March 15, 1940
Tax day! Could there be a worse twenty-four-hour period in the history of the world? Especially this year!
Life had been too good since Rose had come. It was almost impossible for him to believe it had been two-and-a-half years. Where had the time gone? But how great those years had been. The continuing deal with Packard, the money that came from the generous raise at his new position with Johnson Drafting and Design, and even a small inheritance from his uncle Jim Henley’s estate had moved George into a higher tax bracket. He’d been in shock since the night before when he figured his income tax. Just paying Uncle Sam was pretty much going to wipe out all their savings. It didn’t seem fair, and it couldn’t have happened at a worse time. Rose needed new clothes. He’d spent a bundle on tires and a new battery for the car, and Carole had been offered a chance to buy her cousin’s flower shop. It was something she really wanted to do, and he’d been happy to approve the deal a few days ago. But that was before he discovered the government had different plans for his modest savings.
He had just written the check to the United States Treasury Department and sealed the envelope when Carole walked into the kitchen. She had a huge grin on her face. “Do I need to go to the bank to get the thousand for the down payment on the shop?”
“Carole,” he quietly answered.
For the first time in years she didn’t seem to notice the worry etched on his face or dripping from his tone. With hardly time for a breath she rattled on, “George, you have no idea how long I have wanted to own that shop. As a kid I would walk in there, and just smelling those flowers lifted me into the air. I felt like the luckiest girl in the world when I worked there in high school. And now that place will be mine. It won’t be Betty’s Flower Shop anymore; it will be Carole’s. And I can use the Packard to deliver flowers. And the best part is that Rose can stay with me at the shop.”
He nodded. How was he going to break the news to her? Betty had to have the money. She and her husband were moving to the West Coast. That thousand dollars would pay Betty’s rent for months until they could get on their feet. He wouldn’t just be shattering his wife’s dream; he’d be derailing Betty and Frank’s plans, too. But what could he do? They didn’t have the money, and even if they cut way back, they wouldn’t have the money for several months now.
“Listen, Carole.”
Their toddler strolling into the house interrupted the speech George dreaded giving. “Hello, Daddy!”
“Hey, Rosie,” he said, pulling the little girl up into his lap. “Where have you been?”
“Playing out by the car.”
George smiled. “You playing with your dolls in the garage?”
“Yeah.” Rose laughed. “And playing with money, too.”
Crawling down from his lap, Rose laid a doll and some crumbled paper on the table and moved off toward her room.
“What an imagination!” He chuckled. “Wonder what she thought was money.”
“Probably some play money from one of the board games you bought at that estate sale last year,” Carole said. “The one called The Landlord’s Game was filled with fake bills. Now, speaking of money, do I write a check to Aunt Betty, or do I get the money from the bank? Or do you want to do that?”
George felt as if Joe Louis had punched him in the gut. This was going to be one of the toughest moments of his life. “Carole, about the money. I’ve been figuring our taxes, and …”
“George, I’m sure you did a great job with that, too. You were always so good with numbers, but quit stalling around. I need to get going. Are you going to make me get down on my knees and beg, or are you just looking for a big old kiss?”
“Carole …” His words failed him.
“Oh, George,” she said, pushing by him to the spot where Rose had placed her doll. Moving the toy to one side, she picked up ten real one-hundred-dollar bills from a stack of yellow and blue play money. “Silly, why didn’t you tell me you already got the cash?” She glanced at her watch. “Aunt Betty’s waiting. I’ve got to run.” She pushed the bills into her purse and leaned over to kiss George on the cheek. “You play such games with me. I sure wish you’d have put these bills in your wallet rather than crumpling them in your pocket.” A few seconds later, before he could even question what had just happened, Carole was gone, the door slamming behind her as she rushed off to complete the most important transaction of her life.
A stunned George looked across the table to the play money. Picking it up, he studied each bill. All of them had Parker Brothers written on them. Yet the money Carole picked out of this batch was real. He hadn’t put them there, so who had? Rose? He was sure of one thing. The money hadn’t been on the table when he did the taxes. Rose must have brought it in. Rushing out of the kitchen to his child’s room, he found her in the middle of her bed playing with a stuffed lion.
“Rose, where did you find that money you brought into the kitchen?”
“From the game.”
George dropped the play money he clutched in his hand onto the bed. “Not this money, the money that looked like this.” Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a five-dollar bill. “There was some money you had that looked like this mixed in with the play money. Where did you get it?”
The little girl studied it for a few seconds and shrugged.
Sitting down beside her, George took the lion from her lap and tossed it into a chair. Holding the five in front of her face, he softly begged, “Honey, this is very important. I need to know where you found the green money. It looks kind of like what I’m holding here.”
She said nothing. Instead she jumped from the bed and walked toward the back door. George followed her through her room, across the kitchen, and outside. It seemed spring had come early. The temperature was in the fifties, and after a long, cold winter it felt like spring was just around the corner. Thus neither he nor his daughter bothered with a coat as she led him to a place beside the garage. There, next to an old ash can, she pointed to a spot where the shade from the garage’s overhang had protected a patch of snow from the sun’s direct light.
“You found it here?” George asked, bending over to examine the area.
She nodded.
“Was there any more?” he asked. “Or did you bring it all in?”
“Just that. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, and ten.”
“Wonder how it got here?” he whispered. Pushing the ash can to the side, he scanned the rest of the ground. Nothing! Peering into the trash bin, he saw nothing as well. But Rose had found this money, and it had to have come from somewhere.
As he stood erect he noted the wind was blowing about ten miles an hour out of the south. Maybe the bills had blown in. Maybe someone had dropped it out of a purse or a pocket, and the wind had caught it. Maybe that was it. But ten of them? That part was hard to explain. If someone lost it, that person was going to be awfully upset. He had to find out. As much as he didn’t want to, he had to know the truth.
“Rose, let’s go back inside and put on our coats. You and I are going to take a walk and knock on a few doors. We need to find out if someone lost any money today.”
What he figured would be easy wasn’t. An hour and a half later they had knocked on every door within five blocks without discovering anyone who was missing any money.
“Rose,” George said as he rapped on a final door, “if no one here is missing any money, then I guess we’ll just have to figure it fell from heaven.”
“Or was dropped by a bird,” she added.
George hadn’t considered that. Crows were notorious for stealing things.
As he turned to head back toward home, George noted a scruffy man approaching. He hardly looked like someone who had ever seen a hundred-dollar bill, much less lost one, but he decided to ask nonetheless.
“Excuse me, sir,” George said, his words stopping the man in his tracks. “I’m George Hall and this is my daughter Rose. Did you lose some money?”
The stranger was older than George, ill-kempt, and smelling of a mixture of alcohol and tobacco. His dark eyes were menacing, and as he opened his mouth to speak, George could see that his teeth were stained.
“How much?” the man growled.
George pulled Rose closer to his side, trying to shield her from the man’s glare, before answering. “We found a few hundred-dollar bills.”
There was an awkward silence for a few moments before the man grinned. “If it was anything more than a quarter, I ain’t lost it. Never had much in my whole life. Just haven’t been lucky.”
“I see,” a relieved George replied. “We’ll be on our way, then. And thank you.”
“Sure,” he replied with sly smile. “I know your face. You’re the guy with that yellow Packard? I’ve seen the ads in the magazines.”
“Yes, that’s our car and I’m that guy.”
“That’s a mighty fine ride.” The men laughed. “Mighty fine indeed.”
“Well, good luck,” George replied. “We need to be on our way. My wife will be home soon.”
George was in such a hurry to put the stranger behind him he all but dragged Rose down the walk. Though he didn’t look back, he felt the man’s eyes on him well after they’d turned the corner.
He’d seen lots of hoboes during the past few years. Scores of strangers walked the highways or hopped on trains. But there was something about this man’s eyes. They looked evil. And his voice had an edge to it that reminded him of the villains in horror films.
Later that night, after everyone had gone to bed, a strange, unsettling feeling kept George awake and finally pulled him out of bed. He wandered out to the garage and made sure the doors were locked and then walked through the house, checking the locks on each door and window. After finishing his mission, he glanced out through the front door and thought he spotted someone across the street standing by a tree. Stepping away from the window, George flipped off the lamp. When the room was completely dark he glanced out again. There was no one there.