Born of Corruption

by Teri Brown

  Anna’s face screws up as she tries to follow my train of thought. “I don’t understand.”

  “No one came down here before Al. Which means—” I swallow. “She was thrown. Down low.”

  Anna pales and steps back from the doorway. My stomach heaves at the thought of Eugenia being tossed down the stairs like a sack of potatoes.

  “Which means she was already dead.” Anna shudders.

  The churning in my stomach worsens.

  “But how could the killer have brought her body down here with no one seeing?” she asks.

  I point to a door on the other side of the kitchen. “The servants’ staircase.”

  “Of course. The servants’ staircase. How silly of me.” A hysterical giggle emerges and she clamps a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right.” God knows I’m a little hysterical myself.

  I look back down into the basement. “Maybe Eugenia saw who killed Reggie,” Anna says.

  “So we’re back to the original question. Who would want to kill Reggie? And what about Nico? How do he and Jack know each other, and why?” I swallow hard before continuing. “And why does Jack have a gun?”

  Anna pales. “Cyn, what about the telephone calls?”

  “What calls?” For a moment I’m confused, then I remember. “You think they’re related? Do you think this was planned?”

  She shrugs her shoulders helplessly, as confused as I feel.

  “Cynthia!”

  I hear the panic in Jack’s voice and quickly shut the basement door. Anna and I hurry out of the kitchen and into the lounge, where the others are waiting. Tear tracks streak Olivia’s pretty face. Al must have told them about Eugenia. I squeeze her shoulder and she jumps almost out of her skin. It looks as if my levelheaded personal secretary has a limit to what she can take.

  The faint sound of sirens comes into earshot. I shudder. Some people shiver over a wolf’s howl. My hair rises at the sound of the police.

  Several cop cars squeal to a stop out front and Jack goes to meet them. We cluster around the door.

  “Get back, everyone. Don’t crowd,” a burly cop says importantly. “Who owns the home?”

  I step up next to Jack. “We do. I’m Cynthia Gaylord and this is my husband, Jack. We were having a party and heard shots upstairs.”

  “I’m Officer Barker and this is Officer Abelli.” He gestures to the dark-haired cop with a nose like a hook.

  Five other officers, carrying leather satchels, come in through the front door. Behind them are a couple of men with a stretcher. “Is this everyone here who was in the house at the time of the shooting?”

  I nod. “Except for a woman called Mrs. Harriet Spetford. She’s been asleep in the guest bedroom on the third floor most of the evening. She’s indisposed.”

  “Where are the bodies?”

  “One’s upstairs,” Jack says.

  “And the other is in the basement,” I say. Jack pales, and I remember that Eugenia is his cousin, no matter what I think of her. I slip my hand into his.

  “Did anyone see anything?” Officer Abelli asks.

  Curt shakes his head. “No, I already asked.”

  Officer Abelli turns to Curt, one eyebrow raised. “Well, if it isn’t Curtis O’Donnell. I should have known you’d be here. Trouble follows you around like a bad smell.”

  Curt gives him a grim smile. “Good to see you too, Officer Abelli.”

  I look from one to the other, confused.

  Jack snaps his fingers. “I knew your name sounded familiar. “You’re the investigative reporter from the Daily Tribune who put Roland Renato behind bars and broke up the Renato family crime ring.”

  Curt nods, uncomfortable. “Officer Abelli hates me because he’s a Renato cousin.”

  Officer Abelli points a finger at him. “I’m squeaky clean, you little twerp, and everyone on the force knows it. So don’t be making any accusations.”

  “Is that true?” I demand. “Are you really an investigative reporter?”

  Curt gives a slight nod.

  “Is that why you came to my party?” I demand. “What, or should I ask who, are you investigating this time, Mr. O’Donnell?”

  My face burns. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had tried to use me to take down Arnold Rothstein. The last person who tried it disappeared.

  I didn’t ask my uncle what happened to him.

  Curt looks away, clearly uncomfortable. “I was just doing some poking around for a friend.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “Was that what took you so long at your apartment? You were talking to your friend?”

  He shook his head. “No. I was talking to my boss, getting some information on your staff.” He glances at Al, who is watching the proceedings from the corner of the room. He shrugs. “I guess it doesn’t matter now. Your cousin asked me to investigate. She was feeding me information about you for a story on you and your husband. You know, mob princess marries snooty aristocrat. The public would eat that stuff up. And, lordy, did that dame have it in for you.”

  I gasp and Jack looks sick. That bitch! I only feel a slight twinge of guilt, considering her current state of deadness. If she were alive, I’d kill her myself.

  “The plot thickens,” Officer Abelli says, looking from me to Curt.

  I glare at Curt as the officers move in to take our statements. Anna’s eyes are huge as she recounts her story and I remember that not too long ago she went through something similar.

  Jack and I take the officers upstairs to Reggie’s body and then back down to where Eugenia is lying. Jack turns away, shaking his head.

  “Aunt Marge is going to be devastated.”

  “So this victim was a relative?”

  “My cousin.”

  “And an old girlfriend too, apparently,” Curt says smugly.

  The strain of the evening has taken its toll on my husband, and I see the exact moment when he snaps. “You arrogant son of a bitch.” He lunges for Curt, but Curt is too swift and shoves him. Hard.

  Unbalanced, Jack reels backward, sprawling against a side table. As he does, something falls from his coat onto the floor.

  A shot rings out.

  I scream and hit the ground for the second time that night. Everyone freezes in various states of shock. Except for the officers, who each drop to one knee, their weapons pointed at Jack.

  No one moves.

  Finally Officer Barker leans over and picks up the gun. “You got a permit for this, bub?”

  Beads of sweat gleam on Jack’s pale face. My stomach plunges when he shakes his head.

  “Well, well, we got us a couple of dead bodies and a gun. And if what O’Donnell says is true about you and the deceased woman being friendly, we may just have us a motive, as well.” Officer Abelli nods to Officer Barker. “You and Rodge take this clown into another room and get his statement. I’ll talk to the others.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Jack snaps. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Yep, you’re Jack Gaylord, but at the moment, I don’t care if you’re the mayor himself.” Officer Barker grabs Jack and yanks him back on his feet.

  I look around wildly, stunned by how quickly everything is getting out of control. I step closer to the officers. “Do you know who I am?” I ask softly. I shouldn’t use my uncle’s name like this, but I’m desperate. I need to put a stop to this before it goes too far.

  “Cyn,” Jack says in a warning voice, but I ignore him.

  “My name is Cynthia Gaylord. Cynthia Rothstein Gaylord. Maybe you know my uncle Arnold?”

  Officer Barker looks confused, but Abelli stills, his features grim.

  Apparently he knows Uncle Arnie.

  Then he shrugs. “Doesn’t matter if you’re related to the king of Siam, sweetheart. We got a job to do.”

  I watch helplessly as they take Jack into the study. Another officer takes Curt into a corner of the lounge while a stout red-haired officer lines the remaining guests up on our sofa
to await their turn.

  Officer Abelli turns to me. “Might as well get this over with.”

  I sigh and follow him into the kitchen. This is one hell of a way to end a party.

  Five

  I slump on the sofa, waiting for the cops to leave my house so I can go meet our lawyer at the station house. They took Jack off in a police car after I’d finished giving my statement. Officer Abelli was actually kind of nice, considering. He just asked me to tell him what had happened. Instinctively, I wanted to whitewash the whole incident, but that’s kind of hard to do with two dead bodies. Besides, I have no idea if my lies would help or hinder what was going on with Jack.

  Olivia stands and I startle. My nerves are like stretched-out rubber bands. Eventually, I am going to snap.

  “I’m going to go to the little girl’s room,” she says. “Do you want me to have the cook make more coffee?”

  I shake my head and she hurries off.

  Jack’s last words replay over and over in my head. “Call your uncle. Tell him it was all my fault. He’ll keep you safe,” Jack had said before kissing me good-bye.

  Keep me safe from what?

  The officers let Curt, poor confused Mrs. Spetford, and Nico go home. They told Anna and Olivia they were free to leave as well, but both chose to stay with me. I’m sitting in my coat, waiting for the police to get done with whatever it is they’re doing so I can go to Jack.

  I turn to Anna, who’s sitting next to me on the sofa, her eyes closed. “I don’t think they’re going to charge Jack with murder,” I whisper. “They can’t. I know he didn’t do anything in spite of the gun. Who could have done this, and why?”

  She twitches her shoulders. “I can’t imagine. I didn’t know Reggie or Eugenia before tonight. You’re in a better position to know who might want Reggie dead.”

  What was Jack doing with a loaded gun? And why did he tell me to tell my uncle that it was him? What was him?

  It’s too confusing on too little sleep.

  Out of the corner of my eye I see Olivia beckoning me from the dining room. Puzzled, I murmur, “Excuse me,” to Anna. She nods without opening her eyes.

  Olivia grips my arm and pulls me into the kitchen. The officers must have already removed Eugenia’s body from the basement and finished with their investigating in here because we’re alone. “Your uncle sent someone to talk to you. He’s waiting in your suite.”

  I frown, wondering how he got into the house without detection. Sun is streaming in through the window. In the early-morning light and with little makeup left, Olivia looks haggard. Clearly the night’s events have even taken a toll on my unflappable assistant.

  I reach in the pocket of my coat to feel the outline of my pistol, cold and reassuring.

  “Go inside and tell Anna I’ll be right back.”

  Olivia opens the door to the servants’ stairway. “Here. This way you can get up without being seen by the police.”

  I’ve never actually taken these stairs before and I like them a lot better. They’re cramped and steep, but there’s no shattering view four stories down. Each landing has a discreet door that leads out into the hall. I don’t know what my uncle’s man needs to talk to me about, but whatever it is, I hope it’s good news that will help straighten this whole thing out. When I reach the last door I open it, stepping cautiously into the rooms I’ve shared with my husband for the past year. Dim light spills out from the bathroom on the other side of the room, casting long eerie shadows on the walls. My beloved rooms look different from this doorway. “Hello?”

  “I’ve been waiting for you. Looks like your husband got himself into quite a pickle.”

  Puzzled, I step farther into the room, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the light.

  “Where are you?” I call, sounding as brash and confident as I can.

  “Right behind you.” The cold metal circle of a gun’s muzzle presses against the back of my skull.

  I freeze.

  “Nico,” I breathe. “My uncle is going to kill you.”

  He laughs softly. “I’m not after you, sweetheart. I just want your husband, and I have a feeling that once your uncle Arnold learns what he did, he isn’t going to care what happens to him. Especially if his darling niece is all right. Now turn around.”

  My pulse skyrockets as he twists me around and shoves me back out onto the landing. Part of me is wondering what the hell Jack did and the other part is trying to find a way out of this. The chances of me getting my gun out of my fur coat, turning around, and shooting him before he shoots me are pretty slim. And he’s right. If he kills Jack, there’s a chance Uncle Arnie would let him live, but Nico knows he wouldn’t make it out of the city alive if he harms me. “Where are we going?” I ask him.

  He nudges me with the gun. “Out.”

  I swallow, fear overcoming me as I spot another narrow door. “Do we have to?”

  My legs are shaking as he pushes me across the landing to a door that can only lead onto the roof. I put my hand on the doorknob, praying that it’s locked, but it turns easily. I stand frozen, knowing that there is no way in the world I’m going to be able to step outside under my own free will.

  “You know,” I say conversationally, “I’ve never really been a penthouse kind of gal.”

  “Is that so?” Nico says, and I hear the tension in his voice. “I’ve actually heard about that. Which is why I thought this would be the perfect place to keep you nice and occupied. You won’t try to escape from up here unless you can make like a bird and fly off.”

  “Well, aren’t you just a peach?” I’m trembling now from head to toe.

  “They weren’t kidding, were they?” He sniggers.

  Suddenly he picks me up and I claw at him, blind terror taking over.

  I open my mouth to scream, but his hand clamps over my mouth. Manhattan spreads out before me in a dizzying jumble of buildings. Everything spins and I shut my eyes as bile rises in my throat. I freeze as he walks me over to the side of the roof. All that’s between me and death is a two-foot wall.

  Nico pretends to trip and I whimper. Laughing, he walks me to the middle of the roof and deposits me there. I stand for a moment and then sink down to my knees. He’s right. Not even a gun could subdue me as thoroughly as being plopped in the middle of a roof five stories up.

  I glare and he laughs again. The wind has picked up with the sun and whips around us like an angry snake. Fear swirls in my stomach, but my anger keeps it in check. “Why do you want Jack?”

  Nico raises an eyebrow. “You don’t know?”

  I shake my head and Nico shrugs.

  “The boss thought maybe you did, but I convinced him otherwise. You’re too smart to cross the Morellis, and you adore your uncle too much to cross him.”

  My blood runs cold and it has nothing to do with the temperature. What has Jack done?

  “Seems your husband got bored with being an aristocrat and decided he wanted to get in on the action.” Nico fingers the scratches on his cheek where I’d clawed him. “You’d think being married to you would be enough of a thrill for any man, but apparently your husband thought it would be more fun to steal the Morellis’ last shipment.”

  “Jack did that?” My voice squeaks upward in surprise. “You must be mistaken.”

  “I’m rarely mistaken about anything, sweetheart.”

  I shake my head. Is he talking about my Jack? Bored, cultured Jack stole a load of hooch from under the Morellis’ noses? I almost smile but then remember the circumstances. Nico didn’t take me hostage to smack Jack on the hand and tell him “bad boy.” He’s using me to get to my husband. I have to stop him.

  The question is, how?

  I stand up, my legs quaking. “You and I should make a deal,” I tell him slowly. I have no idea what kind of deal to make with him, no idea even what I am going to say next, but somehow I have to figure a way out of this.

  “What kind of deal should we make?” His eyes flick over me and I suppress a shudder.
/>
  Swallowing, I continue. “You know how loaded Jack and I are, right? Why don’t you and I go to the bank right now? I can give you enough money that you can buy your own island somewhere in the Caribbean.”

  He shakes his head. “Sorry, doll, my ship has already come in.”

  I frown. “What do you mean?”

  Nico’s lips curl upward. “This whole thing started because of a deal that went wrong. Jack and a friend made an agreement to stock their own private cellars with someone else’s hooch. The friend got caught and put me on to Jack. Sang like a bird, actually.”

  My heart sinks, knowing whoever Jack’s partner was, he’s already dead. “So the Morellis sent you.”

  Nico shrugs. “To tell you the truth, I’m striking out on my own.”

  I gasp. “I always thought you were a thug with a brain, but if you’re double-crossing the Morellis, you’re an idiot with a death wish.”

  Nico shrugs, clearly unconcerned. “With your husband as the fall guy, no one will be the wiser. Especially once he’s dead. They’ll think the location of the hooch will have died with him. I’m just holding you as insurance until your husband comes back. Once I take care of him, I’ll load up the shipment and be gone before anyone figures it out. Don’t worry. I’ll send a note after so they know where to find you. I’m not going to hurt a hair on your pretty blond head.”

  I’m shaking so badly I can barely think. “Why are you telling me this? I’ll go to the police.” I stop, my mind spinning.

  He gives a knowing laugh. “Really? Arnold Rothstein’s niece is going to go to the police to tell them that her dead husband stole an illegal shipment from the Morellis? You won’t go to anyone, sweetheart, unless you want to start a full-blown war between the Rothsteins and the Morellis with you sitting pretty right in the middle. You know the little skirmish at the Cotton Club tonight? That was between the Morellis and a few of your uncle’s men. Instigated by me, of course, with a few words in the wrong ears. As tensions escalate, I’ll be able to slip away unnoticed. And while you’re dealing with the consequences, I’m gonna be sitting on a warm beach in Mexico, living the good life.”