“Now,” said Miss Tyler, “about the newspaper articles. We keep that material on microfilm. If you give me the dates that interest you, I’ll help you find what you want.”
Jessie spoke up. “Could we see what you have on Mr. Johnson around 1929 and also December, 1949 and January, 1950? Just our paper—The Fairfield Tribune.”
Miss Tyler said, “I’ll see what I can do. Quietly take seats over by that machine.” She pointed with a long talon-like finger to an apparatus sitting on a big oak table.
The two girls sat down in wooden armchairs at the table with the machine. Jessie knew if she looked at Tina, she’d burst out laughing.
In a few minutes, Miss Tyler was back carrying two boxes. “I’ll show you how this works,” she said in a low voice. “Watch carefully. I’m much too busy to have to keep repeating the instructions.”
They listened intently while she worked the viewer.
“When you are finished, please return the cartridge boxes to the front desk,” said Miss Tyler. She turned and walked briskly back to her position on the tall stool.
Jessie ran the equipment. After some jerky movement, she gained control of the levers and brought the newsprint in the reader into focus.
She moved the newspaper dated April 6, 1929 through the viewer. It showed news stories about C.G Johnson, but they all related to the family farms.
“Keep going,” said Tina. “We have a half-hour before we have to pick up the film.”
“I wish I knew when C.G. met Alice. Oh, it must have been summer because Daddy said they met at a band concert,” Jessie whispered.
“Shh…” warned Miss Tyler from her lofty post.
They moved forward to June 1929. A brief article stated that Miss Alice Jorgenson was visiting her aunt, Miss Ada Nygard. Miss Jorgenson, said the story, had just completed her freshman year of college at the University of Wisconsin and was on her summer vacation.
“Bingo!” Jessie said in a low voice.
“Too bad there isn’t a picture of her,” said Tina.
“I guess nobody has a picture of Alice,” said Jessie. “At least my dad hasn’t seen one.”
The girls were able to follow C.G. and Alice’s courtship through the news articles and gossip columns during the summer of 1929. The couple was reported being seen at various social events in Fairfield. There were church picnics, dances at the country club and boating excursions on a nearby lake—all attended by the young pair.
Finally, in an August issue, an announcement of their engagement appeared. A wedding was planned for the following April in Madison, Wisconsin, home of the future bride.
“Okay, we’ve got them married off,” said Jessie. “Let’s look at twenty years later.”
They put the microfilm for December 1949 in the film reader. Soon an item on the Johnsons appeared on the society page. It read:
Mr. and Mrs. Eric Hanson are out-of-town
guests of the C.G Johnsons. The Hansons
reside in Council Bluffs, Iowa. Mrs. Hanson,
the former Marta Swenson, is a lifelong
friend of Alice Johnson. The Hansons will
stay in Fairfield for the New Year’s
festivities before returning to Iowa.
“Hold on,” said Jessie. “The Eric Hansons were my grandparents. They moved here after my dad was born. They bought the house that we live in now.”
“What’re you thinking?” asked Tina.
“I’m thinking that it’s very strange that my dad never told me that his parents were old friends of C.G. and Alice.”
“Maybe your dad doesn’t know they were friends,” said Tina. “Where do your grandparents live now? I’ve never met them.”
“Neither have I,” said Jessie in a whisper. She glanced at Miss Tyler who was busy at her desk lecturing a middle-aged library patron. “Both of my dad’s folks were killed in a car accident while Daddy was in law school. Nobody lived in our house for a while. Then Daddy came back here to practice law.”
“Boy!” Tina said. “This is all news to me.”
“Let’s read about Alice and the baby,” said Jessie. “It’s almost noon. The picture will be ready.”
“Yeah. We don’t want to be late and get Mr. Bergstrom mad.”
The girls searched the papers and found an official death notice for Alice Johnson in the January 1950 newspaper. It read:
On January 1, 1950, Mrs. C.G. Johnson
(nee Alice Jorgenson) died during the New
Year’s Day blizzard. Private services
were held on January 3, 1950 with only the
family present. Burial was in the Swedish
Graveyard.
“That’s funny,” Tina said. “It doesn’t say anything about the baby.”
Jessie furrowed her forehead as she gazed out the window onto Courthouse Square. The trees on the green were still. No breeze swayed their leaves in the noon sun.
“Come on,” said Tina. “Let’s pick up the picture.”
The girls assembled the film box and took it to Miss Tyler at her desk.
“Thank you, Miss Tyler,” said Jessie. “I sure wish there was a picture of Alice Johnson.”
Miss Tyler eyed Jessie sharply. “Did you look through all the material carefully, Jessica? It’s difficult for me to believe that there is no photo of such a prominent citizen as Mr. C.G. Johnson’s wife. We must have dozens of pictures of the Johnsons.”
“I’m afraid not,” said Tina.
“Hmmmm…” said Miss Tyler. “I will see if I can turn up something. There are old file clippings in the back storeroom. There must be pictures of Mrs. Johnson some…” Her voice trailed off as she became lost in thought.
“Good-bye,” said the girls.
“I guess she didn’t hear us,” whispered Tina.
“What?” said Miss Tyler. “Oh yes. Good-bye, girls. Jessica, I’ll telephone you at home if I find anything.”
CHAPTER SIX
At the top of the library steps, Jessie and Tina crouched low and took a wide leap down. They landed on the soft grass, stayed on their feet and skipped across the Square to the street. Friends and neighbors, seated on benches, smiled and waved as the girls passed by.
Mr. Bergstrom had the single photo and its negative ready to go in a yellow paper pocket.
“One picture,” he said. “The rest of the roll was wasted.”
“We really appreciate your help, Mr. Bergstrom,” said Tina. “How much do we owe you?”
“We’ll call it a favor. No charge.” He smiled. “Say hello to your father.”
Outside, Tina said, “I guess he’s not so bad. Just tidy.”
“Let’s stop by my dad’s office,” said Jessie. They studied the photo as they walked.
“The telephoto lens did the job,” Tina said. “It’s as if he’s only a few feet away.”
The man in the picture wore overalls and no hat. His hair was light and blended into his pale skin. In contrast, his dark eyebrows stood out and formed two straight lines above his eyes.
“Have you ever seen this guy?” asked Jessie.
“Never,” said Tina. “And I thought I knew everybody in Fairfield.”
Halfway down the block from the camera shop, the girls came to the office of Jessie’s father. They climbed the enclosed stairway to the second floor. Painted on a frosted glass door was lettering that read:
CARL G. HANSON
ATTORNEY AT LAW
When they entered the reception area, Jessie’s mother appeared at the doorway to the inner office. “Thank goodness, you two. I was really getting worried. Where have you been?”
“We stopped at the library,” said Jessie. “I told Mrs. Winter we were going there. Why were you worried?”
“Because some strange man told Mrs. Winter a lie and managed to get into the house,” said her mom. “He said he was there to measure your room for carpeting, Jessie.”
The two girls looked at each other. Jessie gave her head a tiny shake, a signal
for Tina to keep quiet. Tina rolled her eyes, walked to a chair and sat down.
“Where’d this guy go?” Jessie asked. “Did you call the police?”
“No. We probably should have,” said her mom. “He took off in a green car while Mrs. Winter was on the phone with me.”
“Where’s Daddy?” asked Jessie.
“Court recessed early and he drove to Lincoln to do some research at the Law Library,” her mother said. “He’ll probably stay there overnight.”
Jessie tried to hide her disappointment. She dropped into a chair next to Tina, who was leafing through some large books lying on a table beside her.
“Mom, did you know that Daddy’s parents were old friends of C.G. and Alice Johnson—way before Daddy was born?”
“No, Jessie. I don’t think that’s true. Anyway, I’ve never heard it before. I think your dad would have told me if they were friends. Or C.G. would have said something.”
“It’s true though,” Jessie said. “We were looking at some old newspapers in the library and saw it. The article said that Mr. and Mrs. Eric Hanson were visiting the Johnsons when Alice died. Wouldn’t that be Daddy’s folks?”
“How strange,” said her mom. “We’ll definitely have to ask your dad about that.”
“Hey, take a look at this! It’s beautiful!” Tina had opened an Atlas to a map of Sweden marked by a gold bookmark. The bookmark was fashioned into the shape of a key.
Jessie ran her fingers over the thin piece of precious metal. She’d never seen anything like it. I wonder if it fits a lock somewhere, she thought.
Her mother looked over their shoulders. “Mr. Johnson gave these books to your dad a few years ago. The other one is a Bible.”
Tina closed the Atlas and the girls got up to leave.
“Now listen,” said Mrs. Hanson. “I want you to go straight home. Watch out for the man in the green car. Call me if you see him. I’ll let Mrs. Winter know you’re on your way.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.” Jessie gave her mom a peck on the cheek and headed through the reception room to the hall door. Tina was close behind.
“I mean it, Jessie,” said her mother. “Go home!”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Back outside, they hurried along the sidewalk. Jessie had her head down and hands in her pockets. Her long braid bounced with each step.
“How come you didn’t tell your folks about the ‘flashes’ and the guy in the attic?” asked Tina.
“You heard my mom,” said Jessie. “She’s not interested. She didn’t even ask why we were at the library looking at old newspapers.”
“Maybe she was busy worrying about the ‘carpet guy’.”
“They never listen to me.” Jessie flipped back her braid. “They’re too busy with the office and Phillip. If I told them what we’re doing, they’d just make us stop.”
“Do you listen to them?” Tina asked.
“Not really.”
They both laughed.
“The ‘carpet man’ was the guy in the picture. I just know it,” Jessie said.
“Yeah—going into your bedroom. That takes a lot of nerve.”
They turned and walked the way they had come—toward the fields backing the houses on Jessie’s street. Halfway down the block, Tina said in a low voice, “Don’t get excited, but there’s somebody sitting in a green car parked under that tree. Straight ahead.”
They kept walking while Jessie got a good look at the car. It was parked just past the alley that divided the block. “Remember the license number—GCK 995,” she muttered.
“Okay,” Tina said. “Turn at the alley and run for it.”
They tried to walk and talk naturally. At the alley, they made a fast left turn and began to run in the direction of Jessie’s house.
A car engine started up. They ran faster. Tina pointed to a small gate leading from the alley into the Thornbergs’ back yard. She undid the latch and both girls fell to the ground on the other side of the opening. Jessie kicked the gate and it partially closed.
They crawled across the grass on all fours and eased under a huge lilac bush. Breathless, the girls listened. Nothing. Then they heard it. A car was moving slowly up the alley, tires crunching on the gravel. It stopped at the Thornbergs’ gate. A faint creaking signaled a car door opening.
Jessie motioned with her hand for Tina to follow her to the other side of the bush and out of sight of the alley. Then they ran along a path by the Thornberg house.
The yard in front of the Thornbergs’ was quiet. Across the street, the house that faced them backed up to the open wheat field. “Run,” Jessie ordered. Their feet flew through the wheat stubble. Overhead, the sun bore down.
At Jessie’s backyard, the girls rushed up the steps and pulled the handle on the kitchen door. It was locked.
“Oh no!” cried Jessie. She pounded on the wood of the screen door. A car was driving up Willow Lane. They flattened themselves against the porch wall.
“Why, girls,” said Mrs. Winter, suddenly appearing at the screen. “I’ve been worrying about you all morning!” When she unhooked the door, Jessie and Tina practically fell through the opening. They ran to the big round table and dropped into chairs, trying to catch their breath.
Mrs. Winter was holding a rosy, but groggy Phillip—just up from his nap. “Your mother called to say you should be home any minute, Jessie.” The sitter settled Phillip into his highchair.
“Mom told us about the guy in the green car,” said Jessie. “What’d he look like?” She watched Mrs. Winter cut Phillip’s lunch into small bits and anchor his suction bowl on the highchair tray.
“Wasn’t that something—him telling a boldface lie to get into the house?” said Mrs. Winter. “Well, he looked like a workman. He had on overalls and a black baseball cap. I couldn’t really see his eyes on account of the cap. But there was something else. Oh, he limped. I noticed it when he started up the stairs.”
Phillip was eating and making smacking noises. He swung his chubby legs back and forth under the tray. His skin was tan from hours spent in his wading pool.
“You girls look hot and all worn out,” said the sitter. “I’ll fix you lunch and something to drink while we talk.” She arranged plates of cold roast chicken, buttered wheat rolls and fresh pears for the girls and herself.
Jessie and Tina ate as if they were starving. Mrs. Winter handed them each a tall glass of lemonade.
While they ate, they watched Phillip. With great precision, the baby picked up each piece of food and put it into his mouth. Every time, he pursed his lips and said, “mmmmmmmmmm.” When they all laughed, he said it louder, raising his eyebrows and making his eyes wide.
“What a little clown you are, Phillip,” said Mrs. Winter.
Phillip cocked his head and blew Jessie a kiss, a trick she’d taught him.
“What do you think the man wanted, Mrs. Winter?” said Tina.
“I couldn’t see that he harmed anything. I can’t figure out why he wanted to get into the house.” The sitter gently wiped Phillip’s mouth. “The only thing I could find was a camera lying on the floor of your room, Jessie.”
Jessie jerked up straight in her chair. She frowned hard at Tina who nodded.
Tina picked up her dishes and carried them to the sink. “Thanks for the lunch, Mrs. Winter. It was delicious. Oh, by the way, did the carpet guy knock or ring the doorbell?”
Jessie squinted her eyes and looked at Tina.
“Let’s see…” said Mrs. Winter. “He rang the bell. I remember because I was worried it would wake up Phillip.”
“Hmmmm…” said Tina. “Let’s check your room, Jessie.”
Jessie followed Tina out of the kitchen. I wonder what “hmmmm” means, she thought.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“What’s the deal on the doorbell?” Jessie asked. She and Tina were checking out her bedroom to see if anything was missing or out of place.
“I was thinking…” said Tina.
“Oh, we
better hide the picture,” interrupted Jessie. She took the snapshot and its negative in the yellow holder from her back pocket. “I’ll keep the picture and you take the negative. I need to show the snapshot to my dad.” She reached high on her shelf, retrieved an old story book, stuck the photo between two pages and replaced the book.
Tina took the negative, still in its bright envelope. “Let me borrow a book. I need a safe place to carry this on my bike.”
Jessie pulled another book from her shelf and handed it to Tina who tucked the envelope inside.
“Too bad Mrs. Winter touched this.” Jessie pointed at the camera on the desk. We could have dusted it for fingerprints.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” said Tina. “Maybe we can get the guy’s print off the doorbell.”
Jessie clapped her forehead. “You’re a genius! Let’s try.”
Outside on the front porch, the girls opened the crime scene case and prepared to lift a fingerprint from the shiny black doorbell. Jessie examined the bell button.
“I see something oily. That must be it.” She shook some white powder into her hand. Then, with the feather brush, she dusted the powder across the spot. Every detail of the print stood out.
“Good job!” Tina said. She was ready with an inch-long piece of transparent tape, which she held by the corner with tweezers. “I’ll take it from here. It says to press the tape firmly onto the powered print. Like this. Then you’re supposed to lift the tape back off with the tweezers. Hand me one of those black paper squares from the case.”
Tina pressed the tape, sticky side down, onto the black card. With a special pen, she wrote onto the card:
Fingerprint (maybe index)
Hanson doorbell; physical
Evidence 1A; 8.20.85
While Tina wrote, Jessie picked up the instruction book and began to read. “Did you know that it tells how to listen through walls—you know—eavesdrop on a conversation?”
“I don’t think I’ll tell my folks about that spy trick,” laughed Tina. “What exactly do you do?”
“It says you take a big drinking glass, with thin sides. Then you hold the bottom real tight against the wall. When you put your ear to the open end, you should be able to hear what’s being said in the next room.”
The Secret of Willow Lane Page 3