by Liz Freeland
Her brow crinkled as she studied the paper. The uniforms I’d seen were simple affairs: blue shirtwaists with brass buttons down the front and long sleeves ever so slightly puffed at the shoulders; a high white collar clasped at the neck. The blue skirt was cut in a simple A-line down to the ankle.
“Could you copy that?” I asked.
“You don’t say what materials you want.”
“It has to be dark blue.”
“Blue is a color, not a fabric.”
I remembered the navy blue dress Myrna had been wearing the last time I was here and told her I’d admired it. “Some fabric like that would be perfect, wouldn’t it? And brass buttons. Nothing too outlandish.”
She still looked doubtful.
“I need it within a week.”
“I’m very busy.”
I fished some money from my purse. Ten dollars. More than I’d paid for the last dress I’d bought, the one Myrna had said made me look like a mattress. When she hesitated, I added another two dollars. After all, I was asking her to procure the material. Not that she would have to go far. There were several fabric sellers on the street.
She snatched the money from my hands. “All right. You’ll have it.”
While Myrna took my measurements, I looked down at the baby lying in his crib, staring at the ceiling with those Edith Van Hooten eyes. The last time I’d seen Calvin Longworth, my son, he’d been about Noah’s age—a little older, perhaps. But that had been months ago. I craved seeing him again, and touching his little booted foot as I touched Noah’s now. But even as my heart hitched at the kick and the gummy smile the tickle earned, I wondered if seeing my own son would be worth the ache it would leave me with.
Myrna, almost smiling, watched me play with the baby.
I took a chance on bringing up the Van Hootens. “Did you ever know Hugh?”
Her mouth tightened. “Guy talked about his brother, but never fondly. He called him an old stick, or a lunatic.”
The words were contradictory, but I’d seen at least two sides to Hugh’s character myself. He’d seemed almost kind at first, then impossibly arrogant. “So you gathered there was some friction between the brothers.”
“There was no love lost.” She looped a tape measure around my waist. “Guy tried to avoid Hugh. Said Hugh was a show-off and always had been.”
“How did he show off?”
“He made the best grades, won an award at his school. . . .”
Achievements, in other words. That would nettle Guy, a man who’d never put effort into anything.
“Hugh must have resented Guy for having inherited his father’s business,” I said.
“Who would’ve envied anyone that place?” She frowned at me. “Raise your arms.”
As she measured my bust, I tried again. “Edith Van Hooten favored Guy. That must have annoyed Hugh.”
“It annoyed Guy, too. He didn’t ask to be the golden boy of the family.”
She kept giving me motives for Guy to have killed Hugh, not the other way around.
“Did Hugh know about you before your brother went to see him?”
Myrna put the tape measure around my neck and scribbled down the number on a sheet of paper. “You ask a lot of questions. I told you, I don’t want to think about that family.”
“An innocent man has been charged with Guy’s murder.”
“What’s that got to do with me? I don’t know who killed Guy, or why, and I don’t care.” Her voice became strained. “Do you hear me? I don’t care. A smart person stays out of business that the police are poking into.”
That probably wasn’t a bad credo, but it made me wonder.
She stepped back. “Why are you looking at me that way?” Her hands lifted to her lips. “My God, do you think I committed the murder? The father of my child?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t think you did it. And I’m not with the police yet. I only came here because Mr. McChesney is going to be tried for Guy’s murder and I believe he’s innocent.”
“Yes, so you’re looking to have them arrest someone else. Someone like me.”
“But if you didn’t do it, you have nothing to worry about.”
She laughed. “Listen to yourself. You just told me that Mr. McChesney was innocent. Innocent people end up convicted for crimes they didn’t commit. Especially poor people like me, who no one cares about.” She pulled the twelve dollars out of her pocket and handed it to me. “I don’t want your money. I don’t want to be involved.”
I didn’t take it. “I’m not trying to connect you to the murder. I only wanted to know who else might have had a motive.”
“I’m not going to point the finger at Hugh Van Hooten or anyone else. I know nothing.” Her arm remained outstretched.
“Keep it,” I said. “I still need the uniform, and you need the money. For Noah.”
Her gaze strayed to the crib. Finally, she dropped her arm. “All right. I’ll have your uniform by Friday.”
Quick as she could, she showed me the door.
CHAPTER 13
On Sunday morning I was bounced awake.
“Get up, Louise! We’re going to New Jersey.”
At first I thought I must be dreaming. Callie was perched on my mattress, dressed in the strangest getup. It consisted of a white knit hat, a plum-colored scarf, and snow-white coveralls that tapered down to her ankles, where they gathered just below the tops of black leather lace-up ankle boots. A pair of goggles was strapped across her head at the hairline.
My head, muzzy from sleep, couldn’t make sense of what I was seeing. “You’re in Philadelphia,” I argued at my hallucination.
She laughed. “No show on Sundays. I don’t have to go back till tomorrow afternoon.” She hugged her arms around her knees, deliriously happy. “Guess what? I got a line in the show. It’s a pip. Gets a laugh every night before the second act curtain.”
“That’s terrific.” I struggled up to sitting, propping pillows behind me. “So the show’s going over well?”
“Well, our leading lady still can’t sing, and the leading man can’t remember his lines. Other than that . . .” She slapped at my calf. “Get out of this bed. We’re going to catch the train in an hour to the air park. Teddy’s going to give me a flying lesson today. What do you think of my new togs?”
She hopped off the bed and did a turn, arms outstretched, so I could admire her outfit. I’d never seen her in pants before, but I had to admit she wore them well. Her figure would have made a potato sack alluring. “Are you going to wear those on the train? We might be arrested.”
“No, I’ll change into this when I get there. Teddy swears the washroom at the aerodrome isn’t too primitive.”
“And Hugh will be there?”
“Of course. It’s a glorious day—Indian summer. Teddy says it might be the last best flying day of the year.” A little of her delirium disappeared. “That is, I assume you still want to talk to Hugh Van Hooten? I saw in the paper about Mr. McChesney’s arrest. That must be awful for your aunt.”
“He didn’t do it,” I said. “And yes, I do want to speak to Hugh.”
“Do you think Hugh did it?” She wasn’t smiling at all now. “That’d be awful. Teddy thinks Hugh hung the moon.”
I didn’t want to insult Teddy’s judgment, so I shrugged noncommittally. “I think Hugh might tell me something more about what was going on in Guy’s life. If I can get him to talk.”
“If you can get him to talk about something besides airplanes, you mean.”
A sharp knock sounded at the door. Callie turned, hands on hips. “Who’s coming to see you on a Sunday morning?” Her eyes narrowed jokingly. “What’ve you been up to?”
I yawned and stretched. “Nonstop hedonism.”
She laughed. “I leave town for one week . . .”
As she went to see who it was, I shrugged on my thick wool flannel robe. I wouldn’t put it past Wally, if he’d heard Callie come in, to pay a morning call under some feeble pretext
.
When I went out into the parlor, however, I found Otto and Callie standing face-to-face, gaping at each other. Not that either of them had much room to judge—although Callie’s aviatrix clothes paled in comparison to Otto’s bizarre outfit. He wore a light green tweed jacket and matching knickers, puffy at the knees. His vest was the same green plaid as the cap perched on his head. His calves were clad in argyle, his feet encased in brown-and-white spectator shoes so new they gave off a glare.
“I thought Halloween was already over,” I joked.
Otto’s new footwear let out a squeak as he turned to me. “There you are. I was hoping you’d come with me today.”
“Is there a steamship leaving for the Scottish highlands?” I asked.
“Very funny. I’m going to Long Island to golf with Al Jolson.”
I admit it. I was astonished. Sure, we’d had a drink with Jolson at the Omnium, but I never imagined he’d really reach out to Otto. “How did that come about?”
“Your success inspired me, Louise. After we opened that letter from the NYPD and discovered that your dream had come true, I said to myself, ‘Darn it, Otto, why don’t you show some of that kind of pluck?’ So on Friday I went to the Winter Garden Theater, talked my way backstage, and played a song for Jolie.”
“Jolie?” Callie was shaking her head, trying to keep up. “And what’s this about a letter?” She looked at me, then gasped. “Did you hear back already?”
I nodded. “I start next week at the Thirtieth Street Station.”
She rushed over, grabbed me, and spun me around. “For Pete’s sake—when were you going to tell me?”
“I haven’t had time.”
“Thirtieth Street?” Otto frowned. “That’s the Tenderloin. Is it safe?”
I laughed. “The police aren’t needed in the nicest places.”
“Someone must be patrolling Millionaires’ Mile, making sure the Vanderbilts don’t get robbed,” he said. “Why can’t you be one of those policemen?”
“Because I don’t get to choose,” I said. “I follow orders. With alacrity.”
Callie spun on him. “Now what’s this business about Jolie?”
He lifted his hands as if he was still trying to understand it himself. “I played Al a couple songs. He said there’s a producer he wants to hear them who’s got a place on Long Island with a private golf course where they go play on Sundays. So he asked me to come along.”
Callie’s glee at the prospect of her flying lesson faded. “A producer? Who?”
More squeaking as Otto bobbed on his heels. “Lee Shubert.”
The color drained from her face. “You mean you’re going to be hobnobbing with the biggest producer in New York and you came here to invite Louise? She doesn’t know Lee Shubert from a lamppost.”
“You were in Philadelphia,” Otto said.
“I was, but I’m here now.”
Worry seized me. I was losing her. “You aren’t changing your mind, are you? Teddy promised you a flying lesson, remember? And it’s my best chance to talk to Hugh.”
“I know . . .” Callie dug her hands into her jumpsuit pockets. “. . . but Lee Shubert.”
“You’re already in a show,” I reminded her.
“But what about next year?” She frowned. “Or next week. How long can a show run with a leading lady who sings like a cockatoo with a head cold?”
Desperation made me shameless. “Wouldn’t Teddy be disappointed if you canceled today?”
The dilemma tormented her. “Life’s so unfair. I spent eighteen years bored out of my mind on a farm, and now I have to choose between the Great White Way and soaring in the clouds.” She looked up, then laughed at the expression on my face. “Oh, don’t worry—I won’t let you down. Though if it had just been Teddy . . .”
Otto sighed. “I guess it’ll be just me and my golf club going to Long Island, then.”
Callie and I swiveled toward him. “Golf club?”
I was no frequenter of fairways, but that didn’t sound right.
“The man at the sports outfitter tried to sell me a whole bagful of clubs,” Otto said, “but when I told him how much I could spend, he said I should just buy one. But it’s a beaut.”
“You’ve never played golf, have you?” Callie asked him.
A little of his confidence disappeared. “Not exactly.”
“Not ever, you mean,” I said.
“All right, never, if you want to nitpick,” he said. “But the fellow who sold me my putter told me the game’s a lead pipe cinch to learn.” When Callie smiled, he said, “Easier than flying.”
“At least you and your putter won’t be hundreds of feet up in the air,” I concurred.
My reminder of this chased all the regrets about Mr. Shubert from Callie’s mind. “Up in the clouds. I can’t wait!”
Even the prospect of being a spectator to Callie’s first flying lesson made my skin go clammy. I took comfort in the fact that while she was aloft, I would be on solid ground, hopefully enticing Hugh Van Hooten to talk about the circumstances surrounding his brother’s death.
* * *
The train ride was shorter than I’d expected, not far at all once we’d crossed the river. The most striking thing was how abruptly cityscape seemed to give way to a more rural setting, with picture-book small towns and fields between. Teddy met us at the Perth Amboy station in an open red Stutz touring car to drive us the rest of the way to the aerodrome.
It had been so long since I’d been out of the city, the miles of flat, tree-lined roads now seemed to me as exotic as arctic ice floes would have been, or the Alps. As we drove farther from the station, the houses started to appear lonelier, and water towers in the distance and the now-inescapable telephone poles were sometimes the only reminders of people.
The day was fine, a miraculously perfect Indian summer day. I perched on the backseat, head tilted back and squinting in the sun, and let my city-scarred lungs suck in clean country air with just a hint of salt. Birds wheeled overhead. Gulls. Though I couldn’t see the ocean, we obviously hadn’t traveled too far inland.
In front, Callie and Teddy were chattering away, and after we turned onto a narrower dirt road, they stopped the car and switched places. Five minutes of instruction later, the car lurched and chugged forward again.
“Isn’t this exciting, Louise?” Callie called back to me over the sound of the engine. “I’m learning to drive, and in an hour or so I’ll be learning to fly.”
“Watch out!” Teddy warned.
Too late. The Stutz bounced across a rut in the road. Callie hooted as if we were on a ride at Coney Island. “At least in the air there won’t be potholes.”
“You can’t fly today,” Teddy said. “It’s too soon.”
Arguing ensued, until Teddy remembered there was another person in the car and turned back to me. “Besides, it would hurt Louise’s feelings to be left behind.” He seemed surprised when I laughed.
“Anything over three stories gives Louise the vapors,” Callie explained. “We ate on a roof garden last summer and she looked queasy the whole time.”
He sent me a pitying look that he might have bestowed on a bedridden invalid. “How awful for you.”
“I’m happily earthbound,” I assured him. “I’ll leave the skies to the birds and the—”
“Fools,” Callie finished for me with a bright laugh. “You should try driving, then. Once you’ve learned, we can take the new Lincoln highway all the way to California. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
“A Pullman berth would be more restful.”
“Oh, trains are as old hat as covered wagons.” She swerved to miss a darting hare; then when Teddy directed her to turn into a drive, she yanked the steering wheel so quickly that the car performed the maneuver on two wheels. Back on all fours, the Stutz sped toward an enormous building the size of four regular barns and came to a shuddering stop.
A sign over the cavernous door announced: VAN HOOTEN AERONAUTICS.
T
eddy hopped out, running around the car to open doors for Callie and me. A couple of men in oil-stained coveralls came out to greet us. Their curious reactions told me all I needed to know about how often women visited here. Of course, between the food hamper we’d packed and Callie’s Gladstone bag with her flying clothes, they might have been worried we were moving in.
The hangar was a gargantuan garage, mostly open front and back, letting in abundant light. Yet inside, fresh air fought a losing battle against fumes of oil, gas, and glue. Overhead, wooden ribs supported the high curved roof. What really drew my eye, though, were the airplanes. Four of them, all strikingly different, were parked inside. I’d seen drawings of airplanes and photographs, of course. I’d even watched one fly overhead back at home in Pennsylvania. In the air it had seemed small and faraway, a noisy gnat bothering the heavens. Up close, they were enormous, complex, and strangely vulnerable-looking constructions of canvas, metal, and wood, like modern mock-ups of prehistoric birds, with wings dozens of feet long. The bands beneath their canvas looked like veins beneath the thinnest skin.
Teddy grinned at me. “Beautiful, aren’t they?”
“Which one’s yours?” I asked.
He led us to one of the closest. The seats were aligned one in front of the other, encased in the body of the airplane that would serve as a sort of cocoon for the aviators from the shoulders down. The machine had a wood propeller at the front, and Teddy touched it as a horseman might a horse’s muzzle as he described the specifications of this beast, rattling off incomprehensible information about tractor construction, engine cylinders, rudders, elevators, and stabilizers. I did understand “thirty-six-foot wingspan,” and I stared up at the wings of the biplane, duly impressed. Our apartment didn’t measure thirty-six feet side to side.
The plane had been painted white, with accents of crimson. Near the back were written the newly painted words Gail Force. Callie’s last name was Gail.
Enraptured, Callie turned to me. “Isn’t that wonderful? It’s like having a steamship named after me.”
Hopefully not like the Titanic, I thought.
