To Jeff’s amazement, he and Melanie immediately located three restaurants featuring soups and salads. “I never noticed these places before,” Jeff admitted.
“You weren’t looking for them.” Melanie smiled in a way that made him want to wrap his arms around her.
They chose a café and sat side-by-side in a booth. “If I sit across from you, I won’t be able to do anything but stare at your beautiful eyes,” he said.
“You’re a flatterer.” She nestled closer to him while they read the menu.
After ordering, they chatted about their work. Melanie brought Jeff up to date on Keenan. They laughed at a toddler who peeked around the corner of their booth and giggled at the funny faces Jeff made. When the server placed their check on the table, Jeff picked it up immediately. “Don’t you think it’s my turn?” Melanie asked.
Jeff gave her a sideways look. “Why don’t we agree you’ll be my steady girl? Then we can dispense with the idea we’re supposed to take turns paying.”
“What’s in the job description?” she murmured without looking at him.
“Date each other exclusively, and figure out the rest as we go.” He took her hand in his. “Nothing that goes against what our churches teach.”
“It’s a deal,” she replied after a moment, giving his fingers a squeeze.
Jeff put a bill on the table to cover their meal and a tip. “How will you break the news to Bernie?”
“Bernie?”
“Your office mate. The one you went to the movies with.”
Melanie slid from the booth. “I’m not sure I need to tell her anything. She knows I’ve been going out with you.”
“She? Bernie’s a woman?”
“Well, yeah,” Mel said while Jeff helped her slip into her coat. “What did you think, you goofball? That I went out with another guy last night?”
Jeff grinned and shrugged.
“Bernie is short for Bernice.”
After returning to Jeff’s apartment, Melanie sat on the sofa. “I can’t cope with your crazy puzzle anymore,” she declared. She leaned her head back and stared at the ceiling. “First, let’s assume your father was innocent. But he said he was guilty. Is there any possibility of another woman in his life? Who was so important to him that he was willing to go to prison for them?”
Not trusting himself to sit too close to Melanie while they were alone in his apartment, Jeff chose an easy chair across from her. “My mom’s pretty smart. I think she would have sniffed out a girlfriend, if not before the crime, certainly afterward. Dad’s only brother was killed in the war. His parents were deceased.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Mother and I were the only significant people in his life.”
They sat quietly for a while. “Okay,” Melanie said. “What if he was guilty? We know he needed money.”
“We do?”
“Didn’t Mr. Schmidt say your father spent all of his savings and was trying to sell his house?”
“Oh, yeah.” Jeff leaned forward. “As far as I know, my dad never drank. I don’t think he ever played the horses or speculated on shady business deals. Mom’s pretty straight-laced. She wouldn’t have put up with those things. Besides, Aunt Ruby would have talked any dirt to death by now.”
Melanie continued to gaze upward. “How old were you when all of this happened?”
“Two-and-a-half, three. Too young to remember anything important, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”
“A decent man has tried everything, but he can’t raise enough cash for experimental surgery that might save his child’s life.”
Jeff felt his body shivering. For several minutes, his mind refused to process Melanie’s question. “Are you saying he did it?”
“I’m asking, not saying.”
Jeff shook his head. “The evidence doesn’t fit. What about the hand print?”
“Obviously, someone else had a stake in your survival.” Her eyes drilled into Jeff’s face.
“In the scenario you’re suggesting, my parents willingly gave up any hope of a normal life together. Twenty-seven years, all for me? And I’ve been too blind to see it? That idea is so staggering I can’t wrap my mind around it. When I think how I resented my father all these years…” He buried his head in his hands.
“You need some time,” Melanie said. “I’m going to drop by and visit with Keenan before I head home.” She came to stand near Jeff, and planted a light kiss on the top of his head. “Call me.”
Chapter Twenty
After sleeping fitfully, Jeff drove to church deep in thought the following Sunday morning. The possibility his welfare was the reason for his family’s separation had his brain on overload. The pastor’s sermon concerning God’s sacrifice of His precious Son—for “a wretch like me”—took on a deeper meaning than ever. When the last song was sung, Jeff sprinted to his car.
He dialed Otto Schmidt’s number as soon as he arrived home. While the phone rang, he wiggled out of his suit jacket and loosened his tie.
“Hello?”
“Bubba, this is Jeff Galloway.”
“Who?”
“Jeff. I came to see your grandfather on Friday. Remember?”
“Oh, yeah. Hey.”
“I’d like to speak to him, please.”
“He don’t talk on the telephone,” Bubba said.
Jeff balanced the receiver on his shoulder, unbuttoning his dress shirt. “I understand, but this is kind of important. Do you mind asking him?”
Thankful he’d had an extra-long cord put on his phone, Jeff walked into his closet. He pulled a western shirt and a pair of jeans from their hangers and tossed them on the bed. He removed a shoe before the sound of Bubba’s voice caused him to stand straight.
“Pawpaw said to come on over, and don’t forget to bring his stuff.”
“No, Bubba, I just want to talk to him on the phone.” The answer was the loud buzz of a dial tone.
“Conniving old geezer,” Jeff muttered, completing his change of clothes. He grabbed his keys and wallet, determined to resolve the question choking his mind.
As he paid for his hamburger at the drive-thru window, Jeff asked, “Do you know where I can buy a cigar?”
“No, sir,” the apple-cheeked youth in the garish fast food uniform replied. “I can ask the manager if you like.”
“Never mind,” Jeff said, feeling foolish. “I’ll find a place.” He stopped at a convenience store and bought a carton of Lucky Strikes. “Where can I get a good cigar?” he asked the cashier.
The woman peered at him over her glasses. “Unless you’re planning an illegal trip to Havana, I wouldn’t have the slightest idea.”
Jeff nodded. He chose two chocolate bars to add to his purchase. “Well, maybe these will work instead.”
“Planning to smoke them?” the cashier asked as she punched buttons on the cash register.
Although he realized her sarcastic question deserved no answer, he replied, “No, they’re a gift.”
“Excellent choice,” she said, handing him his change. “I hope they work out for you.”
He couldn’t help grinning. “I hope so, too.”
Jeff pulled up to Otto’s trailer in time to see Bubba dragging a reluctant German shepherd away by his collar. He waved, “Dobie don’t know you yet. So I gotta pen him up. Go on in. Pawpaw’s awake.”
Otto sat exactly where he was when Jeff left him on Friday. “What’d you bring me?” he asked without turning away from the window.
“A carton of Lucky Strikes,” Jeff replied, pulling up the kitchen chair. “I feel compelled to tell you, it’s a proven fact cigarettes give you lung cancer.”
With a snort, Otto peered into the brown paper sack Jeff offered him. “At my age, something’s sure to get me pretty soon. Candy? Not as good as a cigar, but better than what Bubba brings me. He thinks I need to eat fruit. Enough to kill a man, right there.”
“Bubba wants what’s best for you,” Jeff said, feeling new appreciation for caring for others.
“You didn’t stay gone long.”
Jeff leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “That’s because I have it figured out.”
“I doubt that.” Otto opened the carton of cigarettes and began hiding individual packs. One went in his pants pocket, another inside his shirt. He stuffed three more beneath his lap quilt. “Put these in the top of the chest for me, would you?” He held out the remaining packs of cigarettes. “Maybe one or two in the bottom drawer under the socks.”
After doing as Otto requested, Jeff returned to his chair. “Why didn’t you blow the whistle?”
“Never try to bluff a bluffer, Jeff. Didn’t they teach you anything in law school?”
Jeff leaned back and crossed his legs. “I’m not bluffing, Mr. Schmidt.”
“Otto.”
“Okay, Otto. My father didn’t steal the fifty thousand dollars from the First National Bank.”
“Why don’t I eat one of those chocolate bars?”
Jeff smiled. I’m right. “Go ahead. I’ll wait.”
Otto took a bite of candy and chewed it slowly. He held the wrapper out to Jeff, who placed it in the wastebasket. “If Keith Galloway didn’t take the money, who did?”
“Someone who knew about the inoperative security system, had access to a key to unlock the door of the branch office, and was in hot pursuit of cash.”
“Pretty good chocolate,” Otto said. “Next time get me the kind with nuts. These choppers are real.” He bared a mouthful of yellowed teeth. “Let me see if I understand, the perp had the opportunity and fifty thousand reasons to take it? Brilliant deduction, Sherlock. You’re right back where you started.”
Jeff folded his arms and smiled. “I know who stole the money. The same person who left the handprint.”
“Believe I’ll have a smoke,” Otto said. “Hand me that book of matches on the window sill, will you?” Accepting the matchbook from Jeff, Otto lit a cigarette. “When I was a young man, I thought of knowledge as power. I wanted to know everything, including the future. Now I realize I was a lot happier not knowing my grandson would never be able to live a normal life. Or that my wife was going to die from ALS. It’s bad news, that Lou Gehrig disease. Slow. Mean.” He tapped ashes from the end of his cigarette. “Some things a man thinks he wants to know, he really doesn’t.” Otto puffed in silence, then blew smoke through his nose and crushed the butt in his ashtray.
Otto stared toward the window without speaking. Jeff wondered if the old man expected a comment. Nevertheless, he kept quiet also.
“You know anybody in the District Attorney’s office?”
“No,” Jeff answered, returning Otto’s suddenly searching look. “I pass the DA and members of his staff in the hallway at the courthouse occasionally. I recognize them from television spots, but I don’t have any pals there.”
“Something prosecutors have in common, probably you, too, since you’re a lawyer. They want to chalk up a win. Nothing else matters. Get a warm, breathing body in the slammer, and mark the case closed, whether the poor slob did the deed or not. Let’s release a statement to the press and go play golf. I sure wish I had a good cigar.”
“I didn’t know where to buy one on Sunday afternoon,” Jeff said. “Was my dad in on it from the beginning?”
“So you have a theory? Let’s hear it.”
“Rosemary Wojac Galloway stole the money. My mother.”
Otto pursed his lips and pulled a cigarette from somewhere. He tapped it on the back of one hand before lighting up. “You’re calling your own mother a criminal?”
“I’m saying a desperate woman took a terrible risk to save her child,” Jeff said. “Then my father sacrificed twenty-seven years of his life to protect her. Us, really.”
“You got any kids?”
“No,” Jeff replied. “I’m not married.”
“Playboy type, huh?”
“Not that it’s anyone’s business, but I’m in love with a wonderful girl. I hope to marry her if she’ll have me.”
“What’s her name?”
“Melanie.” Saying the word made him feel good. “Melanie Clark.”
“Bertha. That was my wife. There’s a picture of her over there on the table by my bed. You would have liked her. Everybody did. If there was any way for Bertha to die at Guadalcanal in place of our son, she’d have done it.” He paused. “Fine woman, Bert was. Nothing she wouldn’t do for her kids or me. I don’t know that I have such a noble character myself.” Otto used the butt of his cigarette to light the end of a new one. “I met a man with that kind of courage once. A real stand-up guy. War hero, to boot.”
“Was his name Keith Galloway?” Jeff asked.
“You’re not as dumb as the average mouthpiece. Maybe that’s why you do mineral rights instead of criminal law. Why don’t you quit fooling around chasing after ancient history and marry that Melanie girl? Get yourself a good wife and a couple of kids, and you might turn out all right.”
“All these years, I’ve resented him,” Jeff said. “If only I’d known the truth.” He swallowed a sigh. “I wish I’d written him more letters while he was in prison.”
“Water under the bridge.” Otto took a slow drag of his cigarette. “If wishes were horses we’d all take a ride. All you can do now is take your old man out and buy him a cup of coffee now and again. Go fishing with him. Be a son.”
Jeff was startled. “How’d you know my dad likes to fish?
“It’s a detective’s job to know things.” After blowing a column of smoke toward the ceiling, Otto stamped out his cigarette and unwrapped the second chocolate bar. “I don’t expect you have any reason to visit me again. But if you do come, make sure you bring me some cigars. No cheap stogies. Good ones, the kind they sell in wooden boxes.”
Jeff stood and patted Otto’s shoulder. “Thank you, sir. You’ve been a great help.”
Chapter Twenty-ONE
Jeff yawned and stretched before bounding out of bed. Glancing toward the ceiling-high window of his condo, he breathed a sigh of relief. The weatherman predicted a twenty percent chance of spring rain, but there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. He’d been planning this Sunday for weeks, hoping to make it a birthday Melanie would never forget.
A major glitch developed a few days ago, when Mel turned down his invitation to go to church with him. “Oh, wait, isn’t Sunday April twentieth? I’m so sorry, Jeff. I promised to teach the preschool Sunday school class for my friend Marsha. She’s out of town, and asked me to fill in for her.”
Jeff’s mind was whirling, a mental tornado ripping through the sequence of hoped-for events, when Melanie unwittingly offered the perfect solution. “Do you want to visit the Southside Fellowship?” she asked. “I mean, it’s not as big or fancy as the church you go to, but we could sit together in the worship service.”
He breathed a sigh of relief. “Great idea. We can go to Papa Pomodoro’s for lunch afterward.”
Whistling a tune, Jeff dressed for church Sunday morning. He patted the tiny package in his shirt pocket during the elevator ride to the underground parking garage. He smiled at his reflection in the polished metal walls, hoping his sweetheart would love the surprises he had in store for her today.
Jeff pulled into the Southside Fellowship’s packed earth parking lot. He parked as close as possible to Melanie’s white pickup, which was easy to spot because of its patchwork red fender. Although the main building’s outside resembled a barn more than a church, he found the interior’s appearance warmly traditional. His plan was to slip unnoticed into the back row and wait for Mel to show up. However, a steady of stream of people entering the building stopped to greet and welcome him.
The crowd noise settled as the pianist began to play a lively tune. Jeff’s eyes darted everywhere, searching for Melanie’s blond locks, but to no avail.
A woman about forty leaned over his shoulder. “You must be Jeff.”
Startled, he whispered his only thought. “Is Melanie all right?”
“She h
ad to run home, but she’ll be back pretty soon.” The woman grinned. “My instructions were to look for a handsome stranger and let him know.”
Jeff watched the woman take a seat several rows away, while he wished he’d asked for more information. Under other circumstances, he would have enjoyed the familiar congregational hymns. This morning he was distracted by concern for Melanie—and also for his carefully laid plans.
Five minutes into the sermon, Jeff heard a soft swoosh, as Mel appeared as if from nowhere and sat beside him. The light scent of a flower garden hovered around her. Her return of his hand squeeze reassured him nothing traumatic had occurred.
As soon as the final prayer concluded, Jeff turned to Melanie. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“Everything’s fine.” She glanced toward her feet. “I broke off a heel and I had to go home to change shoes after Sunday school. I looked like Long John Silver stomping around.” She smiled and wrinkled her nose. “The three-year-olds loved it, but it wasn’t quite the look I wanted after we hadn’t seen each other for a week.”
He slipped an arm around her. “Buffalo Nickel’s representative signed off on the settlement late last night. My life is my own again. Finally.”
At Jeff’s suggestion, Melanie left her pickup in the church parking lot rather than drive two vehicles to the restaurant. A server lifted his eyebrows when they entered, motioning with his head for the couple to follow him.
“This is nice,” Mel observed, as the waiter seated her at a table for two nestled in a private alcove.
Jeff agreed. “Yes, it’s almost as if we’re all alone.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “And I like that idea.”
“Me, too.” Mel hardly glanced at the menu. “I had chicken last time you brought me here, but the cheese ravioli is calling to me today. Aren’t you tired from burning the midnight oil all week?”
“Nope. We had our case nailed, and I knew all along Buffalo Nickel would fold. It was simply a matter of digging in my heels until they agreed to all our terms and settled an enormous amount of money on Mrs. Meeker. Which they did.” Jeff turned to the approaching server. “Cheese ravioli for both of us.” After a sip of water, he asked, “How was your week?”
Evidence Not Seen (Love Is Book 9) Page 8