Addleton Heights

by George Wright Padgett

  “I don’t care what happens to one of Mr. Montague’s lackeys. I say I introduce him to Rodger here, and then we tie him up with the wheelchair straps in the back of the steam carriage.”

  I braced myself for the biggest gamble of my life.

  “I can’t let you do that. It’s not the right thing.” I lowered my arms. “If you insist on hurting this man, you’ll have to shock me first.”

  “You think I won’t? You owe this guy nothing.”

  “I owe him the same thing I owe everyone. I owe him justice in doing what’s right.”

  Trudeau started hyperventilating, but luckily, he didn’t make a run for it and didn’t say a word.

  “You really think I won’t shock you?” she asked, her voice teetering like she could explode at any second.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. Do what you feel you have to do. Tie us both up if that’s the way you think you should go with this, but I’ll do what I have to do as well.” Preparing for the worst, I tossed both pistols in the snow at her feet. They made a wet thud in the snow. If we’d been at the card table, I’d have just gone all in.

  “If you’re going to shock me, I don’t want the guns going off.” I nodded for her to make her move and closed my eyes.

  There were only three sounds: my own heartbeat thumping wildly in my ears, Trudy’s exaggerated breathing, and the crackle buzz hum of Rodger. I listened intently for the sound of her skirts in case she tried to go around me to get Trudy.

  I heard Rodger being deactivated, and a wave of relief swept over me.

  I opened my eyes to see her swishing back toward the sky ferry.

  As if to get the last word, Janae called out, “If he summons any guards to meet us up top, I’ll die with my finger on Rodger’s trigger shocking you!”

  Letting out a huge sigh, I bent to dry the pistols against my jacket.

  From behind me, Trudeau asked the obvious. “She’s not really from New Pennsylvania, is she, Mr. Kipsey?”

  I returned the guns to my belt and harness. “Trudy, do you have family off Addleton Heights?”

  His eyes were as wide as saucers. “Uh . . . yes, sir.” He nodded vigorously.

  I took a few bills of Jim Nelson’s cash from my vest and handed it to him. “I don’t have time to explain, but you need to go there, maybe for a long time, I don’t know. You need to go right away. I’m not sure how all of this is going to turn out, but it’s best for you to be as far away as you can get.”

  “She killed Mr. Hennemann, didn’t she?”

  “She did, but only because he attacked her. I’ve got to go, Trudy. Be safe, and leave town today as quickly as you can.”

  “I will, Mr. Kipsey, and thank you.”

  I turned to leave.

  “Mr. Kipsey?”

  I faced him again.

  “Mr. Kipsey, is she going to kill Mr. Montague?”

  “Trudy, I honestly don’t know.”

  Twenty-Seven

  Through the window of the rising sky ferry, I watched Trudeau gallop away on one of the mares from the stable. Neither Janae nor I spoke of our little standoff.

  As the bottom of the compound eclipsed the sun from our view, she broke the silence. “The first section is where Jimmy worked, right?”

  I stomped my half-finished cigarillo out in preparation for what was to come. “Yeah, I haven’t seen it, but that’s where the Babbage machines are housed. On the other side is where I saw a guard lock up your Mr. Sawyer.”

  Knowing the guard stand would be on the right side of the bassel, I moved into the seat next to Janae, faced the sliding door, and placed the two revolvers in my lap.

  “Do you think you’re going to need those before we get to the top level?”

  As the sky ferry began to slow, I answered, “I’m not sure if Trudeau had a chance to telegraph the guard that we were coming before he ran out after us.”

  For the first time since I’d known her, her voice held traces of genuine anxiety. “We’d be trapped in here. It’d be like shooting dogs in a cage.”

  I didn’t voice it, but even if Trudeau did telegraph the guard station, he would’ve likely sent the message that Hennemann would be accompanying us.

  She dropped to her knees and wrestled with the cumbersome dress to bring it in and make it smaller. “We should hide under the seats.” She was on the verge of panic. “Maybe the guard will think someone at the top summoned the bassel. Oh, I hate this dress! Why did you make me wear a dress? It’s going to get us both killed—shot to death in this stupid metal box.”

  I was reminded of how she’d hidden in a box from a guard before, though she was considerably smaller and it was many years ago. I crouched down with her. We were nearly to the checkpoint, and I had to make her stop or it would be over for us.

  “Janae, look at me. You’ve got to get back in the seat. If we stand any chance at all, we have to present a calm face or we’re certain to alert the guard that something’s wrong. Just pretend to be what’s-her-name again.”

  “What?”

  “Mary Elizabeth. Be Mary Elizabeth for me.”

  Janae snapped into character right as the ferry rose to the metal platform on which Reginald Bailey rocked on his chair.

  I shrugged at him as we passed and proceeded to help the woman off the floor of the carrier. The lumberjack of a man tugged at his bright orange beard and gave me a knowing wink.

  As the sky ferry accelerated, we collapsed into our seats.

  The courtyard at the top level was vacant. This should have eased my tension, but it didn’t—the rabbit doesn’t see the trap until it’s too late.

  I inhaled deeply as the bassel came to a soft stop on the platform. Situating Hennemann’s pistol snugly in my belt and Fitzpatrick’s in my shoulder holster, I stated the obvious: “Time to go.”

  Janae gripped the handles of my black bag but didn’t stand. “No matter what happens, I want you to know that I appreciate you bringing me up here to confront Mr. Montague . . . and . . . and I’m sorry about all that stuff about the guard earlier. He is no more guilty of what Mr. Montague does or doesn’t do than Jimmy is . . . or was.”

  I stopped her fidgeting by covering her hands in mine. “Are you going to shock him with Rodger?”

  “I hadn’t planned on it.” Her gaze was far away. “Honestly, I don’t know what I’ll say. I just think he should answer to someone for causing Jimmy to get shot. That and I want to know what my brother died for . . . and where his . . . body is. I think he owes me at least that much.”

  I searched for words to explain that Montague would laugh at the notion of owing anyone anything. I couldn’t find them. “You’ll wait to see him until I’m headed down with the ledgers, right?”

  “Yes, I’ll wait.”

  I left the bassel first and turned to help her down.

  “You’re a good man, Thorogood Kipsey. I wish I could’ve got to know you better.”

  The look on her face stunned me. It was as if I saw her—really saw her—for the first time. It was like discovering a secret room in a house you’ve lived in your entire life. I thought I had a fair idea of who she was, but the odd little twinkle in her eye made me question everything I thought I knew.

  She slid her arm in mine as we began to walk. I did my best to conceal my confusion at the gaze I’d caught. Whatever was happening here with her would have to wait.

  The outside of the mansion was more fantastic in the daylight than when I’d seen it before. Janae didn’t speak, but judging from how she looked around, she was impressed—and probably equally apprehensive.

  By the time we’d reached the front, she’d unhooked her arm from mine and moved behind me. I preferred this—after all, I had the weapons—but I knew my marksmanship skills were subpar, and I found myself wishing that I’d spent more time at the shooting range when on the police force.

  The stillness was eerie, though I reminded myself there was no perceived need for a security detail at this level. We’d already pa
ssed through two checkpoints. I suspected Montague would have found it distasteful to post a sentry at his doorstep. Who in their right mind would attempt to enter his mansion uninvited, plan to steal from his study, and confront him to his face?

  Who in their right mind indeed.

  With doorknob in hand, I turned to face her. She gave me an affirmative nod while removing Rodger from the black bag, and we entered.

  There was no one in the immense foyer, which was good but still a little unnerving. Of course, I’d be perfectly fine without seeing Montague—that was Janae’s thing. Though the massive chandelier in the center wasn’t lit, the sunlight that poured in through the glass above our heads displayed the room’s magnificence.

  “It’s like a palace,” Janae whispered as she returned Rodger to the camera bag. “The foyer alone is larger than a ballroom. My entire apartment could fit in here.”

  She quickly made her way across the white marble floor past the circle of evenly spaced Doric columns. At first, I thought she was headed toward a painting of a bowl of fruit on the wall. It hung in the spot where the image of a younger Montague on horseback had been displayed a few nights before. Why had the painting been replaced?

  Instead, Janae opted to examine the headless nine-foot metal figure in the nook to the right of the still life.

  She bent as much as her dress would allow and tapped at the knee joints of the thing. “This is fantastic. Is this what the metal man in Chinatown looked like?”

  Moving to her, I said in a low voice, “No, that was different. This statue is bigger around and more . . .” I searched for a word. “More boxy.”

  “Except it’s not a statue.” She tried to look behind it, but the skirt of her dress got in the way. “This is some kinda armor—powered armor.”

  “Powered armor?”

  A noise came from the side doorway at the back of the foyer: the click-clack of wheels.

  My grip on the gun tightened. This was what we’d been waiting for—it was about to happen.

  I extended the weapon, waited for whatever might appear through the opening, and prayed my aim would be true for once. If it were Montague, maybe Janae would have to shock him after all. All I knew was that I had to get the ledgers to Commissioner Davenport at any cost.

  The noise grew louder, and I stiffened my arm. Janae joined me, Rodger at the ready.

  To our surprise, a melody accompanied the sound of rolling wheels—a female voice. We simultaneously looked at one another. Janae shrugged.

  A few seconds later, I recognized the tune coming toward us, an old Irish melody. A heavy-set woman in white pushed a service cart through the adjacent hallway and past us without ever seeing us.

  I returned my pistol to my belt with a sigh.

  “Come on, we’ve gotta get to the study.” I climbed the steps of the red velvet staircase.

  The door was locked. As I fumbled for my lockpicking tools, Janae pushed past me. She produced an odd piece of tinkware from the black bag. “I’ve got this.”

  She attached a bulbous suction cup the size of a child’s fist to the side of the doorknob, then twisted a large dial that protruded from the center of it. Satisfied, she pushed the dial in with a sharp click.

  The metal sides of it telescoped out a few inches. Like tiny metal tentacles, two drill bits extended from the contraption to the keyhole. When they had found their target, Janae twisted a crank on the side of the suction cup.

  “What is that?” I asked.

  She pressed the center button of the dial a second time. The tiny drill bits whirled as shavings like metal flower petals fell from the opening. When they were done, Janae popped the rubber suction cup off the door.

  “I call it a Hellowd’ere,” she said proudly. “I made it.” She blew it off, presumably to cool the bits as they retracted, and tucked it back in the bag.

  “A what?”

  She held up a finger for me to wait. She opened the door a crack, and we both looked in. It was dark, so I figured it was empty.

  Janae stepped back and grandly pushed the door open. “As in, ‘Hello ‘dere!’”

  “That’s the worst name for a gadget ever,” I said. “Why not call it a ‘Jimmy’ like after your brother?” We stepped in, and Janae closed the door behind us. “You know, like how you named Rodger after your father. Didn’t your brother open doors for you? You could say, ‘I’m going to Jimmy that lock.’”

  The lack of light accentuated the intoxicating aroma of old books.

  “I don’t need anyone to open doors for me. Anyway, I made it, so I get to name it. When you make some tinkware, you can name it.”

  “You’re missing the point.” Feeling along the wall, I found the gaslight panel and twisted it on.

  “Wow, this guy really likes to read,” Janae said, craning her neck up to the ceiling. “I never knew there were even this many books written. How many do you think are in here?”

  I hurried over to a second panel and activated another series of lights. “Right now, I only care about six of them.”

  Soon, I had the entire place lit and started searching for the ledgers.

  “Why do you think they have this place locked up?” Janae asked.

  Scanning the shelves, I answered without turning around. “I don’t know, maybe because two murders were committed in here?”

  “You mean—” she gasped.

  I stopped and slowly faced her. I felt like a heel, I’d been so callous. Moving to her, I said defensively, “You saw the photographs back in my office. Didn’t you notice all the books in the background of the picture?”

  “I wasn’t looking at the background,” she explained with a voice on the edge of breaking. “I didn’t know it was in here that he died. Where did it happen? I want to see.”

  With much apprehension, I moved to the spot where the bodies had been. Astonishingly, there was no trace of blood on the rug. I crouched and touched it, surprised to discover it completely dry.

  Janae approached with the folded photograph from the bag. “Kip, they changed the rug. They’re trying to make it look like nothing happened. Where’s his body? What did they do with him?”

  “I don’t know.” I looked at where the painting of Montague’s father had been. It had been replaced by the painting of the young Alton Montague on horseback from downstairs. I picked up the metal globe and shook it, not surprised that the rattling bullet inside had been removed. I put it back in the cradle. “They’ve cleaned up every trace.”

  She was angry now. “No one gets to do that, just . . . throw someone away who worked for them for twenty years . . . just erase somebody by . . . by . . . by redecorating where they were murdered like it never happened! It’s ghastly!”

  “Look, I don’t mean to be crass, but we probably only have a few minutes in here before we’re found out. I need to get what your brother wrote to Davenport and make it to the street level. Will you help me find the ledgers?”

  “What do they look like?” she asked, still stunned.

  “They’re thin booklets in different colors, and they have the year 1900 and the corresponding month on the side. I need July through December of 1900. I’ll look on the lower shelves, you take the ones on top.”

  After a couple of minutes of searching, nervousness set in. I hadn’t considered the possibility that the ledgers wouldn’t be here, that Montague might have suspected Nelson’s secret writings. If they’d been destroyed or replaced, I had nothing to offer the city leaders.

  Or maybe the ledgers had already been sent down. I found myself wondering if all I’d ever needed to do was deliver the note Nelson wrote. Was I accidentally working to Montague’s advantage? If something happened to me now, Davenport and the others would never know to look under the paste-down sheets. My stomach knotted up.

  “Found ‘em!” Janae announced, reaching upward on tiptoe, her work boots looking out of place against the elegance of the dress.

  I took the one she offered and breathed a heavy sigh of reli
ef. “Wait, this one’s November. Let me see the one for July. I want to check to make sure they’re the same books from the other night.”

  She rifled through the stack and then shoved a green book with a mangled corner toward me. “Here.”

  It was the same. Elation swept over me. “This is what I came for, the proof for whatever’s going on here. Come on, let’s go.”

  “All right, but I need a minute. I need—”

  “Janae, I’m sorry, but there’s nothing here. They’ve cleaned the whole place. There’s nothing to see, and I’ve got to go.”

  “Just a minute! I can’t run or fight in this ridiculous dress.”

  From the black bag, she produced her wadded trousers and blouse. “I’m going to find Montague and confront him, but I can’t do it like this. I know this is far from proper for a woman to do in the presence of a strange man, but please turn around so I can change.”

  I was dumbfounded. “Are you serious?”

  “This isn’t an invitation or anything, and I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have to.”

  “You are serious.”

  She gritted her teeth. “Believe me, I like the idea less than you, but there’s nowhere else to change without risking getting caught. So be a gentleman and turn around, or I’ll have to do it in front of you.”

  My hesitation embarrassed me, but then I spun to face the painting of Montague on horseback. For a few seconds, the furious sounds of ruffles being discarded filled my ears. Then I realized I was wasting time.

  I snatched up the first four months of ledgers and began gently separating the pastedown sheets from their covers with the edge of my lockpicking tools.

  And yes, I gave Janae her privacy as she changed. I’ll admit, it’s the first and only time I’ve been in the same room with a near-naked woman and been more interested in the pages of a book.

  I pored over Nelson’s handwritten warning to Davenport and the Commonwealth leaders. He knew he was being watched outside the compound by an unknown man. He chose to keep his discoveries from his employees in order to protect them from whoever was following him.