“You mentioned someone trying to break in? I suppose that’s why, because you keep valuable items here?” I said, hoping to bring the conversation back around to what had been on my mind.
If Mr. Alden thought my questioning suspicious, he gave no sign of it. Instead, he nodded. “Yes, we’ve had a couple of break-ins. These are difficult times, and there are a lot of people looking to make a little money in whatever ways they can.”
He didn’t sound overly concerned about it, but I wondered. Surely thieves would be a serious matter?
It was then he spotted a man moving a large stack of boxes. “Hank!” he called, raising a hand to stop the man before turning back to us. “Excuse me for just a moment, will you? I want to talk to him about something.”
As soon as he was out of sight, I turned to Milo. “It seems as though it’s going to be rather difficult to learn anything.” I was disappointed, but I would also be glad to leave the warehouse. It was so very warm here.
“We’ve only just started the tour. I’ll see if I can mention the attempted robberies or if there might be some connection between Mr. Alden and Leon De Lora.”
I was glad to see that he wasn’t going to fight me on the issue, but it suddenly seemed of second importance as I was rapidly becoming overheated, my vision growing dark at the edges.
“I wish you’d have let me come alone. He’s more likely to talk if I…” He stopped then, looking more closely at my face. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” I said vaguely. “Why?”
“Your color’s gone off.”
“I’m very hot.”
“Here, take off your jacket.” He moved behind me and helped slip it from my shoulders, and I felt immediately cooler.
Milo took my elbow, looking down at me. “Better?”
I nodded.
Mr. Alden came back just then. Either the sight of my face or the way in which Milo was looking at me alerted him that something was amiss. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m just feeling a bit overheated, I think,” I said. “Would it be all right if I went back to the office?”
“I can have my driver take you home,” Mr. Alden said.
“No, no. I’ll just wait for you.”
“Amory…” Milo began, but I shook my head firmly and mustered up a smile. “I just need some fresh air. I’ll be fine.”
His eyes met mine, and I knew he could see my determination in them. This might be our only opportunity to find out something, and I needed him to pay attention.
“Are you quite sure?” Mr. Alden asked.
I nodded, feeling better already at the thought of escaping the stifling heat of the warehouse.
“I’ll escort you back, darling,” Milo said.
“That’s not necessary,” I said.
“I’ll have to let you out with a key,” Mr. Alden said. “The doors are all locked from the inside.”
Milo took my arm and we followed him through a warren of cargo until we reached a door at the side wall. He inserted his key into the lock and pushed it open for me.
The cool air that hit my face was an exquisite relief.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you to the office?” Milo asked.
“No, thank you. I can find my way. Please, carry on.”
I stepped out the door then before either of them could protest.
“What kind of vehicles do you use, Mr. Alden?” Milo asked him.
“We’ve got several different trucks,” he said, clearly enthusiastic about the subject. “And we’ve got our own little shop here—spare parts, tires, the works—so we can keep everything running smoothly. If you’ll follow me this way, I can show you the models.”
The door closed behind me then, and I made my way back through the towering maze outside toward the little office building.
I felt instantly better now that I was back in the fresh air, and I drew in deep breaths, clearing my head. My being overheated had not been a ruse, but that didn’t mean that I couldn’t turn it into an opportunity.
Upon entering the little office, I saw Mr. Brown rise again from his desk. “Can I help you, ma’am?”
“I’m afraid I got a bit overheated in the warehouse. I told Mr. Alden and my husband I would wait for them here.”
He nodded sympathetically. “It’s hot in the warehouse buildings. Sit down there, won’t you?”
He motioned toward a pair of wooden chairs sitting against one wall. I sat in one of them, setting my jacket on the empty seat beside me.
“Can I offer you some water?”
“That would be wonderful. Thank you.”
He moved from behind his desk and to a little table in the corner containing a water jug and glasses. As he poured the water, I considered how best I might be able to get information from him. Mr. Brown was Mr. Alden’s warehouse manager, after all. He would likely know the ins and outs of everything that was happening here, perhaps even more than Mr. Alden did.
I thought it unlikely he would appreciate questions from a strange Englishwoman, but it certainly didn’t hurt to try. I didn’t want to seem too inquisitive, but, then again, women were given a bit more leniency where gossip was concerned. It was insulting, perhaps, but that didn’t mean that I couldn’t use it to my advantage.
He brought the glass of water to me, and I drank it gratefully. I hadn’t realized how thirsty I was until I had drained the glass of half its contents.
“Thank you,” I said.
Mr. Brown nodded. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”
“Oh, no. I’m quite comfortable now,” I said.
He moved back toward his desk, and I wondered if he was going to carry on with his work and do his best to ignore me. It seemed, however, that he was in the mood for conversation. Perhaps being in this office all day was a bit lonely.
“You’re not from around here, I take it,” he said settling back into his seat behind the desk.
“No,” I agreed with a smile. “I’m from England.”
“Nice place, I hear.”
“Yes, though I am very much enjoying my visit to New York.”
“It’s a grand city,” he said proudly.
“And this seems like a very nice place to work. I’m quite impressed with the facilities.”
He nodded. “I’ve worked for Mr. Alden for many years, through a lot of ups and downs. He’s a good man, and I have a lot of pride in Alden Shipping.”
It occurred to me that this was not the type of man to tell tales out of school, as it were. He was clearly very loyal to Mr. Alden. I knew it was important to make it look as though I was a close family friend, privy to some of his difficulties.
“I knew the Aldens when they lived in England,” I said. “I’m going to be in Miss Alden’s wedding.”
“Miss Tabitha’s a fine woman. I wish her all happiness.”
“And her fiancé, Mr. Smith, is going to join the company, I understand.”
“Yes,” he answered. “A first-rate young man he is, too.”
Now that we had exchanged pleasantries, I decided to push ahead with some more pertinent questions.
“I understand there has been some difficulty here as of late, break-ins and things of that nature,” I said. “I do hope it isn’t dangerous for you.”
I hoped to appeal to his sense of company pride, and it seemed to work, for he drew himself up a bit. “Well, it isn’t always safe working here. Mr. Alden owns a great deal of property and there are always thieves about, looking for easy pickings.”
“I do hope the thieves don’t strike often.”
“No, ma’am. We haven’t had much trouble of this sort. I suppose after a few failed attempts they’ll realize that it’s no use and go on to someplace else.”
“I suppose you have very good security.”
“We hire a few men to patrol at night. The property is fairly large, so they can’t be everywhere at once.”
“When was the last break-in?”
“Oh,
about a week ago.” He seemed to consider. “Yes, exactly a week ago, it was. It was during the middle of the night. Someone broke one of the windows in the alleyway along the big buildings.”
“Trying to get inside?”
He shook his head. “I suppose, but it was a lost cause from the start. The windows along the alley are boarded up on the inside. There was no use in breaking the window. They couldn’t get in that way. There’s no entry from the ground if you don’t have a key. The windows up on the second floor aren’t boarded up, but the thieves would have a hard time carting things up to the catwalk and then down a ladder. I guess that’s why they broke in here.”
“Here?” I looked around the spartan office. “Did they take anything?”
He shook his head. “Nothing to take.”
“Who might have done it, do you suppose?”
“Young hoodlums, I expect. There are always young boys running around the docks, trying to prove they’re tough and make a few bucks.”
I wondered. I supposed it was possible that it was just some young thieves, but the timing seemed very strange to me. His next words, however, brought up another intriguing possibility.
“Although I wouldn’t be surprised if it was that young man, God rest his soul.”
I looked up at this comment. “Young man?”
“That friend of Mr. Smith’s. He was a troublemaker, make no doubt. He was here that day with a young lady, shortly before we locked up for the night. He said they were looking for Miss Tabitha and wanted to go into the warehouse, but I wouldn’t let them. Not without Mr. Alden here. It isn’t safe, for one thing. For another, I didn’t trust him.”
Grant Palmer had been here, trying to get into the warehouse, on the night it had been broken into? That was certainly an interesting piece of information.
“Did you know the woman?” I asked casually.
“It seemed to me she was a friend of Miss Tabitha’s. Miss Peters, maybe?”
“Petrie?” I ventured.
“Yes, Petrie. That’s it.” He looked at me a bit closer then, as though realizing that I might be friends with Jemma if I was friends with Tabitha.
“I don’t know her well,” I said, by way of reassurance.
“And I don’t know, of course, that the young man had anything to do with it. But I heard things about him.”
“His underworld dealings, do you mean?” I had dropped my voice to a conspiratorial tone.
Mr. Brown nodded. “That and his murky past.”
“Murky past?” I repeated.
“I hear he came from a rough family.” Then he gave a smile and shrugged. “Of course, a lot of us do. I had a bit of my own reputation in my day.”
I turned over in my mind what he had told me. So Grant Palmer and Jemma Petrie had come to the warehouse one evening together. I doubted they would have come looking for Tabitha, for she had professed her dislike for the place. What, then, had been the reason for their visit? And what had they been doing together, when Jemma had disliked Mr. Palmer? It was certainly something worth looking into.
“Did you tell Mr. Alden that you had seen Mr. Palmer here the night of the robbery?”
He nodded. “Oh, yes, ma’am. I tell Mr. Alden everything that goes on around here.”
I realized two things from this. First, if I was to make things any more obvious, Mr. Brown might feel inclined to relate this conversation to Mr. Alden. I didn’t especially want Mr. Alden to know how interested I was in the goings-on at the warehouse. Second, it seemed that Mr. Alden had not been overly concerned with Mr. Palmer’s appearance at the warehouse. I thought again of their hushed conversation in the hallway. What had their relationship been?
“Can I get you more water, ma’am?” Mr. Brown asked, nodding at the glass in my hand.
“No, thank you. I hope I’m not disturbing you, Mr. Brown.”
“Not at all. Happy to talk to you, ma’am. It’s not very often we have ladies of your quality around these parts.”
I smiled and shifted the conversation, and we talked about lighter things while I waited for Milo and Mr. Alden to return. But beneath our superficial chatter, my mind was churning. So Grant Palmer, with Miss Petrie in tow, had tried to gain access to the warehouse. What had he been looking for? And what had Mr. Alden’s reaction been when he had found out? Did he have something to hide? Something, perhaps, worth killing for?
I had just been handed a new piece of the puzzle, and I needed to determine where it fit.
16
I FOUND, WHEN we returned to the house, that Tabitha had left me a note saying, should we return from the warehouses in time, she would love for me to join her and Jemma Petrie for lunch at Delmonico’s.
“Are you sure you’re feeling up to it, darling?” Milo asked, as I was about to ascend the chairs to change.
“Certainly. I’m feeling fine now. It was just a bit of overheating, that’s all.”
And it had been a rather lucky thing, at that. I had had the chance to speak with Mr. Brown. And this lunch presented the perfect opportunity to see if I could learn anything more from Jemma Petrie.
I was curious about her. While she seemed a lively, outgoing girl, I had noticed that she never seemed to reveal more of herself than she meant to. Indeed, the few times I had conversed with her, I had learned very little about her, and I was even more curious having learned that she had been spending time with Grant Palmer shortly before his death. Tom Smith had also seen her leaving Mr. Palmer’s flat, so that was twice they had been spotted together.
That didn’t mean, of course, that she was involved in his murder. It might simply have been a secret affair, as Tom had speculated. But Jemma had professed her dislike for Mr. Palmer—rather believably, I thought—so it was all a bit curious.
Milo and Mr. Alden had gone off to discuss, presumably, more business, so I left the house without speaking to Milo alone. I would have to tell him what I had learned from Mr. Brown later.
The Aldens’ car let me off in front of Delmonico’s, an interestingly shaped building on the corner of William and Beaver Streets, and I went inside. The dining room was the picture of luxury, the tables bedecked with white cloths, formal place settings, and gorgeous floral centerpieces.
“I’m here to meet Miss Alden,” I told the waiter.
“Of course, madam. Right this way.”
He led me to a table, and I was a bit confused for just a moment, for Tabitha wasn’t there. Instead, Jemma Petrie sat with two gentlemen, both of whom seemed to be trying to outdo the other in capturing her attention. Jemma was smiling and laughing, encouraging the unspoken competition between the two of them. When she saw me approaching, she waved me over.
“Hello, Mrs. Ames. I’m glad to see you,” she said, when I reached the table. She looked pretty in a rose-colored dress perfectly suited to her complexion, and her hair had clearly been recently waved.
The gentlemen on either side of her rose at my approach, and Jemma waved a hand. “Pete and Myron,” she said, not giving any indication of who was who. “They were lunching here and came to keep me company until Tabitha arrived.”
“Good afternoon,” I said.
They nodded at me and Pete—or Myron—pulled out a chair for me to sit.
“Where’s your husband today?” Jemma asked, her eyes searching the room behind me for Milo. Was she hoping that he would soon appear to sweep me away from her table? It was the impression I had. The ratio of women to men now being equal, she was no longer the center of attention. Alas, I was afraid I had to disappoint her.
“I’m not entirely sure. I’m sure he’ll enjoy lunch on his own. We don’t always have the same ideas of what constitutes a good time.”
She smiled, a little flash of something like speculation in her eyes. “Being that understanding must make for a pretty good marriage,” she said.
“It has its benefits,” I replied mildly.
“Would you care for a cigarette?” Pete or Myron asked.
“Thank
you, no.”
“I don’t care for the nasty things either,” Jemma said. “But how about a drink, then? A real drink, I mean. They serve the good stuff here.”
I found myself surprised, again, at the easy flow of alcohol in a country where it was outlawed. The waiter, who had arrived at the table, had clearly overheard her but made no show of surprise to hear this suggestion openly spoken.
“What will you have, madam?” he asked.
“I think a cup of tea will suffice,” I said. In fact, I wanted tea so badly that I could almost taste it. I hoped it was very strong.
“You look worn out,” Jemma noted. “I suppose Tabitha has had you running all over town. It seems like she’s gone kind of frantic since … well, you know.” Jemma herself didn’t look quite in the pink of health, now that I was sitting a bit closer to her. I had mistaken a liberal application of rouge for a natural rosiness in her cheeks, and she looked pale beneath the makeup. She looked almost as though she might be ill.
Now that she had mentioned the murder, however, I saw no reason not to pursue this conversational opening.
“Things have been rather hectic,” I admitted. “Mr. Ames and I went with Mr. Alden to tour his warehouses this morning.”
She made a face. “Oh, no wonder. The warehouses are awful.”
“You’ve been, then?” I asked, hoping she would mention her visit there with Grant Palmer.
She nodded. “Yes, but not for years.”
The lie came out with perfect ease, and I had a hard time concealing my surprise. I wondered if I should mention what Mr. Brown had told me, but I decided not to do so in front of her friends. Besides, it was sometimes best to keep one’s cards close to the chest.
“It was very hot,” I said. “But nonetheless, it was nice to forget for a while about all that’s happened lately. What do you make of all this?”
“Of all what?”
“The … murder and everything, the wedding going on as planned.” I meant for the words to come off sounding gossipy, but instead my tone held just a touch too much significance, as though her answer would be weighted and dissected, which I supposed it would.
She shrugged, pulling off a careless air much more convincingly than I had been able to. “I haven’t really thought much about it, I suppose. I don’t see any reason why the wedding shouldn’t continue. It’s sad that Grant is dead, but Tabitha didn’t know him well, and even Tom doesn’t seem much upset by his death, so I don’t see why they should postpone their wedding. Their honeymoon is already paid for, after all.”
A Dangerous Engagement Page 17
