She leaned one half of her body onto the chair, forearm against the arm rest, and then settled the other side before she spoke. “It doesn’t matter, no one else came either. It was for the best. Lisa looked like a pig drenched from a river, all bloated and fleshy. I suppose I shouldn’t judge. Dead isn’t a good look for anybody.”
“I noticed her dress in the garbage. It must have brought back some painful memories.”
“It doesn’t fit me.” She winked at him. “The police brought her stuff here last night. Didn’t want it—though I did hang on to the shoes. We had the same sized feet. I can still use the shoes.”
“Lisa told me you lived together all your lives. It will be strange for you now. A person gets used to things.”
Jenny picked a tuft of lint off her shirt. “I was prepared. I think Lisa was moving on to bigger and better productions than my little play. She got great notices from The Farmer’s Daughter. Such a trifling bit of sentimentality. Were you unfortunate enough to see it?”
“Yes, I was. How did the two of you become interested in theater?”
“I think we were inspired by our Uncle Alan, the vagabond of the family, always borrowing money. He was in a traveling comedy troupe, and he would regale us with his tales of the stage. Alan was the only one we wanted to talk to at holiday gatherings. There’s always one fun relative.” Jenny pointed to the books on the mantel. “Our senior year we took drama together. I wasn’t very good onstage, but I liked to write.”
“And Lisa liked to act?”
“A born performer. She had to have someone clap every time she smiled. Lisa could start up a conversation with anyone about anything. Even if she knew nothing about the topic, she could fake it. The exact opposite of me. I wasn’t a very popular girl in high school.”
“No? That is difficult to imagine.”
She cachinnated. “My God, you actually made me laugh. Here I thought you were a complete drip.”
Rowan walked to the mantel for a closer look at the books. “I see you went to Saint Martin’s High School?”
Jenny nodded. “We graduated the same year.”
Rowan raised an eyebrow. “You were twins?”
“No, our mother was crazy. When Lisa finished the eighth grade, Mom made her repeat it, just so we would graduate together. Leece hated me for a long time for that.”
“A bit eccentric, but not unreasonable.”
“We had two of the same toy and two of every article of clothing. Our entire childhood was unreasonable.”
“And after graduation?”
“We got jobs at Hull House.”
Rowan was impressed. “Straight out of high school? My goodness.”
Jenny shook her head. “This was back when it was nothing but a barn. You had to wipe shit off your shoes before you went in. Lisa sewed costumes, and I made a lot of coffee. For payment, we got to see the shows for free. Daddy wasn’t too happy with us, said we were wasting our lives.”
“Why did you end up going to New York?”
“Because Daddy was right. Jenny got some bit roles, usually looking pretty and giving a few lines of exposition. I was writing, but I never got credit. We were both getting older. It was time to shit or get off the pot.”
“What do you mean, you did not get credit?”
“Have you ever seen a production of The Mill?”
“Yes. Nigel Larsen.”
Jenny frowned, her voice soaked with contempt. “Nigel Larsen needed help writing his name in the snow. And you could do it with tweezers.”
“But—”
“Lots of women write plays, Mr. Manory. But their names don’t make it on the playbill for one reason or another. There’s always some lowlife willing to take credit. That’s why we’re called script girls.”
“I see.” I would be just as bitter.
“Lisa met a playwright named Abe Freeman. He was an older gentleman, a real warhorse. He had been a professor at the Playhouse in New York. He wrote us letters of recommendation and, somehow, we were accepted sight unseen. I think Lisa spent a night or two in his bed, but she never admitted it. That’s the only way I could imagine Abe doing something like that for us.” Jenny grinned. “Leece was always ready to go the extra mile.”
“When was this?” asked Rowan, picturing the timeline in his head.
“About nineteen…thirteen.”
One year after Clarence Williams was murdered. “Did you have your accident while you were in school?”
Jenny looked at Rowan from the corners of her eyes. “Before. It happened on my second day in New York.” A harsh squint came to her face as she told the story. “It was a few days before Christmas so the streets were crowded. We were walking along the curb, and I remember having this terrible fear that I was going to slip and land on my ankle and break my foot off. There was no snow, but the ground was covered with thin ice. Lisa could see I was off balance and...and the bitch pushed me. How funny is that? I fell into the street. The car swerved but not enough. Before I knew it, there was a goddamn tire on my hand.” She looked at her stump. “All the bones were crushed. The only thing I could feel was hot blood on my wrist. Smelled like copper.”
“Yes, it does.”
“I screamed and screamed, but nobody helped. They paused to look, but then they just went on walking. Lisa just stood there, gawking.” Jenny’s mouth twisted. “I passed out and when I woke up, I had this beauty.” She pulled out a Beechnut with her teeth. Rowan bent down to light it. “It’s nice to be able to smoke in the living room without Lisa throwing a fit.”
Funny, Grizz could smoke in your sister’s office with no problem. “Your accident did not deter you from your studies though?”
“Lisa and I hadn’t started yet. We called the school and took an extended break. I learned to type one-handed and began my studies the next year. I’m a very determined woman, Mr. Manory.”
“By my estimation you spent twenty years in New York. What were you doing?” Rowan’s tone became businesslike, flat and demanding.
“After graduation, we taught. When Daddy died, we figured, why not come back and give Chicago another shot? Everyone we knew was gone or dead.”
“Which hospital performed the amputation?”
“I don’t remember the name. It was a long time ago.” A refuse truck shuddered to a halt on the street outside, followed by the angry beep of a motorist. Jenny stomped to the window and closed it with a bang. “Now, detective, I’ve answered your questions patiently, probably questions you had already asked Lisa. What are you doing here? What is this?”
“When we were in your office Friday morning, you told me you thought the death threat was faked. Do you still believe that? Even now?”
No answer.
“I am going to apprehend your sister’s killer.”
She exhaled a long puff of smoke onto the smoldering tip of the cigarette, making it glow. Her foot tapped several times against the floor. “All right. Let’s assume she was killed. Who did it? Why? How?”
“Who is Grizz?” said Rowan with no intention of letting Jenny derail his questioning.
“Grizzy was a friend of Lisa’s. She’s the one who introduced us. He’s a member of the carpenters union, and I needed someone who could build the tower. I don’t know much about him. We never chit chatted about anything personal.”
“When he called you over to the catwalk, before Lisa fell, what did he say to you?”
Jenny looked down. It reminded Rowan of Lisa staring at the floor in his office. “I saw Grizz motion for me to come over. When I got there, he told me there was a problem with Lisa’s light.”
“But there was no problem, was there?”
“No, there wasn’t. I told him to try it again, and it worked just fine. Grizzy’s about as sharp as a marble.”
“Did he reach under the light board?”
“Yes, he did. Just before—”
“Did you know he had a gun under the light board?”
Jenny’s face went
blank.
Rowan said. “Why would he have a gun there?”
“He shouldn’t have.”
“I thought so too. It seemed a strange place for a weapon. Whom would he shoot from the catwalk?” Rowan dragged from his cigarette as he paced. “How did the casting process go?”
Jenny remained still, turning her head to follow Rowan. “We put out an ad in the Tribune and at some of the local businesses. I wanted a young cast. Experience wasn’t what I was looking for. Timothy and Allison were the first ones I chose. Allie was perfect for Stella because she has an endless supply of self-doubt. I cast Timothy because he’s dumb and masculine. I knew Lisa would like him.”
“Did you know how much she would like him?”
“I kept my nose out of it.”
“But you knew?”
“What Lisa did with her box was her business. I was her sister, not her mother.”
“Was Timothy in love with her?”
“Were you?” A sneer crossed Jenny’s lips.
Rowan ran his tongue over his cracked molar. “Who was the next member cast?”
“Edward. He was a natural and he obeyed without question. Every once in a while you find an actor like that. Everything that comes out of his mouth sounds authentic. I fell in love the moment I heard him read.”
“And Maura?”
“You saw the first few scenes. I needed a brat.”
Rowan nodded. “She had experience?”
“She said she did, but I doubted it.”
“In Ohio?”
“I thought it was Iowa.”
“Did you know a man named Clarence Williams?”
Jenny’s spine straightened. The breath from her mouth became audible. “I…I believe I met him once or twice, yes.”
“What was he like?”
“Why are you asking me this?”
“Because I believe your sister’s murder was connected with the death of Clarence Williams twenty-three years ago.”
Jenny’s mouth remained a grim line above her chin. “How?”
“What was he like?”
She paced opposite him, their eyes only meeting when they crossed each other in the middle of the room. “Um...he was the kind of man my sister was attracted to, an uncomplicated man.” Her eyes darted over the floor searching for something. “He worked at a steel mill, the one near McCormick.”
Lost a bit of bumptiousness, have we? “After his body was found, the police drove Lisa up to Devil’s Lake.”
“Baraboo, if I remember correctly,” Jenny said softly.
“Lisa was Clarence’s girlfriend?”
“Clarence had a lot of girlfriends. My sister was just one of them.”
“Did she know that?” asked Rowan. He was barely giving her time to finish the answers.
“If she wasn’t lying to herself, she did.”
“A witness said Lisa was not the woman driving north with Clarence when he was killed. In fact, the witness gave a description of the woman whom she saw.”
“Really?”
“It was a rotund blonde. A smoker.”
Jenny stopped to take a drag. “Fascinating.”
“Was your sister nervous when she went to Baraboo?”
“Of course not.”
Rowan moved directly in front of her. “Yes, of course not. She had not done anything, so why would she have cause to be nervous?”
“Is there something you wish to say to me, detective? Something that isn’t subtextual?”
“Were you jealous of your sister?”
“I always was. Lisa was perfect.”
“Were you jealous of Clarence Williams?”
“Yes. He wanted my sister to marry him.”
“Did you ever sleep with him?”
Jenny paused. “He seduced me once, when I was in the mood to be seduced.”
Rowan nodded. “And then he went back to Lisa and you were left alone, abandoned.”
“It’s plausible. But why would I wait twenty-three years and then kill my sister?”
“Have you already made an appointment to receive your sister’s inheritance?”
“Friday the twelfth. It’s not a crime to inherit money.”
Rowan marched to the coffee table and drank the full cup of tea in one swig. “Which brand is this?”
Jenny stammered. “Millstone.”
“Never heard of it. It is superb.”
“It’s the most common tea there is.”
“Would you make me one more cup before I depart?” he asked with a smile.
“I think you’ve drunk enough tea, detective.”
“Oh, but…perhaps you could give me a single bag for the road. I believe Williams would love this tea.”
Jenny waddled toward the kitchen, a disgusted look on her face. When she disappeared around the corner, Rowan grabbed a souvenir and ran out the door.
Walter washed the dust out of two glasses. He poured three fingers of whisky in each one. Rowan spoke into the telephone with a dulcet tone. “I’m a friend of the family.”
The nurse’s voice came through the receiver in a distant, grating whine. “I fully understand everything you have said, Mr. Manory. Perhaps you could extend me the same courtesy. It is impossible for me to give patient information over the telephone. I certainly cannot dole it out willy-nilly to an unrelated friend such as yourself.”
Rowan’s hand scrunched the top page of the newspaper, but his voice retained the same measured calm. “Madam, her sister is recently deceased, and I need to contact Miss Pluviam to inform her of this dreadful news. As you should have surmised by now, it is quite urgent. All I need to know is if she was ever a patient at your hospital and—”
“This conversation is just about over.”
“Fine, fine. May I speak with the head of orthopedic surgery then?”
“Not in today.”
“Could you please give him my name and telephone number, and ask him to call me?” She wrote down the information and hung up. Rowan slammed the receiver. “Nitwit.”
Walter said, “Come now, Manory. The poor woman’s only doing her job.”
“Lives are at stake, Williams.”
“She doesn’t know that. You have to convince her. You’ll get more honey from a bee if you…no, that’s not right. You’ll get more honey from a bear—”
“You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.”
Walter snapped his fingers. “That’s it. Take me, for example. How do you think I get my information?”
“Bribery. You pay them off,” said Rowan.
“That is only part of it, my friend. Charm is the key. Secretaries are among the most underappreciated members of society.”
Rowan laid out a cigarette paper on the desk. “She was a nurse.”
“Regardless. She answers telephones. All day long, people call her, demanding information. She is taken for granted. The only thing she wants in this world is for someone to take the time to make her feel special. It’s all anybody really wants. Tell her she has pretty legs.”
“Over the phone?”
“Adapt. Tell her she has a beautiful voice.”
“In this case, impossible. The woman would know I was lying.”
Walter unwrapped his sardolive. “Why do you want to talk to the doctor anyway? Do you think she’s lying about how she lost her hand?”
“She’s lying about something. Every single one of them is lying about something.” Rowan inhaled the acrid scent of the Dreighton and, with an unsteady grasp, poured it down his throat. “After my chat with Miss Pluviam, I went to the iron mill near McCormick where Clarence used to work.”
Walter cleaned his ear with his pinkie. “That was a long time ago. Does anyone from back in the day still work there?”
Rowan nodded. “An elderly Polack named Andre. He and Clarence used to share drinks and occasionally other things.”
“Did he give you any useful information?”
“Andre told me that he and Clarence used t
o spend time at a woman’s house, 1235 Crenshaw.”
“Crenshaw? That’s in the black belt.”
“That makes sense. The woman was a Negro.”
“You think she’s still alive?” asked Walter.
“Andre did not know. As he so colorfully told me, the rooster stopped crowing long ago. I also went to the hospital to inquire about our friend, Edward. Wouldn’t you know it, he has been fired.”
“Ooohh, the plot thickens.” Walter bit into the sardolive.
“The nurse would not tell me the reason for his dismissal, so I may have to get Grady to call them on my behalf. Speaking of Grady.” Rowan took out his souvenir from the desk.
“What have you got there?”
“Jenny and Lisa Pluviam’s senior yearbook. If Grady comes through with the address in Baraboo, I will have a photograph of Jenny to show the eyewitness.”
“You had more fun than I did. I spent my day talking on the telephone and walking around apartment buildings.” Walter wiped egg yolk off his face and referenced his notes. “Based solely on the interviews, we have one proven liar.”
“Miss Lewis,” Rowan said with confidence.
“There is a Trenton in Ohio, but none of the Lewis families in Trenton know anyone named Maura. The current address she gave the cops was bogus, too. There’s no Stratton Street in Chicago.”
“That is why she did not want to tell us her address. Maura had invented a street for the police and could no longer remember her fabrication when speaking with us. What about Edward?”
“Born to Agatha Filius. No father listed on the birth certificate. His aunt was declared the legal guardian when the mother was committed to Chester State Hospital. Don’t be fooled by the name; it’s a loony bin. She died there when he was three. Sepsis.”
“Does his address check out?” asked Rowan.
Walter nodded. “Uh-huh. I walked through the alley. Dracula-looking old lady in the back window. Must have been his Aunt Christine.”
“Timothy?”
“His father is a chemist. Dr. Edmond Brown. Mother’s deceased. Has six sisters, all scientists of one kind or another.”
“Timmy is the black sheep.”
“I went over to his apartment, talked to his neighbor. He hasn’t been home since Saturday. I’ll keep trying to find another address.”
The Opening Night Murders Page 10
