“Something smells good,” Rosie complimented as she hung her coat in the front closet.
“Beef stew. I wanted to use up some vegetables before they went bad.”
Rosie nodded. “Where’s Ma?
“She went home,” Katie explained.
“Oh. She’s not still sore at me for going down to the shipyard, is she?”
“No, I asked her to leave.”
“You did? Why?”
“Because I wanted to talk to you—alone.”
“Uh-oh, that can’t be good.” Rosie leaned over the wooden rail of Charlie’s playpen and delighted the infant by shaking one of his rattles.
“I want to know why you went to the shipyard today.”
Rosie placed the rattle in her nephew’s chubby hand before flopping onto the sofa. “I already told you. I went there to ask for my job back.”
Katie wiped her hands on her apron and moved into the living room area. “But why?”
“Because we could use the money.” She leaned forward and wiggled a finger at the baby through the bars of his playpen. “Yes, we could, couldn’t we, Charlie?” she sang in a high-pitched voice. “That’s right, we could.”
“That’s not the whole story and you know it.”
Rosie’s voice dropped to its normal timbre. “I know nothing of the sort. I asked for my job back because there aren’t many other jobs around for someone who can’t type, can’t take dictation, and doesn’t know how to operate a switchboard. At least, none that pay well.”
“Yeah, and we both agreed that by moving in with Ma, you could take a lesser-paying job that didn’t have you climbing scaffolds like a monkey. So what gives?”
“I just thought it would be nice to be able to afford a few little luxuries. Wouldn’t you like that?”
“Sure I would. Let me know when the War Department says it’s okay to have them again,” Katie scoffed.
“All right, so we can’t get stockings, but the extra money can buy us a heck of a lot of eyebrow pencil for drawing seams on our legs.”
Katie rolled her eyes.
“I’d like to do more than just make do, Katie-girl. That’s all.”
“Is that all?” Katie folded her arms across her chest.
“Of course it is. What else could there be?”
Katie disappeared into the bedroom and came back with the evening paper, which she proceeded to toss onto Rosie’s lap. “How about this?”
The publication had been folded to display the top of the fourth page where a bold-font headline announced:
SHIPYARD WORKER KILLED
IN BROOKLYN BLUDGEONING.
Rosie picked it up with trembling fingers.
“You told me he had been stabbed,” Katie reminded.
“Yes, I did,” Rosie answered quietly.
“Why did you lie to me?”
“Because I didn’t want you to worry.”
Katie gave an exasperated sigh and threw her hands in the air. “I’m your sister, Rosie! I’m supposed to worry about you. That’s the way it works.”
“I know, but you were already upset about Finch assaulting me. I didn’t want to worry you even more.”
Katie shook her head and plopped onto the sofa beside her sister. “The police, they know that you hit Finch in the head with a—”
“Stapler? Yes.”
“Do they think you did this? Is that why that man came here last night?”
Rosie frowned. Katie’s husband had been one of seven hundred men who drowned when the USS Houston went down in Indonesia at the end of February. The loss had caused the normally cheerful young blonde to take to bed with the shades drawn for the better part of a week. It was only upon moving in with Rosie and leaving the apartment she’d shared with Jimmy that Katie’s depression had finally started to lift. Over the past few weeks, Katie had gradually returned to her old self, but how would she react if she knew that Rosie, the new anchor in her life, might soon be lost, too?
“Rosie,” Katie urged. “Rosie, tell me the truth. I know you’re looking out for me, but I’m not a little girl anymore.”
Rosie recalled Riordan’s words earlier that afternoon: “At least you have your sister to lean on.”
“I want to look out for you the way you’ve always looked out for me, Rosie. The way you’ve looked out for Charlie and me since we moved here. And you need to talk to someone. You can’t carry it all on your shoulders.”
Perhaps Riordan was right. Here she had been pining for Billy to come back and “rescue” her, but, in truth, even when she was at her lowest, Katie offered more comfort than Bill Keefe ever could. “All right.” Rosie sighed. “I’ll tell you everything, but I don’t want Ma to know.”
“I won’t breathe a word. Why do you think I sent her home in the first place?”
Rosie told her sister about the previous night’s interrogation and the afternoon at the shipyard.
“So the police actually think you did it? And the guys at the yard, too? How could anyone believe such a thing?”
“The police are watching me as a suspect, yes. As for the guys at the yard, I can’t say I blame them, or anyone else, for thinking I might have done it. Everyone within a hundred yards of Finch’s office heard him shouting. A lot of them even saw the blood.”
“Which is exactly why you wouldn’t have clubbed Finch to death. You’d use a gun or a knife or poison, but you wouldn’t have hit him in the head. Not again. That would be like leaving a signed note at the scene of the crime. How stupid do they think you are?”
“Who says they think I’m stupid? They could think I’m just plain crazy.”
Katie shrugged. “But the women think you’re innocent.”
“No, not necessarily. They’re on my side because I stood up against Hansen and because ‘Finch had it coming to him.’ Whatever that means.”
“They’d take the side of a potential murderer over that of a dead victim? Gee. Makes you wonder what Finch did to them, doesn’t it?”
“I know what he did to me. I’m sure he didn’t treat them with any more respect.”
“What a creep,” Katie remarked. “How did a guy like that sleep at night?”
Rosie’s mind wandered to Billy and the possibility that he was not overseas but, in the words of Del Vecchio, “shacked up with some dame.” “How do lots of people live with the things they do?”
Katie clicked her tongue and shook her head somberly. “So, you checking out the shipyard—is that because you think someone there might have done it? You think they might have seen what happened with you and Finch and—”
“And bashed him on the head in order to pin it on me? The thought has certainly popped into my mind. But I’m also checking it out because it seems like the most logical place to start. Finch spent most of his time there.”
“And what if the killer is someone who works at the shipyard? What if they get wise to what you’re doing? Aren’t you scared?”
“I’m terrified,” Rosie stated honestly. “But I’m probably more terrified at the prospect of doing nothing and waiting for the police to come and arrest me.”
“This cop you talked about—Lieutenant Riordan—have you told him that you’re innocent?”
“Of course I did. But I’m sure everyone tells him that. The prisons are full of people who didn’t commit the crimes they’ve been convicted for.”
“But why would he have given you the okay to snoop if he thought you were guilty?”
“He didn’t give me the okay. But then again, I guess he didn’t tell me not to snoop, either.”
“What?”
“What he said was that I’d probably overhear some things while on the job and if I did, I should let him know.”
“Does that mean he knows you’re going investigate and wants to be part of it? Or ... ?”
“I have no idea what he means or what he’s thinking.”
“Did you ask him?”
“Yes, and all I got in return was that his job requir
es him to presume that I’m innocent until he finds evidence that states otherwise.”
“That’s good, though. Isn’t it?”
“So long as he remains impartial, sure. But if he, in his heart of hearts, believes I’m guilty ...”
“He didn’t tell you what he believes.”
“He can’t. He won’t. He’s not permitted.”
Katie sighed and leaned against the back of the sofa. “What do you believe?”
Rosie’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, do you think you can trust Riordan? Are you going to do what he said and share your findings with him?”
“I don’t know. On one hand, Riordan has the whole police department behind him, so having him follow up on leads could be helpful. On the other hand, if he’s only looking to arrest me and not find the real killer ...” Rosie sighed and scratched the back of her head pensively. “Unfortunately, only time will tell if I can trust him. Until then, I’m going to have to be careful about sharing all the information I uncover.”
“You mean ‘we’ uncover,” Katie corrected.
“Huh?”
“We. I’m going to help you get to the bottom of this thing,” she explained as she sat up straight.
Rosie burst out laughing. “That’s very sweet of you, honey, but I can’t see you climbing scaffolds and catching rivets in a bucket.”
“I won’t be climbing scaffolds. I’ll leave that to you, thank you very much.”
“I didn’t think so” Rosie continued to laugh.
“I am serious about helping you, though.”
“Again, that’s very sweet, but I don’t know what you could do. Besides, you have Charlie to take care of.”
“I know,” Katie replied matter-of-factly as she snatched the newspaper from its spot on the sofa cushion and passed it to her sister. “Who says I can’t do both?”
Rosie looked over the Finch article in confusion. “What should I do with this? And what does it have to do with—”
“Just look at the article,” Katie insisted. “Especially the part about where Finch lived.”
“‘Robert Finch, a lifelong resident of the Red Hook neighborhood in Brooklyn,’” Rosie read aloud. “That’s the neighborhood right near the docks. So?”
“So, I was thinking I could go down there and talk to a few people who knew Finch. See what they have to say.”
“And how were you thinking of talking to them? You can’t go door-to-door like the Fuller Brush man.”
“Of course not. Don’t be silly! I’ll just run my errands there instead of here.”
“Oh, Katie, you can’t do that.”
“Why not? There must be a grocer and a butcher in the neighborhood. Where better to catch up on neighborhood gossip than at the market?”
“The people in that neighborhood don’t know you. Why would they tell you anything about Finch?”
“Why would they not?”
“Because they’ll think you’re a busybody. Or worse, a reporter.”
“No, they won’t. I’ll have Charlie with me. Now tell me, who’s going to suspect a pretty blonde pushing a baby carriage of such deception?” Katie challenged with a grin.
Rosie took turns eyeing her sister and nephew. Fair-haired, blue-eyed, and smiling, they made an irresistible pair. “Only a blind person.”
“And if I meet one, I’ll tell them that I’m a war widow. That should win them over.”
“Don’t do that,” Rosie said in earnest. “Don’t use your hardships. Not for sympathy.”
“I won’t be using anything. I’m proud of Jimmy. I want the whole world to know how brave he was.”
“And you should tell his story, but not for my sake.”
“If not for your sake, then for whose? If Jimmy had his say, he’d want me to do everything in my power to help you.”
“I know, Katie, but traveling to Red Hook every day? That’s quite a ways to go for simple errands.”
“It’s not that far,” Katie argued. “Nothing is too far when it comes to saving my sister.”
Chapter Eight
While a cloud-obscured sun ascended over the rain-washed city, Rosie boarded the crowded early train back to Brooklyn. Arriving at the shipyard at 6:45 a.m., she entered the holding area to wait out the fifteen minutes until the start of her nine-hour shift. The scene that lay before her was the same as it had been since she began her job ten days before. However, this time, instead of fading into the crowd, Rosie’s journey over the threshold and across the hard cement floor caused the collection of coverall-clad Pushey employees to fall silent and then part like the Red Sea.
Rosie stood alone in the center of the room, the male employees gathered in front of her, the females clustered behind. She tried to project a sense of calm confidence, but it wasn’t easy. Not only did her new status as shipyard pariah make her feel painfully unwelcome, but it would make the interview part of her investigation next to impossible.
Thankfully, a voice came from the rear of the room. “You’re back.” Nelson, dressed in a pair of gray canvas slacks, a blue work shirt, and a red headscarf, entered the space occupied by Rosie. “How did you manage it?”
“A bit of blarney. And a whole lot of luck.”
“Well, no matter how you did it, I’m glad you’re here. We all are.”
Rosie surveyed the expressionless group of women. “Hmmm ... they appear to be handling their excitement quite well.”
Nelson waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about that. They just don’t want to get into trouble with the new foreman. I’m sure you’ve seen most of them in the two weeks since you started, but if you haven’t, I’ll introduce you.”
Rosie remembered her investigation. “Yes, I’d like to meet everyone at some point. Hear their Finch stories.”
Nelson nodded in agreement and then pointed over Rosie’s left shoulder.
Rosie spun around to find Michael Delaney standing just a few inches away. “What do you think you’re doing here?” he demanded.
“The same thing you are. Waiting for my shift to start.”
“Yeah, Del Vecchio told me you came to him looking for your job. But I thought for sure you would have come to your senses by now. Between throwing rivets at Hansen and what you did to Finch—”
“I didn’t kill him, Delaney.”
“That doesn’t matter. It’s enough that you ran away and left him bleeding. Don’t you understand? These fellas don’t want you here. They never did.”
“And don’t you understand that I need a job? This is about the only one I can get that pays a decent wage.”
“Yeah, but Ma told me about you and Katie moving back to Greenpoint. Without having to make rent, the money Billy sends you will go a lot farther. That means you don’t have be ...”
As Rosie’s eyes lowered, Michael Delaney realized the impact of his words. “Ah, jeez. He’s not sending you money, is he? I’m sorry, I didn’t ... I just assumed he was taking care of you. Or at least trying. I know if you were my wife, that’s what I would do.”
Ordinarily, Rosie would have leaped at the chance to rib Delaney about his bachelor status. However, there was such a wistful sincerity to his words that she didn’t have the heart to tease. Luckily, Del Vecchio started announcing the day’s work assignments, thus eliminating the need for further comment.
“Miller ... Jones ... Murphy ... machine shop. Drummond ... Gaikowski ... Phillips ... Snyder ... graving plate. Nelson ... Scarlatti ... hull welding. Kopecky, heater ... Keefe, passer ...”
The voice of Rudy Hansen rang out from the crowd. “What the hell is that woman doing here, Del Vecchio?”
“We need bodies, Hansen. Jackson’s gone, four of our guys have been called up for service, and McCarthy is down with the grippe.”
“We may need bodies, but we don’t need hers. Finch fired that crazy broad right before he got his head smashed in.”
“Yeah, and I unfired her,” Del Vecchio stated boldly. “I warned
Keefe about gettin’ into trouble. If she pulls any funny business again, she’s outta here.”
“That’s all it takes to work here now, huh? A promise to behave yourself?”
“No, you have to be a hard worker, too. I was on the same crew as you and Keefe. She kept up with the rest of us.”
“I don’t care if she worked circles around us. She’s a murderer. But if that don’t matter to you, I have a cousin up in Dannemora. All we have to do is break him and a few of his buddies out and our manpower problems will be solved.” Hansen slid his eyes toward Rosie. “Notice I said ‘manpower,’ not ‘womanpower.’ Gonna beat my head in for that?”
Rosie glared back. She desperately wanted to retaliate, but she knew it was in her best interest to hold her tongue.
“Settle down, now. We don’t know for sure that Keefe’s guilty,” Del Vecchio reasoned.
“What? You mean to say you don’t think she—”
“That’s not for us to decide, Hansen. The cops are on the job and they’ll get to the bottom of things. Till then we gotta act as though she’s innocent.”
“I don’t ‘gotta’ do anything.”
“Hey, call me crazy, but doesn’t this country believe that a man or, in this case, woman, is ‘innocent until proven guilty’? Why are we even fightin’ this war if people like you are so quick to throw away those beliefs?”
Rosie couldn’t believe her ears. Tony Del Vecchio, self-proclaimed political mastermind, had used her words, verbatim, in an argument against Hansen. What’s more, those words were effective. As some employees whistled in approval and others mumbled and nodded in agreement, Hansen stared down at the concrete floor and scratched the back of his neck in awkward silence.
“Still don’t like it,” the tall blond Swede finally replied.
“You don’t have to like it,” Del Vecchio acknowledged. “But we don’t need to hear about how much you don’t like it neither. Now, where was I? Oh yeah. Kopecky, heater ... Keefe, passer ... Dewitt, bucker ... Kilbride, riveter. Gang one, Pier Number One.”
At age fifty-four, Wilson Dewitt was one of the most senior employees at Pushey Shipyard. Having started at the yard as a cleanup boy in the days prior to pneumatic rivet guns and worldwide warfare, Dewitt discovered his vocation when he was called on to fill in for a bucker whose foot had been crushed by a riveter’s hammer.
Don't Die Under the Apple Tree Page 7
