This time she made contact and he cursed at her.
A shrill whistle sounded close by. Not a police whistle, but a human whistle. The little human who had made it was running across the street.
From several directions, more boys ran toward her.
“Stay out of what don’t concern you. Or you’ll be sorry.”
“Who sent you?” She twisted away, but he’d seen them coming and he took off down the street, several of the larger boys going after him. The others crowded around her.
“Are you all right, lady?” Just a Friend asked.
“I am now, thanks to you and your … men. You saved my bacon.” The corner clock began to strike the hour. “Now I must hurry if I’m not to be late.”
She crossed the street and they fell in beside and behind her. Seems she was to have an escort to the park.
She welcomed the company.
John Atkins was waiting for her just inside the stone wall of the park entrance.
“Copper,” one of the boys warned, and they all spread like leaves in the wind.
Atkins was not amused.
“A strange group of companions,” he said, offering his arm as any other gentleman would walking in the park with a lady.
“Bobby Mullins has decided I need someone to watch my back.”
“And do you?”
“It seems so.” She told him about the man and the threat. “What does that sound like to you?”
He was silent for a few seconds. When he did speak, he said, “Lady Dunbridge, why is it that you manage to insinuate yourself into the stickiest of investigations?”
“Detective Sergeant, I can hardly be blamed for stepping off the ship into Bev’s husband being murdered. It was pure coincidence.”
“No, but you certainly took up the reins, so to speak.”
She smiled. Reggie had been an avid gambler and racehorse owner. “If you must know, I was afraid of whom you might arrest.”
“And this time? Was it pure coincidence?”
“I’m friends with the Pratts, and Gwen asked me to give her my support. It was the least I could do. And you know how women are.”
He raised an eyebrow at that. “How are women?”
“They talk among themselves, and it seems that I’m known as the great comforter.”
He barked out a laugh and led her to a bench by the small pond where they’d met before to discuss another case.
“Is it too cold to sit? We can keep walking.”
“No, this is lovely and quite frankly my knees are still a little shaky from my encounter.”
“He didn’t hurt you.”
“Not really. I had this.” She pulled her hatpin out of her hat where she’d returned it.
He leaned away. “Don’t wave that thing around. You’re lucky you didn’t kill the poor sod.”
“He would have deserved it. He threatened me.”
“Tell me exactly what he said.”
She told him. “It sounds like someone doesn’t want me looking into Perry Fauks’s murder.”
“That someone would include me.”
“But you wouldn’t send a thug to threaten me.”
“No, because I doubt it would do any good. And I’m afraid of hatpins.” He smiled and she forgot what they were talking about. He really should do that more often.
“So who do you think would?”
“I can think of several people. And I suggest you stay away from them.”
“Like the Fireplug?”
“Who?”
“Bev’s nickname for your nemesis Sergeant Becker.”
“An apt description. He doesn’t usually get involved in banking matters, but there are other people who do. And they have no compunction about ridding themselves, and the world, of annoyances.”
She swallowed. “Duly warned. Do you think Perry was murdered because of the banking panic or the stock market plunge?”
“It’s hard to say. This seems to be another case where they want answers but tie my hands.”
“It must be very frustrating.”
“It is.” He looked at her curiously.
“Well, maybe I can help.”
He shook his head.
“Just listen. We’re all on our way to Godfrey Bennington’s estate in Long Island for the weekend. If it’s one of the family or close friends, they’ll all be there.”
“Be careful and stay out of it.”
“Of course, but listen. And I want you to know that I deliberated before deciding to tell you.”
He turned toward her and rested his arm along the back of the bench, which made their positions a little more intimate, but also, she realized, gave him a view of the path and anyone who might be lurking nearby.
“Remember the jewel I found on the floor outside the laundry chute?”
“You said it was part of someone’s jewelry.”
“I said it could have been. But today I arrived at the Pratts’ house to find Gwen desperately searching for her letter opener.”
“And this letter opener was studded with fine jewels?”
“Evidently. We searched everywhere she could think of that she might have left it. To no avail.”
“Steel blade?”
“She didn’t say. But as I was holding my prisoner at bay with my hatpin a few minutes ago, I had to admit that the letter opener might have been the murder weapon. I haven’t seen it, but most of that ilk would leave a rent in fabric about the same size as the one in Perry’s jacket.”
“You may be right.”
“Which doesn’t mean Gwen killed him and stuffed him down the laundry chute.”
“You have such a way with words.”
She smiled. “It was a gift from her husband, whom she actually loves, and almost priceless. The Imperial topaz alone is worth thousands. A thief might have found out about it and thought with everyone busy at the ball, it would be easy to put inside a jacket and escape unnoticed.”
“There was no sign of a break-in. Are you suggesting it was one of the guests?”
She sighed. “I suppose. Preswick told me today that men are beginning to panic over losing money in this latest stock market drop. Englishmen are renowned for blowing their brains out over loss of a fortune. Maybe someone was desperate.”
“Possible. Or angry. Or jealous. But as I said, there’s not much I can do, except declare this a robbery gone wrong. They’d love me to find some poor slob to arrest.”
“Like the valet?”
“Unfortunately.”
“You don’t believe he did it.”
He was silent.
“Why is that? Have you … You have. You’ve found him.”
“Hiding out in Pittsburgh. They sent him back this morning. But I didn’t tell you that.”
She was flattered. He actually had confided in her.
“You don’t think he did it?”
He shrugged, looked out over the water. “He says he didn’t do it, but ran because he knew the police would frame him.”
“And are they?”
“They’ve already charged him.”
“So you’re no longer investigating?”
“Not officially.”
“You don’t think he did it?”
“He can’t prove that he didn’t do it.”
“Did they find the murder weapon?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss the case,” but he shook his head.
Things were looking bleak for the valet. “What about jewels? Maybe he took them out of the handle to sell.”
“Stay away from this.”
“Why? I’m trying not to irritate you.”
“It’s not that.” He half smiled. “Well, you do, but mainly it’s dangerous. I don’t want you to get hurt. And there is nothing I can do to protect you.”
“You’re just going to let them sweep this under the carpet?”
He didn’t answer and he didn’t look at her.
“You can’t just give up.”
“I’ll keep looking for evidence, but without access to the Pratts…”
“But I still have access.”
“No.”
“Is that it? You’re just giving up? I guess your heart just isn’t in it.”
“My heart? My integrity, my honor, my reason for being a policeman is at stake.” He stopped, looked away.
Phil touched his sleeve. “I told the Pratts that you would search for the truth no matter where it landed.”
“I won’t be responsible when you go too far and get hurt or worse. Go to Long Island. Dance all night and shoot pigeons all day, but please don’t do anything to put yourself in harm’s way…”
His words gave her a rosy feeling for two seconds until he continued with “or screw up my investigation.”
“I won’t, but I can’t ignore it either.”
He had nothing to say to that. He knew she was right. And he knew that she wouldn’t stop. But she wished for a moment that she could explain.
They left a few minutes after that.
He stood on the park side of the street while she crossed and went into the hotel. A perfect gentleman, he didn’t want to wreck her reputation of being seen with a policeman in case someone recognized him. Which the boys certainly had.
She turned when she got inside the door and looked back. He was still standing there. He touched the brim of his hat and walked off down the street.
16
“‘Suspect in Steel Magnate’s Murder Apprehended.’”
Phil dropped the morning Times on the breakfast table the next morning. “Perry has certainly come up in the world since his death. From heir to magnate. They found the valet back in Pittsburgh.”
“Always it is the servant,” Lily groused.
“For once,” Phil said, “you and the detective sergeant are of like mind.”
“He doesn’t think the valet did it?”
“His mind isn’t made up and neither is mine. What would cause a servant to kill his master in the middle of a ball? An argument over the amount of starch in his collars? The theft of a letter opener, even a jeweled one, even after being used as a murder weapon, might be a motive, but would hardly be of such intense emotions in so many circles.”
“Are we going to prove him innocent?” Lily asked.
“If he is innocent, then we certainly will.”
Preswick poured her another cup of coffee.
“What say you, Preswick?”
“Would you care for anything else, my lady?”
Phil smiled up at him. “Not a thing in the world, my dear Preswick.”
* * *
Phil arrived at the Pratt household just as the door opened and Thomas Jeffrey strode out, valise and briefcase in hand. With only a dip of his stiff-brimmed hat, he jogged down the last few steps and strode off down the sidewalk.
Brinlow showed her into the ladies parlor where Gwen was seated with Ruth Jeffrey, who sat with a canvas of needlepoint across her lap; skeins of yarn nestled in the curve of the sofa. Phil noticed immediately that she’d been crying.
“Am I interrupting?” Phil asked superfluously. Obviously she was. “I saw Mr. Jeffrey leaving as I came in.”
“Called back to Washington,” Ruth said, showing a tight smile and dabbing at her eyes with a delicate handkerchief. “They have no regard for his time. Or his family. But I don’t mean to complain.”
Gwen smiled sympathetically, but she seemed distracted.
“That is a shame,” Phil said. “Will he miss the house party?”
“He promises to meet us there at least in time for the shoot. But who knows? He’s at their beck and call, night and day. Sometimes I wonder if they can sign their own names without his help.”
“Well, he must have a very important position to be so needed.”
“He does. He’s advisor to Mr. Cortelyou,” Ruth said proudly. “Secretary of the Treasury. But it can be tedious when your husband is always running off to do business, not to mention the expense of living in Washington.” She sighed and twisted a piece of yarn around her finger as if she’d forgotten she had an audience.
Gwen gave her a look that would have quieted a more observant person.
“Don’t think we’re ungrateful to Luther for opening doors for us, but I can’t tell you what I spend in entertaining alone. And with the girls about to debut…”
“Well, then don’t, my dear Ruth. I’m sure Lady Dunbridge doesn’t care to hear about your domestic arrangements.”
Ruth flushed. “I beg your pardon, Lady Dunbridge. I’m not fit company today. If you’ll excuse me.” She stuffed her needlework into the tapestry bag and hurried from the room.
Gwen sighed. “You must forgive my sister, Philomena. May I still call you Philomena now that this nasty business seems to be at an end? I hope we can become friends.”
“I consider you a friend already, Gwen.”
“My sister is much tried, but she does her best.”
“I’m sure she does. And she’s lucky to have such a magnanimous brother-in-law. He recommended her husband for the job?”
Gwen tightened her lips. “Between you and me, something he’s rued ever since. Actually it was Godfrey who found him a place in the War Department’s requisitions office. It’s an important enough job, he does liaise with the Treasury people, but an advisor he’s not. I tell you this so you will not be mistaken by his sometimes overinflated sense of himself.”
So Thomas wasn’t living up to Luther’s expectations. A common enough state in families where one member is more successful than another. But Secretary of the Treasury, War Department, financial crisis. She was beginning to feel just a little at sea. How did all this impact on the investigation of Perry Fauks’s murder?
“If Thomas would only be content in being an underling. But he sees himself as more. And always asking Luther to put his name forward for some position or other. He’s barely able to hold his own as it is.
“My sister, on the other hand, is quite capable. She should be the one advising the secretary. Unfortunately she’s relegated to planning social activities without enjoying the resources that most people in her position enjoy. A man needs to be rich to last in politics, or they pay the price—one way or another. Poor Ruth. But to each his own.”
She shook herself. “Well, he’s promised to be back by Saturday’s shoot. And all will be well on that front.”
“Yes, of course.” Phil was wondering how to get the conversation back on the topic of Washington politics, when the door opened and Godfrey Bennington strode in.
“Ah, Lady Dunbridge. Delighted to see you.” He cut a look toward Gwen. “I ran into Ruth on the stairs.”
“Not to worry,” Gwen said. “I’ll see her out of the doldrums before we arrive.”
“I know you will. You are a brick.” He turned to Phil. “And we’ll see you and Daisy Greville tomorrow?”
Phil tilted her head. “But of course.”
“Well, then, I’m off to oversee the preparations for the weekend. And now that the suspect is apprehended we might actually have a delightful few days.” He bowed. “Until tomorrow, ladies.”
When he was gone, Phil stood. “I think you also have family matters to see to. And I have packing to do. If all is well, I’ll return home to do so.”
Brinlow telephoned for a taxi and Gwen escorted Phil into the foyer.
“Oh, I meant to ask, how is Agnes holding up?”
“Quite remarkable, I must say, but she takes after me. Strong New England women.” Gwen laughed deprecatingly. “You wouldn’t know it to look at me.”
Phil demurred. She didn’t think Gwen, except for some occasional shortness of breath, was weak at all.
“She even seems excited about the weekend.”
Morris’s voice rose suddenly from the back hall.
“My goodness, such a bustle this morning,” Gwen said.
“Sorry, Vince. I’m driving out with Harry and Newty; we’d give you a ride but there’s no room.
”
A muted voice which must belong to Vincent Wynn-Taylor. “Don’t worry, I know my place, Morris.” The sound of footsteps receding down the hallway.
“Those boys. That whole crowd has always been competitive,” Gwen said. “But I do feel for Vincent. He’s the only one who won’t inherit a fortune.”
And therefore no longer a peer, nor acceptable as a suitor for Agnes.
* * *
A few minutes later, Phil climbed into the taxicab. She knew immediately it had been a mistake. As soon as the taxi turned onto Fifth Avenue, they were met by loud auto horns, bells, shouts, and neighing horses. Phil sat forward and looked past the driver into a sea of automobiles, trucks, and carriages. All brought to a standstill.
Behind them traffic had stopped, wedging them tightly between two vehicles. There was no room to budge. Phil was contemplating the efficacy of abandoning the taxi and walking home through the park, when she saw a familiar figure weaving through the vehicles toward the park. Tall, barrel-chested, wearing a brown, stylish overcoat and a felt homburg and carrying a walking cane. At first she thought he might be coming to rescue her. But he didn’t slow down as he passed behind her taxi and strode up the sidewalk toward the Metropolitan Museum.
So much for leaving for the country. Perhaps he had decided to wait for traffic to clear. And visit the museum while he waited?
Perhaps Phil would do the same. A visit to the museum would be just as good for thinking. And if they happened to be going in the same direction …
“I think,” she said, reaching into her purse, “that you should try to maneuver yourself out of this traffic.” She handed him what she owed with extra for his time. “I believe I’ll walk through the park.”
She didn’t wait for his response, which was bound to be acrimonious, but got out of the taxi. Waving fumes and grime from her nose, she darted between the vehicles, her eyes trained on that dapper homburg.
She wasn’t completely taken by surprise when instead of going up the steps to the museum, he took the path that led into the park.
She waited at the entrance until she saw which path he took, then followed slowly behind. The park was in full glory of fall colors. Some of the trees had already shed their foliage and the ground was dotted in browns, golds, and oranges.
Tell Me No Lies Page 18
