Nate, flustered, just looked at the young woman who’d escorted him to Rashers’ office and was now leaning nonchalantly against the door frame of the supply office, effectively blocking his exit. As he’d started to answer Franklin Griggs’ question about what Mrs. Sullivan had told him about Friday night (absolutely nothing), she’d materialized behind them in the supply room.
She told the foreman he was wanted on the floor––some problem with one of the printers jamming. Griggs got up quickly and made his apologies, saying with a laugh that for some reason the girls running the job printers were convinced if they tried to take out a jammed piece of paper the machine would gobble up their fingers. Nate thanked Griggs for his time and said he would find his way out. Which was what he’d been trying to do when the young woman standing before him had stopped him cold in the doorway.
“Oh my,” she said, “I guess that’s what you might call an indiscreet question. By the way, I’m Orrie Childers, and now that old Florence has gotten herself in such a mess, you might say I am the senior typesetter.”
She stuck her hand out for Nate to shake, and he got the strangest impression she expected him to kiss it in the grand old manner. She looked quite young, and her comment about “old Florence,” who was in her mid-twenties, confirmed that impression. She couldn’t be much more than five-feet tall, but almost as well endowed as Mrs. Rashers. She had the pale skin, black hair, and flashing blue eyes of an Irish colleen, although there was only a faint hint of the old country in the musicality of her laugh. And laugh she did at his discomfiture as he put his hat under his left arm and stiffly shook her hand, dropping it as quickly as he could without being offensive.
Nate, hoping she would take the hint and move, said, “I am pleased to meet you, Miss Childers. I mustn’t keep you from your work, so I will be on my way.”
She smiled broadly at him and said, “No bother, Mr. Dawson, I’m on my break now so I am completely at your service.” She then pretended to straighten the ink-stained brown apron covering her dark blue dress, which only served to emphasize her curves and the fact that the top buttons of her bodice were undone.
Damn, this is a dangerous woman, Nate thought to himself and wondered just exactly what her relationship had been with Joshua Rashers. If Catherine Rashers had a reason to be jealous of one of the women her husband worked with, he would bet it was this minx, not the serious and rather plain Florence Sullivan.
She laughed again and said, “Rumor has it that you are interested in what was going on between the boss and Florence Sullivan. You might want to ask someone besides old Griggsie.”
This question confirmed his impression that Miss Orrie Childers had been in the supply room listening to his conversation with Griggs for some time before she interrupted them. Yes, a very dangerous young woman.
“And should that someone be you?” Nate felt he might as well get her view on things if she was going to hold him hostage in the supply room.
“For one thing, I can tell you that Joshua was not interested in old prim and proper Florence. He liked a woman with a few more assets, you might say. Someone with a little more life to her. Only thing he was interested in was how much work he could get out of her.”
“But what about Mrs. Sullivan? How did she feel about Rashers?”
“Do you mean did she have some grand passion going?”
When Nate nodded, Orrie said, “If so, she was a sly thing, because I didn’t see any sign of it. If you ask me, she hated his guts.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The way she glared at him when she thought no one else was watching. Made me shiver. And while she was always respectful to his face, she looked like she’d smelled something rotten when he left the room.”
Nate asked, “Then why do you think she stayed working for him?”
“That’s easy, because she probably made twice working for him than she would in any other shop. I saw her pay packet once. Lord, must’ve been making near eighty-ninety dollars a month. I don’t know many men making those kinds of wages—even in a union shop. She is good at her job—I’ll say that for her––but Rashers could of replaced her with two compositors for that salary. Did make me wonder if she didn’t have something on him.”
*****
Seth Timmons glanced over his shoulder and saw that Nate Dawson was standing in the door to the supply room talking to Orrie Childers. It’d been a real shock when he heard Orrie say the lawyer’s name an hour ago and watched as Laura’s brother followed the little typesetter into Rashers’ office. He couldn’t think why Nate Dawson would be here. He flashed on the first time he’d met the man, standing in the doorway to his room up above the shoemakers. How he’d casually showed he was armed and politely warned Seth off his little sister. Since Seth hadn’t seen Laura in over four months, he didn’t think Dawson could be here on the same errand.
But what if he’d come to tell him Laura was in trouble again...no that was foolish...Dawson knew where Seth lived; there would be no reason to hunt him down at his work place. Besides, he’d have asked directly for Seth as soon as he got here. No...must be something completely unrelated.
Nevertheless, he still felt some relief when Orrie, the shop gossip, made a bee-line for the big Babcock press he was running and told him and Dunk that Dawson was here because he was representing Florence Sullivan. More than relief...he was right glad to know that Florence had a lawyer. It’d been a shock when he heard on Monday that the police arrested her. Stupid to think she’d killed Rashers. He’d swear that woman wouldn’t hurt a fly. Had in fact seen her shoo one of those irritating insects out of a window rather than swat it like any normal human being would. Just cause she was the one to find Rashers’ body...didn’t mean she killed him.
Seth looked back over his shoulder and saw Nate was still talking to Orrie. He hadn’t seen Dawson leave Rashers’ office and go into the supply room, but the Babcock was pretty unforgiving if you didn’t keep your attention focused on feeding in the paper just right. He’d probably been talking to Griggs, who was now trying in his rather ham-fisted way to untangle a mess at one of the Gordon presses.
He wondered if Dawson even knew he worked at Rashers. If so, would he stop by on his way out and say something to him? He sort of hoped so. Give him a chance to tell him he didn’t think Florence did the killing. Who knew what sort of venom Orrie was spewing. The two of women were like oil and water, and Orrie was ambitious as all get out.
Who was he fooling? He just wanted an excuse to talk to Dawson so he could ask him about his sister. He didn’t even know if Laura was still in the city. She might’ve gone back home when the school term ended. She’d said she wanted to be friends...but he figured that was because she thought she ought to.
That’s why he’d stopped by her classroom soon after he was released from the hospital. Walked home with her and Mrs Hewitt and her son. Guess he hoped she would invite him in. Don’t know why. Stands to reason Laura Dawson might find time spent with him a painful reminder of all that happened. He was sorry, though, when he had to write back and decline her invitation to attend that lecture on Kant at the University...but he’d just started at Rashers. When she never tried to get in touch with him again, he decided it was for the best.
“Mr. Timmons? I wonder if I could have a minute of your time?”
Seth didn’t bother turning his head; he wouldn’t soon forget Nate Dawson’s voice. Instead he let the paper slide from his hands and leaned over and shouted to Dunk to kick the lever to stop when the last sheet made it through the drum. Coming down to floor level, he shook Nate Dawson’s hand and said, “Can’t really talk now. Got a deadline to meet with this run. Am I right that you’re here about Mrs. Sullivan?”
Dawson nodded once, then looked back at where Orrie was busy conferring with Franklin Griggs and said, “Yes, I am. It’s my understanding you have a dinner break in an hour. Could we meet somewhere then and talk?”
“Do you know Hank’s Restaurant? On Clay? Ri
ght, then, I’ll see you there.” And as Dawson put on his hat and walked out the door, Seth felt a spurt of anger. Damn Rashers for getting killed, and Florence for getting arrested, and Dawson for agreeing to be her lawyer, and fate for reminding him again about a beautiful, brave, brown-eyed girl who sat beside him in a buggy and who, for a season, had warmed his empty heart.
*****
A little more than hour later, Nate sat at one of the small back tables at Hank’s, waiting for Seth. Since this restaurant was only a few blocks from his own office, he’d been there quite a few times, but only for lunch. He mentioned he was meeting Mr. Timmons when he came in and thought it interesting that the petite waitress who’d been leading him to a table near the kitchen immediately swerved and took him to one of the better-situated tables. Seth Timmons must leave a decent-sized tip.
Nate was looking at the printed menu, trying to decide between chops and the beef stew, when Seth appeared at his table.
As he hung his stetson on the back of the chair and sat down, Seth said, “Usually my apprentice, Dunk, eats with me. I told him to go someplace else today, but if you feel you need to talk with him as well, I am sure that can be arranged.”
“I don’t know why that would be necessary,” Nate said. “But thanks for the offer.”
The waitress came up and poured both of them cups of coffee and took their orders, then hurried away. Confirming his earlier speculation, she had a particularly warm smile for Seth. He took a sip of coffee, pleased by how good it was...must be a fresh pot. He wasn’t quite sure how to start this conversation, and it seemed rude to just rush into the business at hand, given this man had probably saved his sister’s life in February and he hadn’t seen him since.
Timmons intrigued Nate. He had a rough exterior, as you would expect from someone who had made a living as a cow hand. He was as tall as Nate, and though Laura said he was in his early thirties, he looked older. Certainly too old for Laura. He had one of those poker faces, with hard gray eyes that seemed to see everything and gave nothing away. Yet his sister said the professors at the normal school in San Jose seemed to think he had the potential to go on to a university. Nate rather thought that if there wasn’t the messy history with his sister he would enjoy getting to know the man better.
Seth interrupted these thoughts by saying, “Mr. Dawson, I understand that you are representing Florence Sullivan. Just wanted to tell you how glad I am to hear it.”
“Thanks, Mr. Timmons,” Nate said, thinking, Well, that settles it...right down to business it is. He continued, “Does this mean that you don’t think she did it?”
“Sure don’t. She hasn’t confessed, has she? Even then, I’m not sure I would believe her.”
“No, she hasn’t confessed. Frankly she’s not saying a damn thing about what happened. One of the reasons I wanted your take on Friday night. But what did you mean about not believing her, even if she confessed? Are you suggesting that she might plead guilty, even if she was innocent? Why would she do that?”
Seth picked up the fork at the table and fiddled with it a moment then said, “Just seemed more likely that she would confess in order to protect someone else, than she’d kill a man in cold blood. Actually, hard to believe that she or any woman would be able to do it. Rashers was a big man and physically fit. He exercised at the Olympic Club a couple of times a week.”
“That’s one of the questions I plan on asking the doctor who did the autopsy. Rashers was stabbed several times with a ‘bodkin,’ one of those sharp pointed implements that Laura says is something anyone in a print shop could lay their hands on.”
Nate, noticing Seth’s subtle intake of breath when he’d mentioned his sister Laura’s name, said, “Look, Timmons, before we go on. I just want to tell you how much I appreciate what you did for Laura. I guess I thought I’d have a chance to say so earlier...”
“No need. Just glad it turned out all right. I hope that officer, McGee, didn’t get into any trouble. Someone from the force came and took my testimony the next day, but I never heard anything afterward.”
“No, no...no trouble.”
There was an awkward pause. Then Seth said, “I hope that your sister is well.”
“Yes, she’s in fine fettle. Turns out she and you are both working in the same business. She started on this summer as a typesetter for the Women’s Co-operative Printers Union.”
Nate stopped, startled by the look of surprise on Seth’s face, and he wondered if his sister would upbraid him for telling Seth where she worked.
“A typesetter? But how...I mean, it’s not like that’s a skill you suddenly take up one summer.”
“She started apprenticing with the Mercury her first year she lived in San Jose, and she worked there full time in the summers.” Nate chuckled. “I can tell you she was just as surprised to learn you knew how to run a printing press. I guess the subject never came up between the two of you.”
Seth shook his head, then smiled, an expression that Nate had never seen on his face before. For the first time he could see why Annie thought his sister might be attracted to the man.
“Well, Mr. Dawson, our conversations did tend to be about her students at Cupertino School, and I guess we both thought we’d left our days in the printing business behind us.”
“Yes. She was extremely upset when the school board decided to withhold the pay packets of primary and secondary school teachers until the legal question of the pay cut was decided. I expect that put you in a difficult position.”
“You bet. Damn politicians. I started working part time at Rashers in March when the word came down. That’s why...well...never mind. Point is, I would have been sunk if I’d not had this to fall back on. I worked in my uncle’s shop before the war, did a little typesetting for some Texas newspapers during the winter months between cow punching, and then worked the presses to pay my way through school in Kansas.”
“What are you going to do in the fall?”
“I guess a lot depends on whether or not I still have a job at Rashers. I had hoped that if I get into the university over in Berkeley, I could take classes in the morning, give me time to get back here and work the night shift. But now...”
“Griggs seems to think that Mrs. Rashers will keep the business going. Appeared rather hopeful he’d play a role in managing the firm.”
Seth shook his head. “Wishful thinking on his part, I imagine.”
“Really?” said Nate, then paused as the waitress set down their plates with a clatter and hurried off to answer the imperious demands of a well-dressed man sitting across the room.
Cutting into his chops, Nate said, “I know you don’t have long before you have to get back. Could you just tell me about the people who work at Rashers, who was there Friday, and everything you can remember about the time between when the day shift workers left and you came back and found Mrs. Sullivan and Rashers’ body?”
Seth nodded, then calmly and concisely told Nate about coming into work at 12:30 on the day of the murder, the work he’d done, and Florence telling him on her way out that Rashers had asked her to come back in to do a “special job” for him at seven-thirty. She also asked him to proof some of Orrie Childers’ work. He then told Nate about seeing Franklin Griggs saying goodbye to Rashers as he left his office a little before six-thirty; how he and Dunk and Griggs then left, parting ways with Griggs at Montgomery, and then going on to Hank’s for dinner. He ended his account by describing what happened when he and Dunk got back to the shop at 7:30. How Florence Sullivan staggered out of Rashers’ office, with blood on her face and hands, and fainted into his arms.
“She fainted?” Nate said. “That wasn’t in the police report.”
“Yep, dead away. She said something about not being able to help him, there was too much blood, and then she cried out that she didn’t know what was to become of us all now that Joshua was dead. Then she just collapsed. I barely caught her in time to keep her from slamming her head against the floor.”
&
nbsp; “And you didn’t see anyone else in the shop? There isn’t anywhere someone could have been hiding?”
“Didn’t see anyone. Of course that doesn’t mean there wasn’t someone hiding in the supply room, but I don’t know how they would have gotten out of the shop before the police arrived. I don’t know about before we got there. I assume that Florence would have told you if she saw someone.”
Nate shook his head, not bothering to tell Seth that Florence hadn’t told him anything at all. Instead, he went back to an earlier point in Seth’s recitation and asked, “Was that unusual for Rashers to ask Mrs. Sullivan to come back to work in the evening?”
“Well, it was unusual for her to go home and come back. Normally she just worked for an extra hour or two. I gathered that she wanted to be home before her husband took off for work so her mother wouldn’t be alone with just the maid. What I’ve heard was she was more likely to come in before the day shift started when there was extra work to do. She also helped with the accounts, so at least once a month she would come in early and stay late to help Rashers get the pay packets ready.”
“That helps explain why she got paid so much. Miss Childers seemed to think she was paid twice the going rate for a typesetter.”
“Compositor. Florence Sullivan is a compositor, which means she gets paid a salary not a wage, and she was one of the best I’ve ever seen. Not only is she incredibly fast at typesetting and redistributing her type, but she also can set up a frame of type, run the galley, proof the galley, and compose a page, and she can run a press if need be.”
“It sounds like she acted as Rashers’ clerk as well. So she would be difficult to replace?”
“Is someone suggesting that Rashers was trying to do that?”
“Well, Mrs. Rashers said that Friday night her husband was going to tell Mrs. Sullivan that he and his wife were going on a two- or three-month trip back east and that she needed to find a new job before he returned.”
“That doesn’t make sense. If he was indeed planning a trip, he would be particularly interested in keeping Mrs. Sullivan around, not let her go.”
Deadly Proof: A Victorian San Francisco Mystery Page 10
