“Of course not, Rudy,” Tabitha said, her tone lightening. “Come and have some coffee.”
Rudy came into the room and accepted a cup and saucer before sinking onto the sofa.
“I called Tom at his house, but he didn’t answer, so I thought he might be here.” He looked at Milo. “He invited me to go out gambling with the two of you. I’m not very lucky, but that’s never stopped me before.”
“Everyone’s luck is bound to change eventually,” Milo said.
Rudy took a sip of his coffee and looked up, his cheerful expression faltering. “I thought for just a minute about calling Grant before I remembered…”
“Yes, it’s very sad,” Tabitha said automatically.
There was an awkward silence in the room as everyone tried to think of how best to go on with the conversation. It was Rudy Elliot who eventually charged ahead onto a less strenuous topic.
“Anyway,” he said, affecting a cheerful note. “How are the wedding plans?”
“Things are going well,” Tabitha told him. “Though there is always so much to do.”
We chatted about the wedding for a few moments before Milo and Mr. Alden, apparently bored with the topic, launched into a discussion about automobiles. I had no desire to take part in that particular conversation, though Tabitha seemed to find it of interest. She had evidently picked up on some aspects of her father’s business, for she talked knowledgably on the subject of the vehicles he used for shipping.
It seemed like a good opportunity to speak with Mr. Elliot again. I took my cup and saucer and went to sit beside him on the sofa.
“How fares the advertising business?” I asked, suspecting this was a surefire way to draw him out.
He smiled. “Fairly well. I opened another large account today. It’s for a pretty big company.” He launched into a description of the transaction, complete with amusing anecdotes.
I liked Rudy Elliot. Despite Grant Palmer’s claim that Mr. Elliot was dull, I found him quick-witted and good-natured. I wondered how it was that he and Grant Palmer had remained friends all these years. They seemed to me to have very little in common.
Grant Palmer was apparently still on his mind as well, for he suddenly said, “It was Grant who said I should try for this particular company. He was always trying to scare up business for me.”
Now that he had reintroduced the topic of Mr. Palmer, I thought I might as well plunge ahead with my questions.
“Have you thought any more about who might have killed him?” I asked suddenly.
If he was surprised by this unexpected question, he gave no sign of it.
“I’ve thought about it and thought about it,” he said. He gave a rueful laugh. “Believe me. I’ve thought of little else.”
“Do you think he might have learned something he wasn’t supposed to know?”
Rudy frowned. “Like what?”
The more I thought about it, the more it seemed like an ideal solution. Perhaps Grant Palmer had learned something that he wasn’t meant to know, and he had been shot to keep him silenced.
“I don’t know. Perhaps something to do with the bootlegging business?” I suggested. I didn’t think I should elaborate on the fact that I knew Mr. Palmer had switched loyalties.
Rudy shrugged. “It could be. I suppose we’ll never know. I don’t really think the police are going to solve it. You know the way it is with these mob killings. They’re big news for a while and then they’re swept right under the rug.”
I hoped he wasn’t right. He wasn’t going to be, if I had anything to say about it.
There was another rumor I wanted to discuss. I lowered my voice, though I was certain that no one else was paying attention. “I heard a rumor that Mr. Palmer and Miss Petrie were friendlier than they seemed.”
It seemed to me that surprise flashed across his face. “Grant and Jemma?”
I wondered if I had been mistaken. Perhaps what I had interpreted between them had not been romance but something else. After all, a warehouse visit wasn’t exactly romantic. There was also the matter of Tom’s having seen Jemma come out of Mr. Palmer’s flat late at night, but I supposed there were alternate explanations for that as well.
“It could be a false rumor, of course,” I said.
He frowned. “I think Grant would have told me if there was something going on with Jemma. He liked to … brag about … women. Oh, I know he and Jemma spent some time together, but as far as I know it was just social, nothing romantic.”
I wondered if the assessment was accurate, or if Rudy Elliot was just hopelessly naïve.
“He was something of a ladies’ man, I understand.”
Rudy nodded. “They all seemed to love him.”
I smiled in what I hoped was a casually teasing way. “I suppose he tried to steal girls from you in his time?”
He shook his head. “No, we didn’t like the same type of girls.”
This was in direct opposition to what Jemma Petrie had told me. Which one of them was lying?
I didn’t have time to formulate another question before Calvin made his second appearance in the doorway, disapproval clear on his features. “Those policemen are here again, Mr. Alden.”
I was surprised by his words. What on earth would Detectives Andrews and Bailey be doing here at this time of night?
I looked at Mr. Alden and saw his jaw tighten. “What do they want?”
“Detective Andrews didn’t say, sir. Only that they wished to speak with you.”
“Very well, Calvin. Show them to my office. They can wait there.” I had the impression that Mr. Alden intended the wait to be a long one, and I realized I was not the only person whom Detective Andrews had rubbed the wrong way.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” Calvin said apologetically. “He wished to speak with the entire group.”
Tabitha looked up sharply.
Mr. Alden let out a sigh and then gave a nod. “Fine. Show them in.”
Calvin nodded and disappeared and Mr. Alden set his cup and saucer down with a clatter in a gesture of impatience. “I don’t know what other questions he could possibly have for us. And why show up at dinnertime?”
“He wants to make us uneasy,” Tabitha said. “I think that’s how the police work. They show up at unexpected times and try to force confessions.” The words were meant as a joke, but her tone was strained.
Detective Andrews came into the room then, hat in hand. He looked a bit rumpled, as he was wont to do, but his eyes were as sharp as ever. I realized then what was so disarming about him; it was the way those intense, focused dark eyes looked out at one from that unshaven face.
“Sorry to disturb you all,” he said, though I had the impression he was not sorry at all. He glanced around the room, as if taking stock of us.
Detective Bailey stood slightly behind him. He was watchful, too, and I had the sense he was looking for something in particular.
Mr. Alden had risen from his seat. “What can we do for you, Detectives?”
“I just wanted to stop by and tell you that we’ve arrested Grant Palmer’s killer.”
19
WE ALL SAT in shocked silence for a moment. They had arrested the killer? Surely not.
I wasn’t certain why denial was my first impression, but the feeling was strong as I stared at the policemen.
It was Tabitha who found her voice first. “Who … who was it?”
“A two-bit thug named Toadie Willis,” Detective Andrews said. “He’s one of De Lora’s goons. When an acquaintance of his got arrested for cooking up moonshine, he sang like a canary to avoid the slammer, ratting on Willis as quick as you please.”
While I was still parsing through this unfamiliar jargon, he went on. “Turns out, Willis heard that Palmer went to work for Frankie Earl, rival mob boss to Leon De Lora. He thought that rubbing out Palmer would make Mr. De Lora happy.”
“I can’t believe it,” Rudy Elliot said under his breath.
Detective Andrews looked up at t
his, and I thought I saw the way his eyes fastened on Rudy. It was so quick a change from his relaxed demeanor that I wondered if that persona was the one he used to give suspects the impression that he was not a threat … until it was too late.
“Why’s that, Mr. Elliot?” he asked.
Rudy looked up, surprised, I think, that he had been overheard. “I just … I can’t believe Grant was killed that way. It’s so senseless.”
“These gangsters don’t make a lot of sense. Violence is a way of life to them.”
Rudy nodded.
“Did you have another suspect in mind?” This question came from Detective Bailey, calling our attention unexpectedly back to his unobtrusive presence behind Detective Andrews.
“No … I. No,” Rudy said. “It’s just all so surprising.”
“Did you find the gun he used?” I asked. Beside me, I felt Tabitha stiffen.
Detective Andrews turned his piercing gaze on me. “Why do you ask that?”
“I only wondered,” I said calmly. “A pistol shooting seems unusual for this type of thing. One always hears of gangsters using machine guns.” I didn’t look at Detective Bailey as I repeated this bit of information he had told me, but I could feel him watching me.
“We got him, and we got the gun,” Detective Andrews said. “I found the pistol in his apartment myself.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” I said mildly. I hoped he was right. I had read that the last few years had seen impressive strides in the ability of the police to determine if two bullets had been fired from the same gun. If this was the case, I might not have to worry about Tabitha’s missing weapon.
“I doubt we’ll be able to pin anything on De Lora,” Detective Andrews said, “but we’ve got the trigger man, and I suppose that’s what counts. There’ll be a trial and we may need some of you for witnesses, but I guess that can all wait until after the wedding. I just wanted to come and tell you.”
Mr. Alden cleared his throat, apparently a bit thrown off by this development. He had meant, I thought, to be brusque with the detective, but he had not expected a solution to the mystery that had landed, quite literally, on his doorstep. “Thank you for coming, Detective Andrews, Detective Bailey. I appreciate your letting us know. It’s a great relief to all of us that Grant Palmer’s killer has been caught.”
* * *
THOUGH THE ARREST of Mr. Palmer’s murderer should have been cause for celebration, it seemed that the news had sucked the energy from our group. I, for one, had plenty I wanted to discuss with Milo once we were alone, but it seemed that would not be for a while. Several weeks before our trip, Tom had purchased the four of us tickets to a Broadway revue, and, despite the circumstances, we thought it would be best not to let them go to waste. So, soon after Detective Andrews and Detective Bailey had left the house, we gathered our coats and settled ourselves into Mr. Alden’s Duesenberg for the ride to the Music Box Theatre.
Given my most recent experiences with the theater in London, I had a few apprehensions as we filed into the columned building and made our way down the aisle to our seats near the stage. At least this was a musical and not a tragedy.
“Do you believe that man really killed Grant Palmer?” I asked Milo in a low voice as we settled into our red upholstered seats. I was quite sure I couldn’t wait through the duration of the performance to at least mention it.
“Detective Andrews seems quite sure of it,” Milo said. I couldn’t help but notice there was something noncommittal in his tone.
I glanced at him. “You aren’t convinced.”
He shrugged. “It may very well be as he says.”
“I don’t know if I believe it.”
He smiled. “You don’t want your mystery to be pulled out from under you.”
The music started up then, and I was able to give him only a frown at this accusation. That wasn’t the case at all. I just felt, deep down, that there was still something wrong about all of this.
Despite my conflicted emotions, I was determined to enjoy the revue, and I soon discovered this took very little effort on my part. As Thousands Cheer had been very popular since its opening in September. Each of the short scenes was heralded by a newspaper headline, proclaiming some recent news item or scandal, and then the event was turned into a song to great effect. I was only glad none of Milo’s and my forays into murder investigation had been noteworthy enough to immortalize in song.
The witty sketches and Irving Berlin’s musical numbers, some cheerful and some moving, provided a great distraction, and it was not until we had made our way laughing and talking from the theater that I began to focus again on the visit from the detectives tonight.
“I’ll get a cab for you, ladies,” Tom said as we entered the crowded street, lights from every direction casting a glow over the theatergoers in their evening finery. As he and Milo were bound for another late night on the town, Tabitha and I would go back to the Aldens’ together.
He wandered off to try to procure a cab amidst the rush of people pouring from the theater, a difficult feat, I thought.
“Oh, excuse me a moment, will you?” Tabitha said suddenly. “I see someone I know.” She moved off into the press, and Milo and I were alone. Or, at least, as alone as we could be on a crowded curb.
I leaned close to him, picking up the conversation where we had left off. “I know you think I’m overanalyzing things, but something about it just doesn’t seem right. For one thing, Detective Andrews told me before that the murder had been committed with a pistol, which was uncharacteristic of such a shooting.”
“A weapon’s a weapon, darling.”
“I don’t know. I just couldn’t help but feel we were onto something. I wonder if Detective Andrews might have made a rush to judgment in his haste to solve the case.”
“Comparing him unfavorably to our D.I. Jones, hmm?”
I certainly wished for the presence of my Scotland Yard inspector friend, but that was beside the point.
“It’s just that, with all these bootleggers running about, things are bound to get muddled. He has only the … singing gentleman’s word for it that this strangely named Toadie Willis is the killer. That seems rather poor evidence, especially as the informant was trying to avoid getting in trouble himself.” I sighed. “It seems that Prohibition has made a mess of things.”
“Well, they won’t have to worry about it for much longer. Prohibition is nearly finished,” Milo said, echoing what Leon De Lora had said to me. “They’re going to repeal it.”
Milo, though he never seemed to possess more than a marginal interest in politics, always seemed to know what was going on in the world. He sometimes surprised me with his insights.
“It does seem as though it’s been rather a failed endeavor,” I said.
“They ought to have known that telling people they mustn’t have something only makes them want it more.”
I considered the implications of a repeal. While I knew a good percentage of the population would rejoice at such news, I knew there would be others to whom it would seem a disaster, not the least of which those who had seen fit to make Prohibition work in their favor. The police might have an easier time of it, but I felt certain the criminals would have to adapt. They wouldn’t all, like Leon De Lora, find some legitimate avenue to explore.
“I wonder what will happen to all these bootleggers when they’ll no longer be making a profit from their enterprises,” I mused.
“I wouldn’t be concerned about the well-being of the criminal classes, darling. There is any amount of money to be gained from illegal activities. They’ll get on all right.”
“Oh, of course,” I said. “I’m only curious.”
“I expect a number of well-structured crime organizations have sprung up over the last decade. There are any number of other pursuits in which they might invest: prostitution, drugs, gambling.”
It was not exactly an encouraging thought.
All I knew was that I was not entirely satisfied with D
etective Andrews’s solution to the mystery. I knew that man was clever, but everything about this seemed too tidy. I had had the impression that even Detective Bailey was not entirely convinced. I still wanted to talk with Leon De Lora, especially now that his name had been newly linked to the crime. When Tabitha had gone to bed, I would leave for De Lora’s.
“Amory, Tabitha, over here!” I looked up and saw Tom waving an arm. Somehow, he had managed to hail a cab. I saw Tabitha moving in his direction as Milo took my arm, and we made our way through the crowd toward the car, which was parked halfway down the block.
As if knowing what my thoughts had been, Milo suddenly asked, “Am I going to return home to find you gone again?”
“No,” I answered honestly, not looking at him as we reached the cab. I intended to be home long before he came back.
“All right. Good night, then.” He leaned to drop a kiss on my lips and then turned to walk away
It was then that I inconveniently recalled the conversation we had had only hours earlier, the one in which I had lauded the virtues of honesty between husband and wife. How very hypocritical it was of me to be lying to him after my earlier feelings of righteous anger at the idea of concealment in marriage.
“Milo, wait.”
He turned.
“I’m going back to De Lora’s tonight.” I wasn’t sure what would come of this sudden burst of honesty, but it was done now.
He didn’t look surprised. “I expected as much.”
I ought to have known I couldn’t hide things from him.
“I’ll be careful,” I said firmly. “But I’m going alone.”
“Very well.”
I stared at him. “You’re not going to object?”
The corner of his mouth tipped up. “Darling, when has objecting ever done any good?”
* * *
BY A COMBINATION of feigned weariness to Tabitha upon our arrival at the house and a fortuitously passing taxi as I snuck from the residence a short time later, I arrived back at De Lora’s in good time. As I walked up the front steps of the innocuous-looking brownstone building, my heart picked up the pace a bit at the thought I would soon be sitting with Leon De Lora again, especially now that his name had been linked definitively—by the police, at least—to Grant Palmer’s death. I had put a small notebook and pencil in my handbag this time, so I hoped to make a better impression.
A Dangerous Engagement Page 20
