“That can’t be true,” Ruth said.
“Well, it is. Your husband has lost his—and your—last dime. He stole a government balloon and now he’ll most likely go to jail if Godfrey can’t hush it up. Either way, you haven’t a penny to fly with.”
Ruth subsided, too stunned to remonstrate or even rush from the room. Phil was afraid she had more unwelcome news ahead of her.
Phil looked up to find Atkins watching her. She crossed over to him. “What do you think? Is he the murderer?”
“Perhaps.”
“What more do you need?”
“You don’t have to announce your question to the whole room.”
“Sorry.” Phil moved closer, and they looked out the window, not quite the same as huddled together in the fog, but a close second.
“I wager that Godfrey will get some kind of a confession out of him.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Atkins said, looking into his glass. “But this is a matter for the New York Police, not the feds.”
“Does it matter who gets him?”
“Yes.”
She smiled. “Well, let’s see what we can do. We know he sold that poor man at the ascension, CCC stock. And that Perry was also selling it. Perhaps they didn’t connive together but found Messrs. Morse and Heinze separately, though I doubt it.”
“So do I. But it doesn’t prove he murdered Perry or Elva.”
“It doesn’t prove he didn’t. And where was he while the deed was being done? Where was he while Vincent was looking for Mr. Pratt? And before Vincent returned and found the body?”
“Killing Perry Fauks, I imagine.”
Phil bobbled her glass. “But how can you prove it? The nearest thing to a witness is dead. I could testify in court.”
The look he gave her defied description.
“Perhaps you can get him to confess.”
“I plan to.”
The sound of vehicles ended that somewhat unsettling statement. Moments later, Godfrey strode in, followed by Thomas between two guards.
They deposited the man in a straight-backed chair in full view of all the guests.
Atkins was first to see them.
But Ruth beat him to her husband. “What have you done, Thomas?” she demanded.
“It wasn’t my fault.”
The look his wife gave him made even Phil quail. “Oh, Thomas. It never is.”
Luther tried to pull Ruth away, but she wouldn’t budge.
“They say you cheated all those people. Tell them it isn’t true.”
Thomas’s eyes flitted around the group as if looking for an escape. There wasn’t one. He hung his head. “It’s not my fault.”
Gwen eased Ruth out of the way and stepped menacingly toward her brother-in-law. “How could you? After all Luther and Godfrey have done for you?”
“How, sister-in-law? You would never understand how hard it is just to survive in Washington. You sit here in all your luxury, never giving it a second thought. Never worrying about what tomorrow might bring. You have everything.”
“Thomas Jeffrey,” Gwen said. “How dare you talk in that manner. Don’t presume to know how we feel. You’ve been given every opportunity to succeed, thanks to Luther and Godfrey, I might add. If Luther hadn’t talked him into getting you a position at the War Department, you’d be groveling as a clerk in some little office in New Haven.”
Phil was impressed. Luther was right about his wife—she might look frail, but she was amazingly tough.
Thomas coughed out a derisive laugh. “Some help. It’s a constant struggle. Travel and parties and meetings and the girls’ expenses. I can never get ahead.” He turned to Ruth. “Didn’t you ever wonder how I was paying for all of this?”
“I-I—” Ruth looked blindly around the room, but no one had an answer for her.
Phil did. “Your husband and Perry Fauks devised a scheme to get rich by embezzling funds from Fauks Copper, Coal and Steel and cheating people who trusted them.”
Ruth looked stunned. “No, tell them it isn’t so. Tell them.”
Luther stepped toward his brother-in-law. “Who came up with this scheme? Not Perry, he wasn’t that bright. It was you. Oh, good Lord. You used your position in the acquisitions office, the job Godfrey got you as a favor to me, to get inside information on the government contracts. God, man. How could you?”
“How could I not?”
A twisted cry erupted from Ruth. “You cheated people? Broke the law? Talked that poor boy into stealing his family’s money? What more must I endure?” She stopped to suck in a terrible breath. In a much lower voice she asked, “Did you kill Perry, too? Did you? Did you?”
Thomas hung his head.
“Did you?”
Phil glanced toward Atkins. He cut his eyes toward her, but he didn’t intervene. He was letting Ruth push Thomas to the breaking point. And it was working beautifully.
“Did you?” She screamed the words at the slumping man.
“You don’t understand. I’d lost everything. I just wanted to talk to him, explain, but I saw him taking liberties with Agnes and I knew he had to be stopped. I followed them upstairs. But when I got there no one was in the hallway.
“I was afraid he’d forced Agnes into her room, but I heard voices coming from Gwen’s sitting room and a cry and I knew he must have taken her in there. So I opened the door. He had forced her to the settee and was holding her down as she struggled.”
“It wasn’t me,” Agnes cried from the doorway.
Gwen started toward her, but Phil held her back.
Agnes stepped just inside the door, not looking at anyone but Thomas. “I went to my room and locked the door.”
“Well, Thomas?” Ruth’s eyes never left his face. “Which one of you is lying? Do I even need to ask?”
Everyone waited for the answer.
“It wasn’t Agnes,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “It was Maud.”
Ruth gasped, swayed. Luther took her arm but Ruth shoved him away.
“Maud?”
“Yes. I rushed in and pulled him away. Ordered Maud back to her room. But she pled with me not to hurt him. She said she loved him.
“He just shrugged, said, ‘Are you surprised your daughter is a little’—I can’t even say the word. He was insolent. Said I had bankrupted him and his company and it was only right that he got some compensation. He said that of Maud. My daughter. Like she was just another commodity. He just stood there leering at me, daring me to do something.
“So I did.”
“You killed him?”
“The letter opener was lying there on the writing desk. I grabbed it and lunged at him as he walked away. I didn’t think. I was as surprised as he was when it plunged into his back.”
“You could have called for help,” Luther said.
“I didn’t know what to do, I couldn’t leave him in the sitting room. I dragged him into the hall. I thought I could get him to the servants’ stairs so it would look like he’d caught one of them stealing or something. I don’t know what I meant. But then I heard someone coming so I just left him and took the servants’ stairs back to the main floor.
“The next day, I heard he’d been found in the laundry room. I don’t know how he got there. Maybe he wasn’t dead and fell in. I don’t know. Columbia Copper was failing and I was too busy trying to do something to worry about it.”
“And Mrs. Pratt? Did you not mean to kill her, too?” Atkins asked from where he stood. His voice cutting through the charged atmosphere.
All eyes turned to Thomas.
Ruth’s voice cut through the silence. “You tried to kill my sister?”
“You tried to kill Gwen?” Luther lunged for him.
Atkins grabbed him and wrestled him back.
“No. Not Gwen. I’d never hurt Gwen, but Elva had figured it out. She didn’t say anything, but the way she watched me. Ran from me whenever I walked by. I knew she knew, and I knew I had to do something about i
t.”
“So you stole the nebulizer from the luggage so she would have to use the incense,” Atkins began.
Thomas shrugged. Actually shrugged.
Phil felt like lunging for him herself. But she just clenched her fists while her anger threatened to explode. At Perry and his abuse of money and young women, at Thomas and his cheating, at Maud for her stupidity.
But mostly at herself for hearing Maud tell Effie that she was afraid Thomas had killed Perry and brushing it off as normal schoolgirl exaggeration.
And because of her, Elva had lost her life.
She caught Atkins watching her, lowered her eyes. She didn’t feel so self-satisfied now.
“I had to. We would be ruined. I didn’t mean to hurt Gwen. I knew Elva always set up the incense before Gwen’s treatments. And see? I was right.”
“Right?” screeched Ruth. “You think you were right?” She was across the floor before anyone realized what she was doing, hauled off, and swung. Her slap resounded through the room, Thomas’s head snapped back; the rest of his body followed.
But Ruth wasn’t finished, and Atkins was uncharacteristically slow to stop her.
Ruth lunged at him, grabbed his lapels. “You have ruined us. The girls and I will take what life brings, but not with you. Not anymore.”
She released him and Thomas fell back against the back of the chair, raised his arm to protect himself. But Ruth merely reached over it, grabbed a handful of hair, and yanked so hard that strands came out in her hand. Thomas yowled and Atkins finally put an end to the assault.
“I’m getting a divorce,” Ruth said, straightening up and patting her own hair as if nothing had happened. She took a last look at her husband, who cowered in the chair. “Gwen has been trying to talk me into leaving you for years. But I was a faithful, stupid wife. Now I hope you rot in hell.”
“To be sure, he’ll at least rot in gaol,” Daisy observed.
“If the electric chair doesn’t get him,” Phil said.
“But the girls,” Thomas cried.
“The girls will survive. They’ll have to learn how to work, they have no choice now. Oh, what a fool I’ve been.”
She turned and threw herself at Gwen’s feet. “Can you ever forgive me?”
Gwen looked startled. Then she reached down to pull her sister to her feet and settled with her on the sofa.
“Well, they needn’t worry about Mrs. Jeffrey surviving,” Daisy said under her breath. “She can always make her living on the stage.”
The doors opened, Tillis stepped inside, and looking at a point above all their heads said, “Dinner is served.”
* * *
Atkins declined to stay for dinner. He was anxious to get his prisoner back to the city. He stopped Phil on her way to the dining room. “Just so you know, Elva wasn’t your fault.”
“I heard Maud talking to Effie. I could tell she was afraid her father had killed Perry. I should have pressed Maud on why, but I thought it was schoolgirl histrionics. If I had, Elva might still be alive.”
“If Elva hadn’t tried on a bit of blackmail on Vincent, instead of telling her employers or the police what she suspected, we might have found the killer sooner and she’d still be alive.”
“She was frightened.”
“As well she should have been.”
“What happens now?”
“Thomas Jeffrey will be charged with murder and possibly fraud. If he’d confessed right after he killed Fauks, he might have gotten away with manslaughter, defense of his daughter. But I’ve seen it more times than I care to think about.”
“What’s that?”
“The committing of one crime leading to more heinous acts in an effort to cover up the first.”
That had certainly been true in Thomas’s case. He’d killed two people, destroyed his family with his greed.
Phil hadn’t done very well. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for this job after all. If she found herself locked out of her apartment on her return to the city she would know that her superiors were of the same persuasion.
Atkins coughed out a mirthless laugh. “Stop it. You can’t prevent every evil deal in the world.” He didn’t sound sympathetic, for which she was grateful. “God knows, we all have our regrets.” He tipped his hat to her and strode out the door.
Spoken like a man who knew his worth and accepted his limitations. Phil didn’t think she would ever reach that point. But surely all those years navigating the scandals of London society wouldn’t go for naught. She’d just have to try harder.
She took a breath and went in to face the family.
29
“I don’t know how to thank you,” Gwen Pratt said the next morning, as Phil and Daisy, dressed in their driving togs, waited outside for the last of the luggage to be loaded onto the Packard.
Phil smiled, but she just wanted to get home.
Daisy and Godfrey, who were deep in conversation, didn’t seem to be quite so eager to part.
Luther trotted down the steps. “Lady Dunbridge. How can we ever thank you. You are just as clever as everyone is saying. It’s a terrible business, but you got to the bottom of things with the least scandal.”
“I must warn you, Luther. There will likely be speculation.”
“Ah, speculation. The bane of bankers everywhere.”
“I meant—”
“I know exactly what you meant and there is nothing to worry about. We are ready to help Ruth and the girls weather the future. They’ll be all right.”
“Yes,” said Gwen. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart. I hope we’ll still be friends, now that the worst is over.”
“I’d be delighted.”
“I hope I’m included in that,” Godfrey said, bringing Daisy over.
“But of course,” Phil said.
“And thank Detective Sergeant Atkins when you see him. I will be sure the commissioner is made aware of his excellent work.”
Phil smiled at that. She wasn’t sure that Atkins wouldn’t prefer to stay out of the spotlight. Not everyone in the force approved of his adherence to the former commissioner’s sweeping reforms. It wouldn’t do to ruffle too many of those feathers.
“Isn’t she the cleverest?” Daisy said, taking Phil’s arm. “Dear Godfrey, thank you for your hospitality. And for your sage advice.”
He kissed her hand, lingering a little too long, Phil thought. Then kissed Phil’s.
They said their goodbyes, Preswick cranked up the Packard, and they were soon jostling down the drive toward home.
Two hours later, Phil pulled up to the Webster Hotel. “Well,” Daisy said, as they waited for the concierge to take her luggage inside. “It was quite an exhilarating weekend. You certainly know how to pick your friends.”
“I might say the same for you.”
“He’s a darling, isn’t he. When he came soaring overhead in that aeroplane, it was beyond thrilling. Air travel. Amazing. Godfrey says it’s the wave of the future.”
“And what is in your future?” Phil asked.
“Godfrey has arranged for me to talk with an impresario about a speaking tour this spring. I’ll be returning to England tomorrow or the next day. There’s much to organize. But I hope to see you on my return.”
“But of course, you must.”
“And Phil. I don’t know quite what you’re up to, but keep up the good work.”
* * *
Phil, Lily, and Preswick dropped the Packard off at the hotel entrance to be sent back to the garage. Everything looked quite normal, just as if they hadn’t witnessed a murder, participated in a balloon chase, and caught a killer over the weekend. Taxis queued up at the curb. The shoeshine boys, none of whom looked anything but the young boys they were, were plying their trade in their usual places along the sidewalk. Across the street Just a Friend, wearing a new coat heavy enough for the severest weather, hawked his papers. He dipped his chin at Phil; she could imagine him winking though she couldn’t see from where she stood.
&n
bsp; “Well done, Preswick. He looks quite toasty.”
“Quite, my lady.”
While Preswick directed the luggage to the cargo elevator, Lily and Phil took the elevator upstairs.
“Nice weekend, madam?” Egbert asked as he rode them to the fifth floor.
“Delightful, thank you.”
Lily turned her head to roll her eyes.
The elevator stopped and Egbert opened the gate.
“Welcome home, Lady Dunbridge.”
“Thank you, Egbert. It is good to be home.”
Phil let them into the apartment.
The first thing she saw was the gardenia on the entrance table and the note and folded newspaper beneath.
The gardenia was fresh. She pushed it aside, tore open the envelope, and pulled out the single sheet. Nice work, Countess. Page 1, column 3. Not bad for a weekend in the country.
She dropped the letter and opened that morning’s edition of the Times.
Third column. “Fauks Heir Killer Caught. Stock Manipulating Ring Brought In for Questions. Another Panic Averted.”
Stock manipulating ring. So that was what Mr. X had been after all this time. He didn’t care about the murder. He was after the fraudulent stock manipulations.
“How does he do it?” Phil wondered out loud. How could he already know the outcome of the investigation, much less get here before she had?
“I think maybe he’s a sorcerer,” Lily said.
“I think he may be,” Phil agreed. “A bath, Lily, and then a martini,” Phil said, dropping her purse, shrugging out of her coat, and leaving hairpins behind her as she strode down the hall.
An hour later Phil was sitting in her parlor stretched out on the Louis Quinze chaise sipping her second dry martini, when the doorbell rang.
“Preswick, are we expecting someone?”
Preswick appeared in the doorway. “No, my lady. Shall I answer it?”
“Yes please, but no sneaky newspapermen, unless … Never mind, yes please.”
She heard the door open, a bustle of activity, and low conversation.
Then a woman burst through the door. She was dressed in the latest Paris fashion, a confection of a hat tilted rakishly above her blond curls.
Tell Me No Lies Page 33
