Persephone Cole and the Christmas Killings Conundrum

by Heather Haven

  Father nodded at her words and turned to Percy. “Persephone, you are completely right in everything you said.” Percy looked at him in astonishment. “But this being Christmas and all, with good will toward men and young women, I might add, I am going to ask you to give Lily one more chance under the proviso that she obey you to the letter on everything you say from now on. We will start anew. What do you say, daughter?”

  Everyone turned and stared at Percy, who stood tall and angry. Finally, Percy nodded and let out a deep breath. “Okay.”

  “Yah!” Oliver let out a cheer and everyone in the room visibly relaxed. “Can we have some bacon and scrambled eggs right now? I’m hungry.” Oliver looked from one person to the other, ending with his mother.

  “It’s a little early, but if you’re hungry….” Percy stopped talking and grinned at her son.

  “I could make breakfast, if you’d like Miss Cole.” Lily stepped forward, looking eager to please.

  “Can you do French toast?” Mother walked over to Lilly, reached out and locked arms with the girl. A grateful look crossed Lily’s face and she nodded. Arm in arm, they left for the kitchen, trailed by Sera. Mother’s ethereal voice drifted back into the parlor, as she nattered on.

  “I haven’t had French toast in over a year. I can’t quite get the hang of it. I mean, do you toast the bread first and then dip it in beaten eggs? But when I do that it’s such a mess. Whatever I do, though, it never comes out quite right. I’ve got some maple syrup all the way from Vermont in the back of the larder I’ve been saving. We can put that on top. I think French toast – made correctly -- with maple syrup is a bit of heaven on earth, don’t you?”

  Before Oliver left, he turned to his mother. “I know Lily disobeyed you, Mommy, but I do too sometimes, and you forgive me. Everybody makes mistakes now and then,” he added in a very grownup manner.

  Percy and Pop watched the boy leave and there was a moment of silence. Percy shut the door and looked at her father.

  “That’s a wonderful little boy, Persephone. He does you credit.”

  “He does us all credit, but I hope we did the right thing, Pop. This whole thing scares me, harboring a felon.”

  “Persephone, put your fears about Oliver and the rest of us aside for a moment, so you can think clearly. What does your gut tell you about this girl? Does she strike you as the type of person who would kill two people in cold blood?”

  “Pop, given the right set of circumstances, anybody could turn into a killer.”

  “No, no, no. We’re talking about this girl, this set of circumstances. Think about it.”

  Percy closed her eyes and thought for a moment. When she opened them, she looked at her father with a smile. “In answer to your question, I don’t think she’d commit murders quite so crude. I think she’d plan it out. And these have all the earmarks of being on the fly. Spontaneous.”

  “Crimes of passion?”

  “Yeah. And something inside me says if that was the case, Lily would honest enough to ‘fess up to it. So no, I don’t think it’s her. But she’s a loose cannon, Pop. If she does something else stupid and the cops find out we’re hiding her, she could get us into a lot of trouble. At the very least, we could both lose our licenses.” She came closer and knelt before her father. Close up, she saw his fevered eyes and waxy skin tone. “You don’t look so good, Pop. I think your Custer’s Last Stand took a lot out of you.”

  “Maybe so.”

  “What happened when you called the doctor about the series of penicillin shots? What did he say?”

  “I go into the hospital day after tomorrow. With all the wounded soldiers, there isn’t a bed until then. Meanwhile, I’m supposed to keep taking my pain-killers.” He let out a laugh. “I’m loaded up with them. I don’t think I could stand, even if I wanted to.”

  “December twenty-first? Did he say how long he thought you’d be there?” Jesus, what a lousy Christmas. Pop in the hospital fighting for his leg, maybe his life.

  “Doc told me we’d pretty much know right away if the penicillin was going to work or not. At least this way, my leg has a fighting chance.” He looked at his daughter. “It’s all thanks to you, Percy, and that money you gave me.”

  Guilt rode over Percy like a steamroller. “Pop, there’s something I’ve got to tell you. Mr. Waller promised me more money if I could keep Lily out of jail. Five thousand dollars. That’s why she’s here.”

  Pop didn’t answer but gave out with a soft whistle.

  “I wanted the money for a fresh start for Oliver and me. Our own home, a little savings, a future for Oliver. I wasn’t thinking straight, Pop.”

  “Five thousand dollars could do that.”

  “I shouldn’t have agreed to the deal without talking to you first. Twenty-five hundred should go to you, an equal split. I was being selfish.”

  “I don’t want your money, Persephone.”

  “Regardless, Pop. It isn’t right. We’re partners. Or I want us to be. But I got carried away, got greedy. I’m sorry.”

  Pop smiled at his daughter. “As Oliver says, everybody makes mistakes now and then.”

  Percy let out a laugh. “He is quite a boy, isn’t he?”

  “That he is. And if you move out, I’ll miss him. But it’s probably the right thing to do, Persephone. You’re still a young woman --”

  “Not so young, Pop,” Percy interrupted. “I’ll be thirty-six in April.”

  “That’s young from where I’m sitting. Besides, my girl, you’ve always been a late bloomer. Why, you didn’t marry until you were twenty-seven. Then you had Oliver. Mother had two babies before she was twenty-one.”

  “But she didn’t have Sera until fifteen years later.”

  “Exactly. You never know what life is going to hand you.”

  “Or throw at you.” Percy and her father laughed. “Thanks, Pop, for understanding. Maybe part of my harshness with Lily has been a guilty conscience over the five thousand smackers.”

  “That much money can throw anyone.”

  “There’s a drawback to everything.”

  “Truer words were never spoke. To change the subject, I got some answers on the census report you wanted on the building at Fifty-ninth Street. My friend dropped it off on his way home. When you kick people out of rent-controlled apartments, you have to file a lot of papers, dot your ‘i’s and cross your ‘t’s. And I got a copy of the police report, too.”

  “How’d you wangle that?”

  “It pays to stay friends with your partners from the good old days.” Pop wheeled his chair to the Peacock screen, disappearing behind it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  He looked up at the four-story building, slick and wet, from across the potholed pavement. Dim streetlights provided a scant amount of illumination in the night sky and the falling snow, just starting to stick, obscured even more. He’d followed the nosy, large woman in the man’s hat hours ago, all the way up to seventy-second street and then down to the lower east side.

  He’d been outside her apartment house all night, watching everyone come and go. He’d seen the scruffy police detective, the one who was investigating the murders, enter a short time ago. He’d been surprised by that. Do not underestimate the large woman, he said to himself.

  He’d watched Lily leave slightly before the policeman came. He’d thought about her; that Jezebel, that whore, that daughter of Satan. She’d reentered shortly after the cop left. Tempted though he’d been to silence her when he could, he’d never left his position. It was not time.

  He stood, impervious to the cold, rain, snow, and lack of sleep. They meant nothing to him. He mused for a moment, as the silent snow fell on his head and his numb ears, before pulling back into the shelter of the doorway.

  An abandoned building across the street from his quarry was ideal. He was protected. He was nurtured. It was only right.

  What was the large woman up to? Why did the detective come to see her at such an hour? Was he having an affair with her,
the woman who couldn’t seem to mind her own business? Unless stopped, she might cause all kinds of trouble.

  And what was the girl doing here, as well? She, too, should be stopped. Especially her.

  He looked at his watch, straining his eyes in the dark. He was tired and felt older than he could imagine, but he would sleep later when the job was done. He would sleep later.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “What is it, Persephone? What are you looking at?”

  Pop put down the papers on his desk and rolled his chair over to the window facing the street. His hand reached up and absentmindedly stroked a delicate frond of a cascading fern. “Do you see something?”

  She shook her head and shivered. “No, Pop, I don’t think so. But I can’t shake the feeling…” She stopped speaking, drew back the white sheer drape again, and peered out into the darkness speckled with the white of falling snow.

  What she really wanted was a cigarette, but that was something you didn’t tell Pop. He thought it was a nasty habit, not glamorous, not sexy, but smelly. She rarely smoked. It was expensive and not worth the price, as a rule. But tonight, with so much going on, she could use the calming influence. She thought about the pack in the glove compartment of the car. Stale, probably, but half full. It beckoned to her like a slice of pecan pie. She licked her lips in anticipation.

  “I thought I saw something earlier but nothing’s there now. Never mind, Pop. I’ve got the willies from this business, that’s all. Let’s go over the list again, see if I missed anything.”

  Percy pulled herself from the window and sat down in the chair beside her father’s desk. He followed, rolling back to the desk and settling in. Pop picked up the reports again.

  “There’s not much here, really,” he said. “Between the Census Bureau and the logs of the Department of Rent control, everyone is accounted for, gone or soon going.”

  “Your friend makes good copies, so detailed, almost as good as reading the original.”

  “Renaldi studied calligraphy, you know. He prides himself on being able to copy anyone’s handwriting exactly. Most times you can’t tell the difference.”

  “It’s a good thing he didn’t turn to a life of crime, Pop.”

  “With his mother? She’d skin him alive.” He laughed at the memory of his friend’s overbearing mother then cleared his throat. “To sum it up, the last of the long-term lease tenants moved out six-months ago, each family receiving five-hundred dollars in compensation.”

  Percy’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

  “I know,” her father agreed. “Most people don’t see that kind of money all in one fell swoop in their lifetimes.”

  “So they didn’t balk about leaving.”

  “Good grief, no. This was a godsend for most of them. It’s not the same for the small businesses on the ground floor, five exactly, including the cobbler and watch repair you spoke to. There’s no compensation for them, and they have more to lose. Their leases end December thirty-first. Demolition starts the day after New Year’s.”

  “What about this line right here? What did he write here?” She pointed to an almost unreadable line on the mirror copy of the nineteen-forty census document. “Could that word be janitor?”

  “What are you talking about? Where?” Pop grabbed his bifocals, twisted the neck of his desk lamp for better light, leaned in, and scrutinized the paper.

  “I think this is somebody’s name,” Percy insisted. “Maybe Ernie, and over to the right might be the word janitor.”

  “Is that what you think it reads?” He looked doubtful. “This line doesn’t even look like writing. It looks like someone scribbling around seeing if the pen worked. Or maybe it’s a mistake and scratched out.”

  “I don’t know, Pop. It’s been a while since you’ve read a child’s handwriting. I try to decipher Oliver’s penmanship all the time. Sometimes it looks just like this.”

  “You think a child wrote on an official government document?”

  “A child or an uneducated man.”

  “Phew.” Pop blew out air dramatically. “You’re clutching at straws, Persephone, and I have no idea why. What makes you think the building and its demise has anything to do with these two murders, anyway?” He rolled his wheelchair back and wiped sweat from his brow. “I’m sorry, Persephone. I’m being no help to you. I have to lie down. I’m tired.”

  Percy jumped up. “Of course, you do, Pop, and I’m sorry for haranguing you about this. You’re probably right. It’s just scrawl. You rest and we’ll try not to disturb you.”

  She hurried his chair to the parlor door, opened it wide, and watched him push himself slowly to his bedroom. Then Percy grabbed her keys, threw on her coat over her robe, and went out, quietly closing the door behind her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Percy buttoned her coat against the falling snow and hopped down from the stoop onto the sidewalk. She could feel the icy slush through her slippers and chided herself for not changing into her boots.

  Aw, nuts. They’re going to be soaked through. Oh, well. The car is only across the street. I’ll dry them on the radiator when I get back. Nobody will ever know. Exactly what Lily thought, I’ll bet. For the first time in years, Percy felt like a wayward teenager sneaking a smoke.

  One or two people were up, heading off to somewhere, but not as many as usual, it being a lousy day. When your life is working and paying your bills, you use any reason to stay in bed an extra minute or two, and the snowfall had offered just that. Soon kids would be out, playing in the slush before going to school wet and cold, warmed by their youth and enthusiasm. But for now, the street was Percy’s.

  A car motor started up, as she crossed the sidewalk and stepped down into the curb. Looking both ways into the dark, deserted street, she vaguely wondered where the running motor sound was coming from. She dismissed it; the call of the cigarettes too strong.

  She turned sideways, jammed herself between two snow-covered parked cars, and stepped out into the street. Bright headlights to her left came on and a car pulled out from the row. It idled for a moment then she heard the revving of the motor, followed by the squeal of tires.

  Now, who would be burning rubber at this hour?

  Her body swiveled in the direction of the sound. Blinded by the on-coming blaze of light, she froze like a deer caught in its headlights. Only her hand seemed able to move, flying up to shield her eyes from the sudden glare. When she tried to flee back to the curb, soggy slippers weighed her feet down, adhered to the snowy asphalt almost like glue.

  At the last second, she threw herself, shoeless, onto the slippery hood of the nearest parked car, the hardness of the surface taking her breath away. Only her feet jutted out in the street. She felt the whip of the passing car’s radio antenna on her toes as it careened by. The slap caused her body to rotate like a top and her cheek hit the windshield with a smack. A screech of metal against metal assaulted her eardrums, as the car parked in front was sideswiped by the renegade vehicle. With closed eyes, she heard it speed away until there was only the sound of her beating heart.

  Time seemed to slow down as Percy listened to this, clinging to the windshield wiper to keep from sliding to the ground. After a moment of silence, she released her grip, rolled onto her belly, and slid to the frosty pavement, feet first. The cold felt good on her hot, stinging toes, hopefully bruised but not broken. They were painful to say the least. She stood for a moment; her feet submerged in the quiet slush until numbness set in. Then Percy leaned against the car, and tried to figure out what the hell that was all about. Bad driver? Or bad murder attempt?

  Number two gets my vote.

  * * * *

  Sera was coming from the kitchen just as Percy reentered the apartment. On seeing her kid sister, Percy paused, panting, unsure of what to say. Her disheveled and drenched appearance made Sera suck in a breath so long and noisy that in the middle of it, Percy held a finger to her lips.

  “Shush,” Percy added in a low voice.

>   Sera clapped a hand over her mouth and ran down the hallway toward her sister. Both stood and watched the closed kitchen door, waiting a beat. Satisfied no one heard, they turned to one another.

  “What happened to you?” Sera’s voice was not quite a stage whisper, closer to a growl.

  “You look terrible.”

  “Let’s just say, I went out for a smoke.”

  Sera looked down at her older sister’s red, swollen feet. “Barefoot?”

  “About that, Sera. Are you giving me slippers again this Christmas? I sure hope so.”

  “What’s going on, Percy?” Sera searched Percy’s face. “Is that a bruise coming up on your cheek? Are you okay? You look terrible.”

  “You already said that. Don’t say it again.” She paused and thought. “How bad do I look, really?”

  “Like you got hit by a truck.”

  “Close enough.”

  Percy began to hobble down the hallway. “Ah, Sera, mind giving me a hand to the bathroom? My toes are a little stiff. I think I’ll take a long, hot soak, loosen them up a bit.”

  “Sure,” Sera said, wrapping a protective arm around Percy’s waist. “You just lean on me, Percy.” Sera moved both of them toward the bathroom, trying to get in step with Percy.

  “All right, I will.” She put her arm around Sera’s shoulder and distributed some of her weight onto the smaller woman.

  “But not too much. I’m not as strong as I look.”

  Percy glanced down at her sister and visibly restrained a hoot of laughter. Sera began to giggle.

  “Sorry about this,” Percy said, taking a few steps. “My feet are not what they should be.”

  “Never you mind, Sis. I’ve got you. You lean on me all you want. That’s what sisters are for,” Sera said with a burst of pride.

  “Thank you, Sera.” Percy’s tone was serious and grateful.

  Never thought the day would come when I’d be leaning on Sera. Never say never, like Mother says.

  They came to the bathroom door. Percy pushed it open with a free hand and flipped on the wall light switch. It was a large twelve by twelve room, white subway tiles running up the walls finished off in a black and white trim. The floor was covered with smaller black and white tiles done in a herringbone pattern, laid by immigrant workers short on cash and long on talent, made to last forever.