Persephone Cole and the Halloween Curse

by Heather Haven

  “Well, no wonder. A leg broke in three places? I’d be uncomfortable, too. Have you been taking your pain killers?”

  “Not unless I have to, child. They tend to make me groggy.” He made an obvious change of subjects. “You just missed your brother. Adjudication was telling me he’s taken on another case. His practice is starting to pick up.”

  “Good. Where’s Mother?”

  “She’s home making me an apple, carrot, and parsnip pie.”

  “I’m sorry, Pop.”

  “Something new she’s fiddling with. Your mother means well.” He shrugged and picked up his spirits. “You’ve been gone all day. Where were you?”

  “The police station with Mick and then the theatre. They’re going on with the show, Pop, just as if nothing happened.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “Nothing stops show folks, does it?” Pop shook his head in disbelief.

  “Naw. They’re as bad as detectives.”

  Father and daughter guffawed for a moment.

  “You sit right down here and tell me what’s been going on.” Pop patted the side of his bed. She perched on the edge. “I’m proud of you, Persephone, although I still don’t know how you did it.”

  “Considering all the secrets everybody was keeping and that damned headache, I didn’t think I’d ever figure it out.”

  “But you did and that’s all that matters.”

  “I guess, Pop, but not before more people got hurt. Although I now understand how outside forces can influence your thinking. I need to watch that in the future. I should have figured this one out in a couple of hours.”

  “But how did you do it, child? How did you do it?” He repeated the question with eagerness.

  “I kept coming back to motive and opportunity. And then something kept nagging at me from the beginning, but I couldn’t bring it forward.”

  “What was that?”

  “John Wayne.”

  “The actor?”

  “Yeah. His real first name is Marion. Sera mentioned it the other night and it stuck in the back of my mind, but I didn’t know why. Then I realized yesterday, nowhere did any paperwork actually say Jacob Cohen’s two children were females. I assumed they were, given the two first names, Elsie and Evelyn. But Evelyn is a fairly common name for either sex in England. It meant I could have been looking for two women or a man and a woman.”

  “Elsie a name not being used for baby boys.”

  “Not that I know of. Talk about red herrings. At first I thought Mavis was really Elsie. I spent a lot of time looking at Wainwright’s private secretary.”

  “Actually,” Pop said, going on with his theme, “I’m not too fond of it being used for a girl, either. I mean, Elsie.” He said the name with a look of distaste on his face.

  “This from the man who named his two daughters Persephone and Serendipity. Not to mention calling his son Adjudication.”

  “My children happen to have beautiful, albeit unusual, names.” Pop’s tone was defensive. “Mother and I stand by --”

  “All right, all right, Pop. We’re off the track. Apologies for derailing us.”

  “Many a soul,” he went on as if not interrupted, “has said to me how much they appreciate the time and effort Mother and I put into choosing your names.”

  “Those are the ones who named their own children Tom, Dick, and Harry, no doubt.” She looked at her father and laughed. “I’m just razzing you, Pop. Should I go on with my story?”

  He gave his head a quick nod but looked away. “Just don’t be picking on my choice in children’s names, young lady.”

  Percy studied her father for a moment. His face was a little flushed and eyes dilated. “Pop, we should check your medications. You don’t look quite right.”

  “Ahhh, it’s my leg. It’s paining me something awful. I’m sorry, child.” He patted Percy on the hand. “I been fighting it, but you’d better give me those pills I hid in the drawer there.” He pointed to the side table.

  Percy opened the drawer, took out a small white, container with pills, and passed them to him. “You hid the pills you were supposed to take from the nurse, huh?” She poured water into a glass and handed it to her father.

  “Something like that. You go on with what you were saying, Persephone. I’m all ears.” He swallowed the pills. “All this time you was looking for two females, not realizing Elsie was a woman and Evelyn a man.”

  “Right. Spelled the same but for a man, Evelyn is pronounced with a long ‘e’, like the ‘e’ in evening. Once I thought about ‘what’s in a name’, I saw that the stage manager had access to every place in the theatre without raising any eyebrows. And the assistant wardrobe supervisor had access to all sorts of costumes, like a nurse’s uniform. On another note, did you know Mick found the truck Evelyn rented a couple of weeks ago?”

  Pop shook his head, paying rapt attention to Percy’s words.

  “Evelyn wore one of the false beards out of the hair department when he tried to run down Felicity Dowell. When that didn’t work, one of them poisoned her tea. When that didn’t work, Elsie sent her a threatening letter. According to Evelyn’s confession, they’d used one or two of those tactics the week before on the three actors who did leave. They had to pull out the stops to get an actress playing a role as good as Lady Macbeth to leave the show, though.”

  “They tried to hide everything they were doing under the witch’s curse and the pranks Sir Anthony was pulling.” Pop shook his head.

  “And they initially succeeded. Evelyn admitted he’d cut the rope for the sandbag, hoping it would land on Sir Anthony, but when it got the stage manager instead, it was even better. He now completely controlled the backstage area. These Cohen kids were determined to do anything and everything to close the show.”

  “How was he able to say that? I thought you near broke his jaw.”

  “But I didn’t, though, just loosened a few of his teeth. Some things he wrote out, some things he muttered through the bandages. Now that it’s over, he’s become cooperative. Especially…” Percy broke off and looked down.

  “They didn’t seem very English to me, either one, when I was talking to them.” Pop didn’t notice the expression on his daughter’s face.

  “That was the devil of it, Pop.” Percy forced a smile and turned back to her father. “I mean, you and I, we sound like where we come from. But people in the theatre do all sorts of accents. The second Lady Macbeth is American and her English accent is very posh. So which side of the pond they sounded like they came from didn’t matter a hill of beans.”

  “What about the partial print on the binoculars? Anything come of that?”

  “Too blurred, but fortunately, Evelyn has confessed to everything.”

  Pop reached over and lightly caressed Percy’s hand. “What’s happening with the girl, Elsie? Were they able to save her?”

  Percy shook her head. Her voice was emotionless. “She didn’t make it, Pop. By the time they could get up to the catwalk, bring her down, and pump her stomach, she was too far gone. She died early this morning. I told them as soon as I got down from the catwalk, Pop. But she took so many pills.” Percy looked away.

  “It’s not your fault. I don’t think with the way everything turned out, she wanted to live. I am sorry. She may have pushed me off that catwalk but for such a young girl to die, needlessly….” He stopped talking and gave out a tsk tsk in disapproval, shaking his head, too.

  “I know. It is sad. But she wasn’t all that innocent, Pop, no matter how much she looked like Alice in Wonderland. Elsie’s the one who disguised herself as a nurse and put the poison in Laverne’s IV. And she probably poisoned Felicity Dowell’s tea, too. For certain, she wrote the letters and helped start the fire in the uptown rooming house. Two elderly people died in that, more innocent than Elsie will ever be.”

  “How did they manage to plan all this from day to day? They weren’t ever together, were they?”

  “No, they though
t it was too risky. They were never in each other’s company, except when they could put their heads together, as Ned said, pretending to be boyfriend and girlfriend. But they couldn’t do that too often, so they communicated via notes. I found a stack hidden in a locked drawer in the stage manager’s prompt station. They’re pretty interesting reading, although I don’t come out so good in them. They found me bovine and fat. Which is okay, Pop. They underestimated me. It gave me an element of surprise with them.”

  “What are you talking about? They tried to kill you with the archway.”

  “Yeah, but before that they left me pretty much alone. You should see the passports Mick took from both their places. I don’t know where they bought them, but they looked genuine enough. Those two kids must have been planning this a long time. Every dime they had left from their parent’s estate went into trying to pay Wainwright back for what he did to them. And look at them now, one dead and the other going to jail for the rest of his life.” She let out a troubled sigh. “Some days it doesn’t pay to get up in the morning.”

  “You see some justice in what they tried to do?”

  “No, Pop. Here’s a part you don’t know. Mick spoke with Scotland Yard today and it seems that Mrs. Cohen was suspected of poisoning her husband. There was a diary they found right after she killed herself and because she was already dead, they didn’t pursue it. In it she said she couldn’t live with what she did, even though Cohen deserved to die for betraying his heritage. Neither Mick nor I wanted to tell Evelyn, but someday he’ll have to know. This whole thing isn’t as clean as I’d like it to be.”

  “I know what you mean, child.”

  They both sat in silence for a moment then Pop plucked at his blanket before speaking. “Persephone, I’m not one to tell you what to do --”

  “Since when?”

  “But I am your father.” Pop went on as if she hadn’t interrupted. “I want you to stop this detecting nonsense and either go back to being a secretary or ---”

  It was Percy’s turn to interrupt him. “What are you talking about? I solved the case, didn’t I? I’m good at this, Pop.”

  “Being good has nothing to do with it.” His voice grew stronger with his beliefs. “This is dangerous work. Look what happened.” He gestured to his broken leg.

  “Yes, but not to me, Pop. It happened to you.”

  “But it could have just as easily been you,” he said defiantly. “Now don’t argue with me. I knew no good could come of Gilleathain taking you all those years to target practice using that German Mauser. Leaving it to you in his will and all. I knew we were asking for trouble.”

  “Uncle Gil taught me to be a crackerjack shot, Pop. It helped give me a lot of self-confidence.”

  “A little too much, as far as I can see. No matter. I don’t want you doing this anymore. You did well, Persephone; I’m not denying it. I’m proud of you. But it’s over, done with. And no daughter of mine is going to be doing such dangerous work. I could never live with myself.” He looked away, the last words reverberating within the small curtained area.

  “I tell you what, Pop.” Percy took a softer, easier tone. “Let’s table this discussion for now. You’re laid up and someone’s got to run the business. For instance, I need to break down the costs and type up the bill for Dexter Wainwright.”

  “What’s the final reckoning?”

  “One day’s work at fifteen bucks and two day’s at twenty-five –”

  “You’re charging him for today, Percy?” Pop interjected. “That don’t seem right.”

  “I’m still on the case, Pop, and so are you. Aren’t we discussing it this very minute? He needs to be charged for that. How are we going to get Cole Investigations back in the black if we don’t? And we saved the S.O.B.’s life, Pop. Given who he is, it doesn’t count for much but it counts for something.”

  “I see your point, Persephone.” He patted her hand and smiled at her.

  “All right then. So I’m charging him sixty-five bucks plus expenses.”

  “What expenses?” Pop turned sharply to her with a quizzical look on his face.

  “Three pastrami sandwiches, for one thing. Don’t worry, Pop. I’m always fair, even if I shave it a little in our favor now and again.”

  “That’s my girl.” He chortled.

  “Okay. So after I wind up this case, I thought I’d look into the synagogue vandals for you.”

  “Oh, no,” Pop protested, shaking his head.

  “You left some good notes, Pop. It’s a shame to leave the rabbis hanging like this, especially with you being laid up and all. Because,” she added, “after reading what you wrote, I think you’re right.”

  “Oh, no you don’t. You’re not winning me over with your sweet talk.” Pop shook his head again vehemently then stopped to ask, “You think I’m right?”

  “I do. It’s one of those two Nazi sympathizers, for sure. Only I don’t think it’s the older one. I think it’s the squirt.”

  “Exactly my thoughts. Great minds think alike, Persephone.” He pointed a finger at his daughter with pride. “He’s always around, looking innocent, but listening in to what we’re doing and saying. I’ve had my eye on him.”

  “So after I turn in the bill to Wainwright, get the refrigerator fixed, and take Oliver trick or treating, Cole Investigations is back on the case.” She stood and straightened up Pop’s bed clothes.

  “You’ll keep me informed every step of the way, Persephone. And it’s just until I get back on my feet.”

  “You bet. Then we’ll have a nice, long talk.” Percy kissed her father on the forehead. “You rest now, Pop. I’ll visit tomorrow.” She picked up the end of the divider curtain, set to flip it around her as she left, but paused for a moment. “Oh, Pop, keep your eyes out that window. I’m bringing Oliver by so you can see him in his pirate’s costume before we set out trick or treating. We’ll stand under that streetlight across the street. Around five p.m. We’ll wave up to you.”

  “Something to look forward to, Persephone.”

  “Love you, Pop.”

  “Love you more.”

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Percy pulled Ophelia into the empty spot in front of the apartment building. This tenement on Houston Street, like many others throughout the lower east side, was a place where family knew family, sometimes for generations. Since Pop bought the black Dodge back in nineteen twenty-nine, this spot was where he liked to park the car. Unless someone was visiting from another neighborhood and didn’t know better, this parking space was always left for the Coles. Percy turned off the motor, rolled up the windows, picked up the heavy bag at her side, and got out of the car.

  Barely four o’clock but All Hallows Eve, children were already dressed in costumes, roaming up and down the street, clutching various sized bags of easily-won candy. Percy waved to a mother herding eight small children, all dressed in handmade, but clever costumes. Some costumes looked like they took fifteen minutes, such as Casper the Friendly Ghost, and others, like a gypsy dressed in a brocade vest and skirt covered with golden spangles, took hours. Knowing the mother, they were all labors of love.

  Percy smiled as a three-year old toddled down the street dressed as a large pumpkin, holding the hand of her older brother, a fairly nifty version of the Green Lantern. Percy was glad Oliver had decided not to go as that character. She’d counted three of them since she got out of the car.

  She’d been so engrossed in watching the swarms of costumed children, Percy hadn’t noticed the nattily dressed man sitting on her stoop holding a large bouquet of multi-colored flowers. As she approached the steps, Dexter Wainwright rose and proffered the flowers to her.

  She didn’t take them, but tried to smile. “Mr. Wainwright, how did you know I was here?”

  “I called the hospital and spoke to Pop. He said you were on your way home, so I thought I’d come and wait for you.”

  “I see. It’s just that I’m surprised you came down here. I thought you were rehearsing
for tonight’s opening.”

  “They don’t need me there now that you took care of the bad guys.” He gave her a wink.

  If one more person winks at me, I might have to start swinging.

  Not being able to read her mind, the producer went on. “Hugo is whipping the cast into shape as we speak. Everything is going swimmingly, except my secretary gave her two-week notice today.” He cocked his head, his eyes piercing into hers. “You know anything about that?”

  “Nope.”

  “Would you tell me if you did?”

  Percy shook her head mutely.

  “Too bad. She said I should give you a bonus for saving the show. I told her I hired you to do that, but wondered where her idea came from.”

  “People get ideas.” Percy’s tone was noncommittal.

  “Did I tell you Felicity is back in the show?”

  “No kidding.”

  “She got a telegram from Olivier last night. Seems the theatre he was hoping to use for Medea got damaged in an air raid day before yesterday. Larry’s production is off and mine is back on.”

  “What about this Cynthia? The one who stepped into the role? What happens to her?”

  Wainwright shrugged, as if he hadn’t given it a thought until that moment. “She goes back as understudy, I guess, and whatever else she was doing in the show.”

  “You’re in, you’re out, huh?”

  “Oh, they’re used to it. Actors, you know, get used to anything.”

  Percy shook her head. “Man, they need a union.”

  “They have one, my dear. Actors’ Equity. According to them, we have to pay her some kind of compensation, that’s all.” Wainwright looked at her and winked again.

  “You ought to check that tic in your right eye.” Percy looked at her watch. “If you’ll excuse me, I was about to go in and get the invoice ready. I’ll mail it to you tomorrow.” She shuffled the large paper bag she was carrying into the other arm. “Was there something else you wanted?”

  Wordless but with a grand smile, he thrust the flowers at her again.

  “Are these for Pop? I’ll be sure to give them to him.”