Tell Me No Lies

by Shelley Noble

  No one did. Luther and Sheffield corroborated Vincent’s time line of events. No one dissented. Even Morris, always at the ready with a dry sarcastic remark, stayed mute. Phil wondered if he had invested in Perry’s failed scheme.

  “I think we’ve finished here,” Godfrey said. “We have an early morning. Cars will be leaving for the balloon test at nine a.m.”

  Atkins look nonplussed. They were all going off to a balloon exhibition in the middle of a murder investigation? But he said nothing, so Phil kept mum.

  Godfrey went over to Vincent. “Get a good night’s sleep, my boy. Things will look brighter tomorrow.” He glanced over to Atkins. “Just stay in your room until breakfast.”

  Everyone took the cue and began their good nights. Gwen pulled Agnes away from Vincent and Luther led them both out of the room.

  They’d barely reached the door when it opened and Thomas Jeffrey walked in. “I say. You’re all for bed? So early?”

  “Oh shut up, Thomas,” Ruth said. “I’ll explain upstairs. Come along, girls.” She practically pushed her husband into the hallway, followed closely by Maud and Effie.

  Harry followed them, and with a final sardonic look toward Atkins, Morris sauntered after the others.

  Atkins said a few words to Godfrey and Phil sat down with Daisy.

  “I don’t like that young man,” Daisy said, watching Morris close the door behind him. She yawned. “I know Godfrey said for us to go to bed, but I need another glass of champagne. I see that you and the inspector here are going to have a nice long tête-à-tête with Godfrey, and I’ll be wigged if I’m going upstairs to drink alone.” She lowered her lashes and fluttered them ever so slightly at John Atkins.

  He smiled, and Phil wanted to kick him. “By all means, Lady Warwick, I’m sure Lady Dunbridge will join you.”

  He meant for them to go upstairs. But against the two countesses, John Atkins had no chance. Phil and Daisy sat together on the settee, both sipping champagne and watching him as he stood at the French doors looking out into the night.

  He’d refused a drink since he was on duty, at least nominally. He’d also refused to discuss his opinions with them.

  And Phil was getting a little impatient. “Do you think one of those two did it?”

  “Possibly. Neither has an alibi and both had motives.”

  “Remind me not to ever do anything that puts me at your mercy. That was a bit ruthless.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “I never said I wasn’t good at my job.”

  “But I think you are wrong.”

  “Why am I not surprised.”

  “Do you want to hear what I think?”

  He gave her a half smile. “Do I have a choice?”

  “Certainly, if you want to go bumbling around waiting for someone to confess.” She turned her shoulder on him. “Daisy, pour me more champagne.”

  “What is it you want to say?”

  Phil took her time, waiting for Daisy to fill her glass, took a sip of champagne. “This is your case. But you haven’t been around this family as much as I have.

  “Think of it. Elva had a good position here. You didn’t see her in action, but she cared about Mrs. Pratt, seemed to be content in her job, and she knew she would receive a handsome pension when she retired. Why would she jeopardize that for five hundred dollars?”

  “That’s a lot of money.”

  “Perhaps, but it wouldn’t last. Elva must have realized that, she wasn’t stupid. And you heard Vincent. She didn’t demand money at first. I don’t think she had any intention of blackmailing him.”

  “And yet she did,” Atkins said.

  “I don’t believe it was blackmail. Elva said she heard them arguing, but what if it really wasn’t Vincent who was arguing with Perry? Elva must have realized she’d been wrong. And that she was in danger. Which as it turns out, she was. She was frightened enough to try a spot of blackmail on Vincent not for greed, but to save herself.”

  “You don’t think Wynn-Taylor is the villain of this piece?”

  “I’m not sure. Are you?”

  He shook his head. “The evidence so far is pretty damning, but not complete.”

  “But he said he was in the ballroom when Perry must have been killed.”

  “If you believe him.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “I believe in evidence more than I do in people.”

  Phil gave him an assessing look. “Why, Detective Sergeant. Is that your experience talking or your philosophy of mankind?”

  “Experience,” he said drily.

  Phil put down her glass and stood. Walked over to the table where the letter opener still sat along with the damning initials.

  She didn’t touch them but something was bothering her. It seemed to her they didn’t even know what the motive really was. Love or greed or desperation.

  Why had Elva written Vincent’s initials if he wasn’t guilty? She leaned closer, perused the writing. Why not, VW-T killed PF. No message of any kind.

  Just a piece of paper smooth on top and bottom edges and torn on each side of the writing.

  Oh for heaven’s sake. Where was her detective’s mind? She pinched an edge of the paper between her fingernails and turned it over.

  “What are you doing?” Atkins reached the table in three strides.

  “Looking at the real clue in Elva’s note.”

  He peered at the paper. “What? It’s a piece of ticker tape. Pratt has a machine in his office. Every banker, financier, and financial hopeful owns one.”

  “I realize that now. But look at the date.”

  “The date.”

  Atkins turned the tape around with one finger until it faced him. “The day of the murder.” Atkins looked more closely. Read. “CCC down to almost nothing.”

  Phil felt Daisy come up beside her. “CCC, Columbia Copper Company,” Daisy said. “That’s the trust Perry Fauks wanted me to invest in. I was more concerned with selling my mines than the actual investment, but I’m sure that’s the same company.”

  “That’s it,” Phil said. “Elva left a message for Vincent, not about him. A clue about the murder.” She jumped up, started to pace. “She’d figured out who the real killer was. I don’t know how she figured it out, but she did. And she was killed for it.”

  Phil turned back to the others. “Columbia Copper Company. Perry tried to get Harry and Vincent to invest, they both said no. But maybe somebody else said yes and when it went belly-up, they confronted Perry and killed him.”

  “Huh,” Atkins said. “Clever girl, Elva.”

  “What about me?” Phil asked.

  Atkins chuckled. “‘Clever’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

  “Is that a compliment?” she asked.

  “I’m not quite sure myself.”

  “Well, I think she’s terribly clever,” Daisy said.

  The door opened and Godfrey walked in. “Both Sheffield and Vincent are safely tucked away with the advice to stay put. I have servants sitting outside their rooms in case their memories slip.”

  He went to the drinks table, and poured himself a glass of aged double malt scotch.

  “So,” he said, after taking a long draft. “You have two suspects, Detective Sergeant. Can we consider the case closed?”

  27

  The first thing Phil noticed when she awoke the next morning was that it was sunny. At last. No fog plagued the landscape.

  She didn’t linger over her coffee, but dressed for the day, in a tweed split skirt ensemble suitable for balloon ascensions and chasing criminals, and went in to meet Daisy.

  Daisy was up and dressed in a wonderful black and bisque striped day dress, beneath a black velvet vest. For a woman who had eschewed social life, she certainly had some wardrobe.

  They went downstairs, where they served themselves from a sideboard set up with the usual country breakfast fare: eggs, ham, bacon, tomatoes, kedgeree. There was also a morning newspaper.

  While a maid served
the coffee, Phil opened the newspaper. And there were the headlines she’d been expecting ever since she’d called on the Pratts the first day.

  “‘Tennessee Steel Bought by J.P. Morgan. Fauks Copper, Coal and Steel Price Falls.

  “‘Steel stocks were holding low but steady this morning at the opening of the New York Stock Exchange. The Columbia Copper Company, after a short rally yesterday, plummeted. It seems unlikely that it will be able to recover and bankruptcy is imminent. The plunge appears to have been brought about by a corner store operation. Business associates, Mr. Charles Morse and Mr. Augustus Heinze, are thought to be responsible for false trading and are being questioned by the authorities, who are also looking for other agents involved in the stock manipulation. This comes amid demands for stricter oversight of banks and Wall Street.’”

  Morse and Heinze. The same names written on her Follies program. Phil sipped her coffee. It looked like Perry hooked up with a couple of dishonest men and lost his company’s as well as others’ fortunes. Other agents.

  Did they suspect Sheffield of knowing about this earlier than he said he did? Is that who kidnapped and questioned him? He seemed sincere in his effort to save the company, but maybe it had merely been desperation.

  Did that make him a suspect in Perry’s murder? He might have quickly gone upstairs, killed Perry, and been back in the foyer appearing to wait for Vincent to find Luther.

  Possible, but unlikely.

  And where had Thomas Jeffrey gone when he left with Max after Godfrey’s dinner? All the way to Washington and back in twenty-four hours, just in time to see Sheffield and Vincent put under suspicion. Why come back at all? Surely not just to watch a balloon exhibition? Perhaps to mollify his wife.

  And why hadn’t Detective Sergeant Atkins asked him to attest to the other men’s movements the night of Perry’s murder? Or to his own?

  There were still too many unanswered questions.

  And where was Atkins? Back at the cottage enjoying breakfast brought down by one of Godfrey’s many servants? Or had he taken his two suspects into custody and returned to Manhattan? She certainly hoped not. She wasn’t sure either of them was guilty. At least not of murder.

  Because she just didn’t feel like this was over. Call it her female intuition; she had little else to go on at this point. All clues led to Vincent. And perhaps he had lost his head, lost his money and his girl to Perry Fauks.

  It was pretty damning, as John Atkins had said. And yet.

  There were still pieces missing. Like motive. Had the murders been perpetrated over love or money? The age-old question, it seemed. The only thing left was revenge. And Isaac Sheffield certainly had every reason for that.

  The door opened and Godfrey stepped just inside.

  “We’re caravanning to watch the balloon ascension, leaving in an hour. I hope you will both be joining us.” He seemed in particularly good spirits.

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Phil said. It might be the last time they had all the players in this tragedy in one place.

  * * *

  Daisy rode to the field with Godfrey, with the others following behind them. Phil insisted on driving the Packard, and Lily and Preswick were sitting in the backseat rather in the servants’ carriages.

  Phil knew today was the best chance for catching a killer. There would be a celebration after the launch at the field, then they’d return to Godfrey’s for dinner. Everyone would be leaving the next morning, including the Jeffreys, who would return to Washington later that afternoon.

  The string of carriages and automobiles meandered down a country road and turned into an open field where a number of automobiles were already parked in a cordoned-off area, near a large white tent where the crowd had collected.

  Phil pulled the Packard alongside Godfrey’s Daimler.

  While they relieved themselves of goggles and driving togs, Preswick handed out the field glasses that Phil kept at the ready.

  Daisy and Godfrey came to meet them.

  “I see you’ve come prepared,” Godfrey said, indicating her field glasses.

  “A gift from Bev Reynolds. They’re handy at the track.” And for keeping tabs on suspected felons from a distance.

  “It’s an excellent day for an ascension,” Godfrey said, rubbing his hands together with the enthusiasm of a young boy. “Sunshine, good visibility—no fog—and a good brisk breeze, but no strong gusts.” He directed Preswick and Lily to a secondary tent where his servants had gathered to enjoy the celebration, then turned to Phil and Daisy. “Shall we go?”

  He escorted them toward the larger tent where refreshments were being served. Small tables were set with linens and silver service. And a buffet table ran along one side overseen by several chefs.

  Phil helped herself to a glass of champagne and looked out over the field where the ascension would take place. It was a flat grassy area that stretched for several acres.

  Two large domed rectangular structures sat at one end.

  “Hangars,” Godfrey explained. “Where we store the balloons and other aeronautical housings.”

  “It’s quite impressive,” Phil said. “Where did you find an area this flat among all these rolling hills?”

  Godfrey chuckled. “I happen to own it. Had to do some leveling but it’s worth it. I lease it to the government.”

  Daisy opened her mouth.

  “For a dollar a year, so don’t scold.”

  Daisy relaxed.

  It was impressive. Several baskets, their balloons not yet inflated, sat among the dried grasses. One rose upright, filled and ready to go, held to earth at this point by sandbags. Another lay precariously on its side, billowing like a mythological animal as it was filled from a large pump.

  Beyond the balloons, the Long Island Sound glistened blue and silver in the sunshine.

  A couple came up to say hello. Godfrey introduced “Senator Davies and his wife, Carolyn.” A few minutes of small talk, and they passed on.

  “Quite a crowd,” Daisy said.

  It was. Several military types sporting medals against dark blue uniforms, the ambassador and his wife, some businessmen and their wives or consorts, dressed to the hilt. Probably more than one senator or other government official.

  “Ridiculous piece of pomp and circumstance,” Godfrey said, overlooking the crowd. “But we need supporters among politicians and wealthy financiers as well as the government.”

  “I take it these are not just weather balloons,” Phil said.

  Godfrey smiled. “We have many uses for them. Still much testing is needed. They’re not as accurate as we’d like. Even the best pilot is at the mercy of the wind. But until we perfect better aircraft this is what we have. Ah, it’s beginning.”

  They looked out to where the second balloon began to expand before their eyes.

  “Excuse me, I must say a few words.” Godfrey left Phil and Daisy to step onto a raised platform. “Good day, colleagues and invited guests. Welcome to today’s test of the newest additions to the Army’s Balloon Corps.” He briefly explained how the balloon was filled—with hydrogen generated by large machines built for the purpose—how the pilot steered—a mechanism housed in the basket—and of the flight on wind currents and balloon manipulation.

  “The ascension will begin in just a few minutes if you’d like to find a viewing place.”

  Phil saw the Pratts and the Jeffreys moving toward the field. Maud and Effie had already gone ahead. Harry, Newty, and Morris lingered over their drinks. Godfrey took Daisy to the front of the crowd accompanied by several dignitaries. Phil didn’t see Sheffield or Vincent and had to assume they were on their way to further questioning or still at Foggy Acres.

  She did see Atkins standing at the far side of the tent, watching everyone.

  Two men passed by her close enough for Phil to catch part of their conversation.

  “Isn’t that Thomas Jeffrey?” said a man chewing on a cigar. “I’m surprised he’d show his face today. He tried to get
me to buy into CCC, the fool.”

  “Columbia Copper Company? You didn’t do it, did you?” said his companion. They walked on and Phil followed.

  “Hell no. But Rudy Klemp did. I feel sorry for him. He’s cleaned out. Anybody else who did will be ruined today. Went belly-up last night. Stock’s completely worthless. I heard just before I left town this morning. Rallied a bit yesterday then tanked.

  “Told him I wouldn’t deal with those two cheaters he was working with. They already finished off Knickerbocker Trust.”

  “Thomas has always been a fool,” said the other. “Everybody but Thomas knows it.”

  “I heard that Fauks Trust is in trouble, too. And not just because the son died. They’re saying it wasn’t an accident.”

  “The world’s gone crazy. That’s for sure.”

  “Damn. The fallout will sound through the financial world; we might as well get ready for round two.”

  Phil let them go. She needed to find Atkins. But she didn’t get a chance. A swell of excitement rose as the first balloon dropped its anchor and ascended over their heads.

  Everyone was looking into the sky except Phil, who was trying to find the detective sergeant.

  Suddenly a man raced from the parking grounds. He stopped, looked wildly around, saw Thomas standing between his wife and daughters, and yelled, “Thomas Jeffrey, you’re a scoundrel!”

  Thomas glanced over his shoulder, then moved his family a little farther away.

  The man ran full tilt toward Thomas. Grabbed him by the shoulder, spun him around. “You’re a cheat and a scoundrel. You’ve bankrupted me.”

  The men Phil had been following hurried toward the altercation.

  “You’re drunk,” Thomas snapped back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  The second balloon filled behind them, but not too many people were paying attention. They were riveted on the argument.

  “You told me it was a sure thing. Is that what you told Perry Fauks?”

  Thomas turned on him, grabbed the man by the neck.

  Phil stopped dead in her tracks. She’d been thinking that someone had killed Perry in anger. What if Perry had been the angry one, had attacked and was killed?