by Gail Meath
“Tell me, Dolores, what types of legal issues does Mister Godfrey handle?”
She glanced around to make sure no one was listening. “Missus Sanders wanted to file for divorce. She even offered Louis...Mister Godfrey a generous sum of money to push it through. But he told her that she would need to provide solid proof of her husband’s adultery before he could file.”
“I see. Thank you, Dolores,” Jax said as he stood up. “You have been most helpful. It was such a pleasure meeting you.”
“Come by anytime,” she replied sweetly as he walked out the door.
A few hours later, Jax sat at his kitchen table drinking a bottle of his homemade beer and waiting for the pot roast and spuds to finish cooking. He’d had a productive day. It made sense that Sam Sanders either knew about his wife’s decision to divorce him since he had the lawyer’s name and number in his drawer. Or he’d come upon the information and intended to speak with Louis Godfrey about it. He also knew that Patricia Sanders had been desperate for proof against her husband to obtain the divorce, which explained why she had hired him.
“But she lied to me, Ace. She’s been to the theater during working hours. She was there the afternoon her husband died. She didn’t see us tucked down that alley, and she wasn’t there long, but she was there for sure. And right about the time, her husband’s meal was delivered.”
Finally, he went over to the small stove, pulled the roast out of the oven, and set a tin cover over it to let it rest for ten minutes or so. Meanwhile, he caramelized the carrots in the pot on the stove then skillfully carved the beef, slathered gravy over the meat and potatoes, and added a scoop of carrots to both servings. He set Ace’s plate on the floor and sat back down at the table with his.
He straightened out the crumpled sheets of paper that he’d found in the waste basket at the apartment and looked them over. It was a portion of a handwritten music score. When he flipped to the second page, he noticed the title of the play was Songbird.
6
The Funeral
Friday, June 1
At eight-thirty the next morning, Laura flew down the stairs and out the front door of her apartment building. The funeral started in half an hour and Robert and his mother were waiting for her in their car out front. “I apologize for being late,” she said as she struggled to climb into the retractable back seat.
“Tardiness is not a flattering quality, Laura,” Missus Ashworth scolded.
“Yes, ma’am,” she replied obediently.
As they drove to the church in lower Manhattan, she remained quiet. Robert did as well, while his mother complained about how early the funeral was since they apparently weren’t supposed to begin until ten o’clock. Then, she began lecturing Robert about his own health, reminding him that his father had died of a heart attack, and he needed to take better care of himself.
“Please, mother. Let’s not get into that again,” Robert stated firmly.
“Suzanne told me that she overheard you arguing with Benjamin Hoffman on the telephone yesterday morning,” Missus Ashworth persisted. “Why would you be discussing anything with him? He is the owner of the Globe and a competitor of ours.”
“It was a misunderstanding. Nothing to concern yourself with, Mother.”
Laura slid deeper in her seat while Missus Ashworth stiffened in hers. The woman glared at her son while he kept his focus on the road straight ahead. “Do not patronize me, Robert. I may be getting on in years, but I still have full control of all finances and assets. I told you that I want to be kept abreast of any business dealings as well as any issues that arise.”
“Yes, mother,” Robert stated irritably.
The church service lasted an hour, and thankfully, all remained quiet in the car as they headed for the nearby cemetery. The minister began another sermon at the burial grounds, and it wasn’t until then that Laura realized she didn’t see Mister Beacham here or at the church, which seemed strange. When they spoke yesterday, it was obvious that he held the highest regard for Mister Sanders. He even referred to him by his first name, as though they knew each other well.
Yet now that she thought about it and glanced around again, she was the only theater employee who had attended the funeral.
That curiosity quickly fled when the service ended, and they paid their respects to the widow. Laura stood behind Robert and his mother while they spoke to Missus Sanders. After the two of them walked away, she offered her condolences and turned to leave.
But Missus Sanders snatched her arm. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“Laura Graystone. I’m one of the performers at the Ambassador Theater.”
“Ah, yes, I’ve heard of you,” the woman said, scowling. Finally, she released her grip.
Laura was frowning, herself, in confusion as she hurriedly caught up with Robert and his mother. She followed them to their vehicle, but she kept glancing behind her, wondering about the woman’s reaction. That is until they reached the road. To make matters worse, Detective Diamond was leaning against an old burgundy Chevy parked at the curb. As soon as he saw them, he wandered over.
“Good morning,” he greeted.
“What are you doing here, Detective Diamond?” Robert asked with as much annoyance as Laura felt.
“I didn’t want to disturb anyone at the church, but I need to speak with Missus Sanders. Good morning, Miss Graystone.”
She acknowledged him with a nod yet remained silent.
“Who is this man?” Missus Ashworth spouted.
“No one of importance Mother,” Robert told her. “This isn’t a suitable time, Detective. Missus Sanders has invited everyone to a private luncheon. At least give her this day to mourn the death of her husband.”
Jax saw the procession surrounding the widow as they escorted her out of the cemetery. “I suppose it could wait.”
Laura stared at Robert in disbelief. “We’re going to a luncheon now?” She had been respectful enough to come to the funeral with them, but she never expected to spend her entire day engulfed in it! She didn’t know what to do. How to get out of it. Her eyes darted back and forth now between both men, trying to decide the worst of two evils. “Mister Ashworth, I apologize, but I wasn’t aware of a luncheon. I need to get back home. I have...another pressing commitment this afternoon.” She quickly looked over Jax and dreaded her next words like the plague. “I hate to trouble you, Detective, but would you mind giving me a lift back to my apartment in Brooklyn?”
“We can drop you off, Laura,” Robert told her.
“No, no,” she said nervously. “It’s too far out of your way.” And if she rode with them, his mother would make her feel so guilty, she’d end up going to the luncheon anyway. “I’m sure the Detective doesn’t mind.”
“Of course not. Hop in,” he replied jovially.
As she scurried over to his car, she heard Missus Ashworth calling to her. Laura shouted her thanks and waved to them. But when she reached the passenger side, she saw the large shepherd sitting in the seat and stopped short. Then, she slowly backed away. “Detective! I could use a hand here.”
Jax walked over to her, laughing. “Ace, get in the back seat.” And he opened the door for her. “He’s harmless, Miss Graystone.”
But she didn’t budge. “I’ve heard that line before.”
“Well, pick your poison,” Jax told her. “Us or them.”
She glared at him and slid into the front seat.
Jax shut her door and leaned down. “Ace, give the nice lady a kiss.”
Before Laura could duck out of the way, Ace darted forward and swiped his tongue across her cheek. She burst out laughing and reached behind her to pet him.
Jax got into the driver’s side, but he sat there for a few minutes.
“Is there a problem, Detective?” she asked.
“Nope.” He started the car. “You don’t have any other commitments this afternoon, do you, Miss Graystone? You said that to get out of going to lunch. I can always tell when someone is
lying.”
She set her handbag on the floor and relaxed in her seat. “I’m sure you can.”
He put the car in first gear and headed off. “I was hoping for a private moment to talk with you.”
“Do tell.” At this point, she didn’t even care. He’d just spared her an entire afternoon of uncomfortable mingling with Missus Ashworth and a crowd of people she didn’t know. She took off her cloche hat and stuffed it into her handbag. The canvas top was rolled down, so she leaned back, took a few deep, refreshing breaths, and relished in the cool breeze against her face.
“I wanted to ask you about your meeting with Sam Sanders the other night.”
“Detective, if the man had a heart attack as the newspaper said, why are you looking into the matter at all?”
“I have my reasons.”
She turned towards him. “So, you want me to answer your questions, but you don’t have to answer mine?”
He smiled. “Yeah, that’s about right.”
“Well then, I don’t think I’m going to say another word. Not until you do.”
She had successfully silenced him and was glad of it. But Ace started barking and she sat up. There was a black cat at the side of the road in front of them. As their car approached, the cat darted across the street. Laura squealed for Jax to stop, but the cat made it safely, and Jax continued driving.
“Oh, dear,” Laura sighed.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “The cat’s okay.”
“It was a black cat.”
“So?”
“It’s bad luck when a black cat crosses your path,” she told him.
“Hogwash,” he chuckled. “That’s an old wives’ tale.”
“Maybe so, but my mother always told me, it’s better to be safe than sorry.”
Jax smirked to himself. They drove several miles without another word until the car suddenly started spitting and sputtering. “Dang. Old Nellie is getting tired again.” And the car came to a dead stop in the middle of the road.
Laura stared at him, waiting for him to make some sort of move. “We’re just going to sit here?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “She usually gets going again after a few minutes. It happens now and then.”
“Are you pulling my leg, Detective? Don’t you know anything about automobiles?”
“Not much.”
She swung the car door open, grumbling, “Next time a black cat crosses your path, turn around and go the other way. Shut the ignition off. Do you have any tools? A screwdriver, socket wrench, or anything along those lines?” But he just stared blankly at her. “How about some rags?”
“Sure. I should have some in the trunk.”
She made her way to the front of the car, unlatched the hood, and pried it open. Impatiently, she waited for Jax, then she leaned over the engine. “Gads, it’s filthy.”
“What is?”
“The throttle. See? Right here. I can do a quick cleaning for now, but you should have a mechanic look at it soon. These Baby Grands are a sweet ride, but you need to keep up with regular maintenance. Especially at her age. Their innards tend to gobble up dirt and grime, then stall on you.”
She finished wiping the valve assembly and intake pipe as best as she could, then she grabbed the last rag to clean the grease from her hands. “Luckily, I wore black today. Okay, try starting her up again.” Jax got back into the car and turned the key. When the car rumbled smoothly, Laura gently closed the hood, tossed the dirty rags on the floor in the backseat, and got in.
“And exactly where did you learn how to do that, Miss Graystone?”
She turned a smug grin on him. “Answer my questions, Detective, and I’ll answer yours. Quid pro quo, as they say.”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, for goodness sakes. Tit for tat, does that make better sense to you? You give me information, and I’ll give you some.” He looked at her like she had three heads. “Never mind. Just take me back to my apartment. I have the funny feeling you know the way.”
Twenty minutes later, they parked in front of Laura’s apartment building. Jax turned the car off and leaned back in his seat. “I’m not convinced it was a heart attack.”
“I knew it,” she whispered under her breath.
“There were a couple of things I found and some things I didn’t find in Sanders’ apartment that night that don’t add up. I have a friend who is a sergeant on the police force, and I haven’t said anything to him yet. He’s always accusing me of making a mountain out of a molehill, so I wanted to check things out first in case I’m wrong. Does that fit in with your quid pro stuff?”
Proudly, she folded her arms in front of her. “Yes, I believe it does, Detective Diamond. What did you want to ask me?”
He pulled out his notepad and pencil. “You said that your meetings with Sam Sanders pertained to your career. How?”
“He’d written a new musical and…I was hoping he’d choose me for the lead.”
He pointed the pencil at her. “Aha! You’re lying again, Miss Graystone.”
She glared at him. “How do you know?”
“Your pretty hazel eyes moved away from me as you spoke.”
Now they rolled upwards in exasperation. “Okay, so he chose me for the lead in the play.”
“That’s better. What was the name of the play?”
“Oh, no, Detective. You need to give me an answer first. What did you find at his apartment that you’re not sharing with the police?”
He looked straight ahead now. “Something in his wastebasket.”
“Such as? And let me see those baby blues of yours, Detective.”
He laughed. “Several sheets of paper. From what I could tell, the title of the play he was writing was Songbird. That’s your nickname, isn’t it?”
She lowered her head. “Yes. Mister Sanders approached me a few weeks ago and mentioned that he’d been working on the play. He asked me to meet him at L’Aiglon’s to tell me more about it. The other night, he gave me a copy of the music score to look over. That’s why I went to his apartment. It was a great honor having him write a musical for me, especially with his reputation.”
“So, he wrote it for you?”
She snapped her head up. “With me in mind for the lead, I meant to say.”
“Right. If he gave you a copy, then he still had the original?”
“He was reviewing it when I left his apartment.”
Jax wrote that down. “Did he get along with everyone at the theater?”
“Hold on. It’s my turn. What didn’t you find at the apartment? You said there were things you found and didn’t find.”
Jax hesitated, then flipped through his notepad. “He was carrying his dinner with him when he arrived at the apartment, but I couldn’t find any remnants of it. Was he eating dinner when you got there?”
“I saw a lunchbox on his desk, but he hadn’t started eating yet.” She closed her eyes and smiled. “I don’t know what was in that lunchbox, but it smelled just like my mother’s chicken and dumplings with lots of garlic sauce. She’s a fabulous cook.”
Jax watched her. “Most mothers are. Was Sanders close with any of the performers?”
She broke away from her thoughts. “Honestly, he wasn’t a very friendly sort, which is probably why none of the other employees attended his service. He was always strictly business with everyone. But tell me, Detective, why is it so significant that you didn’t find his dinner that night? I toss the trash down the chute at the end of the hall in my building.”
“His apartment doesn’t have that convenience. Tenants are expected to empty their trash in the dumpster outside. And I couldn’t find any sign of his metal lunch pail either.”
“So, what does that mean?”
“I’m not sure yet.” He looked at his notepad again. “How well do you know Robert Ashworth?”
She didn’t like where this was going. “I think I’m done playing this game, Detective. Maybe your friend on the police force is ri
ght and you’re making a mountain out of a molehill again. They don’t think any crime has been committed. Besides, this is none of my business.”
He smiled at her. “Oh, I think you’re just as curious as I am to know what really happened. It’s close to lunchtime. Can I buy you a hot dog? George usually sets his wagon up right around the corner.”
“As I said, I have other commitments this afternoon.”
“Our conversation stays between us, right?” he asked.
“Your secrets are safe with me, Detective.” She said goodbye to Ace and got out of the car.
Jax watched her walk towards the front door of her apartment building. “Hey, Miss Graystone!” He saw her shoulders slump before she reluctantly turned around. “You never told me how you know so much about cars.”
“And I think there’s a whole lot more you’re not telling me either, but as I said, it’s none of my concern.” She swung away from him, pulled the door open, and disappeared inside.
Jax sat there smiling. “She’s an interesting woman, isn’t she, Ace?” And very different than how he’d pegged her. Smarter, wittier, and even prettier than he first thought. She was very talented, too, and not just on stage. After everything that had just passed between them, he was more curious about how she knew how to fix a dirty throttle than anything else.
Although right now, he had a more pressing matter on his mind. His purpose for going to the cemetery wasn’t to talk to Patricia Sanders. He wanted to find out who owned that new Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost that was parked down the street from her apartment yesterday. Then, he saw Robert Ashworth get into that same automobile.
7
A Case of Murder?
Jax pulled behind Tim’s police car in front of the medical examiner’s office. He saw Butch sitting in the passenger seat and prepared himself for one of Butch’s smart remarks. But the man was fast asleep. Jax shook his head, made his way inside the building, and joined Tim and Doctor Norris in the other room.
“Doctor Norris was just telling me that he received Samuel Sanders’ medical files this morning. He didn’t have any known health issues,” Tim told him. “He’s ruling the cause of death as heart failure. Natural causes, Jax.”
