Chapter IV

For the first time in several years, George went to church with his family without Mary having to gently twist his arm before they went out. He hadn't done this since V-J day, but he meant it even more whole-heartedly than he had that day. He had a lot of catching up to do with God…and he had to thank Him for that strange little fellow who'd jumped into the river to save him.

When he came out after service, leading Mary and the kids out into the fresh-fallen snow, Uncle Billy came running up to him full tilt and nearly collided with him.

"Ho there, Uncle Billy! Has Potter sent out the hounds after you?" George said, catching him by the shoulders. "Mary, you take the kids home, I'll catch up with you," he added, turning to Mary.

"Goody, then we can get ready for our Christmas play!" Tommy cried. Janie looked at him, horrified that he'd blurted this out.

"Not at all, not all, but I've finally remembered what happened to that eight thousand dollars," the older man puffed, his face gleaming with exertion and excitement. "It all came back to me when I was shaving this morning." George noted the bandage on Uncle Billy's chin and hid a smile behind his hand. "I had the envelope in my hand when Potter came into the bank yesterday morning; he had a newspaper with him with that headline about Harry and I took it from him, started boasting and carrying on about Harry and the medal. I must have slipped the deposit envelope into the newspaper so Potter wouldn't see it, but he must have taken back the newspaper, envelope and all."

"Why that no-good money-grubbin' rat, of course he'd be the one to get his fingers on it," George muttered. "Have you told the police yet?"

"I didn't want them to jump on it until you'd heard about it, what with Harry's homecoming this afternoon."

"We'll wait till tonight. Potter'll be at the homecoming just to save his shriveled face, but we can't act any later than then.

"C'mon home with me, Mary and the kids'll be wonderin' what's takin' us so long."

They started walking down Main Street, heading for Sycamore Street. As they left the churchyard, George thought he saw, out of the corner of his eye, a short dark figure limping away.

That afternoon, Potter gave Joseph his inheritance, but he asked him something first.

"You never had any…dealings with the American Nazi Party?"

Joseph gathered his black brows. "No, not after the run-in I had in Europe with German Nazis. Why?"

"Oh I…was just wondering."

The door to Violet Bick's salon opened to a cascade of bells the afternoon of the twenty-sixth. She came out of the back room, then she recognized the uneven step she heard advancing through the front.

"Is Mamzelle Violete in?" a sonorous voice asked.

"Er, yes, she's in the back room; shall I tell her you're here?" Marilyn, the shop girl replied in her squeaky voice.

"No need to, I'll find her myself."

The beaded portiere that covered the door parted; a short young man stood framed there for a moment, then he approached Violet with what he meant to be a swagger, but which his limp distorted into an obscene waltz-step.

"I thought by now you'd be in New York, signing that contract with Elizabeth Arden," he said, leaning his hip against the edge of her desk.

"I changed my mind," she said without looking up from the ledger on her desk.

He perched himself on the desk. "What made you change your mind?" She didn't answer for a moment; he started hummed "La Donna e mobile" under his breath.

"I'd miss this place, I mean, everyone I know lives here."

"This hole in the mountains?" he snorted. He laid himself down across the ledger and looked up into her eyes. "Whatever happened to the Violet Bick I met who wanted to go to the big city?"

"I guess she changed her mind too."

"Viiiii," he crooned, taking the cuff of her blouse sleeve and rubbing it between his fingertips. "What is it? Insecurity? I can help you now."

She tugged her sleeve free. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I just came into my inheritance. Old Man Potter just turned the lump sum let alone the portion to the prodigal son. I thought I'd tell you before the papers splash it all over town."

"So what do you intend to do?"

He shrugged without getting up. "I dunno, maybe go back to the city for a while under cover of managing my estate. The old man doesn't have to know, does he? Maybe you and I could--"

The shop door jingled open. Voices rustled outside in the front; Joseph lifted his head and sat up, almost sliding to the floor as he dropped to his feet.

"Is Mr. Joseph Gable here?" said a gruff voice. A short, thickset man in a battered trench coat stepped in through the portiere. He pulled back the lapel of his coat to uncover a badge pinned to his jacket. "I'm Jack Cole, I'm with the police."

 "Regarding?" Joseph replied.

"I just need to ask you to step outside and answer a few questions."

"As you insist," Joseph replied. He followed Cole out into the snow.

"You probably heard about the Bailey Building and Loan misplacing eight thousand dollars," Cole said.

"Yes, it's been in everybody's mouth—except Old Man Potter's."

"A guard at the bank spotted you in the lobby the morning of Christmas Eve about the time William Bailey misplaced the cash. He thinks Potter got it. You seen Potter with any extra cash you can't account for?"

"I saw him with an envelope I couldn't account for and he had it in his breast pocket that night. He kept acting odd about it. Oh and then this morning, he asked me if he knew of a way I could dispose of eight thousand dollars in a hurry. I gave him a pat answer: invest it, put it in a safe deposit, but he didn't seem to like those ideas one bit."

"Thanks, all we needed to know." Cole started to walk away.

"Wait, I have to ask you something," Joseph called.

"What?"

Joseph looked around and hobbled up to Cole. "If it turns out to be true, don't let him know I knew."

"Why not?"

Joseph swallowed a hard lump in his throat. "I've just come into my inheritance, and if he knew I'd ratted on him, he'd disinherit me and take everything I have."

"I'll see what I can do, but the DA may call on you to testify if this goes to trial."

Later that afternoon, George and Uncle Billy had both just left the Building and Loan, heading to their respective homes when a small man in a too-large trench coat hobbled up to them.

"Can I talk to you gentlemen alone?" he asked.

"Wait, you're the little snipe who works for Potter, aren't you?" Uncle Billy said.

"I am, I'm Joseph Gable," the small man admitted.

"Why you little, rat—" Uncle Billy doubled his fists and tried to throw a punch at the small man, but he ducked out of the way and sprawled in the snow.

George grabbed Uncle Billy by the arm and held him back. "Hold on, hold on! He might not have anything to do with the missing money."

"I don't, but I need to talk to you about it."

"Well, come on in, it's cold enough to freeze the nose of a brass monkey."

George led them upstairs and into his office. Joseph sank into the chair George offered him and drew in a long breath. "Mr. Bailey, George, I was there when Potter took your company's eight thousand dollars. The police sent a detective to speak to me. I told him all I knew which was really more than I cared to tell."

"Just trying to save yer own skin," Uncle Billy muttered, hovering beside George.

"No, it's more than that." Joseph looked up to the ceiling in silence for a moment. "Potter just turned all his assets over to me as an inheritance, not to say that he's retiring, far from it. That old snake will be working till the day he slumps over his desk and gives up the ghost if he has one. But I need that money, or most of it."

"For what? Gambling debts? Or are those stories about you and Violet—" Uncle Billy cut in.

"Yes, they are true, but there's more to it. I have a son living in New York City. He's been living in an orphanage ever since his mother died bringing him into the world. I've been trying to get him out, but it isn't easy when you aren't married. Needless to say, little Joey's the spitting image of his old man, right down to this." He whacked his shriveled leg with his hand. "The Mayo Brothers Clinic has a new surgery and treatment to correct it, but I'll need about twelve thousand dollars to send him out there. If Potter finds out I know, he'll sack me for sure."

"So what brings you here?" George asked.

"I'll need a job. I'll need a loan. I can help you get this place in fine form. I worked the Stock Exchange for a while before Potter found me."

Uncle Billy and George looked at each other, but George focused on something else. He saw himself in Potter's office Christmas Eve, begging for a loan, Potter sneering at him and reaching for the phone to call the police…You can get back at Potter for this, through this miserable little clerk, not just through the investigation… a wheedling little voice said in his mind's ear. And be just like Potter? Not for a million dollars, no! He looked at this small man and noticed for the first time that his trouser cuffs trailed loose threads and his shoes had scuffs on the toes. They'd all had to make do with little during the war, but someone working for Potter might have had special privileges.

"Well, didn't Potter pay you well enough for what you did for him?" Uncle Billy asked, some of the edge in his voice fading.

"No, he paid me enough for me to eat, keep shirts on my back, and rent a one-room apartment with a remote bath I had to share with five other people," Joseph spat.

"We'll see what we can do," George said. "Things have gotten better now that the war's over; maybe we can find a place for you."

Joseph smiled quietly and rose to his feet. "I can see why Potter hated you," he said.