Don't Die Under the Apple Tree

by Amy Patricia Meade

  Shelby looked down at the floor for a few seconds before replying. “Okay, Rosie. I’ll be there.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Riordan and Rosie bid Shelby Jackson and Malcolm adieu and then set off at a leisurely pace down the sidewalk.

  “Lieutenant Riordan, why did you give me a look when I said I believed Shelby?” Rosie questioned.

  “I did? What look was that?”

  “A look as though you didn’t understand what I was saying. Or why I might be saying it. Don’t you believe her?”

  Riordan stopped walking and faced her. “I do believe her, Mrs. Keefe. That’s the problem.”

  “You’re right, it is a problem. When I asked if you believed me, I didn’t get a straight answer. You said you weren’t allowed to state your opinion. And yet here you are, standing behind Shelby Jackson.”

  “You didn’t ask me what I believed. You asked me if I’d found any evidence to make me think you were either innocent or guilty,” he argued.

  “No, I didn’t. I asked if you believed me and you said it was your duty to believe me until proven otherwise.”

  “Precisely. I never said I didn’t believe you.”

  “You never said you did, either.”

  Riordan glanced around at the neighbors who were taking advantage of the warm spring evening by sitting on their front steps or sweeping their sidewalks. “I’m not having this discussion here. We can finish it in the car.”

  “The car? You’re taking me to headquarters?”

  “No, I’m not taking you to headquarters. Why does everyone assume that? Do I look like the sort of guy who enjoys arresting young women?”

  “I don’t know. Are you?” Rosie challenged, but with a hint of fear in her voice.

  “No, I’m not. It’s around suppertime, so I figured we’d grab a bite to eat and then I’d drive you home.”

  “Dinner?” She looked down at her coveralls and frowned. “But I’m not really dressed for dinner.”

  He looked her up and down. “You look fine. More than fine. Um, for where we’re going, I mean,” he quickly amended. “Besides, this isn’t dinner. It’s a bite to eat and a chance to talk.”

  “Well, I ... oh, I can’t. Katie—my sister—is expecting me home.”

  “No, she’s not. I already told her you wouldn’t make it.”

  “You—? That’s right, you said you saw her today! Where was it? When did you see her?”

  With a smirk, Riordan stepped to the curb and opened the passenger door of his black 1941 Ford Deluxe. “Get in and I’ll tell you.”

  Rosie sighed and took a seat in the cream-colored, leather interior. Riordan, happy to have won the battle, shut the door after her and then climbed into the driver’s seat.

  “So?” she prompted.

  “So, what?”

  “I did what you asked. Now tell me where and when you saw my sister.”

  Riordan started the six-cylinder engine and pulled away from the curb, heading southwest on Putnam. “At church during Finch’s funeral this morning.”

  Rosie’s jaw dropped. “You were there, too?”

  “Indeed I was. How better to get a feel for Finch’s life than to see who turned up to mourn his death? You can imagine my surprise when I recognized the pretty blonde in the last pew.”

  “She was there on my behalf,” Rosie admitted.

  “Like you, she thought she might learn something valuable. Something that would keep me out of trouble and point the finger at someone else.”

  At the traffic light, Riordan made a right turn onto Throop and continued north. “I know. She and I had a nice conversation about it.”

  “You did?”

  “Uh-huh. She filled me in on her findings, too.”

  “She did? Why, that—!”

  “Don’t be angry with your sister. It’s not her fault. She can’t help it if I make a very persuasive argument.”

  Rosie exhaled noisily. “What did you do? Threaten to throw her in jail?”

  “No. Will you stop it with that? She thought the same thing, too. I’m a police lieutenant. There’s more to my job than that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Paperwork. Training. The majority of the time I work on solving cases. I rarely put people in jail. And never because they shouldn’t be there.”

  “You won’t be able to say that after you arrest me,” she quipped.

  Riordan brought the car to a halt, causing Rosie to fly forward in her seat and then snap her head against the headrest. “Have I arrested you yet?”

  “No,” she said quietly.

  “Didn’t I just include you in my talk with Shelby Jackson?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why don’t you trust me? You need to trust me ... because I’m the only person out there who can help you.” After a pause to regain his composure, Riordan turned left onto Flushing Avenue.

  Once her surprise had subsided, Rosie asked, “Why? Why are you the only person?”

  “Because I don’t think you did it. I haven’t since the night I brought you in for questioning. My captain, however, wanted me to arrest you on the spot.”

  “How did you convince him otherwise?”

  “I didn’t. I merely bought time. I promised to have the case solved in five days.”

  “Five days from now!” Rosie panicked. “That’s not a lot of time.”

  “It’s even less,” Riordan replied, the car’s acceleration matching the importance of his tone. “The five days started the day after I brought you in.”

  “So we’re down to ... ?”

  “Two days.”

  Rosie sunk into her seat. “Two more days and I could be going to ...”

  “Now you know why I want you to trust me.”

  “Did you tell my sister this? Is that why she confided in you?”

  “No, I didn’t tell her. If I had, she would have kept on sleuthing until she either cleared your name or got herself into a heap of trouble. I simply explained to her that I was on your side, and asked her to share what she knew.”

  “And she did?”

  “Yes, she said she figured the two of you had to trust someone and it might as well be me.”

  “So she told you everything about Mrs. Finch and the butcher?”

  “She did. As well as Finch’s girlfriend in the neighborhood.”

  “Girlfriend? I didn’t know about that!”

  “That happened this morning. I’ll tell you about it later. Better yet, I’ll let your sister tell you.”

  Rosie frowned. “I suppose she told you about everything I uncovered, too?”

  “Nope. I sent her home to look after her son. Which I figured is probably what you’d want me to do.”

  “Yes, thank you,” she said graciously. “I just can’t believe she listened to you.”

  “She didn’t at first,” Riordan smiled. “I had to bribe her with lunch and ice cream.”

  Rosie laughed. “That’s Katie, all right. Ever since she was a kid she’s thought with her stomach.”

  “Nothing wrong with that. Especially when it works so well.”

  “Too well. Had you held out longer, she probably would have told you what I’d been up to.”

  “Oh, I know what you’ve been up to. But I wanted to hear the results from your own mouth, not the edited version you might have told Katie.”

  Rosie fell silent as Riordan pulled the car onto a side street just a few blocks away from the Brooklyn Navy Yard. There, at the end of the street, lay a beautiful promenade with a view of the East River and, off to the left, the Manhattan and Brooklyn Bridges, and beyond them, the sunset. Families, lovers, and shipyard employees lined the pavement, “oohing” and “aahing” as the fiery April sun sank below the horizon.

  Realizing the value of such property, someone with an entrepreneurial spirit and a small chunk of operating capital had erected a hot dog stand a few short steps away from the water.

  “See? I told you those coveralls were fine for
where we were going,” Riordan smirked and stepped from behind the driver’s wheel. A few seconds later, he opened Rosie’s door and the two approached the stand.

  Rosie stared at the river, the golden rays of the sun casting a warm glow upon her long, windswept hair. “It’s beautiful.”

  Upon seeing Rosie’s reaction to the view, Riordan excused himself awkwardly.“I, um, I didn’t take you here for that, Mrs. Keefe. It was more the dress code, the nearness to the bridge, and the fries. Homemade.With lots of salt. The view—that’s just a bonus.”

  He ordered four frankfurters with mustard and sauerkraut, a large side of French fries, and two bottles of Coca-Cola. The clerk passed the order across the counter in exchange for a couple of crisp bills. “Keep the change,” Riordan instructed before popping the Coke tops off the counter and passing the bottles to Rosie. Meanwhile, he grabbed the food, piping hot and loaded into red and white cardboard trays, and steered his female companion to a nearby park bench.

  With Riordan seated at one end and Rosie at the other, they placed their meal on the bench between them.

  She took a swig of her soda and leaned back. “Thank you.”

  Riordan devoured a large bite of hot dog and then wiped the mustard from his lips with a paper napkin. “Hey, we both have to eat, don’t we?” he stated after swallowing. “It’s not the most substantial of meals, but it does the job.”

  “Oh, it’s fine. Really. I’m not even that hungry.”

  “You’re not? After working all day outdoors, climbing scaffolds, I’d be starving by now.”

  “I was, but I ... I seem to have lost my appetite.”

  “No, you don’t. You’re not going to waste away on me. Not now. Now’s when you need your strength.”

  “I’m not going to waste away. I’m just not hungry.”

  “Nope. You’re going to eat up and we’re going to compare notes.”

  Like a sulking child, Rosie picked up a small French fry and reluctantly placed it into her mouth. Riordan was right: the potato was soft on the inside, crunchy on the outside, and perfectly salted. She picked up another one and attempted to conceal her pleasure.

  “I was right. They’re good, aren’t they?” he said with a grin.

  “They’re okay,” she said before moving on to one of her hot dogs.

  “So, how are things at the yard? Tell me what you’ve found out.”

  “You first,” she challenged.

  “Uh-uh. That’s not the way it works.” He followed the statement with a swig of cola.

  Rosie frowned. She felt like a traitor, sharing the personal stories of these people she had just started to know and like. Moreover, once those secrets were shared, Riordan and his men would probably pry into every facet of their owners’ pasts.

  “Come on, now,” he coaxed.

  “A lot of the things that were told to me were said in the strictest confidence. I’d feel bad betraying a trust like that.”

  “I understand. You’ve made friends and don’t want to put them under suspicion. Not only is that admirable, but I’m sure you’ll have the most pen pals of anyone at the New York Women’s House of Detention.”

  “That’s not a nice thing to say,” she chastised.

  “No, it’s not nice, but it’s true. Do you want to make friends or save yourself? Because that’s where we are right now. With just two days left, you can’t have both.”

  “I want to save myself,” she replied morosely. “I need to. I can’t go to jail.”

  “Good. We’re on the same page.” He took a bite of hot dog and gave it a few quick chews before swallowing. “That said, tell me everything you know about everyone—no matter how trivial you think it might be.”

  Rosie ate another French fry and then started in chronological order, beginning with the day she returned to work at Pushey. “First there’s Nelson.”

  “Nelson?” he asked as he extracted a small notebook and pencil from the front breast pocket of his dress shirt.

  “Yes, Betty Nelson. Twenty-five years old, dark hair, pretty.”

  “I’m writing down names and stories and then tracking these people down. I’m not drawing sketches.”

  “You said to tell you everything. I’m telling you everything. Including each person’s full physical description.”

  “Hmm,” Riordan shrugged. “I guess it can’t hurt. How tall is Betty Nelson and what does she weigh?”

  “A little taller than I am, so five foot five. And maybe one hundred twenty pounds. Surely not more than that.”

  “Okay. What happened?”

  “Last week, Finch cornered her at the bottom of the hull during an air raid drill, put his arms around her waist, and ... and threatened to ...”

  “You needn’t go any farther. I get it. Did he succeed?”

  “I don’t know. Nelson didn’t say. All she said was that she was scared at first, then nauseated, but then anger kicked in and she thought about attacking Finch with her welding torch. But then the lights came on and Finch left.”

  “Do you think Nelson’s the type who might attack Finch?”

  Rosie knitted her eyebrows together and bit her lip.

  “I’m not asking you if you want to believe Nelson could attack Finch,” Riordan clarified. “I’m asking you if you think she has the temperament to do so.”

  “Yes. Yes, I do. She’s tough and kind of feisty.”

  “All right.” He scribbled notes into the book and took a bite of hot dog.

  Rosie ate a few more fries and washed them down with a mouthful of Coca-Cola. “Jeannie Wolfe. Blonde. Thirty-five years old. Tall ... umm, five foot eight inches if she’s a day. Gorgeous. And with a figure like a pinup girl.”

  Riordan raised an eyebrow and whistled. “What’s her number?”

  She chuckled. “You can probably find it on the men’s-room wall. But you shouldn’t. She’s pretty, smart, funny, and boy, does she have style.”

  “Hmm ... sells herself short, does she?”

  “That and she seems to think she has to use her looks to get ahead in the world.”

  “You know, the right man might be able to put her straight. I’m willing to give it a shot,” he smiled.

  “You and half the men in the five boroughs.”

  “If that’s the case, I can only guess she was an easy target for Finch.”

  “She was. He offered her a higher-paying job in exchange for ...”

  Riordan nodded. “Again, no need to say it. I’ve got it. What happened?”

  “Finch gave her job to someone else. Someone younger.”

  “This guy just keeps getting better and better. How did Miss Wolfe react?”

  “Despair. Disappointment. Disenchantment. She didn’t say those things, of course, nor did she say anything to Finch, but it was apparent from the way she told the story. Her affair with Finch wasn’t the first time she’s slept with a boss for a promotion. The difference is that the previous bosses kept their end of the bargain, whereas Finch ...” She polished off the rest of one hot dog.

  He, meanwhile, started in on his second. “Do you think she could have murdered him?”

  Rosie shook her head. “I really don’t see her doing it, but I can’t say for sure.”

  “Just wondering because, out of all the women Finch has wronged—Nelson, you, Jackson, the wife, the girlfriend—Wolfe has both the height and leverage needed to have delivered a death blow. That’s not to say that a smaller woman couldn’t have done it, but it would have required a lot more effort. Not to mention, Wolfe is the only woman in the bunch who, in Finch’s mind, wouldn’t have been a threat.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, he had beaten his wife in the past, dumped his girlfriend, and attempted to assault both Nelson and Jackson. If he had encountered any of them beneath the pier, his guard would have been up. Wolfe’s, on the other hand, a completely different story. She gave in to him without a struggle, and he betrayed her, without her raising much of a fuss.”

/>   “That’s a good point, and one that never occurred to me. Still, I can’t say either way. After all, I barely know her. I know that she likes men and wants to be acknowledged by them.”

  “Acknowledged or loved?”

  “Both. Desperately. I suppose ‘how desperately?’ is the question. Desperate enough for Finch’s betrayal to send her over the edge? I can’t say.”

  “Hmph. Makes you wonder, though. I’m sure if she sat back—”

  “And let love come to her, she’d find someone,” Rosie completed the sentence. “Well, first of all, she’s over thirty. That’s an old maid by today’s standards. And second, it’s not easy being a woman, even harder when you’re an attractive one. When men approach you all the time, it’s usually when they’re on their very best behavior. It’s only after you get to know them and love them when you finally realize that you’ve fallen for—not a gentleman but—a rogue.”

  Riordan fell into an uncomfortable silence.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” Rosie blushed. “I was only thinking aloud. I didn’t mean to offend you. Not all men are like that, I’m sure.”

  “No, they’re not. And no offense taken.” He smiled. “Say, is the friend who ran away on your list?”

  “Dewitt? No, why?”

  “Well, it’s apparent that he’s—how shall we say—sweet on Shelby Jackson. If he got wind of what Finch did to her in the hull that day—”

  “And then witnessed her humiliation that morning,” Rosie added.

  “And knew how hard the pay cut would be on Jackson and her son, he might have lashed out at Finch. Some men can be rogues, but others can be quite protective.”

  Rosie’s cheeks colored slightly. “Yes, I suppose they can. I never thought of Dewitt being a suspect, but what you said does make perfect sense.”

  “And what about the fella you bumped into on your way out of Finch’s office? What was his name? Delancy?”

  “Delaney?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one.”

  “You mean, could he have killed Finch because of ... ? I ... I guess he might have. I don’t think he did, but ...”

  “You don’t think he’s protective?”

  “No. No, he is. I just never looked at him like that. But what you said is right.”

  “Thanks. I thought so, too.”