Murder in Midtown

by Liz Freeland

“What you see ain’t the whole club.”

  Of course. Jackson had told me that the Omnium had a back room, where the gambling took place. I looked around for a secret passage that would lead to this famous gaming den, but I didn’t see a door other than the ones leading to the kitchen and the powder room. The bar didn’t allow the best vantage point of the club. The dance floor would be better.

  “We should dance,” I told Otto.

  He drained his champagne. The stuff was growing on him, too. “I thought you’d never ask.” He hopped off his stool, lit up with enthusiasm. Lit up, period.

  Otto wasn’t the best dancer in the world, but with two champagne cocktails in him what he lacked in skill he more than made up for in exuberance. We joined the dance mid-waltz, and when the next number began, I recognized the rhythms of the tango. I started to head back to our champagne, but Otto held me fast. “We can do this.”

  The champagne really must have hit him hard. “Are you serious?”

  “For Callie,” he said, and pulled me close.

  Heeding sanity, many people had exited the dance floor, so it was a thinner, braver crew we joined in the dance of seduction. Otto surprised me. His movements might have shown more recklessness than skill, but it was a decent effort. His forehead hovered near mine, his eyes full of champagne-induced intensity. Other patrons were watching us, making it harder for me to scan the club for nefarious characters or secret doors, which had been my reason for dancing in the first place. At one point, Otto lowered me in a dramatic dip, and I could see the gallery above the bar. Behind the patrons, there was a door. And at the door, a dark man stood in evening clothes, beefy arms crossed, watching us. When I came up again, I stumbled slightly.

  “Ow!” Otto whispered. “That was my foot.”

  “I found it,” I whispered.

  “My toe? I’ll say you did.”

  “The private room.” I jerked my chin upward. “That’s Leonard Cain.”

  Otto followed my gaze. His tango almost stalled out.

  I mashed his foot again, this time on purpose. “Don’t stare.”

  Following my own advice wasn’t easy. Out of the side of my eye I tracked Cain as he walked past several of the mezzanine tables. A waiter stepped out of his path, almost bowing in deference. The gesture went unacknowledged. Then Cain disappeared from my sight. Was he coming downstairs?

  Happily, the song finally ended, and the tables surrounding the dance floor burst into applause. Otto and I smiled and acknowledged them.

  “We need to get back to the bar,” I said, sotto voce.

  “It’s your circus, Mr. Ringling.”

  It was, and I needed to think fast. Otto’s champagne spirits might prove a handicap while I talked to Cain. An idea occurred to me, which bounded forward into a plan when I caught sight of Cain heading toward the bar area.

  “Get me some cigarettes?” I asked Otto.

  “You don’t smoke.”

  “I do when I’m in a nightclub.” He still balked, but I gave him a nudge. “Please? I’ll order more champagne.”

  He snapped his fingers. “Okeydoke.”

  He flitted off in search of a cigarette vendor while I hurried back to our seats at the bar. I ordered more drinks and picked up the barely touched one I’d left behind, just in the nick of time. Turning quickly, I stepped off my stool just at the right moment to bump into the nightclub owner and spill my drink on his jacket and Callie’s skirt.

  “Oh dear!” I exclaimed. “How clumsy of me.”

  The instant after the collision, Cain glared at the champagne dripping down his lapel and off his sleeve. Then the glare transferred to my face.

  “Fool!” he said, reaching for his handkerchief.

  I snatched a napkin from the bar and tried to help to mop up the damage, ignoring my skirt. I hoped Callie meant what she said about giving me the dress. I dabbed at Cain’s chest to get his attention, which I did. His hand reached for my wrist. The lascivious curiosity burning in his gaze made my skin crawl.

  I stepped back instinctively, and the interest in his eyes turned to vague recognition, and suspicion.

  “Say, don’t I know you?”

  Despite my revulsion, I tried to keep up a little flirtatiousness. “There’s no reason you should remember someone like me, Mr. Cain. I was Guy Van Hooten’s secretary . . . until yesterday, that is.” I sighed. “Such a tragedy.”

  “Right. So much of a tragedy that you had to come out dancing.” He eyed the place next to me. “I assume that man I saw you tangoing with is your escort.”

  I hinted at a smile. “I don’t like to wallow in sorrow all by myself.”

  “Wise girl. I doubt Van Hooten would have spent long mourning if you’d burned up instead of him.”

  “Heaven forbid.” I swooned my way back onto the chair, covered my eyes with my hand, and sniffled.

  “Hey, now. When I saw you at Van Hooten’s office, I took you for a sensible girl. No reason to fall apart now.”

  “But there is. I’ve lost my job. And now the police are asking questions.”

  He seemed amused even as his lips remained pressed in an even line. “Did you set fire to the building?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then why worry?”

  “You know how the police are. Full of suspicions. They seem to think that the fire might have been set on purpose to murder Guy.”

  “The police.” He sniffed in contempt. “Bunch of clods.” He rapped on the bar, indicating he wanted a drink. The unspoken command was obeyed so promptly, the bartender might have set a pouring speed record. Cain downed what looked like a shot of whiskey. “Don’t get me wrong. The boys in blue have their uses. You just have to know how to handle them.”

  “I was sure you must know all about the police,” I said, doing my best eyelash-batting. “They certainly seem very interested in you.”

  His dark brows drew together. “Whaddaya mean?”

  “Oh, nothing. Only they asked so many questions.”

  “What kind of questions?”

  “Well, like what you were doing there Wednesday night—Guy’s last night—and what you talked about, and did you seem angry. That sort of thing.” I sipped from the champagne glass. “They seemed very interested in what I overheard.”

  He leaned against the bar, eyes narrowing. “What exactly did you overhear?”

  “Gosh, almost nothing. Honestly.” I blinked at him. “Just that one remark about how you were there to settle a score or something.”

  His face darkened. “And you said it that way? That kind of language lands people in the chair.”

  “I hope not. Still, what were you there to settle, Mr. Cain?”

  “What is this, an interrogation?”

  “No, but naturally I’m curious what I should tell the police next time they question me. What I overheard might have sounded a little sinister, but I’m sure there’s a simple explanation behind it.”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  “Exactly what I told the police—it was just no business of mine. I’m a secretary, not a snoop. Of course I’d exonerate you if I could, but when I know so little about what occurred that night, how could I possibly be able to tell anything other than the bald, incriminating facts?”

  “Incriminating? Baloney.”

  “You were the last person to see Guy alive, for all we know. And if you were there to squeeze a debt out of Guy, and he wasn’t able to pay up . . .”

  He glared at me, and it was hard not to shrink back from the menace in those eyes. “You’ve got your facts mixed up, girlie. I was the one who owed him. Three thousand dollars.”

  Despite my attempt to be cool and detached, my mouth dropped open. “Three thousand!” An incredible sum. To me, at least. “That’s a lot of money.”

  “Guy said he needed a lot. He certainly wasn’t getting it from those moldy books he peddled, and his old lady’s purse strings were knotted tight.”

  “If you owed it to him, why wou
ldn’t you have paid him before he left the club?”

  “Because he didn’t win it here. Not that there’s gambling here, understand?”

  I understood perfectly. “Then where did the money come from?”

  “I’d convinced Guy that I was on to a sure business deal, so he gave me some money to invest for him.”

  “Invest in what?”

  “Business.” His eyes narrowed, and I decided that perhaps it was best not to press him on that particular subject right then. “When it paid off like I said it would, I handed him the dough like any honest partner would. End of story.”

  “You handed three thousand dollars to Guy the night before last?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then what happened to all that money?”

  “Same thing that happened to everything else in that building, I imagine. It went up in flames.” His lips twisted. “If I’d waited to pay him the next day, I’d be three thou richer.”

  “You paid him in cash?”

  “I do most of my business that way.”

  Had Cain been carrying three thousand dollars in cash the night I’d seen him? I had no idea. It was such an exorbitant sum, I imagined wheelbarrows would be needed to transport it. Or at least a briefcase.

  He read the question in my face and his impatient smile became a glower. “What’s your game, sister?”

  “I’m just curious where that three thousand dollars was. I didn’t see you bring it in.”

  He leaned in. The whiskey reek of his breath and the even sharper bite of pine aftershave turned my stomach. This was not a good man. When he held my arm, the gesture was meant to be threatening. “And you know what three thousand looks like, do you? Don’t make me laugh. If you’ve seen more than a few sawbucks at once, I’d be surprised. You’re a secretary in borrowed duds, and the way you’re asking questions is going to land you in more trouble than you can handle.”

  Otto finally appeared, brandishing cigarettes. His pace faltered and then sped up when he noticed the expression on my face. “What are you saying to her?”

  Cain scowled at him.

  I shrugged Cain’s hand away. “This is my escort, Otto Klemper. Otto—Leonard Cain.”

  Instinct told Otto that this wasn’t the kind of introduction that required a handshake. His voice was higher when he spoke, but I admired his bravery. “It sounded as if you were threatening Louise, Mr. Cain.”

  “Louise, is it?” He eyed me with a sneer. “She didn’t give me her name. Just asked a lot of questions.”

  “And got a lot of questionable answers for my trouble,” I said.

  “Sorry you didn’t like them. The truth was all I had on such short notice.”

  “The truth?” I shook my head. “I might not have seen three thousand dollars all in one place before, but I doubt it’s easy to conceal. You weren’t carrying a case.”

  “I wasn’t concealing anything,” he growled, “it’s just that you weren’t looking. So don’t go running to the cops making out that I lied about anything, because I didn’t.”

  “Louise wouldn’t make something up,” Otto said. “She’s very honest.”

  “I don’t know what she is.” His insolent gaze swept up and down my body.

  I suppressed a shiver. “I’m just a person who wants to know the truth. An honest citizen. Maybe you don’t know many of those.”

  Cain lifted his arm. For a moment I thought he was going to slap me, but instead his fingers snapped so loudly that nearby tables turned to stare. Almost immediately, our friend the doorman was at his shoulder.

  “Red, reacquaint these two with the street.”

  “You’re kicking us out?” Otto asked.

  “But I haven’t finished talking to you,” I said.

  Cain snorted. “You’ve finished, little lady. And if you ever come here again, I just might call the police myself and tell them about a secretary coming around asking a lot of questions that sound like a lead-up to a shakedown.”

  “That’s a lie,” Otto said.

  “Red, get rid of them.”

  Red clamped a paw around my arm and grabbed the scruff of Otto’s collar with the other and propelled us toward the front door. My first nightclub outing, and I was being given the bum’s rush.

  “What till my friend Al Jolson hears about this!” Otto said, practically shaking a fist at Cain.

  He smirked. “If you’re a friend of Jolie’s, then I’m the pope.”

  People laughed, and both our faces reddened. In short order, we were shoved out the front door. Our coats and Otto’s hat were tossed out after us.

  Against the cold breeze that had blown up since we’d gone inside, we pulled our coats around us.

  Otto was hopping mad. “That man is a toad!”

  I agreed. “But I suspect he really was telling me the truth. If he’d wanted to lie, why would he have mentioned the three thousand dollars at all?”

  “Who cares? He insulted us! I’ve a good mind to go back in there and—”

  Remembering Flossie’s stories of the killings, I pulled Otto away from the door. “Never mind. Let’s just go home.” Strange, but a part of me felt elated. I’d wrangled useful information out of Cain. Not a bad night’s work, really. “This time I’ll spring for the cab.”

  “You?” Granted, I never paid cab fare if there was a streetcar, train, or subway available, but he was looking at me as if I weren’t in my right mind.

  “It’s all right,” I said. “I’m getting paid well.”

  Otto was on his way to flag down a taxicab when his hat was caught by a gust and flew off his head. He scampered after it into the street and was almost run down by a car roughly the length of a whale that pulled up to the curb. A chauffeur hopped out and when he opened the passenger door, a man in shiny shoes and a top hat emerged. He watched Otto capture his hat and smash it right down to his ears so it couldn’t escape. A familiar smile broke out over his face.

  “Hey, kid!”

  Otto’s eyes, now even with his hat brim, popped open. “Mr. Jolson?”

  The star rushed over and pumped Otto’s hand as if they were old pals. His smile even included me. “Say, what’re you kids doing at this dump?”

  “Getting kicked out.” I told him I’d accidentally spilled a drink on Leonard Cain . . . but omitted the rest of the story.

  Jolson thought this was hilarious. He hooked one arm around me and the other around Otto. “You kiddos better come in and have a drink with Jolie. I’ll clear this right up. If Lenny’s still sore, I’ll give him some tickets to the show.”

  Otto protested, but there was no overcoming our host’s enthusiasm. Not that I wanted to. Cain had as good as called us liars in front of the entire club. Vindication would be sweet.

  The look on Red’s face as he opened the door for Jolson and us was priceless, and so was Cain’s when Otto and I strolled in next to the celebrity he’d just denied we could possibly know.

  I bowed my head to him as we were shown to the best table in the place. “Lovely to see you again, Your Holiness.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Lily and Clarice entered their cramped but imaginatively decorated flat in a gay mood. The weekend had been everything they had hoped, and now their spirits were dancing with memories of flirtatious glances and confidences exchanged in stolen moments of privacy.

  The only damper was Clarice’s cousin, Myrtle, who would surely scold them for coming in so late. They both hushed their voices and looked around guiltily as they came inside, slipping off their shoes to make less noise. “Perhaps she’s already asleep,” Lily suggested, noting that the only light in the apartment was a glow emanating from Myrtle’s bedroom. “She must have nodded off with the lamp on.”

  Clarice tiptoed away to check on her cousin while Lily made her way toward the kitchen. A cup of cocoa was just what they both needed. They could sip it on the fire escape and talk over their conquests.

  No sooner had she lit the burner for the saucepan than a blood-c
urdling scream rent the air. Clarice! Lily ran back out to the hallway and discovered her friend frozen in the doorway, illuminated softly by the bedside lamp. Her hands lifted to her lips in stunned disbelief. “It’s Myrtle!” she ejaculated in horror, nodding her pretty blond head toward the bed, upon which Myrtle lay facedown, a butcher knife protruding from between her bony spinster shoulder blades. “She’s dead!”

  Not just dead, Lily thought. Murdered.

  My hands froze over the Remington’s keys. It wasn’t just that the scene was a radical departure from anything my aunt had ever written before. With the exception of a few minor details, this scene replicated almost exactly what had happened to Callie and me last summer when we’d returned home from a party at Aunt Irene’s and discovered Callie’s visiting cousin Ethel murdered in her bed.

  The memory of that night had lost none of its power to unnerve me. I swayed in my chair, reliving those awful moments. I’d never seen so much blood before, and hoped never to again. And now the gruesome tragedy was being turned into a novel.

  At that moment, my aunt ducked her head in the door. When she saw me, she scooted inside, pulling a chair close to the typing table. “What do you think?”

  “It seems strangely familiar.”

  “Nonsense—I’ve only used a few aspects of last summer’s events.”

  “It’s very close.”

  “But you can’t think any of the characters are recognizable. I changed up so much. Did it give you gooseflesh?”

  “Yes,” I answered in all honesty.

  She leaned back, pleased. “This could be a new beginning for me.”

  Despite my personal misgivings, I didn’t want to discourage my aunt. This book might be a turning point for her, and if it felt a little like exploiting Ethel’s death . . . well, she wasn’t the first. The newspapers had made hay of the story for a month, and Otto’s song had received a boost in sales, and I supposed I even owed my newfound career, such as it was, to having tried to solve the mystery of who killed Ethel.

  “It’s very different from anything you’ve done,” I said. “I was surprised. Even the name of the poor woman.”

  Aunt Irene clasped her hands together. “Myrtle—so you noticed.”