James Grippando - Leapholes

"No, she's at work."

"Are you Mr. Coolidge?"

"Yes, I am."

"We're with Metro-Police. We have a search warrant for these premises," he said as he presented the document.

"What's this about, officer?"

"We're here to execute the warrant, not answer questions. May we pass, please? Or are you resisting?"

"I'm not resisting. I just want to know what this-"

"Where's the master bedroom?"

"Upstairs to the right."

"Thank you." The detective and two officers blew past him and started upstairs. Two other officers suddenly appeared in the doorway, as if standing guard.

Ryan pinned his back to the wall and allowed the police to pass. They said nothing as they hurried by him and disappeared into his parents' bedroom. Ryan's father climbed halfway up the stairs, his eyes meeting Ryan's.

"Dad, what are they looking for?"

"Just don't worry, Ryan. It's going to be okay."

He spoke in that too-calm tone of voice that parents used to reassure themselves as much as their children. With a detective and two police officers rummaging through their house, Ryan had no reason to believe that everything was going to be okay.

Ryan stood behind his father outside the bedroom door. It took only a few minutes for the police to emerge. The detective was wearing latex gloves, and he was carrying something under his arm. It was Mr. Coolidge's camera bag.

"What do you want with that?" asked Ryan's father.

"Follow me, sir."

The detective led the way downstairs to the foyer. Ryan's father went with them. Ryan was watching from the top of the stairs as the detective laid the camera bag on the floor. One of the police officers was recording with a hand-held video camera.

The detective said, "Mr. Coolidge, would you please open the camera bag."

Ryan's father looked puzzled, but he did not object. The bag was about the size of a standard backpack, and it had a number of different zipper pockets on the front and sides. Mr. Coolidge unzipped the main compartment, which revealed nothing but a camera.

The detective said, "Open the side pocket, please. The one on the left."

Ryan's father obliged. This time, however, as he peeled back the open flap, his face turned ash white.

"Would you remove the contents, please?" the detective said flatly.

Mr. Coolidge had clearly heard him, but he suddenly couldn't move. "I-I don't know how this got here."

"Sir, please remove it."

His hand shook as he reached into the side pocket. He pulled out something that, from Ryan's distance, looked like a bright green piece of glass or a rock. A moment later, however, Ryan recognized it. His father was holding the precious stone that had choked that little girl on the beach. It was the same huge emerald that she had sucked off her grandmother's ring. Two weeks had passed since Ryan's mother saved the child's life, but Ryan would never forget a jewel like that one.

"Does this emerald belong to you?" the detective demanded.

"No, of course not."

The detective opened a small plastic bag and said, "Place it in the bag, please."

Ryan's father dropped the emerald into the bag, and the detective sealed it shut.

"Mr. Coolidge, do you have any idea how much this stone is worth?"

"I'm sure it's quite valuable "

"It's been appraised at thirty-one-thousand dollars, sir. You want to tell us how it ended up in your camera bag?"

"I don't know how."

"This is your camera bag, isn't it?"

"Yes, but I don't have any idea how that emerald ended up there. I really don't."

The officers exchanged glances, obviously skeptical. The detective said, "Would you mind coming downtown with us, sir? We'd like to ask you a few more questions."

"My wife is still at her mommy-and-me class with our daughter. I can't leave my son here by himself."

"Officer Tenet will be happy to walk your son over to a neighbor's house."

"Can't this wait until my wife comes home?"

The detective sneered. "I'm trying to be nice, sir. Don't force me to arrest you in front of your own child."

"Arrest me? For what?"

"For the last time, sir. Let's talk about it downtown. For your boy's sake."

Mr. Coolidge glanced toward Ryan, then swallowed the lump in his throat. "All right. Take my son to the Alvarez house. They live right next door."

The officer went to Ryan and led him downstairs. As they crossed the foyer, Ryan saw real fear in his father's eyes, which gave him even greater concern. "Dad, what's going on?"

"We'll talk more about this later, Ryan."

"But that's the emerald that flew out of that baby's mouth at the beach. What's it doing in your camera bag?"

"Ryan, be quiet."

"Are they saying you stole it?"

"I said we'll talk about this later," he said sternly. "This is obviously a mistake."

The police officer whisked Ryan out the door, as if he couldn't get the boy out of the house fast enough. Ryan was confused and angry at the same time. He had been so proud of his mother for saving that little girl's life. Dr. Coolidge had been the talk of the town. She'd been on the television news, her picture in the newspaper. She was a local hero. And now this? How could his father have spoiled everything? How could he have stooped so low as to steal the emerald that had popped from a choking baby's mouth?

As Ryan entered the neighbor's yard, he gave a quick glance over his shoulder. What he saw nearly knocked him off his feet-his father disappearing into the back seat of a police car, his head lowered in shame.

Ryan had seen plenty of cop shows on television. He'd seen criminals stuffed into squad cars on the nightly news. And he'd watched dozens of them look into the cameras and say exactly what his father had just told him: It was all "a mistake."

Yeah, right. They always said it was "a mistake."

He wanted to believe in his father's innocence, but he was already having doubts. How could a thirty-one-thousand-dollar emerald end up in his camera bag by "mistake"?

That was all Ryan wanted to know.

Springfield was the state capital of Illinois.

Ryan was convinced that it was also the stovepipe capital of the world.

Their borrowed wagon had crossed the city limits around five a. M. Abigail linked up with a fellow abolitionist who was willing to hide Hannah and her baby. Ryan was dead tired, but he couldn't afford to waste time sleeping. Jarvis already had a serious head start on finding the leaphole back to the twenty-first century. They'd both heard Hezekiah say that the key to finding it was to go to Springfield and look for a stovepipe.

He might as well have said go the beach and look for a grain of sand. Ryan had never seen so many stovepipes. Of course, never before had he searched for one in the middle of the nineteenth century.

"What exactly do you want me to look for?" asked Abigail.

"I'm not sure. Any stovepipe that looks out of the ordinary to you, point it out to me."

Abigail was not entirely comfortable with the whole concept of leapholes. However, she couldn't deny their inexplicable trip from Missouri to Illinois with Kaylee's help. Suffice it to say that she'd seen enough to help Ryan in any way she could.

From Ryan's standpoint, a pair of nineteenth-century eyes couldn't hurt his search through old Springfield.

They continued down Main Street. Black stovepipes protruded from every rooftop. In 1857, pot-bellied stoves were in practically every home, every store, every office. Coal or wood burned in the stove, heat filled the room, and smoke went up the pipe. Ryan looked around, confused and overwhelmed. He was determined to honor the promise he'd made to Hezekiah: He would bring Hannah and her baby north to safety. But he couldn't let Jarvis find that leaphole before he did. The race was on, and he had no idea where the finish line was.