Ask Me No Questions

by Shelley Noble

  All little men. Jockeys were small. Freddy was tall and overweight.

  How could she have been so obtuse?

  The driver had killed Reggie all right, disguised as Eddie, with Eddie’s duster planted to be found by the police. Or possibly even planted by them.

  Freddy could never have fit into the diminutive jockey’s driving coat, but someone else could.

  “Please, please you’ve got to believe me.”

  “He’s telling the truth for once,” Phil said, pushing down her nausea and disbelief. All eyes turned to her. “He was an accessory, probably even planned it, but he didn’t actually shoot Reggie.” Phil turned to face the row of stable boys. “Did he, Marguerite?”

  There was an audible gasp.

  Slowly, one of the “boys” straightened. Pulled off his hat, and a braid of long golden blond hair fell over one shoulder.

  Marguerite Beecham glanced toward her husband rocking in pain on the floor. “Really, Freddy, can’t you do anything right?”

  She swung the stall door open and stepped out, revealing a small pistol held in her delicate hand.

  “You?” asked Bev, barely above a whisper. “I don’t understand.”

  Marguerite exhaled a weary sigh. “Of course you don’t, dear Bev. We’re broke. Freddy is in debt. Gambled every last penny. Didn’t you, Freddy? We were going to lose everything, the house, our place in society. Such as it is. I’d never be able to hold my head up again. They promised if Freddy would just fix this one race, they’d forgive everything and we could breathe again at last.

  “One little race. And you couldn’t even do that right, could you, Freddy?”

  Bev’s face twisted. “No, Marguerite. No.”

  Atkins roused himself. “Put the gun down, Mrs. Beecham.”

  “Do as he says,” Bev pleaded. “Don’t make it any worse.”

  “Worse? It couldn’t get worse.”

  Bev raised both fists. “I hate you. You won’t get away with it.”

  Marguerite laughed. “Don’t you think I know that? Just think of the scandal.” She lifted the pistol to her head and pulled the trigger.

  The sound ricocheted through the stable. The horses shied, someone screamed, and the others stood rooted where they stood.

  Then Atkins broke and rushed to kneel by Marguerite’s body. He stood almost immediately. Shook his head.

  Bev sobbed, Freddy hid his face in his hands, and Preswick returned with several policemen, who quickly secured the prisoner.

  “Rico,” Phil said, “where is Lily?”

  “She’s upstairs, guarding the prisoners.”

  “What prisoners?” Atkins asked.

  “Henry and Sid.”

  “Them, too?” asked Phil.

  “And how do you fit into this?” Atkins asked Rico.

  “Me? I helped stop them.”

  “By harboring a murder suspect?”

  Rico sucked in his breath.

  “But not the murderer,” Phil reminded him. “Really, Detective Sergeant. It’s only fair to listen to his story before you make a judgment.” Phil rushed over to the stairs, calling out, “Lily, are you all right up there?”

  A faint, “Yes mad—my lady.”

  Phil hiked up her skirts and fairly ran upstairs and found herself in a loft with several narrow beds and Henry and Sid, both tied and gagged, Sid dressed in nothing but his long johns, and Lily holding them at bay with her stiletto.

  Phil heard a flurry of new arrivals downstairs, John Atkins barking orders, then heavy footsteps on the stairs.

  Phil motioned Lily to put her knife away. Lily returned it beneath her skirts in one graceful movement, just as John Atkins reached the second floor.

  “It wasn’t us,” Henry said right away. “We didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “Pfft.” Lily said. “Guilty as sin.”

  Atkins lifted an eyebrow and nodded to her, then bellowed down the stairs, “I need a couple of you men up here.”

  Phil looked around. In the excitement, she’d forgotten the one person who was conspicuously missing. She’d seen him following Freddy.

  So where was he now? And whose side was he on?

  24

  Two constables dragged Henry and the half-clothed Sid to their feet and took them downstairs. After an intent but unreadable look at Phil, Atkins gestured for her and Lily to precede him down the stairs.

  They were greeted with a scene straight out of a stage melodrama.

  The handsome wounded hero lying on the floor while his sweetheart knelt beside him, wringing her hands over his fate. Only in this case the hero was a villain and Bev looked like she wanted to wring his neck. Fortunately, there was a guard standing at Freddy’s head.

  Nearby, the villain’s villainous wife’s body was covered by a saddle blanket.

  Eddie was still on the ground, but sitting up. The gold of his left sleeve had turned deep red, and Preswick was wrapping a white bandage, formerly the trim of Bev’s petticoat, around his arm. Phil recognized the Valenciennes lace. Rico was coming out of a stall where the real Devil’s Thunder was now being rubbed down by a stable boy.

  The constable pushed Henry and Sid against the wall. “What do you want to do with these two?”

  Atkins slowly looked from one to the other.

  Bobby snatched up his hat where it had fallen and pushed it back on his head. “It was Freddy. I oughta—”

  Atkins stretched out his arm. “You oughta cool down or I’ll take you in, too.”

  “You know they won’t arrest Beecham. He works for Tammany. He’s in deep. Somebody oughta teach him a lesson.”

  “But not you, Bobby.”

  Phil moved up to him. “Not Bobby, Detective Sergeant, but you. You know you have to do it soon, or they’ll take the case from you and sweep it all under the proverbial carpet.”

  Atkins turned a formidable frown on her.

  “Don’t get all huffy, Detective, you know it’s true.”

  One side of his mouth tightened.

  A smile, perchance?

  “Detective sergeants don’t get huffy, Lady Dunbridge. I really can’t tell you what we do. It would be unfit for a lady’s ears.” Then he cocked his head. “I know you’re dying of curiosity and quite frankly so am I. And you are perfectly correct. Once these people leave my jurisdiction, it will be out of my hands.”

  “Shall I make tea?” Preswick said. “I believe there is a kitchen and provisions upstairs.”

  Atkins just looked at him, possibly dumbfounded.

  “An excellent butler,” Phil told him. “That would be lovely, Preswick. Lily?”

  Lily curtseyed and followed Preswick back up the stairs.

  So while Preswick made tea, Freddy groaned on the ground and Eddie told his story. It was much the same as Rico had relayed to them at the farm, with a few more damning details.

  “I went in to drive for Mr. Reggie. He liked to have a driver…” He cut a glance at Bev. “Sometimes. But when I got to the house that morning, Mr. Freddy was waiting for me outside. He said Mr. Reggie had changed his mind, that he wouldn’t be needing me, but he would need my driving coat.

  “I thought that sounded funny ’cause Mr. Reggie had his own driving coats, several of them. But…” Eddie shrugged, winced.

  “You weren’t in a position to say no.”

  “No, sir. Then he paid me a hundred bucks and told me to enjoy myself. Which I did, which was stupid. I know that now, ’cause when I got back to the stables all hell had broken loose.”

  Atkins kept a steady gaze on Eddie. “Then how did your bloody clothes end up in your bunk at the farm?”

  “He was framed!” yelled Bobby.

  “Thank you, Mr. Mullins.”

  “They weren’t there before Mr. Freddy and Bobby here met at the farm,” Rico said. “Then the police came and found them.”

  “Hmmm,” John Atkins said. Phil knew just what he was thinking.

  Atkins turned to Bobby.

  “Don
’t look at me. I didn’t know what Beecham was up to. I was Reggie’s right-hand man. I wouldn’t’ve never hurt him. But him”—Bobby jabbed a beefy finger at Freddy—“they musta got to him.”

  “Who is they?”

  Bobby squeezed his lips together, cut his eyes toward the other policeman.

  He was afraid to speak, afraid that it would get back to the corrupt powers that be. Did that include Mr. Tappington-Jones? And how many others? Phil bet Reggie’s last list would tell her.

  And Mr. X? How did he fit into all of this?

  “What is it, Lady Dunbridge?” Atkins asked. “Did you think of something?”

  “Uh, no.” She wasn’t quite willing to share what she was thinking. Mr. X was obviously not an Austrian attaché or an old-book collector. She didn’t know what he was, but villain or hero, she wasn’t ready to share him … not even with John Atkins.

  Bev marched over to Freddy. “I hope you … you despicable piece of…” Bev stepped back and kicked his broken leg.

  Freddy howled.

  “And your wife.” She kicked him again and no one tried to stop her. “You killed my husband. Your cousin. Your friend. A man who helped you, introduced you to people you’d never meet on your own, loaned you money when you’d lost at cards. He was good to you.”

  Phil put a supporting arm around Bev. Even if she didn’t need it, it would serve just as well to restrain her.

  “Good to me? He was a stingy bastard. How can you defend him? He cheated on you. Spent your money. He never intended you to have the stable or his money. He was going to leave you.”

  “So you and Marguerite killed Mr. Reynolds in order to fix the race,” Phil said. “Why not just let him go to South America?”

  “Lady Dunbridge,” Atkins warned.

  She cocked her head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to butt in, Inspector Detective Sergeant.”

  He let that pass, as she knew he would. “Well, Freddy?”

  “I’m not saying anything until I see my lawyer.”

  Atkins raised an eyebrow. “Fine, if you live that long. Racketeering has a very long arm. And so does accessory to murder.”

  Freddy tried to push himself up on his elbow but fell back with a groan. “You have to protect me. They’ll kill me.”

  The same thing that Mimi had said. That day Phil had thought she meant Reggie’s admirers, now she knew she’d been talking about the men the list could indict. And they had almost succeeded. A sobering thought.

  They were bound to find out Phil had the book, even though the lists had been stolen. And now she and Bev would be targets. She would have to do something to remedy that situation.

  “They wouldn’t leave me alone. I was desperate.” Freddy’s voice broke with a sob.

  “You’re not only a traitor and a murderer,” Bev cried, “you’re a spineless worm.”

  “Hurrah, Bev,” Phil said under her breath.

  “And I hope they hang you for it.”

  Before Phil could interject “electric chair,” Bev turned back. “And furthermore … why the hell did you use my pistol? So you could frame me for Reggie’s murder? You lowdown—”

  “I expect,” Atkins said, coming to her other side, “if you were convicted of murder, you wouldn’t be entitled to the inheritance, and Freddy boy here, being next of kin, would. And that would leave him in a position to continue fixing races for, let’s just say, certain members of society.”

  What little color was left in Freddy’s face completely drained away. “I don’t … know what you’re talking about … I need a doctor … I need protection.”

  “The hell you do,” Bobby said. “I oughta kill you myself. I’m a witness. You tried to kill Eddie here because he wouldn’t throw the race. You framed him for murder. Then you talked Henry into doing a switcheroo.”

  Bobby slapped his knees. But Phil didn’t think it was out of laughter. Bobby Mullins could easily kill Freddy with his bare hands. A handy man to have on your side.

  It was laughter. “Damn, we outfoxed you. Pulled a double switch. Thanks to Rico and the little lady and your butler, ma’am.

  “I say we leave him right here. I’m sure he has friends who will be out looking for him soon. They can take care of him.”

  “No! No! You can’t leave me here.”

  An ambulance brigade burst into the room. Atkins motioned to one of the constables. “Go with them and have them take Mr. Beecham straight to the Tombs infirmary. Let’s see how he likes seeing how the other half lives.”

  The constable’s eyes widened.

  “I’ll clear it with your captain. And give you train fare home.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And, Constable, don’t let him escape.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Eddie, do you need—?”

  “No, sir, I’ll get the vet to look at me later.”

  “But Eddie,” Bev said, “you need to be looked at by a proper physician. I want you to have the best of care. You’re my head jockey.”

  “I believe,” Atkins interjected, “that he is in no danger and will feel more comfortable around people he can trust.”

  “You mean someone might try to—?” asked Bev.

  Atkins gave her a look that said “stop talking.”

  And for once, Bev did.

  “Higgins, you and this constable here take these other two over to the Maria and accompany them to the precinct for questioning.”

  “Yes, sir. Come on, you two.” Higgins and the constable hauled Henry and Sid out the door.

  “And now, Lady Dunbridge, I have a few questions for you.”

  “Indeed, Detective Sergeant. Won’t you come into my parlor?” She gestured to the stairs, where overhead she could hear footsteps of Lily and Preswick making tea.

  The stable boys were left in charge of grooming Devil’s Thunder with the added instructions of “guard him with your life, boyo-s,” from Bobby.

  Preswick served tea in an assortment of mugs while everyone sat around a rickety wooden table and Lily served cheap and slightly stale biscuits from a chipped plate.

  “Bobby,” Bev said, “we must get a better grade of biscuits for our boys. Make a line item or whatever you do for that.”

  Bobby grinned, for the first time Phil had seen. He had more than one missing tooth. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “To begin with,” Atkins said, accepting one of the biscuits and looking dubiously at it, before putting it down. “How did your maid and butler become involved in this capture?”

  “You’d best ask them,” Phil said. “When I saw them earlier, they were watching the race.”

  Atkins motioned Preswick and Lily over. “Preswick, would you like to begin?”

  Preswick glanced at Phil.

  “Preswick, that was not actually a request.”

  “Sir.” Preswick straightened to his mightiest butler demeanor. “Lily and I were watching the race when Rico here”—he paused to nod over at Rico, who was sitting next to Eddie, who was lying on one of the cots—“comes up to us and says they’ve got terrible trouble at the stables and could we please come.”

  “We had to do it,” interjected Lily.

  “Of course you did,” Phil said. “We always help those in need.” She smiled at the detective.

  He smiled back—ironically.

  “When we arrived,” Preswick continued, “Rico brought us not to the stables but to the field where the transport wagons are parked. Rico said Henry had scratched him from the race and was replacing him with that Sid person. That’s when he realized that they weren’t planning to race Devil’s Thunder at all.”

  “Because Sid couldn’t keep his seat on Thunder,” Bev said.

  Silver Blaze, thought Phil. Mr. X had guided her toward the answer because he needed her help to get inside information. But where was he?

  “He was here,” Lily whispered as if reading her thoughts.

  Phil looked a question.

  “Your mystery man, with the beard. He made Bob
by swing down on the rope.” Lily grinned. “He didn’t want to do it. But he wouldn’t let me. He said to thank you for the list.”

  “Where did he go?”

  Lily shrugged. “He just left … like a spirit.”

  “Is that correct, Rico?” Atkins demanded.

  Phil brought her attention back to the story.

  “Yes, sir. Me and Mr. Bobby got a plan, but we needed more help to make it work.”

  Atkins narrowed his eyes at Mullins.

  “Perfectly legit,” Bobby said. “Devil’s Thunder’s name is in the program and Devil’s Thunder ran. And I substituted Eddie at the last minute. Weighed him in and everything. All aboveboard.”

  “Uh-huh,” Atkins said, but he looked impressed.

  “But Sid was wearing the only set of colors we could get to, so we had to, uh, appropriate them. And we had to get Henry out of the way so we could substitute Thunder for Binkie’s Boy. That’s when Rico had this idea that Lily and Mr. Preswick here would help.

  “After that, it was a piece of cake. I gotta tell ya, your ladyship, these two are a mightily fearsome team.”

  “Indeed.”

  “I sent the stable boys out and the rest as they say is history.” Bobby broke into a full snaggletoothed grin.

  “History? I would like to hear it, if you don’t mind,” Atkins said.

  “Oh, yeah.” Bobby told them how they’d overtaken Henry, relieved Sid of his colors, and stashed the two men upstairs with Lily as guard. Then they brought in Devil’s Thunder from the transport wagon and saddled him. Rico just had time to attach his number and get him to the paddock in time for the post parade.

  “I was sweatin’, I can tell ya,” Bobby said. “And he won like I knew he would even with all the rushing around. And I knew that was gonna make some folks awful mad. So I handed Thunder over to Mrs. Reynolds here to accept the purse and hightailed Eddie back to the stables to hide. I went upstairs to check on Lily and the prisoners, and that’s when I heard the commotion downstairs. I looked down and Freddy was fighting Preswick here, who held his own pretty damn well.

  “It was touch and go, but in the confusion I jumped on the stall half wall, grabbed the bale wench, and knocked down Freddy. I’m still pretty agile, if I do say so myself.”