Yellow Packard

by Ace Collins

  Chapter 14

  After returning from their celebratory lunch, George made a call to John Osgood, an old high school friend. Osgood was the feature writer for the Danville Commercial News. After an exchange of pleasantries, George guided the conversation in a direction he hoped would land him in the pages of the local newspaper.

  “So,” Osgood said, “you’re telling me it was the supposedly cursed Packard that saved your life?”

  “No doubt about it,” George assured him. “If you don’t believe me, you can ask the truck driver. He’ll swear to it as well. In fact he was the one who pointed it out to me.”

  “But,” Osgood argued, “why is this so important that you need to tell me about it? I mean, not getting killed in a car crash is hardly news when the crash doesn’t happen.”

  “Yeah,” George explained, “but it becomes news when that yellow Packard is involved. This is the very car you wrote about a few months ago, killing that guy at the railroad yard and at the dealership. I own the car that everyone thinks is possessed, and it is the same car that kept my daughter, wife, and me from being killed. You see where I’m going with this. It would be a great human interest feature, and that sells papers.”

  “Oh, I see where you’re going,” the reporter assured him. “It is kind of an exorcism feature. Might be good, at that. Can I get a picture of you and the car?”

  “You can come over this afternoon and get a photo with the whole family.”

  “Okay,” Osgood replied, “I’ll do it. But what’s your angle? This kind of publicity isn’t going to make you any money. It won’t get you a raise.”

  “But it might just change folks’ view,” George quickly replied. “We’re being shunned right now. If the car’s reputation changes, then maybe folks will start thinking it’s a good luck charm.”

  “Sounds good.” Osgood laughed. “Though keep in mind this whole thing is so silly. How about I get to your place around four?”

  “We’ll be ready.”

  Hanging up the phone, George wandered back through the house onto the porch. The afternoon heat was stifling. With no breeze it felt like an oven. Yet he didn’t care. He’d been right to ignore the gossip and buy the car. That had been proven today. And when that story ran in tomorrow’s paper, others would see it, too.

  Chapter 15

  For two years George had been trying to impress his boss. He’d gotten a few pats on the back and even two small raises, but twice he’d watched others be awarded the assignments that paved the way for them to move on to larger companies while he had been left behind. It seemed his work was adequate but never great. More than once he’d been told that he was a skilled draftsman but that he just didn’t have the imagination to do anything beyond normal expectations. How in the world could he find the gift of imagination? They hadn’t taught it at school, and it sure wasn’t hiding somewhere in his desk. It seemed he would be doomed to be just another cog in the company machine forever, and that was so frustrating.

  It was four in the afternoon when an unexpected thunderstorm brought a hint of coolness to the air. As George sat at his desk working on a drawing of a new piece of equipment needed by Johnson Drafting and Design, Felix Mondell walked through his open office door.

  “George, isn’t this rain a relief?”

  As George glanced up from his work, Mondell tossed the afternoon edition of Commercial News on the desk in front of him. “By the way, that’s a good story on you. Good for business, too. Folks in the industry like to see a man who knows a good deal and seizes on it. I’ve already had one of our clients call in asking about you.”

  Though he had already read the piece, George pretended surprise. “Thank you, sir. I’m glad the paper ran the story. I wanted to dispel that nonsense about a curse.”

  The short, slightly built Mondell traced his pencil-thin mustache with his index finger and laughed. “You did more than just dispel it; you derailed it! Folk are probably talking about this all over the state. In fact, the president of Packard called about an hour ago wanting to speak with you. As you were out of the office, I took the call.”

  “Wow,” George bubbled, this time genuinely surprised. “Alvan Macauley called here looking for me? I had no idea. I wonder what he wanted.”

  “George, this is big!” Mondell shot back. “Because of that story, Packard is going to give us a bit of drafting work. Can you believe that? I’m going to meet with some of their engineers at the company’s Detroit offices next week. Imagine us working for one of the big auto companies! And it is all because you had the courage to buy that car!”

  “That is good news, sir,” George chimed in.

  “And, George, they want to use your story and your family in an ad. They are going to pay you for it, too. You will kind of be like a spokesperson for them. That’s what Macauley called about.”

  Mondell reached into his vest pocket and yanked out a slip of paper. After tossing it on the desk, he added, “Here is the name and number of their guy in promotion who wants to talk to you about making the deal. In a couple of months your face will be in Life magazine. Imagine that!”

  George was too overwhelmed to speak. Leaning back in his desk chair, he considered what this would mean not just to Johnson Drafting and Design but also to him and Carole. This could be life changing. He glanced back up to his boss, “How much do you think they will pay me?”

  “They said something on the phone about a thousand.”

  It was more than George made in a year. “Wow, if that’s true we could move to a nicer house. I might even be able to buy one.”

  “You’ll be able to move.” Mondell laughed, his eyes twinkling. “And that has nothing to do with the Packard. George, you have always been dependable. No one can doubt that, but I’ve been waiting to see your spark, that fire in your belly, that creative stroke that sets you apart from others, and today I saw it. I want to keep you with us. Don’t want anyone stealing you now that you’ve found that special imaginative element that sets you apart from others, so I’m giving you a twenty-dollar-a-week raise starting right at this moment. Reading that story and thinking about how close I came to losing my best man made me realize just how much you mean to this company.” The short man grinned and added, “Put it there!”

  Standing up, George reached his hand across the desk. After they shook, Mondell smiled even bigger. He was obviously thrilled. He actually believed this story was going to put Johnson Drafting and Design on the map. And who knows? Maybe he was right.

  “George, make the call, work out the details, and then take the rest of the day off. In fact, take tomorrow off, too. Breathe in the air; take your family on a picnic; look for that new house! Do whatever you want! On Wednesday we’ll start working together on that deal Packard is making with our company.”

  Chapter 16

  It was just past five when George flew through the front door of their small, drafty, rented house and raced back to the kitchen. He found Carole at the stove working on supper. Sweeping her into his arm, he dipped her down and presented her with a huge, sloppy kiss. After pulling her up and twirling her across the wooden floor, he all but yelled, “You’re not going to believe what happened to me today!”

  “Shhh, the baby’s asleep. You’ll wake her.”

  “Sorry,” he whispered, his face still framed by a grin the size of a breakfast saucer, “but this has been the greatest day of my life!”

  “It’s been pretty good here, too.” Carole laughed. “Ever since that story came out, the phone hasn’t quit ringing and a dozen different people have come by to visit.”

  “That’s nothing,” George said, his voice once again approaching a shout.

  “Hold it down,” she begged him.

  “I got a raise,” he whispered, “and the Packard Company is going to pay us two thousand dollars to be in an ad and use our story. At first they were talking about half that, but then they added a radio pitch and doubled their offer. Honey, we can move out of this dump and into
a nicer place. We might even be able to buy the Casons’ place. It’s been for sale for a while, and it has the huge backyard and a nice garage, too.”

  “We’re going to be in an ad?” she blurted out, disbelief showing in her tone. “You mean a local ad in the paper?”

  “No,” George crowed, “in magazines like Life and Time. And on national radio, too!”

  “And it’s all because of the Packard!” She laughed.

  “Sure is,” he assured her.

  “And just think, George, I wanted you to sell that car. I’d have been giving away a gold mine. Sure glad you’re the brains in this family.”

  “I doubt that I’m the brains. Felix gave me the next couple of days off. Let’s use them to look at the Cason place and make an offer.”

  “Okay,” she sang out, “but isn’t there something else we need to do first?”

  “You mean eat? Celebrate?”

  “I was thinking about maybe offering a prayer of thanksgiving. It seems God has been smiling on us.”

  George hadn’t stopped to consider his faith in a long time. Maybe he’d thought God had forgotten him. Besides, was this God’s doing, or was it merely a run of good luck? Getting the deal on the car right when his broke down … The fact that he was able to purchase it for the money he had on hand … The car’s brakes saving their lives. Did God really set up false curses so that people like him could be blessed?

  “George, what are you thinking about?”

  “Nothing,” he lied. If the Lord was behind all this good fortune, then was He also behind the death of the two men associated with the Packard? Was there a way to separate the good from the bad and only give God credit for the half that blessed them?

  The ring of the phone drew Carole from his side.

  “Hello … Oh, Mary, yes it was a blessing we weren’t killed.”

  George took his thoughts with him to the front porch. As he eased down into a metal lawn chair, he glanced back at the car that had suddenly brought so much fortune into their lives. Was there something more than just the car at work here?

  Chapter 17

  March 15, 1940

  Tax day! Could there be a worse twenty-four-hour period in the history of the world? Especially this year!

  Life had been too good since Rose had come. It was almost impossible for him to believe it had been two-and-a-half years. Where had the time gone? But how great those years had been. The continuing deal with Packard, the money that came from the generous raise at his new position with Johnson Drafting and Design, and even a small inheritance from his uncle Jim Henley’s estate had moved George into a higher tax bracket. He’d been in shock since the night before when he figured his income tax. Just paying Uncle Sam was pretty much going to wipe out all their savings. It didn’t seem fair, and it couldn’t have happened at a worse time. Rose needed new clothes. He’d spent a bundle on tires and a new battery for the car, and Carole had been offered a chance to buy her cousin’s flower shop. It was something she really wanted to do, and he’d been happy to approve the deal a few days ago. But that was before he discovered the government had different plans for his modest savings.

  He had just written the check to the United States Treasury Department and sealed the envelope when Carole walked into the kitchen. She had a huge grin on her face. “Do I need to go to the bank to get the thousand for the down payment on the shop?”

  “Carole,” he quietly answered.

  For the first time in years she didn’t seem to notice the worry etched on his face or dripping from his tone. With hardly time for a breath she rattled on, “George, you have no idea how long I have wanted to own that shop. As a kid I would walk in there, and just smelling those flowers lifted me into the air. I felt like the luckiest girl in the world when I worked there in high school. And now that place will be mine. It won’t be Betty’s Flower Shop anymore; it will be Carole’s. And I can use the Packard to deliver flowers. And the best part is that Rose can stay with me at the shop.”

  He nodded. How was he going to break the news to her? Betty had to have the money. She and her husband were moving to the West Coast. That thousand dollars would pay Betty’s rent for months until they could get on their feet. He wouldn’t just be shattering his wife’s dream; he’d be derailing Betty and Frank’s plans, too. But what could he do? They didn’t have the money, and even if they cut way back, they wouldn’t have the money for several months now.

  “Listen, Carole.”

  Their toddler strolling into the house interrupted the speech George dreaded giving. “Hello, Daddy!”

  “Hey, Rosie,” he said, pulling the little girl up into his lap. “Where have you been?”

  “Playing out by the car.”

  George smiled. “You playing with your dolls in the garage?”

  “Yeah.” Rose laughed. “And playing with money, too.”

  Crawling down from his lap, Rose laid a doll and some crumbled paper on the table and moved off toward her room.

  “What an imagination!” He chuckled. “Wonder what she thought was money.”

  “Probably some play money from one of the board games you bought at that estate sale last year,” Carole said. “The one called The Landlord’s Game was filled with fake bills. Now, speaking of money, do I write a check to Aunt Betty, or do I get the money from the bank? Or do you want to do that?”

  George felt as if Joe Louis had punched him in the gut. This was going to be one of the toughest moments of his life. “Carole, about the money. I’ve been figuring our taxes, and …”

  “George, I’m sure you did a great job with that, too. You were always so good with numbers, but quit stalling around. I need to get going. Are you going to make me get down on my knees and beg, or are you just looking for a big old kiss?”

  “Carole …” His words failed him.

  “Oh, George,” she said, pushing by him to the spot where Rose had placed her doll. Moving the toy to one side, she picked up ten real one-hundred-dollar bills from a stack of yellow and blue play money. “Silly, why didn’t you tell me you already got the cash?” She glanced at her watch. “Aunt Betty’s waiting. I’ve got to run.” She pushed the bills into her purse and leaned over to kiss George on the cheek. “You play such games with me. I sure wish you’d have put these bills in your wallet rather than crumpling them in your pocket.” A few seconds later, before he could even question what had just happened, Carole was gone, the door slamming behind her as she rushed off to complete the most important transaction of her life.

  A stunned George looked across the table to the play money. Picking it up, he studied each bill. All of them had Parker Brothers written on them. Yet the money Carole picked out of this batch was real. He hadn’t put them there, so who had? Rose? He was sure of one thing. The money hadn’t been on the table when he did the taxes. Rose must have brought it in. Rushing out of the kitchen to his child’s room, he found her in the middle of her bed playing with a stuffed lion.

  “Rose, where did you find that money you brought into the kitchen?”

  “From the game.”

  George dropped the play money he clutched in his hand onto the bed. “Not this money, the money that looked like this.” Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a five-dollar bill. “There was some money you had that looked like this mixed in with the play money. Where did you get it?”

  The little girl studied it for a few seconds and shrugged.

  Sitting down beside her, George took the lion from her lap and tossed it into a chair. Holding the five in front of her face, he softly begged, “Honey, this is very important. I need to know where you found the green money. It looks kind of like what I’m holding here.”

  She said nothing. Instead she jumped from the bed and walked toward the back door. George followed her through her room, across the kitchen, and outside. It seemed spring had come early. The temperature was in the fifties, and after a long, cold winter it felt like spring was just around the corner. Thus neither he nor his
daughter bothered with a coat as she led him to a place beside the garage. There, next to an old ash can, she pointed to a spot where the shade from the garage’s overhang had protected a patch of snow from the sun’s direct light.

  “You found it here?” George asked, bending over to examine the area.

  She nodded.

  “Was there any more?” he asked. “Or did you bring it all in?”

  “Just that. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, and ten.”

  “Wonder how it got here?” he whispered. Pushing the ash can to the side, he scanned the rest of the ground. Nothing! Peering into the trash bin, he saw nothing as well. But Rose had found this money, and it had to have come from somewhere.

  As he stood erect he noted the wind was blowing about ten miles an hour out of the south. Maybe the bills had blown in. Maybe someone had dropped it out of a purse or a pocket, and the wind had caught it. Maybe that was it. But ten of them? That part was hard to explain. If someone lost it, that person was going to be awfully upset. He had to find out. As much as he didn’t want to, he had to know the truth.

  “Rose, let’s go back inside and put on our coats. You and I are going to take a walk and knock on a few doors. We need to find out if someone lost any money today.”

  What he figured would be easy wasn’t. An hour and a half later they had knocked on every door within five blocks without discovering anyone who was missing any money.

  “Rose,” George said as he rapped on a final door, “if no one here is missing any money, then I guess we’ll just have to figure it fell from heaven.”

  “Or was dropped by a bird,” she added.

  George hadn’t considered that. Crows were notorious for stealing things.

  As he turned to head back toward home, George noted a scruffy man approaching. He hardly looked like someone who had ever seen a hundred-dollar bill, much less lost one, but he decided to ask nonetheless.

  “Excuse me, sir,” George said, his words stopping the man in his tracks. “I’m George Hall and this is my daughter Rose. Did you lose some money?”