by Michelle Cox
“Haf to lock up . . . that’s what I haf to do . . .” he called after her as she walked down the hallway, causing her to wonder again if he were simple. Jenks probably gets him for next to nothing, the old cow, she mused, as she pushed open the main doors and slipped out into the night.
She half expected the inspector to be there, but there was no one nearby at all. She surveyed the nearly deserted street in front of the Marlowe, hoping to see a squad car with perhaps Charlie or Kelly inside, unwelcome though they might be, but there was nothing. So, bundling her coat around her, she made her way alone to the train stop, having survived her first night at the Marlowe, but feeling oddly disappointed as she left.
CHAPTER 9
“oh, Hen, isn’t this wonderful?” Elsie said as they wound their way through the maze of booths precariously perched in St. Sylvester’s side parking lot, transformed now into the annual spring carnival. Bright booths and colorful pennants had been strung up, zigzagging their way across the lot, creating a contagious air of festivity in what was normally a dull, soggy lot sprouting weeds and collecting bits of trash along the broken fence that surrounded it. The carnival spilled out beyond the lot as well, running almost all the way up to the grassy area and the tiny cemetery that lay immediately behind the church, a carryover from the old days before people began to use the larger St. Boniface Cemetery on Clark. As Henrietta and all of the rest of the Von Harmons, excepting Ma, of course, weaved through the crowds of people milling about, trying their luck at the games or sampling the wares at the food tents, an excitement usually reserved only for Christmas was upon them.
Henrietta had had only a few hours’ sleep before being woken that morning by her mother, who’d gruffly reminded her that she had promised to take the children to the carnival after Mass. She herself refused to go, saying that she wanted a day to herself to put her feet up, which Henrietta suspected was only part of the truth. The rest of it, Henrietta knew, was Ma’s usual avoidance of social situations since her father’s suicide. Each year, Henrietta observed, it seemed to get a little worse, making Ma ever more insular and out of sorts as time wore on. She couldn’t avoid going to the shops and to Mass, of course, but other than that Ma kept herself to herself. An event such as the carnival would have been out of the question for her.
She had not always been like this, Henrietta had brooded, as she’d rolled over onto her thin pillow, listening to the warbling of the early morning birds outside. As a little girl, Henrietta remembered her mother being happier, though it was true that she had never been overly affectionate. There had always been a bit of a distance between her and her mother, but these days, it seemed utterly hopeless. Nothing she did could ever make Ma happy. She sighed, lying there thinking about it all until Jimmy appeared by her bedside and shook the mattress, imploring her to get up. Reluctantly, then, she dragged herself out of bed and sluggishly got dressed. At least it was sunny for the carnival, she observed, as she pulled back the curtain a tiny bit and resolved not to think about the Marlowe at all this day if she could help it.
Martha Von Harmon had begrudgingly poured Henrietta a cup of coffee from the pot on the stove as she listened to Henrietta and Jimmy talking and laughing in the bedroom. The Lord only knew what was going to happen with that one, she thought, woefully wiping her hands on her dirty apron. Henrietta was just too beautiful for her own good, and she knew it; that was the problem, Martha mused. If Henrietta were completely innocent as to her charms, it would be one thing, but she had seen how Henrietta looked at men and how they looked back. She knew what she was doing, all right!
It had been just the opposite for her. Being raised in her family’s upper-class home, she had known very little of men or what went on behind closed bedroom doors. Her own mother had been very strict, observing closely and exactly all the rules of the higher society in which they moved, her father being a rather wealthy banker. Martha was the only daughter in a house of boys and as such could not help feeling that she had let everyone down by not being the slim, petite example of girlish beauty that the family would undoubtedly have preferred. Regretfully, she had always been a bit big and rather plain and had a very bad habit of slouching, having to frequently be told to “sit straight, Martha!” There was a dearth of suitors around her, except for those arranged to come for dinners by the special effort of her parents, young men whose families, despite their very genteel breeding, were decidedly in want of the very large dowry Martha would bring with her to the altar.
Martha had always hated those dinners, feeling like a prize pig on display, and much preferred the company of Leslie Von Harmon, the handsome butcher’s delivery boy, who had neither money nor position despite his aristocratic-sounding surname. Martha came to live for a smile from him whenever he dropped off the weekly order, feeling almost pretty when he indulged her this way.
She had eventually begun to smile back, and then one day, when the cook had gone out on an errand, she had invited him in and had even daringly offered him a cup of tea. He had indeed come in, and, well, one thing had led to another in the butler’s pantry. She had been confused by what he wanted to do to her, with her, and she had shockingly found herself pregnant not long after. Les just laughed when she subsequently told him about her condition and simply responded that he supposed they should get married. Her parents, of course, were furious and refused to permit the marriage. They wanted her to “visit” an aunt in New York for the duration of her confinement and quietly deposit the baby in a local orphanage. Martha refused to be parted from Les, however, and with threats of disownment ringing in her ears, she ran off with Les one night and was married.
The romantic dream had burned away quicker than even she could have ever fathomed, however, and her descent into poverty and misery began almost immediately with barely a whisper of true love. Martha found herself overwhelmed by her new life and even more befuddled when Henrietta had came out of her, followed by nine more, two of which had subsequently died of the flu.
Henrietta had always seemed more Les’s girl than hers. She had his flirtatious personality, his long eyelashes, and his dimples, that was for sure. Of course Martha loved her daughter, but as Henrietta grew older, she at times found it hard to like her, not knowing what to do with this beautiful creature that had somehow come out of her big, awkward body. Consequently, she usually held her at arm’s length, never letting her true emotions show, just as her parents had always done with her. Surely that was the right way, was it not? What was the good of spoiling a child, especially one like Henrietta, who obviously didn’t need one bit of extra attention?
And yet, Henrietta was the antithesis of her, always lavishing her younger siblings with hugs and kisses, something Martha longed to do herself but just couldn’t. Surely this was a bad sign for what lay ahead for Henrietta, she guessed, as the girl seemed to crave physical attention. Not only that, but everything seemed to come easy for Henrietta; she never seemed to have a day’s worry in her life. Already Martha could see that Henrietta’s dimpled smile and a toss of her thick auburn hair opened all manner of doors for her, whether it was an extra pound of sugar at the armory hastily handed to her by some puppy-eyed sop in the back of the truck, or even her seemingly endless supply of jobs. She just prayed it never went beyond that; she didn’t think she could bear another incident of shame, not after Les. Most days she refused to allow herself to think of him, of what had happened, but in her heart she didn’t really blame him; that was the worst of it. Deep down she knew she had been cruel to him, but she hadn’t been able to stop herself. And now he was gone.
She was determined not to let anything else happen, trying her best to keep tabs on Henrietta, but it was useless trying to contain the beauty and the energy that emanated from her daughter. She had to admit that she simply did not know what to do with Henrietta. If only she would settle down, then she wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore. But for all of Henrietta’s flirtations, there never seemed to be anyone steady, no one who hung about, exce
pt for Stanley, that is. Now there was a perfectly good candidate, Martha thought to herself with a sigh, but Henrietta, headstrong as always, did not seem the faintest bit interested. True, she could probably get any man, Martha recognized with a touch of bitterness, but you could do worse than Stanley. He was a bit younger, but what did that matter? In fact, that might be better, Martha had mused more than once. He was steady, dependable, decent. But Henrietta seemed determined to foist him off onto Elsie, who was so much more like Martha herself. Bigger, unassuming, shy . . .
“Hen! Can we have a go, do you think?” Eddie begged.
“Yeah, Hen! Let him have a go! Please!” they all asked in various voices. “If he wins the vase, we can bring it back to Ma—then she might not be in such a bad mood,” said Herbert hopefully as they all crowded around the ring toss game.
Henrietta grinned. “Oh, all right. Here,” she said, opening her coin purse. “Here’s a nickel for each of you,” she said, putting a coin into each of their outstretched hands. “You can each play one game, but that’s all!”
“Does it have to be the ring toss, Hen? Or can I do the balloon pop one?” Eugene asked.
“Any one you choose,” Henrietta said benevolently. “But just one, so choose carefully,” she added.
With squeals of delight, they ran off in separate directions, leaving just herself and Elsie, each one holding one of the twins by the hand, and Stanley, who had showed up, rather conveniently, at the apartment just as they were leaving that morning. Henrietta suspected her mother had had a hand in his appearance, and he had begged to be allowed to come along, offering to help with all the kids. Knowing it was useless to protest, Henrietta had begrudgingly agreed. She had not seen him since that night at Polly’s apartment, and she could guess why he had kept his distance. Obviously he was still upset by the whole thing, though he had managed to be convincingly cheerful around her mother. For once, Henrietta was grateful to have all of the kids around, preventing conversation between them. Now that they had scattered, however, Henrietta could sense he was about to speak.
Sure enough, unable to contain himself any longer, he finally asked, “How’s things?” as they weaved their way through the crowd, glancing nervously at Elsie to see if she were listening.
“Fine, Stan, thanks.”
“Yes, fine, Stanley,” Elsie said, looking dreamily at him. Elsie never shortened his name, as if by elongating it she could savor him for even an extra moment.
“How’s . . . how’s work?” he asked eagerly.
Henrietta shot him an annoyed look, giving a slight nod in Elsie’s direction. “Fine, Stan! We work at the same place, remember?”
“Yes, I know . . . ,” he said, becoming flustered as he tried to mend his mistake. “But, you know, since we work different shifts . . . you working so late, that is . . . ”
“Oh . . . that’s true, Stanley! She doesn’t get home until ever so late. Sometimes not until almost dawn!” Elsie added innocently.
“Dawn!”
Henrietta expertly picked up Donny, who was dragging his feet in the dust to create little clouds around his already worn shoes, forming a human shield between herself and Stan. “Elsie stays up quite late at night, too, reading . . . don’t you, Els?” she said, taking her free hand and gently putting Elsie’s hair back behind her shoulder in a more attractive fashion.
“Yes, but I’m sure Stanley doesn’t want to hear about that!” Elsie said anxiously.
“Oh, you never know with Stan; he’s full of surprises,” Henrietta said wryly. “What did you say the name of your book was, Elsie? The Boy Who Worried Too Much?”
“Don’t be silly, Henrietta!” Elsie laughed nervously.
“Hey!” said Stan, trying to walk a little faster so that he could see around Donny.
“Oh, now I remember,” Henrietta continued as if neither of them had spoken. “It’s called The Woman Who Knew What She Was Doing.”
“Hen!” said an embarrassed Elsie. “You’re making fun of me now. What will Stanley think?” she asked, glancing shyly at Stan, who was still determinedly looking at Henrietta. “There is no such book, and you know it,” Elsie continued. “I’m actually reading Great Expectations. I . . . I got it from the library. It’s quite good. Have you . . . have you read it, Stanley?”
It pained Henrietta to see how hard Elsie was trying to get his attention.
“What?” he asked, looking at Elsie distractedly. “Great Expectations? Well, I have, as a matter of fact. I’ve read all of Dickens’s work,” he said proudly.
“My! A warehouse boy who reads! What will we have next?” Henrietta couldn’t help but put in, though she regretted it as soon as she had said it.
“Well, some of us are trying to better ourselves,” Stan said defensively, bracing his thumbs behind his suspenders. “In the right way,” he put in and turned his attention to Elsie, which Henrietta perceived was an attempt at a slight toward herself. “What do you think of it?” he asked Elsie.
“It’s quite good,” Elsie said, unable to contain the huge, telltale smile spreading across her face.
“Miss Havisham is a strange old bird, isn’t she?”
“Oh, yes! I hope I don’t end up like her!” Elsie said, biting her lip through another big smile. Her eyes were electrified as she looked at him. Henrietta had to look away, embarrassed by her obviousness. If only she would listen to Henrietta about how to flirt, how to be subtle.
Stan grinned at Elsie. “Impossible! A girl like you? Never.”
Henrietta perceived that she might have just seen a spark, perhaps, of interest on Stan’s part. It was so maddening! They were perfect for each other, if only she could get Stan to see beyond his irritating obsession with herself. If only she could get them alone together somehow . . .
Before she could finish that thought, however, she felt a tug at the bottom of her dress and looked down to see Herbert, holding Jimmy’s hand. “Aw, Hen, he’s got to go to the bathroom. Can’t you take him? I was watching Eugene. He’s just about to throw the darts at the balloons, but he said he’d wait for me if I ran him back to you. Will you take him?” Herb pleaded.
“I’ll take him,” Stan volunteered. Henrietta saw her opportunity.
“No, thanks anyway, Stan. I’ve got to freshen up a bit myself. Here,” she said, depositing Donny in his arms. She opened her coin purse and put more coins in Elsie’s front dress pocket. “There you are. I promised everyone cotton candy, so you two go get some for everyone. We’ll catch up,” she said, taking Jimmy’s hand and giving Elsie a little wink as she inclined her head toward Stanley, who was awkwardly trying to balance a squirming Donny. Elsie blushed and smiled her thanks and then led the way further into the carnival, Stan trailing behind.
“Come on, then,” Henrietta said to Jimmy as she led him back toward the church, which she knew had a crude sort of bathroom in the cellar, rather than taking him to use one of the outhouses built for the occasion. She decided to take a shortcut through the cemetery rather than have to go all the way around the large carousel that had been set up beside it. As they walked among the crumbling gravestones, Jimmy happily swinging her arm as they went, Henrietta pondered Stan and Elsie and wondered how she could get the two of them together.
“Henrietta!” came a whisper from behind her.
Not again! despaired Henrietta. If this was Stan, she would kill him! Why didn’t he ever listen to her!
“Stan, I asked you to stay with Elsie and the kids,” she said, turning around, but Stan was nowhere to be seen. “Stan?”
There was a rustling of leaves coming from a large viburnum bush they had just passed, new buds already covering it, and Henrietta was shocked to see Polly emerge.
“Polly!” she cried, hurrying back and embracing her. “What are you doing here? I’ve been so worried! I’ve so much to tell you! Did you find Mickey?” she asked, her questions tumbling out as fast as she could say them.
Polly pulled back from her embrace but held onto Henrietta�
��s hands. She shook her head sadly. “He wasn’t there. Looks like it’s been empty for months.”
“You look terrible!” Henrietta said, noticing her disheveled hair and the deep circles under her eyes. “You haven’t been back to your apartment, have you?” she asked worriedly.
“Course I have. I slipped in late last night. Why?”
Henrietta refrained from saying anything more in front of Jimmy. She looked down at him, squirming now, desperate for the toilet. “Listen, Jim. You go on ahead. It’s just in there,” she said pointing toward the church. “Down the back stairs.”
“But it’s dark down there!”
“Be brave! I’ll be right here. Give me a shout if you need me. Go on!”
Jimmy stared at the church as if deliberating the proposition, and after hesitating a few moments, sprinted off, desperation having won out. Henrietta watched him go before giving her attention back to Polly. “Oh, Polly! The police are looking for you! They think you’re in danger.”
“It’s Mickey they want; I just know it,” she said, staring strangely at Henrietta.
“Yes, they want to find Mickey, too! They don’t suspect him . . . honest, Poll! They want him to help identify the two killers, you know . . . the ones you heard.”
“I’ll bet,” she said absently again, and Henrietta began to wonder if she was quite lucid.
“Polly, are you all right? How did you know how to find me here?”
“I went to your apartment to find you . . .” she said, absently. “Your mother told me you’d come to the carnival. Don’t worry,” she added in response to Henrietta’s anxious look, “I didn’t let the cat out of the bag. Just said we worked together. Seemed nice enough. Don’t know what you’re always going on about—”
“Polly!” Henrietta interrupted. “You’ve got to come to the police with me. Inspector Howard is on the level, honestly.”
