Roses for Sophia Cooper
Part 3
John Kolb
Thomas stood in
the upstairs hallway listening to the ticking of the grandfather clock while
his uncle searched the contents of his wardrobe for a jacket to replace the
robe he wore. The longer he stood there, the more the situation he found
himself in began to wear on him. Finally, after pacing the length of the hall
and pausing to look at the pictures that hung on the walls, he ventured into
his uncle’s room and stood at the foot of the bed while the old man pulled on a
brown herringbone jacket.
“I really don’t
understand, Uncle Daniel.” Thomas straightened his uncle’s collar. “It’s pretty
obvious this Lash is angry enough to carry out his threats and whether or not
this Kolb did something to his daughter the authorities surely are better
equipped to deal with something like this.”
“Tell me what you
noticed about those men, Tom?” His uncle stepped to the mirror that stood by
the wardrobe, giving himself a quick once-over before turning to face Thomas.
“Well, from the
fact they referred to us as gadjos I’d guess they’re gypsies.”
“They prefer the
term Roma.”
“But they came to
you for advice, how exactly did you come to earn the trust of a bunch of
gypsies?”
Thomas’s uncle
took a hat from the top shelf of the wardrobe. “You were in the army; did you ever
see any of the Nazi prison camps?”
“I did.” Thomas
tried hard to push the images down, but the mention of the war stirred the
horrors from their slumber and they swept through his brain. It took several
moments for him to realize he’d been standing in silence while the images
settled and the look on his uncle’s face mirrored the pain that had left him
speechless.
“I met Dukker and
his sisters at Buchenwald. Being an old man and a doctor I got assigned as private
physician for the generals, but I was getting sick of telling them to smoke and
drink less so I volunteered to help with the refugees. There were so many of
them – Jews, gypsies, just so many people. Until that day I never thought the world
could hold so much hate.” The old man shook his head, staring down at the top
of his dresser for a moment before recovering. “Let’s get going. Morning will
be here quicker than it seems and we’ve got a lot of work to do if we want to
keep John Kolb alive.”
“Right.” Thomas
did his best to smile and took the old man’s arm as they headed for the
hallway.
They left the
grand old house behind, passing through the woods to where an expanse of corn
broke against the barrier of the forest’s trunks. Dark clouds scurried over the
neatly tended rows and the air smelled of rain. The corn stretched to the
horizon, verdant and swaying in the growing wind that heralded the storm’s
imminent arrival.
“All of this
belongs to John Kolb,“ Thomas’ uncle said over the noise of the road.
“He must be rich.”
“Oh, I’m sure he
is. He ran for state representative last year and if he had half as much
personality as he has money, he might have won.”
“Well, its like
mom says, everybody’s got personality, but that doesn’t mean they have a good personality.”
“That’s my little
sister,” Thomas’ uncle chuckled. “She always knew how to craft a phrase. Turn
here.”
A fence flanked
drive separated Kolb’s fields, leading to a modern split-level house that would
have looked comfortable in an affluent suburb. Looking at the house, Thomas felt
like he understood the reason old southern plantation houses were built with
long avenues like this one; the view of opulence and possessions gave anyone
approaching time to consider the power of those they were dealing with and to
reconsider any uppity ideas they might have. The sight fomented contempt deep
inside Thomas’ heart, but it didn’t convince him the man was a murderer or
deserved death at the hands of a mob. Before they reached the house they came
upon a group of men working alongside the drive. Four of the workers stood
waist deep in a ditch, stabbing at the clay with shovels while the fifth sat
atop a shiny new tractor watching the proceedings.
“I take it that’s
Kolb?” Thomas asked, slowing the car.
“How did you
guess? “ Thomas’ uncle smirked. “Pull to the side; let’s see what he has to say
about the missing girl.”
Thomas pulled into
the grass and by the time he’d shut the Desoto off, the men in the ditch had
stopped working and were leaning on their shovel handles watching as his uncle climbed
out of the car.
“Evening John.”
Thomas’ uncle paused at the edge of the grass. “Might I have a word?”
Kolb slid off the
tractor, strolling toward the ditch with the sort of swagger Thomas associated
with b-movie cowboys. Everything about the man, from his neatly rolled sleeves
to the crispness of his hat and boots, felt false to Thomas. From what he could
see, the man was playing at gentleman farmer while nursing other ambitions.
Kolb paused at the edge of the ditch, spurring the laborers to resume digging
with a sidelong glance before jumping the channel.
“I don’t have a
lot of time for chit-chat,” Kolb said, jerking his head toward the excavation.
“This drainage has to get cleared before the storm gets here or the north
fields will flood. I didn’t plant all this corn just to have it drown before I
can make my money.”
“This shouldn’t
take long,” Thomas uncle replied. “Really I just wanted to ask if you saw a
young girl yesterday morning. She’s a slight thing, about sixteen years old with
brown hair and eyes who goes by the name of Sophia.”
“One of your gypsy
friends?” Kolb asked sourly.
“Does that
matter?” Thomas interjected, walking around the car to stand at his uncle’s
side.
“It might,” Kolb
replied, turning his gaze on Thomas. “Exactly who would you be?”
“This is my
nephew, Tom.” Thomas’ uncle took hold of his elbow. “He’s visiting from Boston
for a while.”
“Huh.” Kolb’s hard
face remained unchanged, his shallow blue eyes boring into Thomas.” Well, I’m
not sure how you do things out East, but out here we don’t take to thieving
bums. Your uncle may have a soft spot for these con men and their brats, but I
imagine he’ll come to his senses once one of them robs him blind. If I were
you, I’d just pray nothing worse than robbery happens to him before he comes
around.”
“I’ll choose my
friends.” Thomas’ uncle’s tone went stony. “Now, did you see Sophia or not?”
“I did,” Kolb
answered, turning back to Thomas’ uncle. “I ran her off with the promise I’d
dust her butt with rock salt if I ever caught her nosing around my property
again.”
“Where did you see
her?”
“Not that it’s any
of your business, but it was on the old timber road down by the new plot I
bought last spring.” Thunder rumbled and Kolb tipped his hat back to look up at
the lowering clouds. “Now if you two will excuse me, I don’t have time to
discuss vagrants.”
“Just a minute…”
Thomas started, but his uncle stemmed the protest, pulling him toward the car.
“Thanks for the
help, John, and good luck with the dig.” He pulled on Thomas’ sleeve. “Come on,
we don’t’ want to keep Mr. Kolb.”
“Don’t want to
keep him?” Thomas let his uncle pull him to the car, leaning in to talk
confidentially. “I’d like to knock that self-satisfied smirk off his lousy
face!”
“You’ll have to
save that for some other time, for Sophia’s sake we need to get going now.”
Thomas’ uncle
climbed into the car, leaving him muttering as he walked around and got into
the driver’s side. Once he’d started the engine he resumed the protest in earnest.
“Fine, I get that
you don’t want to get into a fight with this guy, but we don’t have anything to
go on. We don’t know one bit more than when we got here.”
“I have to
disagree,” Thomas’ uncle responded. “John admitted seeing Sophia and even told
us where.”
“So, that doesn’t
mean anything.”
“If he killed her,
do you think he’d admit seeing the girl? Especially knowing her background and
that the police are likely to believe she ran away and put very little effort
into searching for her?”
“Okay, it doesn’t
make sense, but we still don’t have any idea where to look.”
“That’s where experience
comes into play. What did Lash say his daughter was upset about the morning of
her disappearance?”
“Her bridal
bouquet.”
“Right, and John
said he saw the girl on the old logging road that runs behind his property.
Now, that road runs near an old homestead and last summer when I walked that
area what struck me was the abundance of wild roses growing there.”
“So it’s likely
she went to this old homestead to pick flowers for the wedding.” Thomas started
the car.
“Exactly, and if she’s there we might not have
much time.” The old man cast his eyes skyward. “Those lowlands flood quickly in
a storm, we could lose an important clue or worse.”
The finale is coming! The final part of Roses for Sophia
Cooper will air on July 8th, 2013!
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