He clasped both her hands and gave one of those cheeks a peck. “Oh, you know how it is. Your husband taught me to work.”
She laughed, but it was a hollow sound, not her typical infectious giggle.
After tea was ordered, Jasper motioned to the couch. “I wondered if I might ask you a bit about Mr. Rudin’s life. I’m working on a new project, and I want to pen a record of his accomplishments.”
“Well now, is he so famous that you hope to get rich off his biography?”
Smiling, Jasper winked. “Something like that.” He pulled out his notepad. “When did you first meet him?”
She settled against the cushions, her pink lips bowing upward. “We were young then. Back in New York… His family had emigrated from Russia, you see, so he was the new boy in the neighborhood the year I turned sixteen. Charming as he was, every girl on the street was swooned by him. I was, too, but I was better at hiding it. I pretended not to notice him, and he accepted the challenge.”
There was the giggle. Jasper grinned.
“The tactics he used to get me to speak to him! He’d been in the neighborhood about two weeks, and we still hadn’t been introduced. I looked out my window one afternoon and saw him passing by my house. He took his wallet from his pocket and tossed it on my front porch, then just walked away. Of course, I had to return the wallet. A fair amount of bills were in it, too. I’ll never forget the twinkle in his eye when he saw me standing on his porch, wallet in hand.”
“Did he have a curly mustache then, too?”
“Goodness, no. He wasn’t able to grow that until he was past thirty. But how proud he was when he finally could. He threatened to wear gold ornaments on the tips.”
After a moment of laughter, she sighed. “What I would give to have my old Gustov back. He’s not been himself as of late.” She bowed her head, and a gray curl fell against her soft, white blouse. “In some ways, life is easier than when we were young. Just look at this house. But in others…age brings cares we didn’t used to have.”
Jasper reached over and patted her hand. “It will be all right. We’ll find a way to get him back. Perhaps this narrative of his life will help.”
She offered a weak smile. “Yes. Do go on, Jasper.”
“If you met in New York, what brought you to Denver?”
“Gustov and I were deep in love, but our parents didn’t approve of the match. There are some strange Russian customs, you know. So he and I eloped. That’s when we came here.”
“So Mr. Rudin made his success without family aid or connections?”
“Well, away from family and without contact with them. Though we had a bit of money when we left. He used it as a start, but mostly his tenacity made him what he is.”
Lena stepped through the door carrying a tray of tea. “Here you are, ma’am.”
After noting these comments, Jasper set aside his notebook and claimed the steaming cup Mrs. Rudin offered. “I’ve always admired Mr. Rudin’s kindness and generosity. He must have touched many people in the community.”
“Indeed. He believes in sharing what we are gifted with. He’s always been passionate about charity.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, would you name a few of the charities has he contributed to?”
“The Orthodox church, of course, and the orphanage have been our favorites. Gustov also does so much for the poorer parts of town and especially his employees, as I’m sure you know.”
After a sip of tea, he set down the cup and scratched out those notes. He’d have to interview someone at the orphanage and one of the priests.
Now he needed to find a way to ask if she’d felt threatened at any point without alarming the dear woman. “I’m sure such a charitable reputation has created much goodwill in the community.”
“Yes.” She frowned and edged her teacup and saucer onto the tray before her. “Well, until recently. These union groups seem to be making Gustov out as a villain, only because he is the employer rather than employee.”
“Have you felt a change in attitude since their formation?”
Her lips pursed into a thin line. “I’ve started sending Lena to do the shopping. A few people in town actually seem to…to dislike me. Sometimes they charge ridiculous prices far above what the item is marked.”
“The organization claims you have nothing in common with the working class. They just need to see that you are a human the same as they are.”
She nodded, but her teacup clattered against the saucer when she picked it up.
He swallowed, fearing the answer to his next question. “Have you had any disturbances lately?”
“Not particularly, though I suspected a man was following us for some time last month. Nothing came of it, thank goodness. I haven’t seen him since.”
He bit his lip. “What did he look like?”
“I couldn’t say for certain. His hat was pulled down over his face, and his coat collar flipped up.” She smoothed her skirt, and trouble clouded her eyes.
He cringed. He hadn’t meant to make her uneasy. “How is Ana?”
Her face brightened at the mention of her daughter. “Oh, she’s fine. That little grandson of mine will be two next Wednesday.”
“I bet that youngster loves his grandfather.”
Again, the smile disappeared. “He would, but unfortunately Ana and her husband are so busy…we rarely get to see him. They’re into all the social circles, you know.”
Something about her statement didn’t sit right. How would a daughter not have time for her parents? Especially when she was the couple’s only child?
“I sure have enjoyed visiting, Mrs. Rudin. But I do have to get going. Much to do before the sun goes down on me.” They stood, and he wrapped one arm around her frail shoulders. “Forgive me. I will try to stop by more often.”
Smiling, she laid a hand on his cheek. “I always love to see you, dear.”
Leaving the Rudin mansion, Jasper took off toward the orphanage. It was only a few blocks down, situated in an old house built in Denver’s early days. The shutters needed painting, but the brick structure appeared in good condition, considering.
A snowball whizzed past him and hit a tree in the yard. He stopped and looked around, but the only movement came from a branch at the edge of a shrub. He took another step, and another snowball slammed his back.
“Ow!” He whirled around as a boy ducked behind a tree. The snowball at his feet had split open to reveal a walnut-sized rock. He’d have a whelp come morning. He eyed the tree branches, laden with snow.
Jasper couldn’t help a smirk as he bent and picked up the rock. He aimed and slung with all his might. The stone hit the intended branch, dumping an armload of snow.
The boy behind the tree screeched as snow pelted his head. That’ll show him. Jasper faced the house, but he stopped as sobbing met his ears. Guilt smacked him over the head, and he winced.
He tiptoed through the snow and around the tree. A small boy about nine years of age sat covered in snow. His nose was red, and tears glistened on his cheeks.
“There, there, it’s not so bad. You can’t win every fight.” Jasper waved a hand. “Come on then, shake it off and let’s go inside.”
The boy sobbed louder. “It’s cold.” He shifted, and one leg appeared from beneath the snow. Jasper’s stomach twisted into a knot. Steel braces fastened the kid’s left leg.
“I’m sorry, lad. Let me help you up.” He stooped, gripped the boy under the arms, and stood him up. He swiped at the boy’s shoulders, dusting off the snow. “Are you all right?”
“I think so.” But when he took a step, he wavered.
Jasper reached out to steady him, but when he did, the boy fell into his arms. He swept him up and marched to the house. “Let’s get you inside.”
The boy trembled in his grip. “Why do I have to be different from all the other boys?” He buried his face in Jasper’s coat, muffling his sobs.
As Jasper mounted the stairs, the front door flew ope
n. “Oh, bless you, sir. Please bring him in and set him on the sofa.” The matron ushered him into the parlor and fluffed the pillows behind the lad when he laid him down on a brown sofa. “Shhh, it’s all right, Eddy.”
Jasper knelt before the boy and wiped the tears from his cheeks. “Are you hurt?”
Eddy shook his head. “Just c–cold.”
Snow caked Eddy’s frozen shoelaces. The ice cut at Jasper’s fingertips. Shaking loose mini snowballs, he managed to pry the laces off without upsetting the boy’s leg. He shook open the blanket offered by the matron and tucked it around him. “Better?”
“Thank you, mister…?” Blue eyes blinked up at him.
“Hollock. Detective Hollock, actually.” He extended a hand. “And you are Eddy, I presume?”
Those blue eyes widened. “Detective Hollock? Denny’s boss?”
Jasper clenched his jaw and counted to ten. “I am a…uh…a friend of Denny’s.”
“He talks about you all the time. He says he’s going to work with you, and together you’ll save Denver from all the bad guys.”
“Denny can tell good stories. You should tell him to write books.”
“He reads a lot of them. His favorite is Sherlock Holmes, and he reads them out loud to me. He says you’re a real Sherlock. Can you do card tricks like Denny?”
“Afraid not. I’m not so entertaining as he.” Jasper rose and nodded at the matron. “Excuse the intrusion, ma’am.”
“Of course, detective. You are a known name around here.” Her smile was warm, though weary. “I’m Mrs. Yale.”
Jasper patted Eddy’s arm. “Will you be all right for a minute if I talk to Mrs. Yale?”
The boy nodded. “But don’t leave without saying bye. I can’t chase after you like Denny does.”
Great. Hopefully, he didn’t just get another tagalong. He followed Mrs. Yale into the hall.
“Would you prefer the kitchen? I can put on some tea or coffee.”
“No, quite all right, I won’t take much of your time. I see you’re a busy woman.”
A pair of children ran past them and clambered up the stairs laughing and squealing. “Jane, Lucas—” They were both gone before the words left her mouth. “Oh dear. I do apologize, detective.”
“I was a child once, too.” His gaze followed their direction. “Not so much unlike them.”
Indeed, had it not been for Mr. and Mrs. Rudin, he may have ended up in an orphanage or home of some kind. His mother had confessed to considering it before she found work at the Rudins’ mansion.
“They are sweet children, but I struggle to keep up with them these days. Ever since my dear husband passed on, I—” She inhaled a shaky breath. “Let’s just say I would be lost without the kind people of the community.”
Something upstairs clattered to the floor with a breaking crash. Mrs. Yale hefted her skirts to dart upstairs when a young woman jogged out of the kitchen. “I’ll see to them, Mrs. Yale.”
Jasper squinted. “Miss Leslie?”
She was halfway up the stairs when she glanced back. “Good evening, detective. Do excuse me.”
His mouth dropped as she disappeared beyond the banister, her heels clomping against the wooden floor.
“That girl is an angel in shoe leather.” Mrs. Yale smiled at the staircase before returning her attention to Jasper. “Now, how can I help you, detective?”
“I—um—I was hoping to ask you about Mr. Gustov Rudin. I understand that you know him.”
“Yes, of course. He’s been such a generous patron of this home.” She pointed to a corridor left of them. “That is the Rudin Wing. Completely financed by the Rudin family.”
“The entire wing?” He climbed a few steps and scanned the line of doors on either side.
“Yes. A whole wing of boys’ rooms. One of them is Eddy’s.”
Placing a hand on one of the doorknobs, he raised a brow. “May I?”
Mrs. Yale shooed him on with her hands. “By all means.”
He opened the door and poked his head inside. The room held two bunk beds and a chest of drawers. “How many boys do you house in the Rudin wing?”
“There are six rooms, and we have three or four boys in most of them, so about twenty.”
Jasper pulled the notepad from his pocket and jotted down the number. How could Mr. Rudin say his life had come to nothing? Jasper hadn’t created a place for twenty boys to call home and be cared for. A place where dear ladies like Mrs. Yale would give them a mother’s love.
Footsteps tromped down the wooden staircase. Miss Leslie descended holding a tray.
“Is everything all right?” Mrs. Yale bit her lip. “It wasn’t Izzy, was it?”
“Yes and no. Izzy is fine. Lucas and Jane were trying to cheer her and upset the soup bowl. It fell off the side table. The bowl smashed to pieces, but everyone is fine.”
With her sleeves rolled up and several strands of hair loose and floating beside her face, Miss Leslie could have modeled for an Edmund Blair Leighton portrait. Jasper blinked several times. Was this really the troll of the employment department?
She swept toward the kitchen but tossed a glance over her shoulder. “Her fever broke.”
Mrs. Yale let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God.” She turned back to Jasper. “Was there anything else, detective?”
“Hmm?” He dragged his gaze from the empty doorway Miss Leslie had passed through. “Oh, I won’t keep you much longer. Tell me, where does the funding for the daily operation come from? Is Mr. Rudin responsible for that as well?”
“In part, but a lot comes from others in the community and sometimes churches.”
“And your volunteers, are their services encouraged by Mr. Rudin?”
“Volunteers?”
“Yes, ma’am. Such as Miss Leslie.”
Mrs. Yale’s brow scrunched. “If you mean to ask whether Bet is here of her own initiative or because her employer somehow required it, I will tell you Miss Leslie has been my most loyal support for five years now. Long before she began working at Rudin Factory. She is the only one of his employees who has entered these doors. Until now, of course.”
“I see.” Clearing his throat, Jasper extended a hand. “I will take up no more of your time. I appreciate your cooperation. I’ll just say goodbye to Eddy and be on my way.”
She gave his hand a squeeze. “You’re quite welcome, detective. Please let me know if I can be of help. And you are always welcome to visit. The boys would love to hear your stories.”
Stories. He had none to tell. He started for the parlor, and then stopped. “Oh, Mrs. Yale, does Denny, I mean, is he—are one of those rooms his?”
She offered him a tight smile. “Not anymore. We had several younger children who needed a place, and Denny is of the age…Well, we had to find other arrangements. His home is with another family who has agreed to board him until he reaches eighteen.”
That could only be a few months. “And then?”
“Then…it’s in God’s hands.”
Chapter Eight
December 4, 1913
Jasper glared out his apartment window. A fine time for a blizzard. The wind howled as it whipped snow this way, then that, finally landing in a drift. Why did this storm seem intent on crippling all transportation in Denver?
At least the newspaper had printed a minuscule apology beside all the blizzard articles. Still, he had two cases in the balance. He needed interviews, research from the factory, records from public offices, and a meeting with his old friend from Pinkerton. The survival of the factory, and of Mr. Rudin, depended on him.
Still, it snowed. And snowed. And snowed.
Two feet of slushy white obstructed the streets. Abandoned automobiles created mounds alongside the road. Every window of the hotel down the street was illuminated. He flipped open his pocket watch. Two o’clock. Yet the gloom made it seem much later.
The warmth of his apartment should have comforted him. Why then did he feel so annoyed? He poured another mug
of coffee, but didn’t sit. Good thing he wasn’t an author. His backside was done with sitting after the last six hours. The notepad on the table held five pages of praise to Mr. Rudin and the difference his life and influence had made to those around him. The love of his wife, the existence of his daughter, the factory and the two hundred people it employed, the orphanage wing and the score of boys who had a safe living environment because of his generosity. It was all there. But he’d hoped to gain additional information from a few employees, as well as the priest.
What irked him most was not having thought to grab Mr. Stosch’s file. He suspected the man had something to do with the factory mishaps, and he wanted to dig into it as soon as possible. Maybe even follow the man around a few evenings and see what he spent his time on. With such a repulsive personality, the man couldn’t have friends.
Jasper snorted. As if he were any different. Where were his friends?
Knock, knock, knock.
Nonsense. Jasper shook his head. No way had he really heard a knock. It would be too on cue. Besides, no one ever visited him. Especially in a blizzard.
He lifted the mug of steaming coffee to his lips, but instead dribbled it all over his shirt. That was a knock on his door. Louder this time.
He grabbed a napkin and dabbed at his shirt as he shuffled to the door. “Who’s there?”
“It’s me, boss. Denny.”
Jasper unbolted the door and opened a crack. “Dash it, Denny, what are you doing out in a blizzard?”
The lad shrugged. “I got bored, so I came to see if you need anything.”
Not sure he believed the tale, Jasper opened the door. “I suppose you might as well come in.”
“Thanks.” With a wide grin, Denny loped inside. “Cozy place. A little big for only one person.”
Jasper glanced around the apartment. Hardly what he’d call “big” regardless of how many occupied the space. “Don’t you have—” He stopped short as he remembered Mrs. Yale’s remark. Denny didn’t have parents, but wasn’t there someone to worry about him?
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