O Little Town

by Reid, Don

  “That’s what I’m calling you about. I’ve been out riding around looking for him since we talked. And I found his car. It’s still on the lot behind the store.”

  Buddy’s face muscles tightened. “What? Where are you now?”

  “I’m at that phone booth in front of the Jefferson Bank. I can see the back door of the store from here but I don’t have a key, of course. I banged on the door a few times but I don’t know if he’s in there.”

  “Colleen, you need to go home and let me handle this. Will you do that?”

  “I need to get in the store. It’s freezing out here. Can you get a key?”

  “Colleen, go home.”

  “I’ll wait here till you get a key. Certainly the police know how to get in a locked door.”

  “Colleen—” but the rest of that sentence was lost to the dial tone from the other end of the line. Buddy slammed the phone down a little harder than he meant. It startled Amanda, who looked up with tears in her eyes. Shirley Ann was standing in the doorway in her pajamas.

  “Mama. Daddy. What’s going on?”

  “Your daddy has been called out tonight, that’s all.”

  “Then why are you crying?”

  Amanda sighed heavily. “It’s just life, Shirley Ann, life. Go back to bed.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Buddy met Milton shortly after the war in the spring of ’47. He had only been in town for a month or so when Milton called the police station about a theft problem at Macalbee’s. Buddy, a uniformed officer at the time, answered the call. Buddy remembered feeling like he was being watched as he walked in the store’s front door and down the aisles. He stopped in the middle of the store and looked all around and then finally spotted Milton standing by the window in his office. Milton waved Buddy up, and when he got to the office, Milton was waiting with coffee and a handshake.”

  “How you doing? I’m Milton Sandridge.”

  “Buddy Briggs.”

  “Sit down.”

  “Thank you. That’s a pretty neat window you got there,” Buddy said. “You’ve got a bird’s-eye view of everything.”

  “Well, not everything or I wouldn’t have needed to call you.”

  They both laughed.

  “I can look out this window and see shoplifters and window shoppers and serious shoppers. I see people who just come in to get out of the cold or the heat, kids who just want to finger everything and don’t have a dime to spend, and comparison shoppers from other stores. I see people who come in each week to pay down their layaways and those who show up once and never return. And I see clerks loafing and gossiping and trying to look busy. But what I don’t see, Officer … what was it?”

  “Briggs. Buddy.”

  “What I don’t see, Buddy, is whoever it is that’s stealing me blind.”

  Choosing to call him Buddy that first day sealed their friendship.

  Buddy drank another cup of coffee while Milton laid out his problem.

  “We’ve got merchandise missing. And some of it is big stuff. We keep a rack of winter coats there toward the back. Last week we lost four, all different sizes. Last Friday an entire bolt of cloth came up missing. My assistant and I pretty much keep watch on the store throughout the day. Not every minute, mind you, but we keep an eye on things. I know we’ll miss shoplifters who take small stuff. Thread and scissors and stockings and socks and things they can stuff in their pockets. But this big stuff has me stumped. One day last week a tricycle was missing. Now tell me how somebody gets a tricycle out the front door without somebody seeing them?”

  Buddy thought for a moment and offered a plan.

  “Give me a week. Don’t do anything until you hear back from me. And don’t tell anyone why I was here this morning. Let’s just keep this between the two of us.”

  Milton agreed, and after they talked a few minutes more about the problems of downtown parking, the weather, and the Yankees, Buddy stood up, shook hands, and left. About halfway through the store, he turned and looked up and waved. Milton waved back. Buddy knew he’d be watching.

  That evening at closing time Buddy changed into his street clothes and walked down the narrow alley between Macalbee’s and the neighboring store. He checked all the windows and found everything to be in order. The next evening, he did the same thing and found things to be in order. On Friday he went home, ate supper, and came back at ten minutes after seven and repeated his alley trek. The third window he tried was unlocked. He raised it, looked inside to a dark basement and closed it again gently. He went back to the station and called the Macalbee’s number. Milton answered from his office.

  “Hello.”

  “Milton?”

  “This is he.”

  “Buddy Briggs here. Are you alone?”

  “Yeah, I’m alone.”

  “I think I’ve got a lead on your burglar.”

  “Burglar? Do we have a burglar?”

  “You might. Are you getting ready to leave soon?”

  “Just ready to walk out the door.”

  “It’ll be another hour before it gets good and dark, so go on home. Don’t change a thing. Meet me back here in about thirty minutes. Park by the station. I’ll be watching for you.”

  “What are we doing exactly?”

  “We’re catching bad guys. I’ll see you in about thirty.”

  Thirty minutes later Milton pulled up behind the police station and parked his car. Buddy was waiting for him. Together they walked through the alley to the back of Macalbee’s.

  “I think I’ve found how your merchandise is leaving the store but I wanted you here when we found out who it was leaving with.”

  They hid behind a service truck and settled in for a long wait. But they made good use of their time. They smoked half a pack of Lucky Strikes and talked about everything from women and Harry Truman to Jackie Robinson and Groucho Marx. They agreed on three out of the four.

  Milton was about to argue that Groucho used to be funnier with his brothers when Buddy laid a hand on his arm to silence him. A figure came around the back corner of the store and was creeping slowly toward them. They both watched as the shadow crept to the third window and raised it as high as it would go. The perpetrator took out a flashlight and shined it inside as he climbed down into the store basement. Then the stock started flying out the window. First a couple of sweaters, then a crate of candy, a scooter, and finally, two sets of bed sheets and pillowcases. When the burglar stuck his leg through the window to make his escape, Buddy made his move. As the thief reached up to pull down the window sash, Officer Briggs cuffed him.

  Milton saw it all at close range. The heist. The arrest. And the fear in the eyes of Earl Meeks, his assistant manager, as Buddy walked him across the adjoining alley to the police station. From that day on he had vowed never to allow the home office to send him an out-of-town assistant. He demanded to hire his own and that’s how Lois Pence got her job.

  The roads were worse than Buddy had expected. If Milton was out in this mess in someone else’s car, he might just be in a ditch or over the side of a hill. And what about his wife? Colleen had been risking her life on the roads too. What was he going to do with her when he got to the store? If she was still in the phone booth or even sitting on the parking lot, she couldn’t miss them. Maybe he could plead police business and danger. He didn’t know her very well so he didn’t know how easily she could be bluffed. He would just have to be fast on his feet.

  As the headlights from his cruiser flooded across the back of Macalbee’s and came to a stop, he saw the three of them walking up to the back door: Officer Tolley, Colleen Sandridge, and Lois Pence.

  Tolley walked to the car as soon as it came to a stop and left the women standing under a small overhang just outside ear range.

  “Lieutenant, I had to bring the woman with me. She wouldn’t give up the key. She’s a feisty one.”

  “What about the wife? What kind of shape is she in?”

  “She’s pretty upset. Not crying or anythi
ng, but concerned and determined. I can’t tell if she’s mad or worried. She just seems a little out of it. What’s going on exactly? What are we doing here and what are we looking for?”

  “Her husband didn’t come home tonight. He may be inside and he may not be.”

  “This guy a friend of yours”?

  “Yeah. And Tolley, it’s a little sticky. I’m going to need you to keep these women just inside once we get in the building. I want to search the premises by myself.”

  “You got ‘Henry’ with you?”

  “Church is the only place I go without him.”

  Colleen and Lois were women from two different worlds. Lois was a widow devoted to her job, and Colleen was a wife devoted to her husband. Milton was their one and only bond. Before tonight their past conversations had amounted to “Hello. How are you today? Is Milton there?”

  “You look nearly frozen, Mrs. Sandridge,” Lois said.

  “I’m all right. I wish they would hurry up though. Do you have the key?”

  “Yes, I do. That officer wanted me to give it to him but I wouldn’t do it. I told him I didn’t care if he was J. Edgar Hoover, I wasn’t giving it to him so he said ‘Get your coat,’ and here I am.”

  “I think you should go ahead and open it so we can step inside where it’s warm.”

  Lois Pence was digging in her purse for the key when the lieutenant walked toward them. Buddy still didn’t know exactly how he was going to play this.

  “Colleen. Lois,” he began. “Before we open that door, here’s what I want you to do. After you turn on the lights, I need both of you stay by the door with Officer Tolley. Okay?”

  Lois spoke as she was turning the key. “That’s fine with me. Here, I’ll flip the switches.”

  As the light began to fill the building, Colleen pushed past Lois and headed in a near run toward Milton’s office. Buddy followed behind. He called for her and pleaded with her to stop but she ignored him. Just as she opened the door to the stairs that led to the office, Buddy caught up to her and grabbed her arm. Somehow she pulled away and started running up the narrow staircase. He heard noise coming from behind the office door. The radio. And as Colleen flung the door open and the music became louder, they froze in horror. Milton was slumped over his desk.

  Colleen screamed. Buddy grabbed her by the shoulders and moved her out of the doorway and went behind the desk. He put his finger against Milton’s neck, feeling for a pulse. When he looked up, Lois Pence and Officer Tolley were in the room and Colleen was in a chair with her hands to her mouth. Buddy looked at Tolley.

  “Radio for an ambulance.”

  “Is he alive?” Lois asked. Buddy was surprised by her calmness.

  “Yes.”

  Officer Tolley stepped out into the small hallway, and with much crackling and code, called for help. Lois put her arm around Colleen’s shoulders and said soft and comforting things that no one else could or needed to hear. Buddy stood by the desk looking at his friend. He was suddenly aware that the only sound in the room besides Colleen’s sobbing was Perry Como singing “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot like Christmas.” He reached over and turned the radio off.

  CHAPTER 23

  Sleep did not come easy for Walter. He was in and out of consciousness and awake every half hour. The shadows on the wall were more intrusive than the soft sounds from the hall. His waking thoughts and his dreams were intermingling. Sometimes he was aware of a nurse being in the room. Sometimes he thought it was his dad. Sometimes he thought it was Captain Bennington. Once, he was sure it was Adrienne.

  Young Walter stayed in the hospital lobby all night. He fell asleep in an armless chair twisted unnaturally in a position only a sixteen-year-old could survive. When he awoke with the first light of morning shining across him and onto the patterned carpet at his feet, he saw his mother and his father sitting opposite him, watching his every squirm and twitch. They had no way of knowing what the police’s next step would be and neither did they know beyond all doubt why their son was involved in the first place.

  His mother spoke first. “Son, are you ready to come home and eat some breakfast?”

  Walter ignored her question. “What’s happened? Have you heard anything from upstairs?”

  His father answered. “They operated in the night. I talked to the doctor just a couple of hours ago.”

  “Is she going to be all right?”

  “That’s hard to say, Walter. She’s in pretty bad shape.”

  “I want to see her.”

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, son,” his mother said. “I don’t think it would be proper and I don’t think it would be allowed.”

  “Who’s the doctor?”

  “Dr. Larnette. He’s been with her all night. He’s the same doctor, you might remember, that looked after your aunt when she …”

  E. G. Selman’s sentence was interrupted by the appearance of the until-now silent policeman who had accompanied Captain Bennington at the theater the night before. He walked up, said good morning, and then looked to Walter. “She’s awake and she’s asking to see you.”

  Walter followed the policeman down the hallway to the stairs, and at Mrs. Selman’s insistence, E. G. trailed behind. At the top of the staircase Captain Bennington took over from his subordinate and escorted them to the room. The hall was dark and quiet, and a uniformed officer was sitting in a chair outside. He rose as the three of them approached. Dr. Caywood Larnette exited room 226, surveyed the group, and spoke to them jointly, quietly, and with authority.

  “Mrs. Knoles is in a very serious way. The bullet pierced her intestines in sixteen places and perforated her bladder. We’ve done all we can to prevent infection and make her comfortable. She is conscious. Thankfully she’s been in very little pain with all this.” Dr. Larnette rubbed his hand across his bald head and breathed deeply, settling his gaze solidly on Walter. “And, young fellow, if you’re Walter, she’s asking to see you and no one else.”

  Bennington stepped forward. “She’ll see him, Doc, but I need to be in there with whoever she’s talking to.”

  “Oh, for goodness sake, Calvin,” said Walter’s dad. “Let the woman be. If she wants to talk to the boy, let her be.”

  Walter had never heard his dad talk to Captain Bennington this way and had certainly never heard him use his given name. Apparently Walter wasn’t the only one surprised by this outburst because it stopped the captain cold.

  “Well, I don’t want them in there cooking up some kind of story. He can go in, but I’m standing right here till he comes out.”

  Dr. Larnette stepped aside and opened the door for Walter, who entered slowly and anxiously. The bed near the far wall consumed the small body in pristine sheets. He moved forward and stood as close as he dared and kept his silence until he saw the slight movement of head and eyes.

  “Walter, you’re here.”

  “Yes. How are you?” He knew how silly this question was as soon as it hit the air, but it was as much sense as his nerves would allow.

  “Come closer. I don’t want them to hear me outside.”

  Walter inched toward the bed until his leg was touching it. Adrienne reached for his hand and pulled him gently until his head was bent near her lips.

  “What did you tell them, Walter? Did you tell them it was an accident? That Nick wasn’t to blame?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you seen Nick?”

  “No.”

  “You must find him. Please, Walter.”

  “How?”

  “You’ll find a way. You’ll find a way. Go on now and tell them outside that I just wanted to thank you for your kindness. Don’t tell them we talked of Nick. Do you understand? And tell Nick I’m going to be just fine.”

  With this her head rolled back facing the wall and Walter was left standing in the semi-darkness more confused than when he had entered. He walked to the door. The doctor pushed past him and went back in the room to see to Adrienne. Bennington glared down at him
with steely eyes.

  “What did she want?”

  “She just wanted to thank me.”

  “Thank you? Thank you for what?”

  “For being her friend,” and Walter walked back to the staircase and down the steps. E. G. followed at a distance and Captain Bennington just stood there with a puzzled look on his face.

  The last murder Bennington had worked was right after the turn of the century in the summer of 1900, when Daniel Moss had been found dead on the back porch of John Tuttlemeyer’s farmhouse. The cause of death was a shotgun blast to the face. It was a clear case of breaking and entering and self-defense—the whole town knew the Moss boys were nothing but trouble. An investigation was conducted, but charges were never brought. Of course, this wasn’t a murder case … yet. Bennington knew there was a slim chance the actress would survive … but he wasn’t optimistic about it. It would become a murder case, he thought. Eventually.

  By ten the next morning Walter was back in the theater doing what he always did the morning after a show. He was cleaning the aisles and sweeping out between the rows of seats. There would be no show tonight. His father told him that within one hour of the ambulance carrying Adrienne off to the hospital, most of the remaining cast and crew had packed up and left town. The local police had done a poor job of securing the room as a crime scene, and when they returned to comb through any possible evidence, it had all disappeared. Someone had even mopped up the blood. Walter’s dad said it was an old circus troupe tactic of leaving no trace behind that could convict one of their own, even if one of their own was guilty. Did Nicholas and Simon leave with them? And where were they? In a neighboring town? On the way back to Baltimore? Adrienne had asked him the impossible when she asked him to find Nick.

  Walter was filling the trash cans outside the theater when he was suddenly aware that someone was watching him from the curb. It was a small boy, maybe seven years old, in a filthy coat much too small for him and much too light for the bitingly cold weather. He had no gloves and his nose was red and running, but his eyes were alert and watching Walter’s every move. Walter continued his cleanup, picking up debris off the sidewalk, and every time he looked back, the dirty-faced little boy was still staring at him. Finally he came closer and asked, “Are you Walter?”