The Mulberry Tree

“Mmmm,” was all Bailey said before she fell asleep.

The next thing Bailey heard was a distant shout, then Matt threw open the

bedroom door.

“Look at this,” he shouted, shoving a piece of paper in front of her face.

Bailey was too sleep-dazed to focus. “What is it?”

“This is—” Matt had to take a few breaths to calm himself. “The search came through on Burgess’s social security number, and it gives addresses for 1986, 1992, and 1997.”

Bailey pushed herself up in bed. “That doesn’t make sense. The man died in—”

“Nineteen-eighty-two. But his plane was so burned that they found nothing, not even teeth.”

Bailey grimaced. “It’s a little early in the morning—” she began, then her eyes widened as she looked up at Matt. “Are you thinking that Burgess could still be alive?”

Matt held out the paper to her, and she looked at it.

“I’m confused. These are addresses for a man named Kyle Meredith.”

“It’s him,” Matt said.

“What makes you think that? I know Kyle was your father’s name, but—”

“Burgess Meredith, the film star, remember?”

“Yes,” Bailey said slowly as she looked down at the paper again. “The last address is Meadow Acres Rest Home in Sarasota, Florida. Oh, heavens! There’s a telephone number.”

“Yes,” he said, “and I’ve already called, but they don’t answer calls until nine A.M.”

“Okay,” Bailey said, catching Matt’s excitement. “We’ll just have to wait until nine. What time is it now?”

Matt didn’t have to look at his watch. “It’s seven-twenty-two.”

“Okay,” Bailey said, “we’ll just be calm and wait. I’ll make crepes. They take forever.”

She made four batches of them, burning one batch because her eyes never left the clock. Matt sat at the dining table with a newspaper in front of his face, but from the way he kept glancing at the phone, Bailey didn’t think he was doing much reading.

When the clock clicked onto nine, Matt grabbed the phone and pushed the redial button. The call was answered on the first ring. Matt had to clear his throat to be able to speak. “Is a Mr. Kyle Meredith still living at your rest home?”

“Yes, he is,” the receptionist said. “Who’s calling, please?”

But Matt didn’t answer. Instead, he hung up the phone and looked at her. “He’s there.”

She took a breath. “You make the plane reservations while I pack, and call Patsy and ask if Alex can stay with them.”

“Right,” he said, then they nearly fell over each other as they started running.

As she and Matt took their seats on the plane, he handed her the book by T. L. Spangler. “I think it’s time for you to read this,” he said.

Bailey opened to the title page and read that the author had written the book to fulfill her requirements to obtain a Ph.D. in psychology.

It didn’t take Bailey long to see that Ms. Spangler believed that the boys planted the bomb in the school themselves, and that they had planned the whole rescue mission. Spangler shared her theory right away, then went into what interested her the most: the psychology of the boys.

Bailey began to read.

The class system in any society is interesting, but in small-town America, it is more so. What happens when the class system is removed? When the rich woman and the poor man are marooned on an island, what happens? If the woman has a skill, such as sewing, she may, perhaps, be able to keep her status. But what if the woman has no skill and the man marooned with her is a carpenter? What becomes of their status then?