Ask Me No Questions

by Shelley Noble

  “Tuttle, I want you to go tell that detective that I want the dead man out of my house immediately.”

  “I believe they have already called for the coroner’s wagon, madam.”

  Bev’s lip quivered. “I want him out now! And I want my motorcar returned. They can’t just keep it, they can’t just keep upending my household. Tell him I’ll need it by this afternoon.”

  “Yes, madam, but—”

  “I said now, Tuttle.”

  It was then Phil noticed that the salver Tuttle was holding contained a telegram.

  “Madam.”

  “What, Tuttle?” Bev snapped.

  “A telegram.” He thrust out the silver salver.

  Bev looked at it as if it were the Hydra.

  “You’d better open it,” Phil told her.

  Bev snatched it off the tray, hesitated, then tore it open.

  Phil watched as Bev’s expression turned from anger and impatience to sheer horror. “My father’s coming.”

  She tossed the telegram at Phil, who picked it up and read. Horrible news. On way from Boston. Arrive soonest.

  “Just what I needed.” Bev pushed her chair back and stood.

  “Where are you going?” Phil asked.

  “To tell that detective to take himself and that dead man off my premises. I can’t have Father finding him here. He will be in such a rage as it is. He never liked Reggie.” She stalked to the door, nearly knocking Tuttle over in her consternation.

  Phil hastened to stop her. “Bev, you can’t order these people around like that. They’ll take offense, then make life hell. Try for some finesse.” Not that it had helped her much. Atkins already seemed determined to find fault with them. Still, it wouldn’t do to destroy what little sympathy he might have, which was bound to happen if Bev continued to threaten and humiliate him.

  “Oh, no? Reggie’s dead. He left me to deal with who knows what. Humiliated me. Made me a laughingstock. Now one of his cronies has been murdered in my library. I’ve had it. No more.”

  “Bev, please calm down. You don’t want to get in more trouble.”

  “Oh, don’t I? Watch me.”

  She threw the doors back and stormed out of the room and right into a stretcher carried by two of the coroner’s men. The stretcher wobbled, the men stumbled, Bev screeched, and the stretcher toppled its load onto the carpet. Two dead eyes stared up at them. In death the face was pale and bloated.

  “Bev?”

  “Never saw him in my life.”

  Elmira and Lily were running down the stairs. Other servants appeared in the doorways to other rooms. John Atkins came striding toward the debacle, eyes narrowed, and his mouth as tight as any mouth Phil had ever seen.

  He took in the scene at one glance and turned on Philomena.

  She braced herself; she’d been the brunt of worse anger than his. The earl was a bitter, drunken sod. She’d quickly learned not to quail before it.

  “Is this your doing?”

  Phil didn’t even get a chance to defend herself.

  Bev turned on him. “Don’t you dare speak to Phil that way! I was the one who ran into that stupid stretcher! Bumbling idiots. I’ll never be able to wear this dress again.” She burst into tears.

  “Mrs. Reynolds,” the detective began.

  “Don’t talk to me. I’ll have your head on a plate. Get out. Get out and take these stupid men with you. Get out. Just go away. And don’t you dare leave that—that thing on my carpet.”

  The two coroner’s men stooped and clumsily tried to roll the deceased back onto the stretcher. It was such an awkward moment that Phil had to stop herself from bending down to help.

  “That ‘thing’ was a human being,” John Atkins said in a voice that would have made Phil think twice, but it had no effect on Bev.

  “I want my motorcar. Now! Do you hear me? You have no right to keep it. I want it now!”

  “It will be returned at our earliest convenience,” Atkins said drily, but Phil could tell he was holding on to his temper. She didn’t blame him. Bev was acting like all the people they couldn’t stand.

  “How dare you. I’ll have you know—”

  Phil thrust Bev at Elmira. “Take your mistress upstairs. A calming draft would be in order.”

  Elmira nodded, but her eyes were round with fright. She obviously had never witnessed Bev in full throw before.

  “Lily will help you.”

  Bev wrenched away. “I want you out now. Do you hear me? Or I’ll report you to your superiors.”

  “Elmira, please,” Phil said. Elmira and Lily took each side of Bev and practically dragged her up the stairs.

  The attendants managed to return the body to the stretcher, hastily threw a cover over it, and headed for the door. Tuttle raced to be there before them.

  That left Phil and the detective sergeant alone in the foyer.

  “Well,” she said. “Surely you deserve a cup of coffee before you go.”

  “I deserve to be unimpeded in my investigation of two murders.”

  “I agree. And with the all the excitement you still haven’t had time to question me. Let’s have our coffee in the parlor, shall we?”

  5

  With Bev safely bestowed upstairs, and the body gone, Philomena began to breathe a little easier. Perhaps this wasn’t the time to panic but to re-collect herself. And what better way than a tête-à-tête with the detective who seemed determined to take charge of the rapidly expanding case while being thwarted at every turn even by his own associates?

  She gestured toward the parlor.

  The detective hesitated. Most likely because he, too, was evaluating the situation. How strange it was to come to America expecting to make a splash by enduring a few balls and soirées and then settle down to a life of delightful excess, and instead to be embroiled in a situation from which her reputation—such that it was—might fail to recover. And yet …

  Bugger it. “Really, you’re safe from me. I’ll even have Tuttle bring a fresh pot.” She turned away, making the most of the stiff fabric of her skirts, and walked into the parlor.

  She rang for Tuttle, but it was Preswick who appeared moments later. Phil bit back a laugh at Atkins’s expression. A thimblerig of butlers. It was delightful.

  “The detective sergeant is staying for coffee.”

  Preswick gave her a pointed look, and gave Atkins the evil eye, before bowing and leaving the room.

  “That wasn’t—?”

  “Tuttle?” She shook her head. “I’m afraid that at the last moment I couldn’t leave poor Preswick behind, and he came to hold my household while we’re here. So we have a surfeit of butlers at the moment. Won’t you be seated?”

  She sat, wondering if she was expected to carry on small talk under these circumstances.

  “And so here we are again,” he said, walking not to a chair but to look at the artwork that adorned the walls of the parlor. “An odd assortment of paintings.”

  “Yes. I thought so myself. A combination of the Louvre and Chabanais brothel.”

  “Well, one thing I’ll say for you, Lady Dunbridge, is you’re never at a loss for an opinion.”

  “So my mother used to tell me.”

  “Are you planning on making an extended stay in New York?”

  “Well, that depends.”

  There was a moment of silence, while he waited for her to continue and she thought of reasons at this point to stay or to go. She wouldn’t return to England, so stay she must.

  “I’d planned to visit with the Reynoldses while I acquired a domicile in the city. However, I find my plans somewhat, shall we say, off track.”

  “Is this your first visit to America?”

  “Since I was a child. The earl disliked travel. He didn’t really like London overmuch. He much preferred his country seat.”

  “I could see where that might be stifling for someone of your…”

  “Shall we say energy?” she finished. “Ah, here’s coffee.”

 
This time it was Tuttle at the door. He carried the tray to the coffee table and set it down. “Will there be anything else, my lady?”

  “That will do, Tuttle.”

  He bowed and left the room.

  “Cream, sugar, Detective Sergeant?”

  “Black, please. Do you think Mrs. Reynolds murdered her husband?”

  Phil nearly dropped the cup. She made a mental note to never relax around this man and safely handed him his coffee.

  “Heavens no. Bev enjoys life, and can be a little reckless, but she isn’t mean-spirited.”

  “Mean-spirited? Perhaps not, but I was thinking more in terms of unhinged.”

  “Oh, no, that’s just Bev’s personality. She’s always given in to the dramatic.” Not to mention that her flights of hysteria had gotten them out of many a fix as girls. She’d perfected them since, if her outrage this morning had all been an act.

  “If it isn’t an inconvenience, Lady Dunbridge,” he said, “can we just cut to the chase?”

  “Another turf lover, I see. Do you hunt?”

  He put his coffee down and stood, startling her. He walked four long strides away and turned. “Lady Dunbridge, I know what you’re doing. My mother was a master of it. But I don’t appreciate it. Someone killed Reginald Reynolds, someone murdered the as-yet-unidentified man in the library. Things are not looking good for your friend Bev.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Of course you do. You’re either stalling so that you can find out just what is going on before you decide whether to stay and abet or cut ties and move on. Or you already know what went down here and are trying to keep me off the scent. Either way, you’re obstructing the investigation.”

  Phil trilled a laugh she was far from feeling. “You flatter me, Detective Atkins. I haven’t a clue as to what is going on.” She gave him her steadiest look. “After all, I’m a woman alone in the world, in a strange country. I must take care of myself—and my reputation.”

  He shook his head. “You are something else, Lady Dunbridge. But so am I. Thank you for the coffee. You can tell Mrs. Reynolds that I’ll return when she’s up to answering some questions, unless she’d rather come down to the station. And if you have any ideas about going into the library to satisfy your curiosity, forget it. I’ve had Tuttle turn over both keys. He has a receipt. Good day.” He bowed and strode across the room.

  She hurried after him but made it only as far as the front door before he stopped abruptly and she nearly plowed into him.

  “Who was that man you were, um, consulting with in the library?” she asked.

  “His name is Charles Becker; he’s the sergeant in charge of the Tenderloin District and an unsavory character. I suggest you give him a wide berth.”

  “But what was he doing here?”

  “It’s best you not concern yourself with the progress of the investigation.”

  “How can I not?”

  He grabbed her wrist, shocking them both.

  He dropped it just as quickly. “My apologies. But you need to listen. You may know your way around the drawing rooms of London, Lady Dunbridge, but I know the streets of New York. Don’t even attempt to get in the way here.”

  He trotted down the steps to the sidewalk, where he turned long enough to tip his hat at her, then strode off down the street. He was gone before she could come up with a retort. But he’d thrown down the gauntlet. What could she do but accept the challenge?

  * * *

  I shouldn’t have done that, she thought as she stood in the foyer. Never let your temper get away from you. Though she suspected that John Atkins had just succumbed to the same weakness. She could still feel the marks of his fingers on her wrist. That was one unhappy detective.

  How soon would he return to badger them for more answers? And what to do? Should they telephone Freddy? Would he know what to do, if anything, about this Sergeant Becker? From the little she’d seen and heard in those few brief minutes, she had no doubt he was mean and dangerous.

  She needed to consult with Bev. God forfend that the ever-ready Elmira had already doped her mistress beyond reach.

  Phil hadn’t much cared for Reggie, the little she’d seen of him, and Bev would no doubt be better off without him. But she certainly didn’t want Bev to be tried for murder.

  But it could be ruinous to interfere. What to do? It was one thing to defy parents, English tradition, and the censure of society by running off to America with a butler and a maid. It was another to embroil oneself in a murder investigation. It was exhilarating, but frightening. And there was no room for fear in her new life. It would take the top of her game to survive.

  There was no other choice. She would not go back. She couldn’t fail. Strength and staying on top was the only way to succeed. And quite frankly, her loyalties aside, she had never felt so stimulated in her life.

  She lifted her detested eggplant skirts and ran up the stairs.

  Bev was lying in bed, her hair down and spreading across the pristine pillows.

  Phil leaned over and shook her. “Bev, wake up. This is no time for the vapors. I need you.”

  Bev opened one eye. “Is he gone?”

  “Yes, for the time being. But he says if you don’t answer his questions, he’ll take you to the station.”

  Bev bolted upright. “I can’t go to a police station. The last time Reggie and I got hauled in, Father said he’d cut off my allowance if it ever happened again.”

  Phil stared. “You’ve actually been arrested?”

  “Of course not. We were just taken in for drunk and disorderly. That was before they realized who we were. But Father got wind of it, and all hell broke loose.”

  “Well, it’s about to break loose again. And I think it might behoove us to telephone Cousin Freddy about the discovery of this new victim and ask his advice.”

  Bev reached for an enameled bell by the bed. Elmira appeared in the doorway of the dressing room.

  “Go downstairs and find Tuttle. Have him come here at once. And be discreet.”

  Elmira didn’t blink, but curtseyed and departed.

  “I pay her a fortune,” Bev said. “She’s good, but a tad mercenary. Most servants are more than willing to exchange gossip for a few pennies from the local scandal sheets. But not to worry, I make certain to pay her more. We understand each other.”

  Bev plumped the pillows and leaned back. “You won’t desert me, will you, Phil? I know you’re eager to get on with your life, and I can ask one of my friends to escort you to all the society functions.”

  She sucked in a sob and her bottom lip protruded in a pouty expression that Phil remembered well. “While I’m sitting here in my widow’s weeds.”

  “Better here in widow’s weeds than in your local jail wearing prison garb.”

  “The Tombs? I can’t go to prison, I didn’t do anything.”

  “What tombs?”

  Bev waved her hand in the air. “The prison downtown. It’s where you go before they send you upstate to Sing Sing, an awful place where they have the electric chair.”

  “You terrify me,” Phil said. “Bev, did you kill Reggie?”

  “How can you ask that?”

  “Because your life depends on the answer.”

  Bev closed her eyes, then opened them again. “Between you and me, I sometimes felt like it. I’d had enough of him. He constantly humiliated me in front of the whole town, the whole world. My father is so angry about it he can barely look at me.” Her eyes widened. “You don’t think—No he wouldn’t.”

  Daniel Sloane was the most mild-mannered, superbly educated man of Phil’s acquaintance. Until he wasn’t. She remembered several occasions when he’d become irate at Bev’s shenanigans, as he called them, paced and blustered and threatened to take her out of school, but nothing had come of it. Could he become angry enough to murder his son-in-law? Ridiculous. Besides, he had been in Boston.

  “Why didn’t you divorce Reggie? Divorce seems to be very popular th
ese days.”

  “For the same reason you didn’t divorce your odious earl.”

  “How could I? He was a peer and I would be an outcast. Surely America is a little more lenient than that.”

  “We don’t have a peerage in a royal sense. But it still exists here, for all our modern ways. My family is old New York. My father would never have allowed it.” She laughed, a hollow sound that made her sound old and jaded. “He put up with all our nonsense, the scandalous parties and yachting orgies, the racing and betting, even Reggie’s affairs.”

  “And your affairs?”

  “I didn’t have any.”

  “You?”

  “Well, maybe a few. Like I said, Reggie wasn’t very … attentive in that department. He had a roving eye, and roving everything else, and once he started flaunting his behavior before the world, I decided I would not sit at home alone and be the proper, cheated-on wife while that bounder had all the fun. Perhaps it wasn’t the smartest choice. But at least I was discreet.” She sighed. “What’s done is done. And now … ugh … Father will probably insist on two full years of mourning.”

  “I don’t envy you.”

  Bev grasped Phil’s hand. “I know what you must have gone through. But please, Phil, don’t desert me.”

  “I told you I wouldn’t. But I think we need to do something and not depend on the police to find the murderer. They can be awfully slow to the post. And I’m sure Atkins is being held back from really going after you because of pressure from someone. At first I thought Freddy was planning to bribe him.”

  “Phil,” Bev began.

  “Don’t put on shock for my benefit. You forget I moved in the top circles. We’re not quite so blatant, and money isn’t always involved, but I know bribery when I see it. And I can recognize a man who is chafing under it, and that is our detective sergeant. I wouldn’t be surprised if he breaks rank before the investigation is over.

  “There was another policeman here this morning. He was arguing—threatening, actually—to take over his case. Becker, I forget his first name.”