by Patricia Fry
Rochelle nodded. “Yes. Those people you talked to, Savannah, could be wrong. Rags may have greater access to the place than they know.” She said in a soothing voice, “Which means that he’s probably having the time of his life exploring all the nooks, crannies, and cobwebs.”
“And rat droppings, spiders, and…” Savannah shuddered. She had an idea. “Hey, let’s see what we can find back over there.”
“Where?” Peter asked.
“Come on, I’ll show you.” Seconds later, she pointed. “Rags was particularly interested in something in this area earlier this afternoon.”
“From the inside or the outside?” Rob asked.
“From the outside. He wanted to dig and explore and I made him come with me. Maybe there’s something here that we need to look at.”
“Well, I don’t know what it would be,” Peter said, shining his flashlight in the area Savannah indicated. “Where exactly, do you know?”
“Look behind that shrub,” Savannah suggested. “Is there anything back there? He seemed to be digging close to the foundation there. But then there’s still some bark mulch back there, I see. He likes that stuff for some reason. So maybe he was just playing.”
Peter and Rob squeezed behind the shrub, got down on their knees, and ran their hands over the side of the building. After a few minutes, Peter said, “Rochelle, go get that trowel out of the car, would you?”
“Trowel?” she questioned.
“Yes, I picked one up at the hardware store today, along with a hand rake and a couple of other garden tools.”
“What do you have in mind?” Rob asked after Rochelle and Savannah had walked away.
“Well, you can see here that the paint runs below the soil line, which indicates to me that they’ve brought in dirt over time. Maybe these were originally raised flower beds. I want to see what’s below the paint line. Maybe Rags was trying to show Savannah something that’s buried.”
“Here,” Rochelle said, handing Peter the trowel.
“Rob, would you hold this?” Peter asked, handing him the light.
Several minutes later, Rob said, “Wow! I wonder what that means.”
“What?” Savannah asked. “What did you find?”
As both women moved closer, Peter pulled back so they could see what he’d uncovered. “It’s some sort of symbol. I think it’s part of a heart…”
“Yeah,” Rob said, “with a cross in the middle. That cross is distinct.”
“Is it drawn on the cement foundation?” Rochelle asked.
“No, it’s been carved in there,” Peter said. “A heart with a cross,” he repeated. “I wonder who put it there and what it means.”
Savannah spoke quietly. “Maybe that’s what Alison-Francesca has been looking for.”
“But why?” Rochelle asked.
Suddenly Savannah whispered, “Who’s that?”
Peter turned off the flashlight and they all remained quiet.
Rochelle was first to speak. “I don’t see anyone.”
“There,” Savannah hissed, pointing.
“Probably a vagrant,” Peter suggested.
Savannah’s gaze lingered. “Sure looked like a woman standing out there staring at us. When she saw me look in her direction, she disappeared.”
“Disappeared?” Rochelle questioned. “As in poof?”
Savannah giggled. “No. As in, she ran around the corner. I can’t believe you didn’t see her. She’s dressed in all white. She looks like an apparition.” When Rochelle looked quizzically at her, she added, “I’m guessing.”
Rochelle stared into the distance and muttered, “Hmmm.” She focused on the building again. “So you don’t see any place where Rags could get out, then?”
Peter shook his head. “No. Not a cat his size.”
Savannah looked from Peter to Rob, who said, “I agree with Rochelle. Your best bet is to get those original plans and learn more about the inside of the place, including the second and third floors. Find out where the stairs are and see if you can get permission to go up there. I’ll join you tomorrow morning, if you want.”
“There,” Savannah hissed. “She just came out from behind that fence and went back when I looked her way. Who is she and what does she want?”
“Who knows?” Peter said without enthusiasm. “Hey, let’s go home and make a plan.”
“Better cover up that symbol you found,” Savannah whispered. She glanced toward where she’d seen the figure. “We don’t know what it means and we probably don’t want to let on that we found it.” She looked longingly at the building and murmured, “Good night, Ragsie. Please find a way out of there. I want to see you first thing tomorrow morning, okay, boy?” Before walking away, she affectionately patted the side of the building.
“Rob, have you eaten?” Rochelle asked as they walked back to their cars.
He shook his head.
“Do we have enough of whatever you fixed for dinner?” Peter asked.
She scrunched up her face. “It’s leftovers; how about we go out to eat?”
Everyone agreed, and Peter asked, “Want to leave your car here, Rob? You can ride with us. I know a place just around the corner.”
“Sounds good,” Rob said, sliding into the backseat of Peter’s car. “What are you looking at?” he asked Savannah as they drove out of the parking lot.
“I’m trying to spot that woman I saw sneaking around back there.” She pointed. “That must be her car.” She grabbed Rochelle’s arm. “Hey, isn’t that like your friend’s car?”
“My friend?”
“Alison-Francesca.”
Rochelle squinted in the direction Savannah indicated. “I don’t know. Have I seen her car?”
“Yeah, in this parking lot yesterday. We parked fairly close to it. Remember, we saw your friend get into it—before we knew she was your friend?”
Peter chuckled. “Rochelle doesn’t know one car from another, do you, hon?”
She shrugged. “Not really. They all look the same to me.”
Peter looked toward the car Savannah was pointing at. “So that same gal was snooping around the building just now?” he asked.
“Yeah, maybe,” Savannah said. “I can’t be sure it’s her. By the way, Rochelle, did I tell you I saw her at the book fair this afternoon? She got mad at me.”
“Yeah, you did. She got mad at you?” Rochelle asked. “Why?”
“Because I wouldn’t give her that broken buckle.”
“Oh, so it was hers, was it?”
“I guess maybe so. I told her about finding it and she wanted it back. She accused me of hiding it from her.”
“Really?” Rochelle said.
Savannah brooded for a moment, then said, “Rochelle, it’s as if she has an obsession with that building. First we see her digging in the dirt, then it appeared she was taking pictures out there in the parking lot. It seems she’s been sneaking around the building in her high-heeled shoes, no less, and here she is lurking.”
“If that’s the same woman,” Peter said.
Ignoring him, Savannah said, “So Rochelle, you think her grandfather or great grandfather might have been a founder of the original men’s club?”
“Possibly. She told me once that her family was involved in something like that. She was pretty proud of it.”
“Do you know her grandfather’s name?”
“She probably told me, actually. Let me think about it.” After a few moments, she said, “I should know the name. As I recall it reminded me of something. Those are the names you’re most inclined to remember—the ones that you can tie to something familiar.”
“Did you look at the plaque on the front of the building?” Peter asked.
“No,” Rochelle said. “Hey, let’s go back and look at that, I’m pretty sure I’d remember his name if I heard it again or saw it.”
Peter glanced at her. “And what will it tell you?”
“Well, I guess we’d know why Alison is hanging around there.�
��
“Would you, now?” Peter asked, grinning at her.
“Oh, um, I guess I wouldn’t, actually.” After several moments, Rochelle turned to face Savannah in the backseat. “I do have some dirt on her family.”
“Who’s family?” Peter asked.
“Alison-Francesca.”
Savannah perked up. “What sort of dirt?”
“Her grandfather and maybe her father both died in prison. I know her father did some jail time.”
Savannah raised her eyebrows. “Gads, were they part of the Mafia or something? The San Francisco Mafia? Was there such a thing?”
“I don’t know, I just remember her telling a group of us once that she didn’t get to know her grandfather—her mother’s father—because he died in prison when she was still a child.” She scoffed. “I never knew if that was a true story or if she made it up to get attention.”
She faced Savannah. “But I do know how upset Alison seemed to be when she learned of her father’s conviction. I was leaving campus one day when I saw Alison and her mother bawling out on the lawn. I stopped to ask if I could help.”
Peter patted her knee. “Of course you did.”
She smiled at him and continued, “Later, she told me her father had been sentenced to quite a few years in prison.” Suddenly she shouted, “Graham! That’s the family name.”
Savannah laughed. “So what was the memory tie—graham crackers?”
“No,” Rochelle said. “I’d just done a piece on Alexander Graham Bell. Did you know the Graham wasn’t added to his name until he was eleven? It was previously Alexander Melville Bell, same as his father’s. Some say young Alexander Bell chose to change Melville to Graham and I never could find out why. Maybe he didn’t want to be a junior.”
Rochelle took a breath, saying, “But I digress. Anyway, yeah, Alison’s grandfather was some sort of criminal, and it seems her father also had a penchant for trouble. His name was Drummond.” She paused. “Yes, we’ll have to do some research on them and see if anything they did was tied to that building.”
As Peter pulled into the parking lot of a small café, Rob asked, “So who is this gal you’re talking about, whose family was involved in that old building?”
“We’ll catch you up with what we know over dinner,” Rochelle said. “Come on, I’m hungry.”
◆◆◆
“Thanks for the ride,” Rob said an hour later when Peter pulled his car next to Rob’s. “And the company.”
“Glad you could join us,” Peter said. He glanced across the parking lot. “Looks like your vagrant’s car’s gone, Savannah.”
“Must not have been a vagrant if she had a car,” Rob said. He shook Peter’s hand, patted Rochelle’s shoulder, and told Savannah, “See you tomorrow.”
“Where are you going?” Rochelle asked when Peter turned right out of the parking lot.
“I left my phone at the studio,” he explained. “I want to pick it up so I can charge it overnight.”
As Peter pulled into a parking space in front of their studio, Rochelle pointed. “There’s Simon. Cute little scamp. It looks like he’s standing watch at the studio.”
Peter chuckled. “He does keep an eye on things.” He looked at his watch. “I just wish he wouldn’t be out on the streets so late at night—it’s almost nine.” Upon exiting the car, he called out, “Hi there, Simon.”
“Hi, Mr. Peter!” the boy said, running to him. “Are you coming back to work? Can we paint?”
“No, Simon, not tonight. I just came to pick up something.”
“Oh,” Simon said, looking down at his feet.
When Rochelle stepped out of the car, she asked, “Simon, why are you all alone out here tonight. Isn’t there some place where you can go and be safe with other people—your family, maybe?”
Before Simon could respond, they heard someone shout, “That’s him! That’s the kid who took my lunch!”
When Simon heard this and saw an officer looking at him, he bolted and started to run, ramming right into Peter, who grabbed him.
“Let me go!” Simon shouted. “Let me go! They want to lock me up. Please,” he cried.
“It’s okay, son” the policeman said as he approached. “We just want to talk to you. Can you relax for a minute and talk to me?” When the officer saw the fear in Simon’s eyes, he put up his hand to stop the accuser from advancing. “Why don’t you stand over there, sir. I’ll talk to you in a minute.”
“Let go of me!” Simon insisted, trying to wriggle from Peter’s grip.
“Will you settle down and talk to the officer?” Peter asked calmly. “I’ll stay right here with you if you want.”
Simon looked into Peter’s face, relaxed, and nodded.
“Okay, let’s sit over here,” the officer suggested, leading the boy to an empty table in front of a deli. Peter walked along beside the boy. “What’s your name, son?” the officer asked.
“Simon.”
“Well, Simon, that man over there claims you took something from him. Did you?”
Simon shook his head.
“You didn’t take his lunch? He said he saw you take his lunch.”
“It wasn’t me,” Simon said.
“Can I look in your pouch there?”
“Officer,” the man called out, “he probably already ate it.”
The officer motioned for the man to quiet down and he asked, “Simon can I look in your bag?”
Simon glanced at Peter, then Rochelle.
When both of them nodded, Simon handed over his pack.
“I don’t see anything that resembles a lunch bag or anything left over from a lunch bag in here,” the officer announced.
“Well, he ate it and threw the bag away or he hid it to eat later. I know it was him,” the man asserted.
“When did this happen?” the officer asked the man.
“Just now—I came out of the deli with my lunch and that scamp grabbed it right out of my hands.”
“Lunch this time of night?”
“I work odd hours, so yes, this is sort of my lunch time. But I didn’t get my lunch because of that rug rat. He took it.”
“Son,” the officer said, “what did you have for supper?”
Simon looked down at his hands.
“When’s the last time you ate?” he asked gently.
“Yesterday,” Simon muttered. “Mr. Peter gave me some grapes. I shared them with Benny and Cricket.”
“Benny and Cricket?” the officer asked.
“My friends.”
The officer glanced briefly at Peter and Rochelle, then asked, “Simon, where are your parents?”
The boy continued to look downward.
“Can you answer me? Where are your parents? Do you know?”
When Simon shook his head, Rochelle gasped.
The officer let out a deep sigh. “Well, Simon, I don’t think it’s safe out here on the streets. If you don’t have parents or a guardian watching out for you, I’m going to have to take you in and see about putting you into the foster system. Are you a ward of the court or…?”
Simon quickly responded. “I have foster parents who watch out for me.”
The officer hesitated. “Do they live in a house or an apartment, maybe?”
Simon shook his head.
“On the streets?” he asked.
The boy shook his head again. “No,” he insisted, “at the camp behind the library. That’s home when I want to go there.” He glanced at Peter. “At night, I watch over Mr. Peter’s art. He’s teaching me to paint, so I work at night watching his art so no one takes it. I’ve seen people take it and they go sell it. That’s not right. That’s Mr. Peter’s art.”
Rochelle hissed, “Peter, did you know about this?”
He shook his head, bewildered, and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Simon, it’s dangerous for you to be out here by yourself late at night. Officer, I had no idea he was doing this. I came here tonight to pick up something and found him h
ere. Yeah, he’s been helping me out some in the studio, but I…oh, my gosh.”
“How long has he been out here on the streets like this as far as you know?” the officer asked.
“I’ve seen him around for the last few months or so,” Rochelle said.