The RagTime Traveler by Larry Karp

Author:Larry Karp
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Poisoned Pen Press, Inc.
Published: 2017-03-05T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

At Lee’s Summit, Alan turned off Route 50 onto 476, then headed west on I-70. Coming up on three-thirty, traffic was building toward rush hour.

“You know how late the museum’s open?” JJ called from the backseat. “We gonna have long enough to do our thing?”

“No trouble,” said Alan. “It’s open till six, and with four of us splitting up the research, it should be a piece of cake. But we need to get organized. Much as I hate to say it, it’s not the greatest museum in the world. You could see the whole thing in an hour and a half, two hours at the most. There’re a lot of neon signs, some of the exhibits aren’t working, and they don’t have much in the way of historical information. But that can work to our advantage; it won’t take long to go through what they have got. Either we’ll find something or we won’t. JJ, you and I can look for anything about Jarvis Nowlin. Tom, you get your hands on a phone book; check for our Mr. Nowlin and nasty Ms. Nowlin. And Saramae—”

“I want to see if I can find anything about your Angeline Nowlin in 1899. Or is it Angeline Blackstone? I oughta be the one to find out if she’s my triple-great granny.”

“Good. A personal motivation won’t hurt at all. Try both names. Can’t hurt.”

They got off the highway at the Paseo exit, headed east, and lucked into a space at 18th and Vine, right in front of the museum’s gift shop. “Good parking space, good omen,” Alan said. “Okay. We ready?”

JJ snapped off a slick salute. “Yes suh, Mr. General Alan, suh! Let’s go.”

***

Tom was back in the neon-studded lobby in less than ten minutes. He killed three-quarters of an hour wandering around the perimeter of the room, trying to guess what had become of the businesses where the signs had originally hung. When Alan and JJ appeared, Tom could tell by their expressions they’d been successful.

“So?” he asked as they approached.

“Let’s wait for Saramae,” Alan said. “Go through everything once, then head out.

“While we’re waiting,” said Tom. “That call from Detective Parks—you want to return it?”

Alan grinned. “In a word, no. Let’s catch up with him after we get back to Sedalia. Let him stew a little.”

“You like livin’ dangerously.” There was respect in JJ’s tone.

“Know what?” Alan punched the boy’s arm lightly. “I think you’re right.”

Ten minutes later, Saramae danced into the room. “Well, lookie her.” JJ snickered. “Betcha she thinks she found somethin’ sweet.”

Alan shepherded the little group to a spot beneath colorful signs for the Top Hat Grill and The Pink Door. “Okay,” he said. “JJ and I found a little something, probably not of much practical use. Jarvis Nowlin, our ‘sometime critic’ wrote an article for the museum on Ella Fitzgerald, about six years ago, and another one on Louis Armstrong a year later. He seems to know what he’s talking about. Not that that’ll help us a whole lot.

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