23

 

The almost-detective had only four blocks to come. Ripple, lights strobing, pulled up in his squad car only two minutes after my call.

Virgil and Yolanda took three minutes longer, enough time for Ripple to take some pictures and start me talking.

Yolanda positively identified the crayon. “See, it’s the way we tear the paper off as Jenny wears it down. Jim always does it like this, with the stub of his thumbnail. Those little ridges…see, it’s his nail impression, I’m sure of it.”

Ripple bagged the crayon, shone his light under the bins and in all the recesses. The search crews gradually reported in as the news was passed along. Other teams reported crayons and went back to guard their finds until Ripple could meet them. Purple, silver and green crayons lined the way toward a great cement culvert overshadowed by the hulking State’s Bank. The grill covering the opening had rusted, a crackly voice came over the officer’s shoulder mic.

One end of downtown, one of the tunnel system’s egresses. “Officer Ripple?” He looked startled when I explained about my suspicion that the little girl may have gone into the tunnels, either by choice or force.

Yolanda never relaxed her grim expression and stepped in when Ripple questioned me. “Officer, the tunnels have been plugged for years. You’re not originally from Apple Grove, so I don’t expect you to know about them. But Ivy’s right. It makes sense.” She nodded at the culvert. “Building the bank might have caused some of the stuff we used to come loose.”

“Let me get this straight. Apple Grove is riddled with tunnels?”

“Not exactly riddled, Officer,” Virgil said. He squinted at the culvert as if he could see into it. “A couple of generations back our ancestors had the foresight to provide protection and storage in case of trouble. We were glad for the tunnels during the last big war. But when a young rascal came to grief, the city council, of which I was a member, I might add, took matters into our hands and blocked off the entrances.” Virg nodded his corduroy beret-covered head for emphasis.

“But now you think they’re open again,” Ripple asserted. He glared at the culvert and got on his shoulder mic.

Stanley approached hesitantly, blinking in the late sunlight as if he wasn’t used to it. “Any news?”

I didn’t see the harm in repeating the theory about the tunnels. His shoes were no longer shiny and his shirt tail hung loose. He did not complain, though, or even perform his favorite trick: going to wait in his car and listening to music. The fact that he stayed by my side almost endeared me to him.

Several uniformed officers showed up at that point. Must have been all of Apple Grove’s force, and then some.

I acknowledged Larken and waved at Ann Dow.

Behind the last car was the city’s main utility service vehicle. A man jumped up next to the folded crane arm and began unspooling yards of electrical cord attached to a wire-caged utility light.

We were drawing a crowd.

Margaret Bader-Conklin, resplendent in a short summer skirt and dark sunglasses, spoke to Gene Hackman.

I managed to inch close enough to see her mouth tighten in displeasure at whatever he was telling her. He gave her a wide berth when he strode away to confer with the khaki-overalled and helmeted crew preparing to enter the culvert.

Virg organized several of his Seeds into refreshment detail. Stanley got someone to take him back to my place to pick up his car. He contributed boxes of sample chocolates and packets of coffee to brew. He also pulled out a couple of camp chairs from the back of his company SUV and we sat waiting, as close as we could. A fresh respect for him grew as I watched him chat with my neighbors and acquaintances from church.

Marion even gave me a furtive, questioning smile.

Just as I wondered if the townspeople might break out the grills and start cooking supper right in the parking lot, a cheer went up from those gathered near the culvert.

I saw Larken first, the big light held aloft in his hands. Dow followed, then Ripple, holding Jenny in his arms. From my vantage point, which meant standing on tiptoes—and I realized later, hanging on to Stanley’s hand—I saw Jenny gibbering non-stop.

Yolanda folded her granddaughter into her arms.

Jenny took her grandma’s face between her little hands and earnestly nodded her head up and down, lips moving and moving, eyebrows knit.

Hackman came last, a huge torch in his hand. He handed that to Ripple, then began to coil a rope attached to a loop of his uniform belt.

Stanley and I made our way to the little group.

Yolanda’s face was pasty white. Beads of perspiration decorated her hairline and I reached for Jenny when her knees buckled.

Hackman helped her to a seat and wrapped my sweater around her shaking shoulders.

Jenny immediately transferred her attention to me. “Ivy, that man. You have to go back. He was nice. He shouldn’t be left in there. Ivy. Ivy, promise me you’ll help him and the other kitty.” Jenny’s voice began to go hoarse.

I shifted her in my arms. “What man, honey? And a kitty?”

“In there.” She continued to bob her head up and down vigorously, as if that would help us understand.

Ann Dow approached, clipboard in hand. “Did that man hurt you in any way, or touch you, Jenny?”

Jenny put her lower lip out. “He helped me. He said, ‘don’t be afraid.’ He’s so lonesome. You have to go get him. I think he’s scared. Memnet made him sneeze, so he said the kitty needed to go with me. But the other one ran away. I just went in there when I heard him.”

“Memnet? Did you say Memnet was in there, too?” I began to search the area near the front of the culvert, turning my bundle this way and that. “Where is he, honey? Did he come with you?”

Officer Dow wrestled the questioning back to her clipboard notes. “Did you go in there by yourself, honey?”

“Yes, yes. I heard him.” She pointed to the culvert.

“Heard who? The man or the kitty?” Dow persisted.

“Kitty. Crying.” Jenny spared no more patience on the officer and grabbed my face, just as she had her grandmother’s. “Ivy, your kitty is coming out. He had to say good-bye to the other kitty. Memnet ran away when all the policemen came. He didn’t want everyone to see him.”

Only a child would have understood my Memnet as well as I. Tears welled, and I had no doubt she meant what she said. Memnet would come when he was ready. But who was the man she spoke of? I had my suspicions of that, too. Ronald Grimm. And the other cat must be Tut, feeling threatened and anxious to hide himself so carefully.

Margaret passed through the fringes of the crowd to us.

The newspaper photographer, Gregg, snapped away.

“Stop that!” Margaret commanded Gregg. “Little girl, what did that man look like? He had a kitty?” Margaret put a manicured hand on Jenny’s arm.

Jenny twisted violently, and I nearly dropped her.

Hackman saved us both from tumbling to the ground. Jenny transferred to his arms and hid her face in the policeman’s shoulder.

“That’s enough, Mrs. Conklin!” Hackman hissed.

Margaret recoiled.

I sought out Ripple and repeated what Jenny told me. His skepticism was not quite as pronounced as the first time we spoke on the telephone, and I could tell he did not completely discount Jenny’s story.

“I think I’ll suggest we move this investigation and questioning to the station. Thank you for your help and good afternoon.” Ripple tipped his cap and sauntered to join his boss under the streetlight.

Stanley followed me, a silent shadow, absorbing the conversation. He couldn’t have understood the situation, but I appreciated his show of support.

Hanley, the second to last hold-out on the city council, approached us. “And what do you hear from Adam Thompson these days, Ivy? I understand he moved back to Chicago permanently. I made a good offer, you know.”

I glanced at Stanley. His lips tightened, and he bent to brush at burrs stuck to the hem of his pants.

“Hello, Jeff,” I said, ignoring his taunt. “Let me introduce you to an acquaintance of mine, who insisted on helping search for Jenny, despite the fact that he didn’t even know her.” I rubbed Hanley’s absence from the search in his face and felt the satisfaction of seeing his nostrils flare momentarily.

I kept one eye trained on the culvert.

Jeff and Stanley shook hands and started that wary male assessment dance around each other.

I turned away completely to watch for Memnet, whom I could almost feel come closer. Someone touched my shoulder and I jumped. “Oh! Stanley, you startled me.”

Hanley must have left. The streetlights came on. The horizon developed inky purple and orange waves. The utility truck’s backlights flashed, then pinged as it pulled away.

I took Stanley’s hand. “You’ve been so very patient today. How can I thank you?”

He smiled in a way that I had forgotten, quirking just the right side of his mouth. He cleared his throat and said, “Let’s get something to eat. I like that buffet downtown. The one called Tiny’s. There’s this huge man behind—”

“Wait just a minute, will you, Stanley?” His companionable arm across my shoulders dropped when I bent over a gray streak leaping up at my waist, clawing my shirtfront. “Ah, Memnet, love. What took you so long? Where’s Tut?”