Jubilee's Journey (The Wyattsville Series) by Bette Lee Crosby Page A

him.
    Before he could answer, Olivia interrupted the game. “Ethan Allen, are you and Jubilee playing poker?”
    He shrugged and gave a sly grin.
    Jubilee looked up with smile. “Ethan’s learning me how.”
    “I bet he is!” Olivia began gathering the cards from the table. “Ethan, get that set of checkers. Poker is no game for little girls!” Olivia could already imagine Aunt Anita tsk-tsking the thought of her niece learning to gamble. She made a mental note to pick up something more appropriate. If they wanted to play cards, it would have to be Old Maid.
    “Jeez, Grandma,” Ethan complained, “it ain’t like we was playing for real money.”
     

     
    Once supper was over, Ethan settled down with his homework and a tired little Jubilee slipped her new nightie over her head and climbed into the spot where Charlie once slept. That’s when Olivia started telephoning Joneses. She was only halfway through B when the clock struck ten and she shooed Ethan off to bed.
    By eleven-thirty two people hung up the receiver before she could ask about Anita and the F.L. Jones on Oak Street said there ought to be a law against ringing the telephone late at night and scaring people to death.
    “I thought for sure somebody died,” F.L. said, and then he slammed the receiver down like an exclamation point.
    It was eleven-thirty-five when Olivia dialed the number for F. M Jones; by then she’d already decided this was to be her last call of the evening. The rest of F could wait until tomorrow morning. A woman answered with a hello somewhat like the croaking of a frog.
    “Is this F. M. Jones?” Olivia asked.
    “Yeah. Who’s this?”
    “My name is Olivia Westerly Doyle, and I’m trying to find—”  
    “Olivia Westerly? You used to work for Southern Atlantic Telephone?”
    “Why, yes, I did, but that’s not why I’m calling.”
    “Well, I’ll be,” F.M. said. “Frances Margaret here. Accounting, remember?”
    “Yes, I remember,” Olivia replied, even though she really didn’t. She simply thought it would help to move the conversation along. “What I’m actually looking for—”
    “You still live in Richmond?” Frances Margaret asked.
    “No, when I married Charlie, I moved here to Wyattsville—”
    “So you got married, huh? I never would’ve thought it. I figured for sure—”
     “I’m calling because I’m trying to locate a woman named Anita Jones,” Olivia interrupted. “Do you know anyone by that name?”
    “Is this for a company reunion?”
    “No, it’s not,” Olivia replied impatiently. “I’m trying to help a little girl who’s looking for her aunt, a woman named Anita Jones or maybe Anita Walker.”
    “I can’t recall anybody named Anita working for Southern Atlantic.”
    “Not just at the company,” Olivia said, “anywhere. Do you know an Anita Jones?”
     “Can’t say as I do. I used to know a Bartholomew, but he didn’t work at Southern Atlantic. Him and his wife rented the upstairs flat in my sister’s house.”
    Growing desperate for even the smallest clue, Olivia asked, “Did Bartholomew or his wife have a sister named Anita?”
    “I don’t think he did, but his missus might’ve. There was a bossy sort who visited every so often. That one was nothing like Bartholomew’s missus. She was a sweet little thing.”
    “What was Bartholomew’s wife’s name?”
    “Can’t say that I recall,” Frances Margaret said. “Shoot, that was nearly twenty years ago, when I lived in Norfolk.”
    “Did Bartholomew and his wife come from Norfolk?”
    “Hmm, not to my recollection. He was a Navy man, but I think she came from someplace a ways off. I recall her talking about how, as a kid, she loved swimming in the bay.”
    Olivia’s heart jumped. “Do you know what bay?”
    “Surely you’re kidding me!” Frances Margaret cackled. “What makes you think I’d know a thing like that?’
    “Well, I just thought maybe…” Olivia’s hope fell as rapidly as it had