Yellow Packard

by Ace Collins

  It made it easier that Angel loved school and really enjoyed the time after school hours playing with kids her own age whose mothers also worked at the factory. In a very real sense, because the girl was so social, Angel was happier than she’d ever been just playing by herself at home. And though Beverly knew her little girl missed her father, the letters they received always made both of them smile. So things weren’t as bad as she imagined they would be.

  It was just past five. Beverly had already punched out and was heading down the hall toward the child-care department when someone called her name.

  “Mrs. Coffman.”

  She turned and noted a slightly heavyset, older woman hurrying down the hall in her direction. Though she didn’t know the woman’s name, she recognized her from the lunchroom.

  “Mrs. Coffman,” the woman called out again. By the time she was next to Beverly the stranger was out of breath from her sprint down the hall. “I’m Clara Baker. I work on assembly line B. My daughter, Jenny, and your daughter, Angel, play together every day.”

  “Mrs. Baker, so nice to meet you. I’ve met Jenny. She is a wonderful young girl. Angel loves her.”

  “Thank you,” Clara replied. “I hate to ask you this, but we had an issue on my line today, and I need to work another four hours so we can catch up. I was wondering, as they don’t keep child-care open late, if you could take my Jenny home with you tonight. If you give me your address, I could pick her up later.”

  “Sure,” Beverly replied, “Angel would love to have her over.” She pulled a pencil and an old envelope from her purse to scribble down her address and telephone number.

  “Thank you,” Clara said, tucking the envelope into her uniform pocket once she handed it to her. “I’ll walk with you to child care so I can tell Jenny where she’s going.”

  Jenny seemed genuinely excited as they left the plant and strolled out to the parking lot. She and Angel were giggling as they waltzed along rows of cars. Beverly ushered them to the fourth row and directed them to the right. Halfway to the fence sat their Packard.

  Seeing the car, Jenny smiled. “Is that yours?”

  “It sure is,” Angel told her. “My daddy bought it for us.”

  Beverly unlocked and opened the front driver’s side door, climbed in, and released the lock on the back door. Angel crawled into the rear seat. When the woman looked at her daughter for an explanation, the girl piped up with words that made Beverly very proud. “You always say we are supposed to give the best things to our guests. Jenny is our guest, so she should ride in the front seat.”

  Beverly smiled and waved her hand toward the front door. Jenny grinned, pushed her dark blond hair away from her face, and climbed in. Closing the door, the woman hurried around to the other side.

  The drive home was uneventful. The girls talked about school, clothes, and radio shows. They were three blocks from the Coffman’s home in Wilmette, when the conversation moved to dolls.

  “I’ve got a doll that cries,” Angel bragged.

  “I’ve got a couple of dolls,” Jenny replied. “They don’t cry, but one of them has eyes that close.”

  “That’s neat,” Angel enthusiastically noted.

  “But dolls aren’t my favorite toys,” Jenny explained. “You know what is?”

  “No. What?”

  Beverly pulled into their drive. Parking the Packard, she shut off the engine and reached for her purse that was sitting between her and Jenny. Just as she did, the little girl placed her hand under the corner of the seat. The bemused woman watched as their guest felt carefully along the seat’s edge. A growing smile indicated she’d found what she was looking for. Jenny pulled her hand up and showed the woman two magnetic Scotty dogs. They were small enough the little girl could hide them in her fist. One was black and the other white.

  “Watch what they do.” Jenny almost laughed. “See when I put them nose to nose they look like they’re fighting.”

  “Wow,” Angel exclaimed. “That’s swell! Let’s go inside and play with them.”

  “Okay,” Jenny agreed as she reached for the door handle.

  “Just a second,” Beverly quietly said. “Before we get out, I need to ask a question.”

  Both girls looked at the obviously confused and curious woman. “Jenny, how did you know the dogs were under the seat?”

  “I put them there,” she immediately explained.

  The woman considered the answer. She didn’t know how the girl could have put them there. Yes she’d walked around the car in the plant parking lot, but Beverly had been watching Jenny during that time. She had been standing talking to Angel. Beverly was sure of that.

  “Jenny,” Beverly asked, “when did you put them under the seat?”

  “A long time ago,” came the puzzling response. “My real mommy gave them to me.”

  The woman had no idea what to ask next, so she opened the door and followed the kids into the house. Yet, as she watched the girls play with Jenny’s favorite toys, the troubling question as to how they got into her car and on the bottom of the seat frame continued to prick her mind. Try as she could, she just couldn’t let it go. This was a mystery that she had to get to the bottom of, and she figured there was one sure way to do it.

  Chapter 72

  I hope she wasn’t too much trouble,” Clara said as she stepped into the Coffman’s home.

  “No,” Beverly assured her, “she was wonderful. The girls are up in Angel’s room playing with one of her dolls. Why don’t you come into the living room and warm up a bit? It’s cold out tonight.”

  “It sure is,” she agreed, following her host across the foyer. “I didn’t know the temperature was going to drop like it did. Chicago is just a lot colder than I’m used to.”

  Beverly pointed to a large, green chair, and after Clara sat down, Beverly eased onto the corner of the couch. As she did, she reached down to the coffee table and picked up the dog toys. Her guest’s eyes followed her movement, but they registered no signs of recognition upon lighting on the toys.

  “Have you ever owned a Packard?” Beverly asked.

  “Heavens, no.” Clara laughed, emphasizing her answer with a big wave of her hand. “I’ve never even ridden in one.”

  “Have you ever owned toys like this?” Beverly asked, opening her fist to reveal the black and white dogs.

  “No,” Clara answered. “I’ve seen them but never owned any. Why do you ask?”

  Pulling her fist shut, Beverly explained, “Because you daughter found them in our car. She told us she put them there, and they were hers.”

  Suddenly the heavyset woman bolted from the chair as if she had been given a jolt of electricity. Even before she was completely upright she hollered, “Jenny, it’s almost ten. We have to get home.” She then slipped her gloves on and looked toward her host. “Thank you again for taking care of my girl.”

  “Clara,” Beverly softly but firmly replied, “you didn’t answer my question. How did your daughter know these dogs were in our Packard?”

  “Where is that girl?” Clara said nervously.

  “I’m here,” came the answer. A second later Jenny appeared. She’d already slipped her coat on and was buttoning it up.

  “We need to go,” Clara said, grabbing the little girl’s arm and pulling her toward the door.

  “I have to get my toys,” Jenny argued, pointing toward the dogs that Beverly was holding in her open palm.

  “Those aren’t yours,” the woman snapped.

  “Yes, they are,” Jenny answered, digging her heels into the carpet. “And I want them.”

  Still holding the girl with her left hand, Clara pulled back her right and brought it sharply across Jenny’s face. If it stunned the girl, she didn’t show it, nor did she cry.

  A shocked Beverly didn’t know what to do. She wasn’t prepared for what had just transpired.

  “You shouldn’t have done that!” Angel said.

  “Listen, you little brat,” Clara barked, “Jenny lied,
and she needed to be taught a lesson. Maybe you do, too.”

  Frightened, Angel rushed past the woman and behind her mother. A second later, the door slammed shut.

  Chapter 73

  Beverly remained unsettled for the rest of the night and all the next day. She couldn’t get the events of the preceding evening out of her mind. They ate at her like a hungry dog gnawing on a bone. The fact that Clara had slapped Jenny was less troubling than the woman’s response to the toy dogs. There was something wrong, but Beverly had no idea what to do about it. After all, was it really any of her business anyway? She barely knew the woman or the child. Yet as much as she tried to convince herself the situation wasn’t something that should concern her, she couldn’t shake it. It consumed her thoughts while she worked that day. At lunch she even tried to find Baker in the cafeteria and ask about the toys again. She later convinced herself that it was good she hadn’t found the woman.

  As she and Angel drove home, Beverly remained mute, allowing the radio’s music to entertain her daughter. Finally, after ten minutes of silence, Angel turned down the volume and said, “I sure wish Jenny had been at school today.”

  “She wasn’t there?” Beverly asked.

  “She wasn’t at the child-care room either,” Angel explained. “Maybe her face hurt too much.”

  Her daughter’s words stung. Yes, this was her business. Making a right turn, she drove around the block and headed back for the plant. Leading Angel by the hand, she crossed the parking lot, entered the main building, and took an elevator up to the third floor. She walked down a hall and into the personnel department, where she flashed her work badge and made a very innocent inquiry.

  “I need to have the address of one of the line workers—Clara Baker. I took care of her daughter for her last night, and little Jenny left her favorite toy at our house. I need to return it.”

  An elderly, white-haired woman with large glasses glanced up from her duties. She studied the badge and then Beverly before asking, “What was that name again?”

  “Clara Baker.”

  Getting up from her desk, she waddled across the room to a file cabinet. She opened a drawer, leafed through the contents for a few seconds then, pulling a pencil from its resting place on top of her ear and a piece of paper from her pocket, jotted down the information. Closing the cabinet, she waddled back and announced, “Here it is. Seems like a lot of trouble for a toy.”

  “Thank you,” Beverly said, grabbing the paper and looking at the address. It appeared to be an apartment house in Evanston. It would only be a few blocks off their regular route home. But even if it had been twenty miles out of their way, she would have gone that distance, too. She was suddenly that deeply troubled.

  “Come on, Angel.”

  “Are we going to visit Jenny?”

  “I sure hope so.”

  It took thirty minutes to get to the red brick complex. There were five one-story buildings, each housing four apartments. Clara Baker lived in 3B.

  It was just getting dark when Beverly knocked on the door. No one answered. She tried again.

  “I don’t think they’re home,” Angel noted.

  Not giving up, Beverly pounded on the entry. As she did, an older man stepped out of the next unit.

  “You looking for Clara?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Beverly replied. “You know where she is?”

  “I own this place,” he replied. “I’d like to know where she went as well. I was gone, but the folks over in 3A told me she came home late last night, packed up her car, and headed out. Except for some food, a bed, and a couple of chairs, there ain’t anything left in that place. She cleared out owing me a month’s rent. And the place is such a mess it is impossible to describe. I’ll have to repaint every wall before I can rent it again.”

  “So you don’t know where she went?” Beverly asked.

  “No idea,” he replied. “Sorry about that. Hope she didn’t owe you money, too.” The short, pudgy man stepped back into his flat and shut the door.

  Alone in the darkness, Beverly wondered what she should do now. Something was obviously very wrong, and Jenny finding those toys in their car had triggered it all.

  “You know, Mommy.”

  “What is it, Angel?”

  “Jenny never calls her mommy Mommy. Why is that?”

  Beverly looked down at her child. “What’s she call her?”

  “Nothing,” came the flat response. “That’s strange. She’s the only kid I know who doesn’t have a name for her mommy.”

  Beverly was now even more troubled. If Clara wasn’t the mother, and they certainly looked nothing alike, then who was? Where had the little girl come from?

  “Mommy, seeing as how they’re gone, do you think we should do something with their mail?”

  Beverly turned around and looked at the small metal box beside the doorframe. Tampering with it was likely a federal offense, but she didn’t care. She yanked out two envelopes and examined them. Both had return addresses in Koshkonong, Missouri. Stuffing the letters into her coat pocket, she grabbed Angel’s hand and with purpose in her step walked back to the Packard. She couldn’t do anything tonight, but tomorrow she had a rare Friday off. She just hoped that even with the whole world at war she could find someone who would listen to her strange story.

  Chapter 74

  Even though Henry Reese wanted to be in the military, J. Edgar Hoover stepped in and kept him and about a dozen other agents from enlisting. It seemed Henry’s duties with the FBI were of more national importance than fighting in the Pacific or Europe. That meant, at least for the moment, that he was back in Chicago investigating possible espionage at a local munitions plant. His one-week investigation had not revealed any fire and very little smoke.

  In the old office he’d once shared with Helen Meeker, he picked up the phone. It was time to close this case and ask for a new assignment. As soon as someone in the Washington DC office picked up the line, he was going to ask to be shipped back to Hawaii. He knew there was real work to be done there, work that would place him much closer to helping end this war. But a knock on his door kept him from making that call.

  He set the phone down, got up, buttoned the middle of the three buttons on his suit coat, crossed the room, twisted the knob, opened the door, and was greeted by the last person he wanted to see—an agitated woman and her smiling daughter.

  “May I help you?” he inquired.

  “I hope so,” the woman quickly replied.

  “Come in,” Reese said. “There are two chairs in front of my desk. I want to warn you they aren’t as comfortable as the ones you will find in firehouses, but hopefully they’ll do.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be fine,” she answered, moving with a sense of urgency to the desk. As the tiny woman gracefully sat in the chair on the left, her daughter climbed up into the one on the right.

  After they were settled, Reese closed the door and strolled over to join them. As he took his seat, a large clanking noise filled the room shocking the visitors and causing them to crane their heads back toward the far wall.

  “It’s the steam heat!” he yelled. “It’ll calm down in second.” As if on cue, it did. “Now, I’m Agent Henry Reese. What can do for you two young ladies?”

  “Mr. Reese, I’m Beverly Coffman. This is my daughter, Angel. I work at Motl Aviation.”

  He nodded and observed the woman nervously fiddling with her wedding ring before asking the dreaded but apparent question, “I’m guessing you believe that enemy agents are working in the plant.”

  “No,” she answered, her voice filled with shock. “Has that been a problem?”

  He shook his head. “But from the number of tips we get, you’d think it was. So what are you here for?”

  “It is about a little girl,” she began. “Though I really have no proof, I think she has been kidnapped.” As he leaned forward, she added, “I know it sounds strange, but I need to explain my story to someone.”

  “Please d
o,” he replied, glad to be visiting with a civilian who wasn’t seeing spies everywhere. Resting his elbows on his desk and staring directly into the woman’s eyes, he waited for her to give him the details.

  Beverly explained the events that had happened on Wednesday night. She then shared the events that had transpired at the apartment. After she’d finished, she looked to the man for some signs of urgency. There were none.

  “Mrs. Coffman,” Reese began, “what you’ve given me would make a solid soap opera script, but there’s hardly enough here to link it to some kind of child abduction. Maybe the child’s toys represent a bad memory for the woman. And perhaps the little girl stuck those toys to your seat while you weren’t looking. Kids move quickly.”

  Beverly reached into her purse and fished out the magnetic dogs. “Here they are.”

  “I’ve seen a lot of dogs like this,” he assured her. “You can buy them all over the country. They even sold them at shops in Hawaii when I was there. I almost bought some for my nephew.”

  “I know that they aren’t unusual,” she replied, “but Clara Baker was genuinely upset, very nervous, near a fit, when I told her that Jenny found these in our car.”

  Reese took the dogs and placed them on his desk. He made them move as if they were playing with each other as the woman continued, “I also found these letters with a Missouri return address in Clara Baker’s mailbox. I didn’t open them, but you might want to. Maybe it will tell you something.”

  Reese took the envelopes and dropped them beside the dogs. Sensing he needed to say something that would give the determined woman some sense of comfort, he added, “I’ll look into this. Write your address down for me and if I find out anything, I’ll contact you.”

  “You really will check on where she went?” Beverly asked.

  “I promise,” he assured her. “Now did you take a bus or a cab?”

  “No, we drove.”

  “Where are you parked?” he asked.

  “We found a place on the street about a half block from the front door.”