Sold on a Monday: A Novel
Sold on a Monday: Part 3 – Chapter 29

On the drive home, Ellis should have been paying attention. But Lily Palmer dominated his thoughts. Their kiss replayed over and over like a nickelodeon picture on a loop—regardless of her cooler send-off. Whereas Geraldine received an earnest hug, Ellis got an appreciative handshake. A reassertion of where they stood. It was a hard pill to swallow, as he could still feel the softness of her hair and skin, her lips. And that was nothing to say of the strength and beauty he saw in her while she cared for her son.

No surprise, then, that it took him a hefty chunk of the ride to notice Geraldine’s reserve. She’d trained her eyes on the evening sky past the windshield. Her hands were clasped on her lap.

“You were pretty amazing back there,” he said, breaking the quiet.

“Well…there wasn’t much to it, really.”

“I think the Palmers would disagree. Doc Summers too, I’d bet.”

“Just doin’ what she showed me. She’s a fine teacher.”

“I’m sure. Though it’s obvious you’re a natural for this kind of work too.”

A bath and ice chips alone weren’t the revelation. It was her balance of confidence and care, her ability to incite trust in folks grappling with their greatest fears.

“I suppose,” she said. “Course, choices are often clearer when it’s not about your own kin.”

Once the words were out, they clung to the air. The dual message, seemingly unintended, turned her away.

Ellis was mining for a response when he heard her murmur, “I wonder sometimes if they’ll forget who I am…”

A crushing thought. There was no need to identify they.

“God, no, Geraldine. They couldn’t. They won’t.”

She didn’t answer, and he realized that nothing said in this moment would change a damn thing. Hence, silence reigned for the remainder of the drive, with Ellis at the wheel and Geraldine facing her window. If not for discreet swipes of her eyes, no one would guess she was crying.

By the time they reached Dearborn, Ellis couldn’t deny the truth: Geraldine Dillard wanted her kids back. More than practical reasons, though, kept her from demanding such a thing. It was shame. He saw that now, more than ever, after Lily’s story in the kitchen. In different ways, both mothers believed that losing their children was the atonement they deserved.

And both of them were wrong.

He decided right then to have another meeting with Alfred. A bold one. The man would hear Ellis out, the whole account, and consider the options. If he wanted to keep the issue out of the courts and papers, he’d start by disclosing Calvin’s real whereabouts and the facts behind Ruby’s letter.

Sometimes we have to make sacrifices for the ones we love. Alfred’s comment floated back. The potential extent of those sacrifices haunted Ellis now, and long into the night.

In the morning, at the paper, Ellis had to shelve the notion. He’d arrived early to make up for yesterday’s absence, as well as for leeway. After the news meeting, he would jet out for a surprise visit to the bank. Until then, hunkered down at his desk, doing his best to stave off thoughts of Lily, he’d type more trite details about the city proposal to rename a local library.

No Pulitzer Prize here. But unless he wanted a daily spot in a breadline, producing something was better than nothing.

“Mr. Reed, a word.” Mr. Walker’s voice carried easily over the morning quiet.

Ellis steeled himself for another chiding. On his way to the city desk, he gladly paused to let a copy boy speed by, then trudged up to the editor.

“Got an interesting call this morning.” Mr. Walker let the remark hang there, as if baiting a reader to turn the page. “Came from the president of Century Alliance Bank, a gentleman named Alfred Millstone.”

Ellis aimed for stoic. “Oh yeah?”

“Said you’d approached him about a profile piece. Highlighting the redeeming traits of bankers today and some such crud.” Mr. Walker leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled across his middle. “He wants me to kill it. Asked that you not contact his family again.”

His family. Not just Alfred. Clearly the couple had compared notes. Had they talked to Ruby too?

“What’d you tell him?”

“That it wouldn’t be a problem, since I wasn’t aware of any profile assignment to begin with.”

Dandy. The chances that Alfred’s secretary, much less the bank guard, would let Ellis through the door had just dropped to nil.

But first to salvage his job.

“Mr. Walker, if you’ll hear me out—”

“Fact of the matter is, you’ve been so scattered lately, it didn’t occur to me till I hung up what you’ve really been up to.”

Ellis’s explanation shriveled in his throat. He swallowed it down. “Sir?”

“I assume you’ve been snooping around the Millstones, hunting down a lead. I can see why you’d be quiet about it, given their ties to Giovanni Trevino. But with everything I hear…just be careful, Mr. Reed.”

Right then, a known press agent caught the attention of Mr. Walker, who invited him over for a new discussion.

Ellis’s thoughts were whirling, but he couldn’t show it. He simply stepped out of the way while trying to decipher the warning. The name Trevino was a shadow on the outer edge of his mind. Dark and familiar, no specifics.

As he turned around, he spied Dutch arriving. The guy was hitting the coffee station even before his desk, signaling a rough night of sleep. Ellis met him there.

“Dutch, got a question.”

“Uh-huh.” Dutch was sniffing the pot to determine the freshness of the brew.

“Giovanni Trevino. That name mean anything to you?”

“Sure…right…” Dutch was still distracted, now pouring a cupful. Ellis waited for him to finish. It was important to be clear.

“What’ve you heard?”

“Rum-running, I think. Owns a few supper clubs, gambling halls… Some say he’s tied to the Black Hand.”

The shadow suddenly took shape. “Are we talking about Max Trevino?”

“Max. Yeah. Same guy.”

Ellis didn’t know a whole lot about the man, outside of him belonging to the Mafia. But he definitely knew about the Black Hand, a group known for extortion of small businesses throughout New York. The members were Italian. Unforgiving. Brutal.

“Why do you ask?”

Against a sudden weight of dread, Ellis forced a shrug. “Just curious.”

• • •

The Tuesday traffic was cooperating. Ellis’s first good omen of the day.

Of course, if he were smart, he’d turn his car around, let all this Millstone business go. But he couldn’t. In light of the Mob links, his concerns over the kids had doubled. Even Alfred’s trip to Chicago, a hub for organized crime, gained new context.

Time to return to the source—not Alfred, but Ruby. It was still early enough to catch her morning recess, if he hurried.

He was crossing into Jersey when he sensed a car following behind. A black Packard. It trailed his every turn, like a tin can strung to the bumper, all the way to Hoboken. Across from the school, Ellis pulled over and the Packard rolled right past.

A relief, if not for the driver. His pockmarked cheeks, common scars from smallpox, distinguished a man like him in a crowd. Ellis had seen him before, but where?

Then again, after Mr. Walker’s heeding, maybe paranoia was kicking in.

There was no time to sort it out. The kids were already on the playground, squealing and flailing under the spring sun.

Ellis climbed out of his car. Just as he’d hoped, Ruby was lingering alone by the apple tree. The matronly teacher was again focused on her more active charges. Still being cautious, Ellis started in Ruby’s direction.

With a few yards to go, he caught her gaze. Apprehension flitted across her face, but she put a finger to her lips. She waved him to the back side of the tree, where he squatted to her level, obscured from the teacher’s view.

“I’m not supposed to talk to you no more,” Ruby said in an urgent hush. “I kept hoping you’d come back, though. There’s things I gotta tell ya.”

“About Calvin?” It was Ellis’s first thought.

She crinkled her chin, confused, and shook her head. But the intensity that returned to her eyes suggested a scenario just as troubling.

“Honey, are you doing all right?”

Her silence held long enough to provide an answer, and he regretted not asking the question last time, right from the top.

“If I can, Ruby, I absolutely want to help you too.”

The corners of her lips rose a little, and Ellis realized it might be less from his offer than his use of her name. Ruby, not Victoria.

“Then I need a favor,” she whispered. “I gotta get a message to my mama, ’cause I’ve given it heaps of thought. See, Claire—that’s our housekeeper—she’s teaching me to sew. She’s gonna show me how to knit and crochet too. And I already learned about doing laundry and fryin’ up food. So, Mama needs to know I’m ready to earn my keep. That way, it won’t cost her nothin’ to have me, and we could all be together again.”

The plea squeezed Ellis’s chest. A vise around his lungs.

He had come here about the letter, to replace out if it held other clues and when it had arrived. Could she pass the note along? Had she overheard anything at the house?

But now, face-to-face with her, he found himself at a crossroads. Samuel’s sickness had exhibited the resiliency of children, sure. But also their vulnerabilities, their reliance on those who care in order to survive.

Ruby waited for his reply.

He had to decide how much to share. Beyond that, just how far he was willing to go.

A shrill whistle cut in. It came from a chisel-faced man standing beside the teacher. A cop. He must have been passing on his beat. Or hell, maybe the Packard driver had sent him over.

“You!” the cop yelled. “Stay right there!”

The command was definitely for Ellis. Yeah, he might have been trespassing, but he could explain himself if given a chance. Unfortunately, the man’s aggressive strides, paired with the billy club in his clutches, made clear a diplomatic chat wasn’t in the cards.

“I’ll come back when I can,” Ellis told Ruby. Her expression reflected his alarm, but there was no time to say more, only to take off in a sprint.

“Halt!”

Ellis aimed to reach his car. Halfway into the street, he noted that cranking his old engine wouldn’t be an option for a fast getaway. He’d have to lose the guy through the city blocks.

“I said halt!”

A glance backward confirmed that the officer was right on his heels. Then a honk blared and a car swerved. Ellis stumbled, narrowly avoiding a collision. As he scrambled to his feet, a tug to his collar whipped him around, causing his elbow to strike something hard.

The cop’s face.

Christ.

Quicker than a blink, Ellis was flattened to the ground. Both arms were yanked behind him. His cheek scraped against the pavement, hard.

“Stay down,” the cop ordered, his bony knee in Ellis’s back. “You’re under arrest, you damn fool.”