A Dangerous Engagement

by Ashley Weaver

  23

  IN PART TO distract myself from my growing worries about Milo’s absence, I decided to take my usual approach and go through the list of suspects one by one.

  There was Leon De Lora, of course. He was, perhaps, the most obvious candidate for being the murderer of Mr. Palmer. He had been Mr. Palmer’s employer before Mr. Palmer had moved to Frankie Earl’s employ. I imagined there were any number of things about his business that Mr. De Lora would not want Frankie Earl to know. So perhaps he had killed Grant Palmer to silence him.

  Still, there was something lacking in this theory. I had the impression that Mr. De Lora hadn’t cared much, one way or the other, about Grant Palmer. There had been indifference in his tone when he had spoken of him. That did not mean, of course, that he had not killed him.

  Mr. De Lora was the type of man who was extremely good at concealing his true feelings. Despite my inclination to believe him—even to like him, in a way—I could not be sure that he was not the killer.

  I still felt, however, that Mr. Palmer’s being killed on the Aldens’ doorstep meant that it was likely someone who was part of the wedding party. After all, it would have been a very easy thing for one of them to have asked to meet him there and shot him when he arrived.

  I thought first of Mr. Alden. He and Grant Palmer had been discussing some sort of clandestine business arrangement. Mr. Alden had been angry, Mr. Palmer flippant. I thought it was entirely possible that their disagreement might have led to violence.

  Mr. Alden could very easily have asked Mr. Palmer to meet him at the house, shot him on the doorstep when he arrived, and then disappeared back into the night, making a show of returning a short time later.

  For Tabitha’s sake, I didn’t want to believe that Mr. Alden might be guilty, but I also had to admit that he was a man who might be willing to make difficult decisions to ensure his success. He had not gotten so far in business by being indecisive, and it was possible that he had decided that Grant Palmer was too much of a liability.

  I thought next of Tom Smith. He and Grant Palmer had apparently been good friends, but they had quarreled about money. There was something mysterious about Tom Smith’s past, and I couldn’t help but wonder if there was something he would kill to keep people from knowing.

  What about Tabitha? I couldn’t rule her out completely, though I very much wanted to. She was such a sweet, good-tempered girl. I found it very difficult to believe that she could kill anyone. However, I knew that even the nicest people were capable of violence when they felt there was no alternative.

  I knew how much Tabitha loved her father, how fiercely loyal she was to him. If she thought that Mr. Palmer was going to harm her father in some way, do something detrimental to his business, then she might have been compelled to act. There was also the matter of her missing pistol.

  I sighed. I wanted to ask her about it, but a part of me was afraid of the answer.

  I pushed on with my list of suspects, unwilling to think of Tabitha’s possible guilt any longer for the moment.

  Next was Rudy Elliot. Both Grant Palmer and Rudy Elliot had told me that their friendship went back to childhood. There had been rumors of their arguing over a woman, and I wondered what had become of that. Jealousy was often a strong motive, and I had seen for myself how Rudy was often cast into the shadow of Grant Palmer’s handsome bravado. Had it finally been enough to push him over the edge?

  Perhaps they had met in the street on the way to the Aldens’ home and an argument had ensued. Perhaps it had been done in the heat of the moment. Or perhaps Rudy Elliot had coldly followed his friend there and shot him. I didn’t like to think it was true, but I couldn’t rule it out.

  And then there was Jemma Petrie. She and Mr. Palmer had apparently been engaged in some sort of secret liaison. Despite Miss Petrie’s protestations that she disliked Mr. Palmer in the extreme, she had been spotted by Tom coming out of Mr. Palmer’s house quite late one evening. They had been seen together at Mr. Alden’s warehouse.

  It seemed likely to me that they had been having an affair at some point and that things had gone awry. I couldn’t, of course, know the particulars, but Mr. Palmer was a known ladies’ man, and I thought it very likely he had moved on from Miss Petrie. Had she killed him in revenge? Had they had a lover’s quarrel of some sort and she had killed him in a passionate rage? It was all possible, I suppose, but there was no proof of any of it.

  Proof. That was always the most difficult part. It was going to be especially difficult in this case because I didn’t have my friend Detective Inspector Jones here to listen to my theories or to give advice.

  I thought of Detective Andrews and his perpetually sardonic demeanor and was not at all encouraged. Detective Bailey seemed more sympathetic, kinder, but I didn’t think he would be inclined to listen to me either, not unless I had something definitive to show him.

  Granted, I supposed there was no reason why they should listen to me, even if I chose to approach them. I was a society woman on foreign soil. What was I likely to know about the crime that had been committed?

  I sighed. Whatever my qualifications, it seemed there was very little chance that I would be able to involve myself with the police in any way. They had a man in custody, and I didn’t think anything was going to change their mind. No, if I wanted to be of help in this situation, I was going to have to find the answers and then bring them to the police.

  I couldn’t help but think I would enjoy seeing the look on Detective Andrews’s face when I presented him with the identity of the killer.

  I heard the distant sound of the telephone just then, and a moment later Calvin came into the drawing room.

  “Miss Petrie is on the phone, madam. She wishes to inform you and Miss Tabitha that she is unwell and may not be able to meet today as planned.”

  “Oh, I do hope it’s nothing serious?”

  “I don’t believe so. She merely says she is under the weather.”

  “All right, thank you.” Though I was sorry Jemma was unwell, it was just as well she didn’t intend to meet us, since Tabitha hadn’t returned.

  “She also wants to know if she left her compact here. She seems to have misplaced it.”

  “I haven’t seen it,” I said, glancing around. It was then I spotted it, lying on the table near the place Rudy Elliot had just vacated.

  “Yes, there it is.”

  “Thank you. I shall tell her.”

  He left then, and I returned to my contemplation of the case.

  I was still lost in thought a few minutes later when I heard the front door open, and the sound of a male voice in the corridor. I had hoped, for an instant, that it might be Milo returning, but I realized at once from the raw, heated emotion in the tone it could not belong to my husband.

  “I can’t possibly … I need time. I … I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “Don’t say anything. It isn’t necessary. I know how you feel.” The second voice belonged to Tabitha, and I realized that I was hearing a lover’s quarrel.

  I thought I should make my presence known, but it turned out not to be necessary.

  There was the sound of the front door closing, a bit harder than necessary, and then Tabitha came into the sitting room.

  She had not, I think, expected to see me there, and the raw emotion on her face clutched at my heart. She tried, for one valiant moment, to rein it in, and then her expression crumpled and she burst into tears.

  I rose from my seat and moved quickly to her side, drawing her into an embrace.

  “Whatever’s the matter, Tabitha?”

  “Tom and I had a terrible fight, and I don’t know if he’s going to want to marry me after this.” She began to cry harder, the sobs shaking her shoulders.

  Always uncomfortable with strong emotion, I nevertheless did my best to comfort her. “A fight isn’t the end of everything. I’m sure he still wants to marry you, dear. Surely it can’t be as bad as all that.”

  She looked up
at me, her face red and tearstained, her eyes bright with sorrow. “But it is. You don’t know. It’s all my fault.”

  “Now, Tabitha, I’m sure there’s plenty of blame to go around,” I said.

  “No.” She turned to me and the confession came tumbling out without preamble. “I had an affair with Grant.”

  I could not have been more astounded if she had sprouted two heads.

  “I … I see,” I managed to answer in a calm voice. It was a scandalous admission, and it was the last thing I would’ve expected to hear from sweet, innocent Tabitha.

  “It was before Tom and I were engaged,” she said. “I mean, when we were still seeing one another, but before he asked me to marry him.”

  I said nothing, waiting for her to go on.

  “I had too much to drink one night at a speakeasy after we had a stupid quarrel. I went to a nightclub and Grant was there. We danced and talked and…” She colored and buried her face in her hands. “It just happened. I … I don’t know what I was thinking. It was only once, and I have wanted to tell Tom, but I’ve been so afraid…”

  She set to crying again, and I tried to think of what I could say to comfort her.

  “And how did he find out?”

  “He’s been acting strange lately, distant.”

  It was the same thing Tom had told Milo about her. I lamented again the burden that secrets placed on the hearts of those who were determined to keep them.

  “At first I thought it was because of what we did,” she went on.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We threw my gun away,” she said.

  So that’s what had become of Tabitha’s missing weapon.

  “Why did you do that?” I asked cautiously.

  “It was the morning after Grant was killed. I started thinking that with police and reporters everywhere someone might find out about it. I don’t know. It was a stupid thing to do, but we drove to the river and threw it in.”

  It was all rather ridiculous, but I suppose it was a preferable reason to her having had killed someone with it.

  “But he didn’t seem worried about the gun. I thought maybe he knew somehow, about me and Grant. And then we got into an argument today, and it all came spilling out. I … he was so awfully calm about it, but I know he must hate me, and I don’t know if I shall ever see him again.”

  She was being dramatic, of course, but she was managing to contain most of her tears now, and that was encouraging.

  “What did Tom say?” I asked gently.

  “He said … I don’t know … that he needs to think things over.”

  “Well, I think that’s the best thing, rather than making heated decisions, don’t you?”

  She sniffed, wiping her nose on an embroidered handkerchief she had pulled from her pocket. “I suppose. It’s just all so horrible. But I’m glad he knows. I’m glad I don’t have to keep it a secret anymore.”

  “Yes, secrets can be very difficult to bear.”

  “I just … I thought we were going to have a perfect marriage, like you and Milo. And now we’re not even married yet and everything is going so awfully wrong.”

  “No marriage is perfect, Tabitha,” I said. I decided not to elaborate on how close my own marriage had come to disaster. There was no sense in disillusioning her any further.

  “I want to talk to him,” she said. “But what if he refuses to listen to anything I have to say? I’m very much afraid that we’re not going to … What if he doesn’t want to marry me now?”

  “Does he love you, Tabitha?” I asked.

  “Yes. That is, I believe he does.”

  “And do you love him?”

  “More than anything.”

  “Then I think the two of you should talk when your emotions have settled a bit. If you truly feel that way about each other, you’ll be able to come to some sort of resolution. I’m certain of it.”

  It was a bit of a lie, for I was not at all certain they would work it out. But I remembered Tom’s words to Milo, about the secret he wondered if he should tell Tabitha. Now, it seemed, would be the ideal time for him to do so. Perhaps if they were both honest, they could find a way to forgive each other whatever indiscretions stood between them.

  “I … I think you’re right. I suppose the only thing I can do is give him a bit of time.”

  She reached over and gave me a hug. “Thank you, Amory. You always know just what to say.”

  With that, she left the sitting room, and I drew in a breath.

  Good heavens. The world was falling down around my ears, and Milo was nowhere to be found. How very typical of him, I thought irritably, to leave me pregnant and alone to deal with all of this.

  The rational part of me realized this accusation was not entirely fair, given he didn’t know of my pregnancy, but I still couldn’t help but feel annoyed with him. I also had to admit that my annoyance was preferable to the fear that was steadily beginning to creep over me.

  Milo had known I was worried when he left with Mr. De Lora last night. I did not think he would’ve stayed away without letting me know his whereabouts.

  I sighed, moving restlessly around the sitting room. It wasn’t going to do me any good to fret.

  I picked up Jemma Petrie’s silver compact, turning it over in my hands. Perhaps I could bring it to her. It would be something useful to do, at any rate. I slipped it into my pocket to transfer to my handbag later and then looked again at the table. Something had caught my attention, and it took me a moment to realize what it was.

  I looked down at the matches that sat on the tabletop. They were from De Lora’s. No. I looked closer. They were much the same as the ones I had observed that night when talking to Mr. De Lora, but these were different. They were emblazoned with the words The Lightning Lounge, a lightning bolt of yellow streaking across a black background. And then I remembered what Mr. De Lora had told me. They belonged to Frankie Earl’s establishment, and he reportedly gave them only to his trusted associates.

  Those matches could not have been left here by Grant Palmer, for I was certain they would have been noticed in the days since his death. No, they had been left here by someone else more recently. I realized what that meant. Someone else close to the Aldens was secretly linked to Frankie Earl. And if that was the case, perhaps it was Mr. Earl who was responsible for Grant Palmer’s death, after all. A second realization came to me then: if these matches were here, it was very likely that Grant Palmer’s killer had been in the drawing room.

  24

  I TRIED NOT to jump to conclusions, but I could think of no other reasons that matches from Frankie Earl’s establishment, from Grant Palmer’s employer, should be in this house unless another of Mr. Earl’s associates had been here. It was possible, I supposed, that another person involved in the mystery was working for him in some other capacity, but the theory didn’t sit well with me. I felt certain the appearance of the matches and the murder were linked.

  Who else, then, had used matches in the drawing room recently? I thought back. I was fairly certain they had not been there three nights ago when I had sat here discussing the murder with Mr. Elliot. I thought I would have noticed them, for the artwork was distinctive.

  Who had smoked here since then? I hadn’t been in the sitting room much of the time, but there were only a few people with access to this room.

  I had a sinking feeling as I realized the implications. They must belong to Mr. Alden.

  I remembered Rudy searching his pockets to no avail and then his triumph when he had located some. He must have found them sitting on the table where Mr. Alden had left them.

  It seemed that Mr. Alden was in league with Frankie Earl. I thought of the suspicious behavior at his warehouse. He must be involved with Frankie Earl’s operations somehow, perhaps even staging the thefts to avert suspicion.

  My heart began to pound, but I told myself it would do no good to panic. I needed to calm down, to think. Just because Mr. Alden might be involved in something ill
egal did not mean he was the killer. Did it? But I thought of his hushed conversation with Grant Palmer that day, the way Mr. Palmer had visited the warehouse. They had been connected in some way, and now it all made sense.

  It seemed that Mr. Alden had gotten involved with Mr. Palmer to some extent and had been desperate to extricate himself from it.

  What was I going to tell Tabitha if her father was the killer? I didn’t even want to think about it. How was she to begin her new life when the old one was about to come crashing down around her?

  What was more, what was I to do about all of this? I considered my options.

  It would make sense to make contact with Detectives Andrews and Bailey, but somehow I doubted very much that they would believe me. And, besides, I had no proof of anything. Not yet. With a suspected killer already in custody, they would be even less likely to listen to me.

  I wished desperately that Milo was here. I needed his counsel, but, more than that, I was now terribly worried something had happened to him. Granted, I could not be entirely sure that he had not wandered off in pursuit of some amusement. He had done such things in the past. No, I didn’t want to raise the alarm just yet. I needed to sort things out before I did that.

  There was only one person I could think of who might be able to help me sort through this mess.

  I needed to see Leon De Lora.

  * * *

  THE DAY SEEMED interminable as I waited for evening to come so I could go to De Lora’s. Leon De Lora’s world was one of night and shadow, and I didn’t know how to reach him in the day. I stayed in my room for most of it, listening to the ticking of the clock and hoping that Milo would arrive. He did not.

  I saw nothing more of Tabitha, and I assumed that she had taken to her room as well.

  Mr. Alden left word that he would be taking dinner out, and so I was able to keep to the refuge of my bedroom until darkness fell. At last it was late enough to leave.