Murder Knocks Twice

by Susanna Calkins

  He stirred his fizzy drink with his straw, evidently sifting through the information. “You know, that’s a real shame.”

  “What is?”

  “That you never got to know him.”

  “Yeah, well. That’s how things go.” Gina began to wipe the counter vigorously. “I just wish I had gotten to know him better. I’d have liked to learn more about photography.”

  She watched Roark grimace after taking his first sip of his fizzy drink. “Not to your liking,” she said stiffly. She wasn’t sure if she’d mixed the syrup and soda water correctly.

  “Just missing something.” She half expected him to pull out a flask like most other men did, but instead he leaned over and helped himself to a cherry. He picked up what they’d been discussing earlier. “You know, I could help you. With the photography, I mean. Not the soda making. You’re on your own with that.”

  Gina rolled her eyes. “How long have you been taking photographs?” she asked.

  His eyes flicked up at her, and she could tell he was weighing his answer. “When I first got home from the war, I was in bad shape.” He looked ruefully down at his hand, but didn’t hide it from view. “Ran into Marty, and I guess he took pity on me. Long story short, he taught me the basics. Got me connected at the Tribune.”

  “So you worked for the newspaper.”

  “For a bit. The work wasn’t steady. So I joined the force, like my old man had done before me. When they learned I was a photographer, I became the go-to guy, photographing crime scenes. I was on the job when I got injured again, last year.” He gestured to his cane. “Gotta use this while my leg heals. Doc says a few more months.”

  “Was it hard to learn how to take photographs?”

  “Not so hard. The trick was learning the best shots and angles, and of course how to develop the film properly. Film can be easily overexposed, with too much light, or underexposed, with too little light.” He glanced at her. “Why do you ask?”

  “I was just wondering how hard it would be to learn to develop photographs. When I saw Marty’s darkroom, I thought about giving it a shot. I guess it’s not so hard.”

  Roark glanced at her again. “No, it’s not hard. Especially not for a girl like you.”

  “A girl like me?” she asked.

  “You know—capable.”

  “Capable?”

  “Don’t look so insulted,” he said, wiping his mouth. “Do you have some photographs that need to be developed?”

  “Well, recently I bought a Kodak for my father,” she said, lying easily. “He could use a hobby, you know? I thought since I inherited Marty’s equipment, I could develop them for him.”

  “I see.” He seemed to be considering something. “Would you like me to teach you?”

  “Why would you do that?” she asked, her eyes narrowing a bit. “I could see if someone over at the Kodak store could teach me.”

  “Sure, you could do that. Except you might want to be careful about who you share your secrets with.”

  “I can share them with you?”

  His eyes held hers. “Yes. I think Marty would have wanted me to help you.”

  Marty’s dying whisper flitted through her mind then, a warning and a reminder about who could be trusted with the camera.

  She was about to reply when Little Johnny entered the drugstore. “You, Gina,” he said, pointing at her. “The Signora wants to see you.”

  “Yeah, sure,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant, even though her heart had started to beat quickly. What did the Signora want? “I’ll be there as soon as I finish up here.”

  “Kid, when the Signora says she wants to talk to you, then you don’t keep her waiting.”

  Her eyes darted toward Benny, who had lost his habitual grin and edged to the far end of the counter. She then glanced at Roark, who shrugged, a slight crease of worry appearing in his forehead.

  Little Johnny gestured toward the door. “Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER 13

  “Gina,” the Signora said, all graciousness and charm. “Please come in.”

  She’d never been fully inside the Signora’s private salon before, and as she stepped in, she was immediately taken by its overall sleek elegance. The walls were covered by turquoise paper, and diamond-shaped mirrors were positioned in all directions. In the center there were two emerald-green sofas facing each other, and two shell-shaped peach chairs on either end. A long and low patterned wood table stood in the middle. A beaded curtain led to an alcove, where the Signora presumably changed her clothes each evening.

  “Sit down,” the Signora commanded, gesturing toward the sofa closest to the door.

  When Gina sat down, she realized that the sofas were each outlined by wooden snakes with entwining heads and tails, then saw that the design on the table was also of intertwined snakes. For some reason, she shivered.

  Gooch stepped out of the corner then, taking a stance behind the Signora, who had seated herself on the sofa opposite Gina. He cracked his knuckles before crossing his arms. Gina sat stiffly, her hands on her knees, as she waited for the Signora to speak. The woman’s dark gray eyes were calculating as she regarded Gina, much as an animal might regard its prey. Or as a snake might consider a mouse.

  “Gina,” she said, finally breaking the silence. “How are you?”

  The way she asked made Gina stiffen. Her question did not seem casual. “What do you mean, Signora?”

  The Signora studied her, making Gina’s heart beat uncomfortably. “You seem nervous.”

  Gina glanced at Gooch, who just gazed back at her impassively. “I hope I am working to your satisfaction, Signora,” Gina said, trying to keep her words from sounding rushed. “I know I have made some mistakes, but I am trying my best, I assure you.” She pushed her hair back from her face, trying to wipe away some of the moisture that was suddenly forming on her forehead.

  The Signora waved her hand. “Don’t be alarmed, Gina. Your progress here has been satisfactory.”

  “Oh.” Gina hesitated. “Thank you.”

  “I wanted to ask after your family.”

  “My family? My papa, you mean? He is doing well. Most days, at least.” Pride kept her from telling them about the difficulties her father had been experiencing of late.

  The Signora’s face softened ever so slightly. “I am glad to hear it. Your papa and I were friends—of sorts—a very long time ago.” She glanced at Gooch, and now it was the Signora who seemed uncomfortable. Then she seemed to recall herself, switching the conversation. “I understand that your flat was broken into recently.”

  Gina blinked. “Why, yes. It was.” She would have stopped there, but the Signora seemed to be waiting for more information. “We weren’t there when it happened, so I’m glad about that.”

  “That’s fortunate. I hope that you did not lose too much of value in the robbery?”

  “No, nothing, really. My father’s radio, unfortunately. I’m fixing another one for him, since he does enjoy his music. They didn’t seem interested in my mother’s jewelry or anything else.” She hesitated, but then decided to ask a question of her own. “Signora, how did you know about the break-in? I hadn’t told anyone here.”

  Gooch shifted his stance slightly behind the Signora, his arms still crossed. His face was like cut granite, not even a twitch to suggest what he was thinking.

  “Word gets around,” the Signora said, running her hand along the arm of the sofa as if stroking the wooden snake. Her own body seemed coiled, ready to strike. “Tell me, Gina. How is the rest of your family?”

  “Signora?”

  “Don’t be coy, Gina.” She leaned closer. “I know Marty was a relative of yours.”

  “Yes. My mother’s cousin.”

  “Did you know Marty well before you started working here?”

  “I didn’t know him at all.” Gina gulped, an unexpected lump rising in her throat. “I wish I had, though. Before.”

  “He left you his property?” the Signora pressed. Gina go
t the feeling she already knew the answer to every question she posed.

  “Yes,” Gina said warily. “By way of my mother.”

  The Signora smiled at her. Again, Gina couldn’t quite decide if the smile was friendly or not. “I was his landlord, and of course, with his passing, now yours.”

  “Oh, yes. I just learned that.” They seemed to be arriving at the heart of the conversation. “Do you want me to clear out his belongings?” Her heart sank at the thought. She had no idea where she would store them.

  “Oh, no, not at all. Marty has paid a few months ahead, so you need not concern yourself about that. Indeed, I only charge him a pittance for the second flat, seeing as how the darkroom is a business expense. You can spend the time you need, sorting through his belongings. In fact, I am willing to extend the contract for a while, so you need not worry.”

  “Thank you, Signora,” Gina said cautiously. There had to be a catch.

  “I must warn you.” She paused. “We may need to hire a new photographer in due time who would make use of the darkroom.”

  “Yes, I understand,” Gina replied.

  “Even more distastefully, I must warn you that given the way Marty died, you may find something unpleasant among his belongings. Perhaps you would like some assistance? There may be some things in his possession that are not—shall we say—appropriate viewing for a girl such as yourself. Perhaps Mr. Gooch can help you.”

  “Thank you, Signora,” she said, knowing that she would not allow Gooch to go through Marty’s belongings. “I’ll let you know if I require any assistance from Gooch or anyone else.”

  The Signora looked slightly taken aback. She was clearly not used to people responding in that fashion, and Gina wondered if perhaps she had gone too far. But she was forceful when she spoke again. “Gina, did Marty tell you something? Let you know who he might have been on the outs with?”

  Both she and Gooch leaned slightly forward, anticipating her answer.

  Gina closed her eyes, trying to shake away the memory of Marty’s last breathless words. “No, Signora,” she said. “Like I said, I really didn’t know him at all.”

  * * *

  After getting dressed for the evening and slipping on her tray, Gina could not stop thinking about getting the film in the camera developed. I need to speak to Roark. He can show me what to do.

  Her chance finally came when Faye went on break. She slipped into the back room, where the ex-servicemen were playing their customary hands of poker. Upon seeing her, a few of them gave her catcalls. She winked at them in return. “Hello, fellows.”

  “Hey there, dollface,” Donny said, holding up his empty glass. “I’m in the mood for a gin rickey.”

  Gina made her way around the room, exchanging jokes and taking orders. As she had hoped, Roark was seated near Donny, his eyes intent on his cards. His hand was wrapped around an empty glass.

  “Another whiskey?” she asked him, reaching for the glass. “Or did the fizzy drink fill you up?”

  “What did the Signora want?” he asked, his voice low.

  She shrugged. “A bit of this, a bit of that. Wanted to express her condolences on Marty’s passing.”

  He seemed skeptical. “Nothing else?”

  She took the glass from him and placed it on her tray. “I take it that’s a yes on the whiskey.”

  He shrugged. “Why not?”

  When she returned a few minutes later with the drinks, she bent over slightly so she could speak softly in his ear. In doing so, she caught a whiff of his aftershave. A pleasant smell, not cloying like some. “I’ve given it some thought,” she whispered. “I’d like to take you up on your offer.”

  She thought she had kept her voice low, but evidently others had caught the exchange. Some of the veterans around them began to hoot and holler.

  “All right, Lieutenant!” one of them said. “Way to get back on the horse!”

  “She ain’t no horse!” Donny said, smiling up at Gina. She smiled back at him, though she could feel her face flushing.

  Roark looked a bit embarrassed as well. Standing up, he took her by the elbow and ushered her out. “Monday morning’s fine,” he said, sounding a bit irritated. “Leave your Sunday for church. If that’s your thing.”

  She raised her eyebrow. Other than Marty’s funeral, she hadn’t attended church in years. “It’s not. But I do need to catch up on my sleep. How about ten a.m. Monday morning? Will that work?”

  “All right.” He ran his eyes over her body with unexpected familiarity, and she stepped away, feeling uncertain. He coughed. “Make sure you wear something old. You don’t want the chemicals ruining your dress.”

  “Ha! Except for this dress, old is all I’ve got.” When he didn’t return her laugh, she rolled her eyes. “I’ll see you then. Ten a.m.”

  “Hey toots what’s your hurry?” Donny called. “The lieutenant can’t have you all to himself!”

  “Duty calls. Gotta get back to the front!” she said, tossing the ex-serviceman a little salute, suddenly feeling lighter than she had in a while.

  * * *

  When she walked out of the back room, Gina encountered Faye, who gave her a suspicious look. “All yours,” she said, with a little curtsey. “I was only checking that they were fine. I just did a round, but I think that corner table will want some more highballs. They’re in a wild mood tonight.”

  “Don’t get too cozy with them,” Faye warned her as she passed.

  When she returned to the bar, Mr. Darrow called her over. “That man was looking for you,” he said, casually lifting one finger off his glass to point to someone behind her. “I believe you spoke with him the other night.”

  “Yeah?” Equally casually, she turned to follow the direction of his pointing finger. She was not surprised to see Jack, talking to some other men at a corner table. “Oh, him,” she said, turning back around.

  “Are you having trouble with that man?” Mr. Darrow asked.

  She grinned at his concern. “Why, will you bounce him if I am? Take over Gooch’s job?”

  “Young lady,” Mr. Darrow said, sounding more stern this time, “I suggest that if you are having trouble with the gentleman you allow Gooch and Little Johnny to do their jobs.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing I can’t handle,” Gina said, hoping that was true. She’d already decided that she’d put Jack off for a while, until after she had developed the film. She looked at Mr. Darrow curiously. “Do you know him? Have you seen him before?”

  Mr. Darrow sipped his gin and tonic. “Hard to say. I don’t think I’ve seen him here, but he does seem familiar somehow.” He shook his head. “It will come to me.”

  She began to straighten her tray. “You know all the regulars, don’t you?”

  “Most, I daresay,” Mr. Darrow replied. “Been one myself, ever since the place opened in ’26.”

  “I suppose Mr. Roark is one, too. Do you know him pretty well?”

  “Roark? No, he’s only been coming here for a few months. He mostly just plays cards with the other ex-servicemen.”

  “He seems to be here nearly every night now,” Gina said, carefully straightening a row of packs of Wrigley’s Spearmint gum.

  Mr. Darrow glanced at her. “Maybe someone caught his fancy.”

  “He’s hitched, I heard.” She started wiping her tray, feeling foolish. Half the men who came in this joint were probably married, even if they didn’t act like it. Even Mr. Darrow appeared to be married, judging by the ring on his finger.

  “Could be. If so, he’s never mentioned a wife.” He took another sip of gin. “Could be his past is catching up with him. He’s certainly not the first ex-serviceman to find solace in a bottle, and he certainly won’t be the last.” He tapped his head. “Some soldiers never really recover from war.”

  Shell shock. Gina remembered her papa talking about it once, when the neighbor across the street, newly returned from the war, had woken up the whole neighborhood every night with his relentless screams. No one s
eemed to know how to deal with it. Eventually, his relatives came, and he was escorted away to a sanitorium downstate. Even though she knew that shell shock could happen to anyone who’d been through the Great War, it was hard to imagine such weakness in Roark.

  Now she had other things to think about. She sauntered up to Jack, where he was still in conversation with the other men. “Pardon me, gentlemen. Need some ciggies? Or perhaps a drink?”

  The men looked pointedly at their nearly full drinks, which Jade or Lulu must have recently refreshed, and waved her off.

  Smiling, she turned and headed back toward the bar. She’d only taken a few steps away from the table when Jack caught up with her and blocked her path. He stared down at her with icy blue eyes. “All right, Gina, what do you have for me?”

  “Nothing yet,” she said, trying to sound pert, despite her sudden fear. Maybe she was a bit out of her depth.

  Jack grabbed her wrist, startling her and almost causing her to squeal in pain. “Now, I find that real peculiar.”

  “What?” Gina said, sneaking a glance around for Gooch or Little Johnny. “What’s peculiar?”

  “Well, I heard on real good authority that you’ve been asking about photography. That you have access to a darkroom. Marty’s darkroom, in fact.”

  “Oh yeah? Where’d you hear that line?” Gina asked, bringing down her elbow in a way that effectively rammed into his side. She heard a satisfying gasp of pain, but still he hadn’t let go.

  “Makes me wonder if you have something to develop.” His hand on her wrist tightened a bit more. “I can make it worth your while, if you give me those pictures.”

  Gina glanced around again, and this time Gooch had noticed her plight and crossed the crowded room. “Mind getting your hand off the lady?” Gooch asked, his tone menacing.

  Jack released her wrist, and Gina rubbed at the red marks his tight grip had left on her skin. “This hellcat’s no lady,” he said.

  “You all right?” Gooch said, glancing at Gina.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “It’s all right.”