by Amy Stewart
But this, apparently, didn’t warrant a postcard. “What’s the matter?” Constance asked as she walked across the drive.
“Was Fleurette here yesterday?”
“Well, I wasn’t here myself yesterday, but someone would’ve told me if she’d been by. Why?”
In the time it took Constance to answer, a chilly understanding crept over her.
“She didn’t come home last night,” Norma said.
Constance took her by the arm and pulled her toward the jail, but Norma refused to go.
“Are you sure? Couldn’t she have stayed overnight with Helen? What did she say when she left?”
“Nothing. She left sometime around noon yesterday while I was in Ridgewood,” Norma said. “I assumed she went to Mrs. Hansen’s. That’s where she always goes. Why would I have thought otherwise?”
“You wouldn’t,” Constance said, with a panicky sort of impatience.
“I spent all afternoon putting that back fence together and went to bed with a hot water bottle around eight. I was going to stay awake until I heard her come in, but the next thing I knew it was morning. I checked her room right away. She definitely hasn’t been home since yesterday.”
Constance choked on the blustery morning air as she tried to get some sort of answer out. Minnie Davis’s predicament was all too present in her thoughts. She’d only just been imagining what she’d do if Fleurette ran off like Minnie did. One part of her mind was busy denying that any such thing could ever happen, and another part was already organizing a search party.
“There isn’t any note,” Norma said. “And I haven’t seen evidence of any other kind of trouble. No letters or postcards from men, no cigarettes, no liquor —”
“Liquor and cigarettes! What exactly do you think she’s been up to?”
Norma raised an eyebrow. “We don’t know, do we?”
“Norma! We do know! We know exactly where she’s gone. She ran off with May Ward and that man—her husband . . .”
“Freeman Bernstein. And he should go to jail, if he’s put her into his vaudeville troupe without our permission. I’ve looked through all our directories and I don’t see his name. I suspected right away that he was operating under the shadow of some sham corporation. They all do that on Broadway.”
“What do you know about what they do on Broadway?” She couldn’t believe that she was arguing with Norma over how show business managers conducted their business.
“I knew enough to find this,” Norma said. She pulled a card out of her pocket and handed it to Constance. It was the portrait of May Ward she’d signed the night of the audition. On the back was the name of the portrait studio and the line: “With the Compliments of Theatrical Amusement Company, Leonia, New Jersey.”
“Then we’ll go to Leonia,” Constance said.
She turned back to the jail, and this time she grabbed Norma by the arm and jerked her along, causing Norma to stumble and lose her hat. She had only just cut her hair—she always did it herself, as she hated for anyone to touch her head—and the curls stuck out in every direction. Even her hair had a sense of outrage about it.
“None of this would’ve happened if you’d listened to me and refused to give her the five dollars,” Norma grumbled, as she put herself back together and went unaided to the door.
Constance saw no reason to answer that.
“Oh, and I found this on the floor in your bedroom.”
Constance turned around. It was the tin where she kept her money hidden away. Norma hadn’t found it on the floor—Fleurette wouldn’t have been that careless. Norma had obviously been through her drawers before and knew right where she kept her money.
Constance took the tin but she didn’t have to open it. She knew as soon as she saw it.
The tin was empty. She had seventeen dollars saved, and now it was gone.
32
THEY FOUND SHERIFF HEATH in his office. Deputy Morris sat across from him. “I thought you were going home this morning,” the sheriff said when he saw Constance, “but as long as you’re here, do you remember a man we brought in —”
But then he saw Norma and stopped.
“Fleurette’s gone missing,” Norma said.
Deputy Morris turned suddenly in his chair. Fleurette was such a pet to him.
“She isn’t missing,” Constance assured him, “but she’s gone off with a vaudeville troupe without a word to either of us. We’re on our way now to speak to the man responsible. I believe there might be cause for an arrest, so . . .”
Sheriff Heath settled back into his chair. There was something odd in his expression that stopped her.
“On what grounds would we be making an arrest, Deputy Kopp?” he said.
“Wouldn’t the Mann Act have something to do with it?” Norma blurted out. “Transporting a woman across state lines for immoral purposes? Isn’t that what you go around arresting people for these days?”
Sheriff Heath ran a hand over his mustache and said, “I’d like to know what Deputy Kopp has to say about a woman complaining to the sheriff because her sister has gone off at the age of eighteen to find employment for herself.”
Constance sighed and dropped into a chair. “I’m not proposing that we bring charges against Freeman Bernstein until we know more. Only that the situation might call for some stern questions from someone in an official capacity. I thought you might take us in the wagon.”
Deputy Morris and Sheriff Heath exchanged a look that suggested they understood things that she did not. She bristled at it but stayed quiet. Already she could see that it had been a mistake to try to bring the sheriff into this.
“Let’s start over,” Sheriff Heath said. “If she didn’t leave word, how do you know where she’s gone?”
Constance reminded him about the audition and showed him the photograph.
There passed another maddening look between Sheriff Heath and Deputy Morris, after which the sheriff said, “In that case, would you say that a girl of eighteen should be permitted to join a troupe after having auditioned, in public, with the full knowledge and approval of her family?”
“We didn’t approve,” Norma put in crabbily. “I didn’t. This man can’t be trusted. The entire operation is suspect. I’ve seen Freeman Bernstein. He’s something of a huckster. You know the type.”
“I’m afraid I don’t,” Sheriff Heath said. “Deputy Kopp asked me about Mr. Bernstein when this whole business started. As far as I know, he’s done nothing criminal. I can’t go running down to Leonia just because a deputy of mine happens to have a grievance. And speaking of deputies, mine are needed at work.”
“Not today!” Norma said. She gathered her coat around her and looked at Constance expectantly. But already Constance could see the weakness in her case.
“The sheriff’s right,” she said. “We already have too much trouble with the police interfering with girls in situations like this. Fleurette wasn’t lured away or conned.” It made her shudder a little to hear herself describing Fleurette in Minnie Davis’s circumstances, but she pushed on. “She went on her own. It’s the only thing she’s ever wanted to do.”
“But we don’t know anything about it,” Norma said. “If she was working at a factory, it would be another matter. We haven’t any idea where she’s sleeping tonight.”
“That may be true, but we’ve no reason to think it’s a matter for the law.”
Now Constance felt foolish for barging into Sheriff Heath’s office. None of the other deputies went running to him every time they had a problem at home. It was true that if she looked at Fleurette’s situation as one of her own cases, she’d find no evidence of wrongdoing, nor any reason to think that the girl ought to be brought home against her will. It had been nothing but fear and instinct that sent her running to the sheriff’s office.
Constance also blamed herself for being swayed by Norma’s resolute suspicion of Freeman Bernstein. Norma never liked anyone upon meeting them for the first time, and she was particula
rly mistrustful of a man who had designs on any of the Kopps. There was no way, as she thought back on it, that anyone in Freeman Bernstein’s situation could win Norma’s trust and admiration, even if the audition hadn’t been a sham. Why, then, had Constance given any credence at all to her opinion?
She hated to turn against Norma and give the impression that she would stand with Sheriff Heath rather than her sister. But she couldn’t please them both.
She looked back and forth between Norma and Sheriff Heath and then said, “You’re right. I’ll go down to Leonia and settle this myself, and you won’t hear another word about it. In fact, I’ll be close to Fort Lee, so I’ll stop in to speak to Minnie Davis’s landlord while I’m there.”
Sheriff Heath looked resigned to it and waved them out of the room.
33
FREEMAN BERNSTEIN KEPT HIS office in a building of pink brick that filled most of a city block on Broad Avenue in Leonia. Norma spotted him walking out the front door when they were still half a block away. She ran ahead to catch him and Constance lagged behind, as she was limping along in the same wet boots, now dried to a stiff and blister-inducing form.
At the sound of Norma’s footsteps, he turned around, wearing a bemused expression and puffing on a pipe.
“I’m sorry, my dear,” he said as Norma caught up with him. She wore the split riding skirt that she refused to describe as trousers, and her mackinaw flapped along behind her as she ran. She couldn’t have looked anything like a woman with aspirations for the stage, but he said, “The auditions are over, and we’ve filled all the parts.”
“I don’t want to audition,” Norma said. “I’ve come to get my sister back.”
He patted his pockets with comic exaggeration and claimed not to have any sisters on his person at present.
By then Constance had caught up with them. Mr. Bernstein looked her over with great interest. “Have you brought a lady policeman with you?” He seemed transfixed by Constance’s badge.
“She’s my sister, too,” Constance said, “and we’ve reason to believe that she’s traveling with your wife’s troupe. She left without a word. We must know where we can find her.”
Now he was grinning broadly at her. “You’re that lady deputy at the sheriff’s office, aren’t you? They sure do like to put you in the papers. Why don’t you girls come up to my office and we’ll talk about it.”
Before either sister could say a word, he linked elbows with them and marched them back down Grand Avenue and through the wide double doors of the building.
Norma and Constance were not the sort of women to be swept up by a man and led down the street, but Mr. Bernstein proved to possess an irresistible force. He wore a lively checkered suit in a fashionable cut and walked with the lanky grace of a dancer. His face was deeply lined and easily contorted into any expression, so that when he raised his considerable eyebrows, great lines of befuddlement or curiosity came into being across his forehead. When he smiled, there weren’t two dimples, but three or four, plus a single one in the center of his chin. Now that she saw him up close, Constance had to admit that he was one of the most interesting-looking men she’d ever met. He smelled good, too: as he pulled them along, they were enveloped in the fragrance of good tobacco smoke, a barber’s tonic, and whatever cream or salve he used to slick down his curly hair.
There was also just a hint of some liquor about him, but it wasn’t so overpowering that Constance believed him to be a drunk. She was introduced to the source of it soon enough. He whisked them upstairs and deposited them into leather chairs in his office, where he presented them with two dainty glasses and a bottle of sherry.
“We couldn’t possibly,” Norma said, with her arms crossed in front of her.
“Oh, you could. It’s very easy. You just splash a little into the glass and take a sip every now and then.” Mr. Bernstein grinned. He had eyes more green than brown, and after he removed his hat, Constance saw a little red in his hair. There was some Irish in his family line somewhere.
But Norma waved him away, and Constance explained that she was on duty, although she wouldn’t have taken any regardless. There had never been liquor in the house after their father left, apart from a little medicinal brandy that their mother kept hidden away.
“Yes, you’re on duty. The lady deputy,” Mr. Bernstein said as he flopped into the chair behind his desk. “Is it really you? It must be. I’ve never seen a woman better suited to it. We ought to put you into the pictures. What do you think about that?”
“She doesn’t think anything about it at all,” Norma said. “We’ve come to see about our sister. It was irresponsible of you to hire her on without speaking to her family first. We are her guardians, and it is our duty —”
“Oh dear!” Mr. Bernstein’s eyebrows lifted in an expression of mock surprise. “Did I hire a girl of fourteen? I’d never do it deliberately. Tell me her name and I’ll send her home tonight.”
“She’s eighteen.” Constance put an arm on Norma to settle her down. “We only want to ask after her welfare, and to make sure that she is, in fact, traveling with Mrs. Ward. She left us no note. It was irregular of her to go away without telling us.”
Mr. Bernstein wasn’t listening. He’d been riffling through a drawer in his desk, and after a few minutes of searching, he pulled out a crumpled newspaper clipping describing Constance’s capture of an escaped fugitive in December. It wasn’t Carrie’s story, which told the truth. It was one of the others.
“‘Lunatic Captured on the Subway Steps,’” he read. “I know just the fellow who can play the lunatic.”
“He only pretended to be a lunatic,” Constance said. “He’s nothing but a common criminal.”
“All the better, because my fellow will only be pretending, too! Now, I’d like to hear you deliver that line again, about him being nothing but a common criminal, if you wouldn’t mind standing over by the window and giving it your very best. Here, try it like this,” and to her astonishment, Mr. Bernstein stood, put a hand on his hip, and delivered the line in a falsetto that sounded nothing like her.
Constance did not get up from her chair, but just sat and stared at him. When he saw that he wasn’t going to get any applause, he sat down again and said, “I just have to know. Did you really put him in a halter hug? If you can show me that maneuver, I’ll have you on the stage in a week.”
By this time Norma was thoroughly fed up and snatched the newspaper story away from him as if it belonged to her. “She didn’t come here to audition for a part. If you won’t tell us anything about our sister, we’ll go straight to the police. Her name is Fleurette Kopp. Is she with Mrs. Ward or not?”
Mr. Bernstein arranged his face into something that looked like sincerity and said, “I do apologize, miss. I can see that you’re both very worried about her. She has joined our little company, and I can assure you that she’s perfectly safe. But if I can give you girls some advice —”
Norma was on her feet, glaring down at him. “You may not give us advice. You may give us the touring schedule so that we might know where on God’s green earth our sister has gone off to, and make certain for ourselves that no harm has come to her, because no one else seems to be looking out for her except the two of us.”
Mr. Bernstein took a deep breath and motioned for her to sit down. Constance tugged on her elbow, and she returned to her chair reluctantly.
“Ladies, I’m only trying to warn you. I’ve been in this game for fifteen years, and I’ve seen this a thousand times if I’ve seen it once. A girl grows up with dreams of being on the stage, and then one day, she gets her chance. But her mother won’t let her go. What mother would, when she can keep her girl at home and have an extra pair of hands about the place? So the girl goes off anyway, and it isn’t long before her mother and father turn up, furious, and make all kinds of noise. Maybe they even bring the police and have the girl arrested for moral depravation or disorderly conduct. But what do they think is going to happen after that? Do
they think they can bring her home and put her on the straight and narrow? Do they think that a couple of years in one of those reform homes is going to make a proper lady out of her? I can tell you right now that almost every girl in the theater has spent some time in a reformatory over the years. It only makes them more rebellious and more ambitious. So what do you intend to do about your sister, Miss Lady Sheriff? Are you going to go fetch her and drag her home, so that she can sit around and watch while you go out and get into all kinds of danger? I know what you lady officers do. They have you going in and out of dance halls and amusement parks. I bet you’ve seen the inside of an opium den, and a disreputable house full of girls for hire. Why is it all right for you, but not for your little sister? No. You girls should go on home and forget all about this. Just wait it out, and be glad to have her back when the tour is over. When she does come home, I suggest you listen with interest to what she has to say about it, and treat her like an adult. I hired on a strict old German lady as chaperone, and a tough-looking fellow to be a guard and a lookout, and I did that so that I can look ladies like you in the eye and promise that no harm will come to anyone under the employment of Freeman Bernstein. It would ruin my reputation, and I can’t have that. I’m a businessman. Can you understand what that means?”
At long last he finished. He sat back, put a match to his pipe, and drew on it, looking quite satisfied.
Norma turned and gave Constance a brief look that only a sister can read. It conveyed utter fatigue over the audacity of a man who dared lecture two women he’d never met about matters he couldn’t possibly understand. It told Constance that Norma had hardly listened to a word of his harangue, and had instead put the time to better use in making a plan that the two of them would carry out together.
It was only the faintest flicker of a glance, but Norma didn’t change her views readily. Constance knew quite well what she was likely to say and do in almost any situation. So she sat quietly and waited for her sister’s plan to be put into motion.
