by Howe, A. E.
“Maybe.” Most of her childhood friends had moved on to lives filled with husbands, households and children. Only her father’s position in the town had kept her involved in the social circles she’d grown up with.
“Arrange a dinner party with the Kellys.”
“I still don’t think that’s a great idea,” she demurred,
“Of course, I can just go off on my own. I’m sure I can find out what I need to by myself,” Blasko said, turning away from her and hoping the threat would be enough to cause her to capitulate.
“Fine, you win. I’ll arrange the dinner. I’d prefer to keep an eye on you.” She couldn’t afford for him to get entangled in a web that might expose what he really was.
They talked for a few more minutes about housekeeping issues before she left, wondering as she had every day since they’d returned from Romania how this was all going to end.
Josephine went into the kitchen for breakfast. She’d been taking breakfast and lunch in the kitchen ever since her father had died. It just didn’t make sense for Grace to cart everything back and forth to the dining room just for her.
As soon as Josephine entered the kitchen, Anna, the cook, started frying eggs and bacon. The Sumter Times was on the table. Emmett Wolfe and his staff must have stayed up all night to get the murder into the morning edition. The headline read: Erickson Murdered. Other papers would have printed a more colorful headline, but Emmett was diligent in his journalistic responsibilities. During the banking crisis, Josephine had once heard him tell her father that he wasn’t going to print anything that would add to the panic, knowing if the town went to hell then everyone would go down into the inferno with it.
As Josephine ate her breakfast and read the paper, Grace kept coming through and giving her looks. Josephine knew Grace wanted to talk about the night before, but since they’d agreed not to tell Anna too much about Blasko, Grace had to wait.
“I got the stew going. I’m going to do some baking out in the summer kitchen. Grace can keep an eye on this.” Anna indicated the pot of stew on the stove.
“Thank you, Anna,” Josephine said, looking up in surprise to see the cook still standing beside her.
Normally, Anna would have already headed for the door. At sixty years old, Anna kept pretty much to herself. She was from New Orleans, of French and Spanish descent. She’d shown up in town with her husband twenty years ago with little money. Her husband had gotten a job as a butcher while Josephine’s father had hired Anna as a cook. The few times that Josephine had tried to get her to talk about her family, Anna had told her she didn’t have any family left. Never had Anna mentioned anything about her life before moving to Sumter. In fact, she seldom talked about anything. This morning was different. She clearly had something on her mind.
“Is something wrong?” Josephine asked her, putting down the paper.
“Yes.” Anna hesitated. “The murder.” Anna worriedly pushed back a stray strand of grey hair from her forehead. “Mr. Durand didn’t want me coming to work this morning. The murder happening so close.” Anna always referred to her husband as Mr. Durand.
“I don’t think there is anything to be scared of. I think the murderer wanted to kill Mr. Erickson.”
“That’s what they thought when the Axeman was killing people. They tried to find out why he was killing the people he was killing. My papa said, ‘He’s crazy, that’s why.’ Turned out, Papa was right,” Anna said.
Josephine realized she couldn’t argue with that logic. The truth was, no one yet knew the motivation in this case.
“Did the Axeman kill anyone during the day?” Josephine asked, already knowing the answer.
“No.”
“Okay, so just make sure you leave here when you still have plenty of time to get home safely before the sun goes down. And don’t come in until daylight. I certainly don’t want you to be in any danger.”
Josephine didn’t point out that the Axeman of New Orleans killed couples asleep in their own homes. If this murderer was anything like the Axeman, then Anna would be safer at work than at home. But she wasn’t going to confuse the poor woman.
Anna nodded. “That makes sense. Thank you, Miss Josephine. I’ll leave at six tonight and come in at eight tomorrow, if that’s okay.”
“That’s fine.”
Anna, looking more like her usual serene self, headed out to the summer kitchen. No sooner had the screen door banged shut behind her than Grace came bustling into the kitchen.
“You need to tell the sheriff about that man in the basement,” Grace said in a conspiratorial whisper.
“The baron had nothing to do with the murder. In fact, he’s trying to find out who did do it.” Josephine didn’t know why she added the last part. She didn’t really think Blasko was going to have much luck.
“He ain’t right,” Grace said, shaking her head. Josephine’s explanation for Blasko had been that he had an illness that made him allergic to the sun, and he needed blood due to severe anemia. At first, with modern medicine discovering new diseases and cures almost daily, this had seemed plausible to Grace. But, with time, she had become more and more suspicious of Blasko and his habits. He didn’t help the situation by teasing her whenever he had the chance.
“I won’t argue with you,” Josephine said.
“That blood-drinkin’ is like something the devil himself would do,” Grace said, not ready to give up on Blasko as a suspect. “I won’t do nothin’ that’s goin’ to get between me and God.”
“I promise you, the baron is not a devil worshiper,” Josephine told her with as much conviction as she could muster.
“I’m just sayin’.” Grace shook her head. Their employer-employee relationship had become more of a co-conspirator one since they had started sharing Blasko’s secrets.
“I understand your concerns. Trust me.”
“But if he’s not the killer… Do you really think he can find the monster that did this? Maybe it takes a devil to catch a devil.”
“I don’t know,” Josephine said honestly. “I’m going to help him all I can.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, even though she still wasn’t sure she should commit herself to being Sancho Panza on Blasko’s Quixotic quest. Are we just going to get ourselves into trouble? Josephine asked herself.
With Grace temporarily mollified, Josephine pondered her day. Now that she’d agreed to it, she needed to arrange dinner with the Kellys. She looked at the phone. Calling would just be awkward, plus it would give Dolly Garner, the town operator, an opportunity to listen in and develop some gossip to pass on. It would be better to go talk to them in person. She heard the parlor clock chime ten. By the time she got dressed and walked over to the Kellys, it would be a proper hour for a social call.
The Kellys lived three streets over and five blocks north. The homes in the neighborhood were all comfortable and well maintained, with most of the folks who lived there being merchants or professionals. The Kellys’ house was a brick, Federal-style home that had been built ten years earlier when the good times looked like they would never end. But the house looked a little out of place mixed in with all the other more popular, Craftsman-style homes. Trying too hard, Josephine thought as she walked up the brick steps to the front door.
The walk over had been pleasant, the air cool and dry. Josephine knocked on the door and waited. It took a couple more tries before it finally opened. Sarah Kelly stood in the doorway and looked more than a little surprised to see Josephine standing there.
“Good morning,” Josephine said, trying to appear friendly, but also a little downcast out of respect for Mr. Erickson’s death.
“Miss Nicolson?”
“Now, Sarah, you should just call me Josephine. Your sister and I were in school together.” Josephine felt disingenuous pretending to be an old friend. In truth, she and Tricia, Sarah’s sister, had not been close. Tricia had been all about the boys while Josephine was trying to get the best grades she could.
“
Well, okay, sure. I was so sorry to hear about your father,” Sarah said, making Josephine feel even worse as they walked into the parlor.
“Thank you. And I wanted to offer my condolences about the… sad events of last night. I know you and the Ericksons are good friends.”
“Actually, we’re more friends with Clarence and Amanda,” Sarah said, and Josephine saw a flash of emotion surface for a moment behind Sarah’s eyes. Sadness, anger, envy, fear? She couldn’t tell.
“Do you know any more about what happened?” Sarah asked her. “We’ve just read the papers and heard the rumors, but your house is right across the street.”
“We did go over and sit with the family for a while last night,” Josephine said.
“How horrible for them. The paper said that he was murdered in his bed.”
“Yes.”
“How did the killer sneak in at night? I always assumed Mr. Erickson’s bedroom was on the second floor.”
“It is. Actually, he was killed while taking his afternoon nap,” Josephine said, watching Sarah closely.
“Just horrible. Not that Mr. Erickson was a very pleasant man, but to be killed like that… You said we went over to the house?”
“I have a distant relative from Romania staying with me.”
“Oh, yes, I’d heard that. He sounds very interesting.”
“Why don’t you all come over for dinner tonight? You can meet him,” Josephine suggested.
“I don’t know… Gosh, we normally play pinochle at the Ericksons’ on Thursday nights. Obviously, they won’t be up to that this evening. Maybe it would be good to have something else to do tonight. Otherwise, Thomas will worry me to death. He was very upset about the murder. Told me twice this morning to make sure the doors were locked. I’ll have to check with him, but that does sound nice.”
“Say seven-thirty? I know that’s early, but my cook is worried about the murder too, so I told her she could leave early.”
Josephine had to do the math. She’d become almost as attuned to sunset as Blasko. Anna would be able to leave early, Grace could keep the food warmed and do any of the last-minute preparations, while Josephine would be able to get Blasko up in time to be dressed and ready to meet the guests by the time the sun had dropped below the trees.
“I’ll check with Thomas when he comes home for lunch and let you know,” Sarah said.
They chatted a little while longer before Josephine made her excuses and headed for the door. She now had a list of chores to accomplish in order to be ready for dinner that night.
“Dinner?” Anna exclaimed when Josephine finally returned home, her arms full of groceries.
“I’m sorry. I should have warned you this morning. But I’ve bought everything you’ll need. It doesn’t need to be anything complicated. A roast with vegetables.”
“I guess. That stew’ll be better if it sets a day, anyway. I made a pie y’all can have for dessert. Grace can make the biscuits,” Anna said, talking as much to herself as to Josephine.
Grace wasn’t thrilled, but the idea of getting to see more folks connected, even just barely, to the murder was a lure.
Chapter Twelve
Josephine knocked on Blasko’s door at six o’clock. A couple minutes of pounding finally resulted in the door being opened by a somnolent Blasko still wearing his housecoat.
“Yes?” he said sleepily.
“I swear you’re as bad as a child at waking up. The Kellys are coming for dinner. You have about an hour to get ready,” Josephine told him.
“Excellent.” Blasko was suddenly wide awake. He looked at the wristwatch he’d bought a couple of months ago, the first one he’d ever owned, then abruptly closed the door in Josephine’s face.
“You’re welcome!” she shouted.
The door opened again and, for a moment, Josephine thought Blasko might apologize for his rude behavior. Instead he asked, “Black tie?”
“No,” she said, remembering how hard it had been for him to adjust to the more casual atmosphere of America in the 1930s.
“I see.” And he closed the door again.
At seven on the dot, Blasko came up the stairs. Josephine did admire his punctuality. He was dressed in a dark pinstripe suit and his hair was slicked back. His shoes could have been used as mirrors.
Blasko bowed slightly to Josephine as she came into the hallway. The setting sun cast a faint reddish glow through the front windows. Her knee-length dress, a dark blue satin accented with black sequins, sparkled and highlighted her eyes.
“You look beautiful,” Blasko complimented her.
Josephine was warmed by his smile. She gave him a bashful grin and said, “I do look good, don’t I?”
“Shall I make you a drink?” he asked, walking over to the bar in the parlor.
“Yes. I think I’m going to need it before the night is over.”
Blasko pushed aside the small drinks trolley, which held only mixers, and opened a section of wainscoting behind it to reveal a dozen bottles of liquor. Most of it was still the good stuff that Josephine’s father had bought years ago before Prohibition. He’d had the hidden compartment constructed behind the bar, and a much larger one in the floor of the summer kitchen to hold the rest of the supply.
“You tried to explain it to me once, but of all the things this country could have done, I’ll never understand why you banned alcohol.”
“It’s the do-gooder syndrome. Alcohol caused some problems. Drunken men beat their wives and children. Alcoholics were destroying their livers and wasting their lives away. Drunks caused train wrecks and work accidents, et cetera, et cetera. So a bunch of people with their hearts in the right place decided that all we needed to do was to get rid of alcohol. On paper, it makes sense. If you get rid of the alcohol, then people can’t drink it. If they can’t drink it, then they can’t get drunk. If they can’t get drunk, then they won’t beat their families, wreck trains or destroy their own livers. How could you argue with it? So the Temperance Movement pushed it on the politicians. ‘Do you hate families?’ they asked. ‘Do you want the babies to suffer?’ Bam! Next thing you know, we have the Eighteenth Amendment.”
“But it didn’t get rid of the alcohol,” Blasko said as he poured gin into a glass for Josephine.
“Of course it didn’t. By all accounts, more people drink now than ever before. But now we have the addition of gangsters, mobsters and more corrupt government agents and police.”
Blasko handed the glass to Josephine and she held it up to him in a salute before taking a sip.
“Honestly, I don’t know why we don’t apply the same rule to laws that we do to investments. If it sounds too good to be true, then it probably is. Of course, the Twenties proved we weren’t very good at investing either,” Josephine said wryly.
“Politicians will do what politicians will do,” Blasko said, dismissing them with a wave of his hand.
“Unfortunately, the rest of us have to live with the consequences.”
“You can vote now, right?”
“Yes, women got the vote thirteen years ago.”
“So now you can share the blame.”
“That’s about how much good it’s done us,” Josephine agreed.
There was a knock at the door, followed by Grace’s appearance in the parlor. “The Kellys are here,” she announced.
As soon as the couple came through the parlor door, Blasko had to fight back an expression of surprise. Thomas Kelly was the man whom he’d followed home from the Ericksons’ the night before.
“You’re the fellow from Romania,” Thomas said, extending his hand as he walked toward Blasko.
“Baron Dragomir Blasko at your service,” he said with a slight bow and click of his heels.
“Thomas Kelly. This is my wife, Sarah.”
Blasko took her hand and raised it to his lips. After releasing it, he said, “Honored to meet you, Mrs. Kelly. I know you both are grieving for your friend and neighbor.”
“Horrible, just horrib
le,” Thomas said, a little too loudly. “Can’t imagine who would do such a thing. I know that Amanda and Clarence must be awfully broke up about it.”
“Have you spoken with them?” Josephine interjected.
“I stopped by and spoke with Clarence. I guess Sarah told you, this would have been our usual night to get up with them for our weekly pinochle game. I knew they wouldn’t want to play tonight, but I felt I should touch base with them.” The explanation seemed overly long.
“Very interesting,” Blasko said opaquely.
“Don’t know about interesting,” Thomas responded, giving Blasko an inquisitive look. “They were all very upset.”
“You saw Amanda as well?” Josephine asked.
“Just for a second. She was really too broken up to speak,” he said, receiving a sharp glance from Sarah.
“Forgive me. I shouldn’t have brought all of this up,” Blasko said.
“He’s right,” Josephine said as Grace, right on cue, came in to announce dinner.
Josephine had helped Grace take the leaves out of the dining room table, so when the four of them sat down it was quite an intimate atmosphere. After a few minutes of savoring the food, the conversation started up again.
“So, Baron, what did you do in Romania?” Sarah asked lightly. “Or don’t you noblemen have to work for a living?”
“I had many civic duties,” Blasko said.
“What’s that mean?”
“It means that he had governmental responsibilities. European nobility often act as judges or local militia leaders,” Thomas told her condescendingly.
“I asked the baron,” Sarah snapped at her husband.
“It is true. I was a magistrate and commander of a legion when necessary,” Blasko said, watching the couple fight a silent battle with their eyes.
“More chicken?” Josephine asked, not really wanting to watch an open fight. The Kellys both waved her off, but took the hint and went back to eating the food on their plates.
“What do you do, Mr. Kelly?” Blasko asked. He was picking at the food on his plate to be polite. He could eat, but it gave him no nourishment.
