“If she donated her inventory, at cost, she’d get a charitable receipt,” Howard suggests.
Maggie shakes her head in of disagreement. “But that still wouldn’t help her balance sheet. Nor make her bankers happy.”
“Well, it was just a thought,” Howard says, shrugging.
Maggie gives him an encouraging smile. Time to build bridges, not knock them down. “It’s an interesting idea. I hadn’t considered a donation. But who would want a bunch of hats?”
“Hmm, hats you say?”
“Yes, about fifty stylish, French hats. Beautiful hats, actually.”
“What about the women that work in the laundry that the church runs at the orphanage? They’re there until the babes are born. It could be a sort of bon voyage gift.”
Maggie shudders. “They leave their babies behind and get a nice hat in return? That seems a bit transactional, don’t you think?”
“Well, if you put it like that. You know Margaret, you shouldn’t be so judgemental. Those women have nowhere to go in their condition.”
Maggie bristles. “I wasn’t being judgemental. And I prefer Maggie, please.”
“Maggie, yes. And you’re right. Perhaps the laundry isn’t the best idea.”
I’m right? When did that happen?
Howard folds his hands on his desk and lowers his head. It is a pose Maggie remembers from childhood. A mind at work.
“Here’s something you might want to consider. I have a friend whose wife runs a shelter for Ladies of the Evening who want to get off the streets. What if your client sells me the hats at cost and I give her charity the hats. I can always use the tax receipt. What about that?”
“Pro-skirts?”
“Why yes, Pro-skirts. Wherever did you learn that language?”
“Oh, it’s just something I heard. One of my former lodgers is a police officer.”
“What do you think? I can make a few phone calls. See if they’re interested.”
“Thank you, Father. It’s a generous solution. Millie’s inventory decreases, her cash increases. Bankers happy, client happy.”
“And daughter happy?” Howard says with a chuckle.
“Very,” Maggie says, smiling.
“Good. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to make my little girl smile like that. I’ll call my friend right away and hopefully have news when you and Tommy come by this weekend.”
Maggie stands and gathers her things. “Thank you, Father. This is beyond what I was hoping for when I came to you for advice. I appreciate it. We’ll see you Saturday.”
Standing by the door, her father asks, “Does he have any favorite foods? Mother will want to know.”
“Father, he’s a twelve year old boy. Food of any kind is his favorite.”
Howard chuckles as he leads her back to the reception area. “Excellent. It’s wonderful to see you. And thank you for coming by. Will you catch the train this weekend? Shall we meet you at the station?”
“That’s kind of you to offer, Father, but I think I’ll drive us out. I’ve not had the car on the turnpike yet and I’d like to see how it runs.”
“Imagine, Ron. My daughter driving her own car.”
Ron looks up from his desk, standing when he sees Maggie. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Barnes. And you need to get with the times, Mr. Gifford. My sister drives a car. And she’s a good driver, too.”
Maggie gives Ron a second look. Yes, Edith would say he has potential. “Until Saturday, Father.” She quickly pecks his cheek to forestall another hug.
“Leave that hat matter with me. I’ll make some phone calls. Goodbye, Maggie. Oh, your mother is going to be so pleased.”
* * * *
Ron and Howard stare at the office door that Maggie has just closed as she left, each lost in his own thoughts.
“Your daughter? I didn’t know you had a daughter, sir,” Ron says, breaking the spell as he returns to sit at his desk.
“What was that, Ron?” Howard says, still staring at the door.
“Your daughter, sir. I said I didn’t know you had a daughter.”
“Yes. A bit of a shock to see her here.” Howard turns to go back to his office. “I’d best go telephone her mother and let her know our weekend plans have changed.”
“Excuse me, sir. Do you have a minute? I’d like to run something past you.”
The two men settle themselves across from each other in Howard’s office.
“What’s on your mind, Ron?”
Ron sits straighter. He’s been rehearsing this moment and wants his remarks to be effective. “I’ve been very happy here, Mr. Gifford. My licencing exams are coming up in a few months, and I was wondering if there might be a place for me. Long term. As an accountant, I mean. Not as a clerk.” Ron leans forward, a comfortable smile on his face. He’s served as Howard Gifford’s accounting clerk for almost a year now, and would like to get things settled.
Howard glances at the telephone on the corner of his desk, and then studies the man sitting across from him. “Your father and I are friends from way back, Ron. When he called to say you were looking for a spot to serve out your clerkship, I was happy to oblige. You’ve been a good worker and seem to have a feel for the business. But I thought your intent was to join your family’s firm?”
“Certainly, that is my father’s intent, at least. However, I’ve given this some thought, and feel that there may be more opportunity for me elsewhere. May I be honest, Mr. Gifford?”
“Of course, Ron,” Howard says, nodding.
“My grandfather founded Delaware Financial Services; the McNeely men have worked there for generations. My brothers are there, two cousins, my father, and Uncle Albert.”
“Yes, I know Albert McNeely. A fine man, like your father.”
Ron takes a breath. “I just don’t see myself behind a desk there for the rest of my life. I’m not interested in joining a long line of McNeelys. I want to carve out something for myself. On my own. I want to build my own future, Mr. Gifford, like you did. Not have it handed to me.”
The silence between the two men stretches. Ron sits and waits. He’s learned that Howard Gifford is not an impulsive man, and is ordered with his thoughts.
Howard leans back in his chair. The afternoon sun breaks through the slats of the venetian blinds behind his desk. “You’d be passing up a great opportunity, Ron. Your family is well respected in financial circles.”
“I mean no disrespect to them, sir. Or to Delaware Financial. It’s just that I want to be seen as my own man. Not another son of the senior partner.”
“I hear what you’re saying, Ron. I do. A man wants to make his own way in the world. You have very good skills. A good way with the clients. I like your drive and ambition. But it would be a family tradition you’d be setting aside. Why don’t you talk this over with your father and then we can talk further.”
“Thank you, sir. I will do that.” Shutting the door, Ron can already hear Howard on the telephone. “Cordelia, my dear. You won’t believe what just happened.”
Chapter 33
M aggie smiles as she walks toward the trolley stop. There, I did it. And it went well, I think. Yes, very well. Millie has a solution to her Parisian hat problem, and I feel ready to go home to Overbrook. The Inspector was right: seeing Father first was the right move. Should I let Millie know, or wait until the arrangements are finalized? Oh, I can’t wait to tell her. I’ll call from home before I get supper started. She’s going to be so relieved. Well done on all counts, Maggie-girl.
That night, the conversation swirls around Maggie’s dinner table. Like many people in Philadelphia, all anyone can talk about is what’s happening at the Grand Jury.
“The Machine is trying to put the skids on the Grand Jury. Things are getting a little close to home now that they’ve subpoenaed the mayor and his cronies,” Dick says.
“No way is Monaghan going to cave. He’s riding this all the way into the Attorney General’s office at the next
election,” Archie says between mouthfuls.
“Sometimes people do things for the right reasons. He seems like a principled man.” Maggie weighs in with her two cents.
“Don’t be so naive. He’s out for what he can get, just like the rest of them,” Archie says, grumpy that craven self-interest could possibly be perceived as moral principle.
“With Vare laid up after that stroke, nobody’s in charge of the Machine. Monaghan’s got his eyes set on that prize, not some penny ante government position,” Reg says, waving his cutlery in the air to reinforce his point.
“Did you hear about the Blue Book they introduced into evidence today? It’s something County police seized. It lists all the gangsters and bootleggers in Philly, as well as New York, Pittsburgh, and Cleveland. And that’s not all. It also lists police officials, special investigators, and attorneys with gangster ties. It even has a list of mob wives and sweethearts who aren’t above getting their hands dirty if their men need help.” Dick always has the inside scoop.
Archie mutters into his mashed potatoes. “Imagine having a book like that. I’d love to see all the gangsters listed in there. I bet I know them all.”
Maggie smirks. I bet he does. Archie’s scrapbook is almost too big to fit under his bed, what with the Grand Jury clippings. “That’s incredible. Who would put all that kind of thing in writing?” she asks.
“Hopefully, having a list like that will help. This whole Grand Jury thing doesn’t seem to be settling the gangsters down any,” Reg says, reaching for a second helping. “At least it’s not like Chicago. When I lived there, a couple of guys would get whacked every night.”
Maggie clears her throat. The conversation’s getting a bit much for Tommy’s ears. Thank goodness I talked to Mickey about Tommy. I’m glad he was able to rescue him from those newsie trouble-makers, but that gangster world is no place for him. “I’m glad we don’t have that kind of thing happening here. Imagine trying to live in a city like that. I wonder why things are different here in Philly?”
“Well, we haven’t got a madman running things. Capone’s insane,” Reg answers. “And let’s hope he stays in Chicago and none of that craziness comes here.”
“I guess we should be grateful for small mercies,” says Archie. “Boo-Boo Hoff is exciting enough for me. Maybe I should sit in on a Grand Jury session. I could see some of these gangsters up close. And their gun molls, too.”
Maggie gives a small smile at the obvious relish Archie infuses into the phrase ‘gun moll’. The man is a fan, alright.
“And it’s lucky for Boo-Boo they found that book. I hear they’re going to give him a break for a while, and really bear down on the police corruption entries. There’s records of money that’s been paid, to who and how much, going back to Copeland’s time on the force.” Dick cleans his plate and settles back in his chair.
“I remember when he tried to arrest Mickey Duffy. That didn’t get very far. You think that Copeland was a dirty cop?” Archie asks.
“Boo-Boo will be glad for a break. I’ve noticed that the last few times he’s been on the stand he’d lost his swagger,” Dick says.
“So he should. He’s facing a lot of jail time if he gets indicted,” Maggie says. “Elbows off the table, sweetheart.” Tommy removes the offending elbows, and sits straighter.
“Jail time’s a big if. The jury’s rigged I tell ya. Nobody’s going to jail. This is all for show so Monaghan can look like the big cheese.” Archie says.
And so it starts again.
That night, after the rousing dinner conversation, Maggie and Frank settle in for Report. Frank is concerned. Maggie has been fidgety all evening, but he knows better than to ask. That always gets him into trouble. He’ll wait until she’s ready to share whatever is on her mind.
“I overheard the most interesting thing today while I was down at the police precinct,” Frank says, lighting his cigar—always a production to get that first puff of smoke.
“Down at the precinct? What took you down there?” Maggie asks.
Frank dodges the question. He’s not about to tell her that he was checking out Joe, whose disinterest in Tommy’s attackers is such a worry to Maggie.
“One of the officers mentioned they were getting close to indicting Boo-Boo Hoff.”
“I knew that the Grand Jury would eventually move beyond their special investigative function and start issuing indictments. And it’s no surprise that Boo-Boo is going to be first, although he’s only one of a long list of bootleggers they should be looking into. I don’t think Mickey’s been called in yet. I’m sure Edith would have mentioned it.”
“That’s not the interesting part. Apparently, he’s cut a deal to dodge the indictment. I overheard them say that Max had stolen ledgers from Mickey Duffy to bargain with,” says Frank.
“What? Max? Who’s Max?” Maggie is curious and confused.
“Given the history between them, it has to be Max Hoff. Max is Boo-Boo Hoff’s real name, but people have always called him Boo-Boo. He’s testified in court several times, but never had anything to say. It’s amazing a man could be so successful and have such a poor memory. Somehow, they’ve collected the evidence, maybe from Frankie Bailey’s testimony last month. Now they’re ready to indict, and suddenly these documents show up.”
Maggie leans back in her chair. She looks impressed. “You are one heck of an investigator, Inspector, and must have been a terror testifying in the courtroom. The way you remember all the small details. Max is Boo-Boo Hoff, eh? That is interesting. I think I remember Dick mentioning it at dinner when Reg first got here. They were talking about strange gangster names here and in Chicago.”
Frank puffs on his cigar, pleased with the compliment.
“I can see why Boo-Boo was panicking. The Grand Jury’s had him in the witness box couple of times now and it didn’t look like things were going his way. I can see how all that business information would be huge leverage for Boo-Boo to avoid jail time,” says Maggie.
“Why don’t you see if you can pick up anything from Edith, or maybe even Mickey? If they are building a case against him, he’ll know.” Frank is still on topic.
“I’ll call Edith tomorrow and suggest an evening out for the three of us. Although, at some point, it would be nice to be able to do it because of friendship, and not have an ulterior motive.”
Frank chuckles. “Maybe those days are coming sooner than you think.”
“I’m not sure how Edith would react if Mickey got sent away. Things are so strange between them these days.” Maggie relaxes. She creates a long pause on purpose for the change of subject. Frank is content to wait.
“I went to see Father today.”
“Marvelous. How did it go? How did he look?”
“He looked older, of course, but not sick. I asked him for help with Millie’s hat problem.”
“Ah, so you did decide to go with the business consultation approach. Did it help?”
“Yes. Maybe it was cowardly of me but, oh Inspector, I almost didn’t go in. I kept thinking about the day that Jack died. Why is it we never forget the pain? It’s like a lingering fog: impossible to grab hold of, impossible to see through clearly. It was hard to walk across the street and open that door.”
“Did you talk about Jack? Clear the air?”
“No, things went well and I didn’t want to rock the boat. Maybe there’s nothing to be said about Jack. Father did what he did. Jack died.”
“You might want to give him the opportunity to say he’s sorry, Maggie.”
“I doubt he’d ever do that, Inspector. I’ve never heard him say the word.”
“I’m sure it’s in his vocabulary. Is it in yours?”
“You want me to say sorry? Not likely. I’ve made the first move. It’s up to him now.”
Chapter 34
O n Saturday, Maggie and Tommy climb into the Pontiac and head out of town. The speed had initially made Maggie nervous, riding the clutch to slow down without having to worry abou
t stalling by changing gears. As they flew along the road, she eventually relaxed her hands around the wheel and enjoyed the ride. The feeling of being in control, especially at speed, was powerful.
Tommy is impressed that his mother has a car and is driving. He’s even acquiesced to her dropping him off at school every day, although he put his foot down about being picked up. He’s taken to wandering off with Jimmy. As long as he’s home for supper, she supposes she can’t complain. She’ll give him the space that everyone keeps nattering to her about.
As Maggie gets closer to the Overbrook Farms neighborhood, her mind begins to spool backwards as she starts picking out familiar landmarks from her childhood.
Watch Your Back Page 14
