counted it. He reached into his pocket, his fingers touched a little metal object—and his empty stomach lurched. Sitting there on a hardwood bench, half-heartedly joining in “Abide With Me,” he remembered the locket and the money-clip. What with the excitement of playing his way into a meal, hearing about the possibility of a good steady job, and meeting Mr. Fitzgerald and getting the room at the Y, he’d forgotten that strangled woman at the side of the road and her possessions he’d made off with. Now, they burned in his pocket like they’d been heated red-hot in an oven.
He downed his breakfast considerably faster than he’d planned, then ran back to his room, locked the door, and laid his booty on the bed. The money in the clip looked like found treasure, two tens, a five, and three singles. Twenty-eight dollars, not a fortune, but a comfortable cushion until his first payday. He heard his mother’s voice: “A thief never profits from his ill-gotten gains,” but as Brun studied the money-clip, the voice faded. That piece of jewelry interested him no end. It was shaped like a musical lyre, a clever piece of work, about three inches long, half an inch thick. A bit of delicate blue enamel work decorated its base. At first, Brun thought it was gold, but then took notice of the few flecks of gold plating still remaining on the brass body. The boy’s fingers picked up on a small irregularity on the back; he turned the clip over, and saw a tiny winding key, like for a watch. He gave it a tentative turn, and felt the pressure of a spring winding; then he pushed a metal button next to the winding key. A simple little tune began to play.
He’d never seen such a thing. He listened until the music stopped, then turned the key and pushed the button again. His first notion had been what the money-clip might bring from a pawnbroker, but now the possibility of pawning his find went altogether out of his thoughts. Women didn’t carry money-clips, men did. That poor woman must have struggled, and in the fight, the money-clip probably fell out of her killer’s pocket. As musical a city as Sedalia was said to be, the clip could have belonged to any number of people, but since the item would indict its owner as a killer, Brun knew he’d be foolish to pawn it, then have to worry that the wrong person might trace it back to him.
His attention turned to the little gold square, the locket. Brun flipped it open, found himself staring into the wide-set eyes of a blond man with a big round face and a smile that looked forced. The woman’s husband? Brun closed his eyes, tried to remember. Yes, there
was
a plain gold band on the fourth finger of her left hand, the hand he’d been massaging like a fool. Did her own husband kill her?
It occurred to Brun that he should go directly to the police station and turn in the money-clip and the locket. He could say he’d been scared the night before, didn’t know what to do. But he shook his head. A kid from out of town, a runaway, just arrived on a freight? The cops would give him the third degree, and like as not, by the time they were done, he’d be getting free lodging, courtesy of the county jail, for stealing valuable property off a dead person, maybe even for killing that dead person.
But the money in the clip was no problem. Twenty-eight dollars, not a fortune, but add in the three dollars from Mr. Fitzgerald, and he was close to what he’d left home with a few days before. Didn’t his Ma always tell him a person should trust in the providence of the Lord?
Brun thought about stashing the locket and clip somewhere in his room, but the idea made him uneasy, so he put them back into his pocket. Then he washed his face in the basin, went out, locked the door, marched past the communal room and out into the street. While he was going about his business, he’d keep his eyes and ears open, see what he might learn about the murdered woman.
Chapter Four
Sedalia
Wednesday, July 19,
He downed his breakfast considerably faster than he’d planned, then ran back to his room, locked the door, and laid his booty on the bed. The money in the clip looked like found treasure, two tens, a five, and three singles. Twenty-eight dollars, not a fortune, but a comfortable cushion until his first payday. He heard his mother’s voice: “A thief never profits from his ill-gotten gains,” but as Brun studied the money-clip, the voice faded. That piece of jewelry interested him no end. It was shaped like a musical lyre, a clever piece of work, about three inches long, half an inch thick. A bit of delicate blue enamel work decorated its base. At first, Brun thought it was gold, but then took notice of the few flecks of gold plating still remaining on the brass body. The boy’s fingers picked up on a small irregularity on the back; he turned the clip over, and saw a tiny winding key, like for a watch. He gave it a tentative turn, and felt the pressure of a spring winding; then he pushed a metal button next to the winding key. A simple little tune began to play.
He’d never seen such a thing. He listened until the music stopped, then turned the key and pushed the button again. His first notion had been what the money-clip might bring from a pawnbroker, but now the possibility of pawning his find went altogether out of his thoughts. Women didn’t carry money-clips, men did. That poor woman must have struggled, and in the fight, the money-clip probably fell out of her killer’s pocket. As musical a city as Sedalia was said to be, the clip could have belonged to any number of people, but since the item would indict its owner as a killer, Brun knew he’d be foolish to pawn it, then have to worry that the wrong person might trace it back to him.
His attention turned to the little gold square, the locket. Brun flipped it open, found himself staring into the wide-set eyes of a blond man with a big round face and a smile that looked forced. The woman’s husband? Brun closed his eyes, tried to remember. Yes, there
was
a plain gold band on the fourth finger of her left hand, the hand he’d been massaging like a fool. Did her own husband kill her?
It occurred to Brun that he should go directly to the police station and turn in the money-clip and the locket. He could say he’d been scared the night before, didn’t know what to do. But he shook his head. A kid from out of town, a runaway, just arrived on a freight? The cops would give him the third degree, and like as not, by the time they were done, he’d be getting free lodging, courtesy of the county jail, for stealing valuable property off a dead person, maybe even for killing that dead person.
But the money in the clip was no problem. Twenty-eight dollars, not a fortune, but add in the three dollars from Mr. Fitzgerald, and he was close to what he’d left home with a few days before. Didn’t his Ma always tell him a person should trust in the providence of the Lord?
Brun thought about stashing the locket and clip somewhere in his room, but the idea made him uneasy, so he put them back into his pocket. Then he washed his face in the basin, went out, locked the door, marched past the communal room and out into the street. While he was going about his business, he’d keep his eyes and ears open, see what he might learn about the murdered woman.
Chapter Four
Sedalia
Wednesday, July 19,
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