Avon Calling! Season One

by Hayley Camille

  “Under a paper moon,” she sang, as the rain finally faltered, letting a silver glow break through the clouds. “Let’s make-believe that you believe in me.” She hummed the happy tune as she rode, feeling lighter with each passing mile. Her heart soared at the thought of her sleeping children, the weekend bake sale, of her darling George in his tartan slippers. Life really could be a dream. She just needed to keep it that way.

  Betty parked her bicycle by the side of her house and carried her

  Avon bag to the back door, steeling herself for whatever lay within. She straightened her dress and jacket, re-pinned her sodden hat and slid the knives from her garter. She wrapped them quickly in a towel and hid them under a false paving stone in the garden. There would be time enough tomorrow to clean them properly.

  Smile.

  Betty quietly let herself through the back door. The house was silent. She slipped off her shoes and jacket and dropped them in the laundry tub. She tiptoed into the sitting room, an apologetic smile ready on her lips. She needn’t have worried. George was asleep in his chair, the tendrils of smoke from his cigar, long gone. She watched him snore, with a look of utmost tenderness in her eyes. He’d be cross, when he woke. Angry, even. But even then, he’d never raise his voice at her. Never hit her or be cruel. He would always be a gentleman.

  Betty ducked back upstairs and quickly prepared for bed. She washed her face and hid her wet clothes, choosing a high-necked night gown to hide the bruises on her throat. She wrapped her damp hair in a crochet net to conceal it, mussed up her bedclothes and went back downstairs. Pulling a glass bottle of milk from the fridge, Betty poured enough for two mugs and set it to warm on the stove. She walked through to the sitting room.

  “George, darling?”

  He snuffled and turned on the couch.

  “My dear, you really must come to bed now.” Betty took his hands but still he didn’t wake. She began pulling him gently from the couch.

  “Betty?” George said, coming to. “Where the blazers have you been? I was worried sick.”

  “I’ve been home for hours, dear. I thought to let you sleep on the couch because you looked so comfortable, but I just can’t sleep without you. I’ve been tossing and turning. I feel so much safer with you by my side.”

  George pushed her back a little and looked carefully at his wife’s face. Betty didn’t flinch. He found nothing but sincerity returned.

  “I called Marjory Sampson, Betty.”

  “You did?” Her heart flipped. “Of course, you did. I left her cosmetics on the bench! Only, I wasn’t there, of course. I was with Cynthia Westlakes - so you needn't have worried at all. I’m so sorry, George.”

  “Cynthia Westlakes? I’ve never even heard of her. And you said you were going to Marjory Sampson, I distinctly remember you said Mrs. Sampson!” The color had risen in George’s face, and even by the light of the lamp, Betty could see he was more upset than she’d expected. George broke away, pacing. He walked into the kitchen. Betty followed. “I felt like such a goose, Betty! Ringing Mrs. Sampson like that and you weren’t even there. Probably got her up out of bed! I was worried about you for hours - thought you’d been taken by the Jerries!”

  “I’m so very sorry, George, darling!” Betty gushed. “I just don’t know what I was thinking. I was so befuddled yesterday at the thought of the church social that I mixed up my appointments. First it started raining and I got entirely soaked, and then when I arrived to see Miss Westlakes with her new eye shadow, she was in a terrible fix about some boy who she says was a dreamboat to begin with but now he’s gone and left her in a terrible state all on her own. She doesn’t know what to tell her parents and I feel I really should do something, the poor dear hasn’t got a soul she can turn to and I know how terrible she must feel about that – she’s already twelve weeks gone -”

  George strode over and gently pushed his index finger to her lips.

  “Slow down, jitterbug.” He smiled sadly. “I just feel a little bruised, that’s all. I thought perhaps you’d found somewhere better to be. Or someone, to be with, if you want to get technical about it.”

  “George, no!”

  “Well, you’re awfully preoccupied these days. I barely get to see you. And don’t think I don’t see the way other men look at you Betty, they always have. I got lucky, I know that. But if you think I’m going down without a fight, you’ve got another thing coming. I’d take on anyone that tried to steal you away from me!” George’s pale skin flushed. Something within him seemed to spark. Something Betty hadn’t known was there.

  She reached out to touch his face, earnestly.

  “There’s nowhere I’d rather be, George. Wherever I am, I’d always rather be here with you. You must know that.”

  “No,” George replied, hesitantly. “I don’t think I do anymore, really.”

  “But I do! Why, George, you and the children are my life! I couldn’t bear to think of losing you.”

  “But we’re not going anywhere -”

  “I’d fight to the ends of the earth to keep you all safe!”

  “Well that’s hardly necessary -”

  “Do you honestly think I’d throw that away, George? For the sake of a silly dalliance?”

  “Well, I suppose not…”

  Betty reached her arms around his neck to press her face against his. As she did so, the long sleeves of her nightgown fell back.

  “Good lord! What are these bruises on your arm? And these scratches? They look ghastly! Now, come on, you can’t tell me you got those from Cynthia Westlakes! You need to see a nurse.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing, George,” Betty said, pulling away and grabbing her apron from the cupboard door. “I just fell that’s all. The streets were wet -” She busied herself pulling two mugs from the cupboard, thinking furiously. She picked up the warming saucepan from the stove and began to pour. Desperately, her empathic abilities reached out, searching for inspiration. She needed a distraction. There must be someone, somewhere… Perfect!

  “I fell off my bike, you see. In the storm on my way home. It had been such a long night and I was already so tired! I suppose I wasn’t watching where I was going, and I nearly hit - it was sitting right there in the middle of the street – I could barely see - oh, my goodness, now look what I’ve done! Oh, I’m such a mess tonight!” Betty exclaimed, as milk spilled all over the kitchen floor and on her husband’s pajama legs and slippers. “Oh dear, stay there George, and I’ll fetch a towel for you.”

  Betty rushed out of the kitchen into the laundry, then out the back door into the yard. She listened, her heart racing, desperate to hear that little noise in her head, the one that would tell her where to go. That way. Over the back fence. Betty hitched up her night gown as she raced up the yard and took a leap to hurdle the back fence. She dashed through her neighbor’s yard, crossed the road and found herself in the park. Down there. Caught in a storm-water drain beside the road was her prize. A mewling kitten. It greeted her with a cry – the same one she’d heard in her head only a minute before. She fished the little straggled body out of the drain, rolled it in her nightdress and dashed back over the fence to her laundry, collecting a fresh towel on her way through to the kitchen.

  “I just fell, that’s all,” she continued, as if nothing had happened. Betty passed the towel to George, who began to mop up his feet. “I took a nasty turn on my bicycle and scraped myself silly - it was all thanks to this little devil -” She gently unwrapped the kitten from her night gown and placed it on the table. “It sent me head over heels into a ditch! I had to bring it home, of course. I popped him in the laundry earlier, didn’t want to bother you with it until tomorrow.”

  George picked up the black and white kitten. White fur had all but dissolved like wet candy floss on its tiny paws and chest, and the black hair everywhere else clung to its skin.

  “Well, how could this be a bother,” George beamed, already smitten. “I mean, it’s terrible you took such a tumble, but thank goodness tha
t’s all it was.” He put the kitten on the floor at his feet. “The children will be beside themselves when they see it. And now we have someone to mop up the spilt milk, too.”

  Betty pulled out a chair. She rubbed her eyes, relieved that George’s concerns had finally been soothed. Every inch of her body ached for the little sleep the morning still offered.

  “I’ll fetch a hot-water bottle for it to sleep on,” she said, yawning, “And visit the veterinarian tomorrow. The children can think of a name -”

  “Didn’t hear a blessed thing,” said the bordello matron, fanning herself dramatically. Sergeant Jacob Lawrence raised an eyebrow.

  “Nothing at all? It’s quite a scene down there, Mrs. -?”

  “It’s Madam Trixie, love. And you don’t know the half of it. It was a scene upstairs as well! What with a brothel full of turnip-faces and girls running to and ‘fro trying to clean up, then a thunder storm that cracked the roof tiles and flooded the third-floor boudoirs! Lost an entire wardrobe of unmentionables. I hadn’t a moment to think straight last night - and now this! Mr. Carelli was bad business, but I never wanted to see him done over!” She blew her nose loudly on a lace handkerchief.

  “He was the landlord of Kitty’s Kat House?”

  Madam Trixie nodded.

  “And you didn’t see anyone suspicious here last night? No unfamiliar gentlemen?”

  “Good lord, Sergeant! This is a brothel! Men come and go like ships in the night, especially lately with the service boys at shore. We have regulars, of course, but I can’t keep track of every breeze that blows in. There’s not a night goes by suspicious men aren’t at my tables. Well, that’s why we’re here!”

  “And what about Mr. Carelli? What kind of company did he keep?” asked Jacob, knowing full well the answer was being loaded into body bags a floor below where he stood.

  “All I do is pay for my board and business, Sergeant. He keeps his office and my girls visit him when he wants it, but there’s nothing more I can tell you. I run a clean house here and I look after my girls. I never involved myself in his affairs, and I wouldn’t wanna know anyhow.”

  “I understand,” Jacob sighed. “Thank you for your time. My officers will be up soon to speak to your girls.”

  He’d hoped for even a tingle of a lead, but the woman had nothing. Madam Trixie turned away, dabbing her nose.

  “Fat lot of good that’ll do you,” she muttered as she left. “Not one of ‘em heard a thing until poor Tilly found that lot downstairs. They were all in a tizzy and too busy scrubbing their faces to keep from getting that god-awful rash. If it wasn’t for that Avon Lady stopping by, we’d have been a right mess -” she trailed off as she left the room.

  Jacob froze. Avon Lady?

  “Wait -”

  “Lawrence!” A tall man strode into the room, a flurry of assistants trailing him. Within seconds he had Jacob cornered. “What the hell is this nightmare? Do you realize the media frenzy whipping up outside?”

  “Mr. Mayor, Sir,” Jacob said, “I didn’t realize you were here.” His eyes followed Madam Trixie out the front door and he cursed under his breath. Mayor Sutherland stepping into a crime scene meant nothing but trouble. And Jacob had thought his morning couldn’t get worse.

  “An entire city block is taped off and the place is crawling with reporters,” the Mayor growled. “This is egg on my face, Lawrence! I’m out there trying to calm down the storm and you’re turning my city into a laughing stock. People don’t feel safe on the streets anymore! You’ve got GI’s dropping like flies. And now this – Vince Carelli in a whore house! You know he’s related to Donald Pinzolo, don’t you? The man giving millions to the city in charity donations and infrastructure? The one who lost his own son last year to yet another criminal case you haven’t closed? Remember him?” Mayor Sutherland’s rage was barely contained. “What am I gonna tell him? That now some whack job has killed his nephew as well? That the police have no bloody idea what’s going on? There’ve been half a dozen of these hits, so far, Lawrence! You haven’t even got me a story to spin to the press - what the hell’s going on?” The Mayor finished his tirade and drew his hand across his forehead, seemingly trying to smooth away the stress that had ploughed lines in his skin.

  “It’s a complex case, Mayor,” Jacob tried to placate him. “There’s nothing random about these killings. They’re all interconnected somehow. Carelli, Polletti, Marco Pinzolo -”

  “Now, hang on a minute!” The Mayor hissed. He lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper, each word spat like venom. “Don’t you go trying to tie Donny Pinzolo into this mess. He’s worth more than your job’s worth, you hear me.” His eyes were fierce. “Now, there’s some group of smart-ass trouble-makers out there, causing havoc on my streets. I don’t care what their beef is, or what they think they’re up to, just find them and get rid of this infestation.”

  “These aren’t your typical trouble-makers,” Jacob argued. “This is organized, someone’s sending a powerful message -”

  “Let me give you a powerful message, son,” Mayor Sutherland interrupted. “Now, I worked with your father for a long time, and he was a fine police commissioner. I'd heard you were going the same way. But if you can’t catch these street rats and get the press off my back without costing me a donation big enough to buy town hall a dozen times over, well,” he pulled himself up straight, “let’s just say writing tickets on the highway isn’t going to see you carry on the family tradition.

  “Now hold on -” Jacob interjected. “This is a criminal investigation. I don’t care who you are, you can’t just come into a crime scene and start making threats like I’m wet behind the ears! I’ll manage this investigation the way I need to.”

  “Well, you don’t seem to be managing it very well so far, Sergeant Lawrence.”

  Mayor Sutherland looked around. His entourage had made themselves scarce and the only officers remaining were across the room, taking statements from the jazz band that had played the night before. The Mayor lowered his voice to a whisper, his eyes quick. He took a deep breath and forced a smile on his face. It didn’t sit well.

  “You need to understand the pressure I’m under here. This is a publicity nightmare. I’ve got a city too scared to go out at night. I’ve got GI’s being ambushed and General Brandway threatening to line the city streets with armed guards just to get his trucks through to Fort Hamilton. I can’t shut down half the city! I can’t have weapons out on the mall with old ladies and kids running around! I’ve got reporters camped outside my office door waiting for me to burn on this and an election just around the corner.” He looked around the room again, his usual charisma and shine, gone. “Just get me a good, clean arrest and let’s tidy this mess up. Without stepping on any toes. Look son, you book these creeps and your Pop won’t be the only commissioner in the family if I get re-elected.”

  Jacob stared at the man in disbelief. “I’ll do my job, Mayor. And I’ll try to keep your Darb out of it. But that’s all I can promise.”

  Mayor Sutherland studied Jacob for a moment with a critical eye.

  “See that you do.” He turned quickly and left again, collecting his assistants by the door with a flick of his hand.

  Jacob stood for a moment, gathering his thoughts. There was something altogether sordid about this whole affair, and it didn’t begin and end with the bodies downstairs. Or the two in the alley up the street. Which, he thought, sighing, I still need to visit.

  Officer Parker stood waiting for him at the front of the house. As he stepped out into the gray morning, Jacob breathed in the loamy smell of last night’s thunderstorm rising from the broken pavement. There was a gritty, neglected feel to the street. On one side of the bordello was an old drug-store and on the other a rough boarding-house. A few tattered apartment blocks were further up the street near a gin mill and what had turned out to be Carelli’s coupe bent around a concrete pillar. Opposite the bordello, were dark alleys that veined between dilapidated buildings and an expansive j
unkyard that stretched half a city block. The whole place felt cracked and splintered, like the tattered fringe of a city that had forgotten it was there.

  Waking up to this mess was a far cry from the pleasant night he’d had before it. Jacob’s second date with Adina had gone even more splendidly than the first and he was already keen to see her again. He hated knowing that General Brandway, her hard-boiled boss, had her caught up in this mess, too. And hated even more, the pounding his own reputation was taking by not having solved this case for them already. He only hoped she’d understand. Jacob instinctively put his hand in his pocket and felt the Roxy theater ticket he’d kept there since their first evening out. Adina has kissed the ticket, leaving a pink lipstick smudge, then given it back to him, laughing. To remind you there are better things than scoundrels to think of, she’d said. Last night, they’d taken a horse and carriage ride at the lower end of Broadway, before the rain had started. They’d dashed into a restaurant for dinner and shared an umbrella on the way home. It had been a breath of fresh air. He cleared his throat as he fell in step beside Parker. This morning, the air was far less sweet.

  “Forensics are just finishing up with Carelli,” Parker said, as they made their way up the street toward the junkyard. “Carotid, real quick and clean. No sign of the knife.” He flicked through his notepad.

  “Can’t have been too quick if they chased him all the way up here first,” Jacob said. “What about the other guy?”

  “Still waiting on a name, Sarge, but it looks like he was hit over the head with a fence paling. Found it next to him.”

  “Swell,” Jacob sighed again. “Well, it’s pretty clear what they were up to in the basement, so I guess we’ll be expecting another tip-off as to where the crates have been stashed pretty soon.”