stocking was draped over the edge of a drawer. “Is Lillian meeting you at the station?”
“Yeah, that’s right.” Following my gaze to the disorder in the room, he gestured to a tapestry bag in the corner. “I. . . I’m supposed to pack her things for her.”
I didn’t ask if they were married. I was beginning to realize there were things about my brother I’d rather not know. One thing I did know—I could stand there until the sun set and rose again and Adam would not agree to go to the jeweler with me. He’d given up. I’d have to find another way to identify those jewels and determine who took them.
“Write to me,” I said at last. “Tell me where you end up.”
“Sure, kid.” He didn’t move. Placing his hands in his pockets, he looked sheepishly at the floor. “Sorry about all the trouble.”
“Yeah, well. . . it’ll all be fine, once we get to Baltimore.”
“You know, Portland’s not that bad a place,” he added. “Lots of opportunities here. Lots of ways to make it on your own.”
“It’s not like home,” I said, suddenly on edge. What was he really saying?
“Pete’s tried to make a home for you.”
“But Baltimore is where—”
“You could make friends here,” he snapped. “You just haven’t tried.” Then he laughed. “You certainly don’t need me dragging you down.”
What was he saying? Suddenly, he wanted me to stay here, as if it was for my own good. Adam had always looked out for me, or at least I thought he had, but now it felt more like he was trying to fool me than help me. Did he not want me to come with him? Did he think I’d drag him down?
Another line from Esther’s letter jumped back into my head. She had asked where Adam was. She assumed he wasn’t with me, but at the same time, she knew of our Uncle Pete, because Adam had told Julian’s sister about him. What could Adam have said? It must have been that we were heading to Pete’s. . . and Adam wasn’t staying.
Adam had planned to leave me with Uncle Pete. He never meant to stay and take care of me—he was just waiting to get enough cash to get out. He might as well have punched me in the gut.
And he’d never even told me.
I looked at him now, trying to see the brother I once knew, the fellow who’d looked out for me, the Adam who would have punched out anyone who tried to hurt me. But what I once saw as bravery, I now recognized as bluster. What I once saw as pride, I now realized was swagger that concealed fear. He’d never been the hero I envisioned. He was just a boy forced to grow up too soon.
“Stop by the house and get your watch before you go,” I repeated softly. Suddenly, I wanted to be out of this lilac-scented room. “And don’t worry, Adam. I’m fine on my own.”
We wished each other quiet goodbyes and I left.
I didn’t know why at first, but I headed to the newspaper office after seeing Adam. Vincent Briggs had said to stop by anytime, and I did have the jeweler’s letter to show him now. Maybe he could help me. More than that, though, Vincent Briggs was a friend. And I needed to talk to a friend after saying goodbye to Adam.
As I walked into town, I wondered if I’d ever see my brother again. It certainly sounded like he was ready never to see me. Shoving my hands into my pocket, I kicked stones and kept my head down. It was all too late.
Vincent Briggs was still at his desk when I arrived, though every other reporter had left for the day. He smiled broadly when he saw me, and stared at the jeweler’s letter for a long time after I gave it to him. Tapping his cigar-laden hand on the desk, he spoke to the air in front of him more than to me. “Someone from the Peterson family,” he said. “They’d have to identify the jewels. And then we could find out who sold them.”
“Rose,” I offered. “Bernard’s sister. She might do it.” Poor Rose. I wished I could see her again, but at the same time, Adam and I had caused her so much trouble and sorrow.
Briggs whirled his chair toward me. “You sure you want to know?”
What a curious question! Of course I wanted to know. I still wanted to clear Adam. I still wanted to prove to the world he was no crook. And on top of that, I wanted to prove I was no vagabond. I could finish what I started. Squaring my shoulders, I stared into Briggs’s eyes.
“Yes.”
After scrambling through some papers, he found the Peterson phone number and placed the call. Rose Peterson agreed to meet him at the jeweler’s. “It might give your mother some peace of mind,” Vincent said.
After finishing the call, he reached for his hat and coat on a nearby rack. Standing, he grabbed the letter from his desk and folded it, placing it in his pocket.
“Alfred Baguette, eh?” He laughed. “If you don’t mind, I’ll tell the jeweler Mr. Baguette sent me. I prefer my own name.”
As we left the now-quiet building, Briggs asked if I wanted to come, but I wasn’t sure I could even look at Rose, knowing I could have done more to save her brother. So Briggs told me he’d drive me home and come by later with whatever news he’d found.
“At least it’ll be settled one way or another,” he said after a silent drive to my door.
Settled one way or another. Something else bothered me. What had Adam said when I’d asked him to go to the jewelers? It would be a waste of time. I cleaned up the kitchen for Pete, and made a pot of coffee for when Vincent came by. I tried to stay busy. But thoughts kept intruding. I went over the case. Adam, Bernard, and Jonesy were all deeply entangled with the gambling ring. They were all desperate. Each had been on the lam one way or another, trying to get themselves out of debt. Bernard and Jonesy used the bank. Jonesy even tried blackmail.
And what had Adam done to get himself out of the gang’s clutches? Probably borrowed money from Lillian, maybe even from Rose before the trouble over the jewels began. Would it have been enough? Lillian had said he was still in debt.
An hour later, I was upstairs in my bedroom, still thinking all this through, facing facts I’d not wanted to see clearly before. I heard the front door open below. Figuring it was Pete, I didn’t get up. I didn’t know what I’d tell him when Vincent Briggs stopped by later.
But when footsteps sounded into the old bedroom I’d shared with Adam, I straightened and went into the hallway.
“Who’s there?” I called out. “Pete?”
Silence, followed by, “It’s me, Adam. Just came by to get a few things.”
Adam! There were so many things I wanted to say to him. I was angrier than ever at how he’d deceived me, making me think he wanted to go back to Baltimore with him when all he really wanted was to be rid of the burden of caring for his younger brother.
Adam was soon scooping up his pocket watch and the few pieces of clothing he’d left behind. He walked fast between rooms, looking for items he might have left, and anything of value he could find. He threw everything into a rumpled sack.
In his rummaging, he found the money Vincent Briggs had given me at the coffee shop to give to Pete. “This yours?” he asked, a note of suspicion creeping into his voice. He thought I’d held out on him. We stood in the hallway, eye to eye.
“Yeah.”
He looked at the wad of money, then at me, but didn’t hand over the cash. He was going to ask me to “lend” it to him. But before I’d even consider doing that, he’d have to answer a few questions.
“Adam, I need to ask you. . .” I heard a knock at the front door. I let it delay me. I didn’t want to ask Adam the question. It would produce an unpleasant answer eith
er way—a lie or a painful truth. Holding up my hand, I stared at Adam, daring him to leave. “Wait! Just a minute. Please! This won’t take long.”
After running downstairs, I opened the door to Vincent Briggs. I looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was with him. He shook his head. “I took Rose home already—wasn’t far from the jeweler’s.” For a fleeting second, hope returned. If the jeweler was close to the Peterson home, maybe it was because Bernard had sold the items there. Maybe he had stolen them, after all, and I could discard my new theory.
“They weren’t the Peterson jewels,” he said brusquely. My fears were confirmed.
Standing just inside the door, he didn’t even bother to take off his gloves. “They were completely different. Only one ruby in the set. The jeweler thought he could convince me to buy them instead of the ones ‘Mr. Baguette’ said he was looking for.” He scowled. “Rose was quite upset.”
Dropping onto the step, I sat with my head in my hands. More pain for Rose. How callous I’d become! “I. . . I’m sorry. I’ll have to tell her so. . .”
“You’re a good investigator, Carl,” Briggs said. “You were trying to follow every lead.”
I’d been on a fool’s errand, trying to clear my brother.
Adam—I heard him moving upstairs.
Then I heard something else, sending icy fear through my spine. Voices carried from outside. One was Pete’s, but the other was Officer Miller’s.
“. . . saw him coming this way,” Miller was saying.
“If he’s here, I’ll have him talk to you,” Pete said in an angry voice.
I stared wide-eyed at Briggs. “Wait here just a minute. I have to. . . do something.”
I raced up the stairs to Adam, who was searching his room for any stray bits of change. He’d pocketed the cash I’d not yet agreed to lend him, I realized with a wince.
The Case Against My Brother Page 17