“You were a chocolatier in Italy?”
He shook his head in self-deprecation, his face resuming its pained, unhappy look. “No, no. I no make the chocolate. I help my friend, Giuseppe, with his shop. I skin the nuts, make the fillings. Nobody makes the caramel like I do. Everybody, they say that,” he added, with a burst of pride. His face became sad again. “Giuseppe, he die in the war. His shop, it was bombed. It is no more.”
“How did you get here to America?”
“The signorina Carlotta, she know of Giuseppe and me when she was in Spain. She say she bring me, my family, to America. If I work the hard, then she sponsor i genitori di mia moglie...ah...mama, papa --”
“I get it. Your wife’s parents,” Percy offered.
“Si, si. You speak the Italiano? His voice was eager, almost childlike.
“Only enough to order dinner at Luigi’s, but I know a spare word here or there.
“I make hardly the money to live, but for la famiglia, I would do anything.” His face took on a dark look. “She no keep her promise.”
“So Carlotta Mendez said she’d bring you and your family to the states first and your wife’s parents later, if you helped her in the factory. At slave wages from what you’re saying. Nice.”
He nodded then swallowed hard. “She make the promise but always the delays. One thing then the other. It has been nearly two years and now she is dead. This is no good. And my wife, she is delicata. The war is hard.”
“You ain’t whistling Dixie, pal.”
Percy crossed to the small freezer in the corner. It, too had a small round window, but this one was obscured by inside frost. On the outside was a metal hasp and lock, recently added by the looks of it. It shone brightly against the flat, white paint of the door. “This is kept locked, I see. What’s in the freezer right now?”
Fear crossed Vinnie’s face. “I do not know. We are not allowed in there. Before Signor Bogdanovitch come, the signorina she keep the things that can froze…ah…freeze to keep them good. But now I do not know.”
Percy fidgeted with the lock deep in thought. “Interesting.”
Vinnie took a few steps back and gestured for Percy to follow. “Come, come. We cannot be near it.”
“He’s got you running, hasn’t he? A real Gestapo kind of a guy.”
Vinnie looked up to the office at the top of the stairs. Percy’s gaze followed his. Through the plate-glass window, the shadow of Bogdanovitch was seen pacing back and forth like a hand puppet against a backdrop. The steady murmur of his voice, no doubt on the telephone, wafted down the stairs.
“He is no good, no good,” Vinnie said to himself, staring with narrowed eyes at the shadow. Percy watched his gathering sense of loathing, but said nothing aloud.
And I suspect you don’t even know what he’s doing to your wife’s niece. Or do you?
“Okay.” She patted the man on the shoulder. “Let’s go to the front of the store.”
Quick, long strides took her through the sixty-foot deep factory toward the small shop at the front of the building. Vinnie scurried to keep up then chugged around her, beating her to the pink and red curtain. He drew it aside for her to pass through.
Percy stood in the five-foot wide space between the wall and glass counter containing a display of chocolate candies. Behind the “L” shaped counter and to one side, was a small desk and two chairs.
The center of the desk held a stack of orders and receipts pierced through by a tall, metal spindle. The papers went half way up. The rest of the rapier-like tool stuck precariously into the air. She’d never allow anything that dangerous lying out, not with a small boy running around. Other than several manila files neatly piled in a corner, the rest of the surface was clean.
Vinnie hovered nearby, waiting like a working farm dog for her next command. Percy turned to him.
“Who mans the storefront?”
“Here the orders are checked and picked up. Two women, whose English is the good, sell the chocolate and talk to the peoples. Sometimes the neighborhood peoples stop by and buy the box of chocolates. But not many. Signorina Carlotta say it is the ‘good will’.”
Percy unfolded the list given to her by Bogdanovitch. “Who are the two women? Show me their names.”
She lowered the paper for the small man to see. Vinnie pointed to two names.
“These are the ones. I cannot say the names easy. Although one of them, we call Shot-see.” He separated the two syllables with care. “They are nice.”
“Helga Appelman and Regina Mason. This Appelman, she the one they call Schatzi?” He nodded. “Anyone else on this list you want to give me the low-down on?” He stared at her perplexed. “Tell me about? You say these two women are nice. Who’s not so nice on this list?”
“Ah! Here.” He punched at a name on the list. “Alfred,” he said, rolling the ‘r’ long and hard. “But he goes by Alf, like the sound of the bark from a dog.” He shook a solemn head.
“A real crumb bum, huh?” She glanced down at the short Italian man and saw a puzzled look on his face. She clarified. “Another bad guy?”
“Si, si. This Alf, he is...mean. He hits into us on purpose, but says is accident. And he yells at Frank all the time for niente.”
“That means ‘nothing’, right? And Frank would be the boy janitor.”
“Si. A nice boy, but he is gone now.” Vinnie thought for a moment. “He also does not know what he does.”
“That would be Alf, not Frank.”
“Si, si, Alf. He is to watch the chocolate on the belt, to make sure it covers the fillings, but he is not good at it.”
“Anybody else who doesn’t know what they’re doing?”
Vinnie shook his head. “The others, they work hard.”
“Good enough. Vinnie, I want you to keep what we’re talking about here under your hat.” He stared at her, non-comprehendingly. “That means between the two of us, okay? Nobody else.”
He nodded somberly. “Certamente. You help my friend, Howie?”
“And anybody else I can, Vinnie. Looks like some folks around here are getting a raw deal. I’ll be back Monday to talk to the workers.”
“I leave now, too. The boss, he tells me to go away, as soon as place is clean.”
“Well then, Vinnie, we’d both better do as the man says and blow. See you Monday.”
Chapter Eleven
Dear Diary,
Now it’s the waiting, although I have one or two things to finish up. Naturally, no one has any idea what is really going on, but everything is in place. If it wasn’t for this damned war, I could go to Europe. But when I get what I came for, I will just disappear, as I have in the past.
Chapter Twelve
Percy hoofed it the three blocks to the apartment shared by Howie and his friend, Ralph. She had been there several times, when the Coles accompanied the Goldbergs for birthdays and holidays.
The food was always memorable. While Howie was mostly interested in chocolate, he could make a chopped chicken liver like nobody’s business. His matzo ball soup was better than anything she’d had in the many delis on the lower east side. Mrs. Goldberg was no slouch in the cooking department, either, unlike Percy’s mother.
The detective walked up the familiar flight of stairs but turned away from the front apartment belonging to the boys. She rapped on the door of the only other apartment on the floor, that of Howie’s neighbor, Mrs. Latham. She heard the barking of a small dog on the other side of the door and wondered if someone was home. Luck was with Percy, and the door sprang open.
She looked into the youthful face of a woman with very sharp, hazel eyes and a ready smile. Mrs. Latham wiped her hands on a dishtowel and smiled up at Percy. The dog danced at the woman’s feet, no longer barking.
“Hello, Mrs. Latham. I hope you remember me. I’m Percy --”
“Oh, yes. Of course, I remember you!”
The young woman’s interruption was not one of rudeness, but rather eagerness, as if she wanted
it to be clear she needed no reminder. She spoke with a slight southern accent, not overpowering, and quite pleasing to the ears.
“You’re Howie’s friend, Persephone Cole. Such an interesting name, Persephone.” She beamed at the detective.
“My parents thought so, but please call me Percy.”
“And you must call me Lola Mae. Come in, come in.”
Percy stepped inside and Lola Mae closed the door. She turned back to Percy, words coming out in a rush.
“I think Howie and Ralph have such interesting parties, don’t you? Ever since we moved in last year we’ve been invited to them.” She took a quick breath and went on. “You have that sweet little boy, Oliver. So sweet. You are both well? And the rest of the family? Why don’t you take off your coat and stay awhile? Would you like some coffee? I just made a fresh pot.”
“Thanks.”
Percy flashed the woman a winning smile, sloughed off her coat, and threw it over her arm. She followed Lola Mae and the dog through the large living room, past the dining room, and into a modern kitchen.
Even though this apartment was as the back of the building and supposedly more undesirable than the front, it was beautifully furnished, with a stunning view of a back garden, now snow-covered. Through a big kitchen window framed by crisp yellow curtains, an immense tree shimmered with icicled branches in the morning sun.
Percy looked around. The kitchen bedazzled the eye with all its modern conveniences, including an electric stove and wall oven. The refrigerator was twice the size of Mother’s and gleamed with chrome and newness. Whatever Mr. Latham did, he was a success at it.
Percy noticed a book sitting on the kitchen table. She turned the book over to read the cover.
“I see you’re reading Wilkie Collins’ The woman in White. Good book.”
“Howie loaned it to me.”
“I gave him this book when I’d finished with it. Glad it’s going around.”
“When I’m done should I return it to you?”
“Naw. Give it to somebody else. That’s what we do, pass them on. Always been that way.”
“I’ll have to give it to the library. I don’t know many people.” Lola Mae reached into a well-organized cabinet for two cups and saucers. “Bart’s work takes him away so much and I’m not good at making friends. Except Howie. Milk and sugar?”
“Black.”
Percy studied the younger woman in her early to mid-twenties, wearing no makeup. Thick, curly, light brown hair framed her face, stealing attention away from even, pretty features. Percy, while not one into the current heavily made up look, thought a touch of lipstick would do wonders for the girl’s appearance.
”I remember now. You mentioned the first time I met you that your husband is away for stretches of time.”
“Oh, yes. He’s a traveling salesman, so most of the time it’s just Poopsie and me, but sometimes I join him for a week or two wherever he is. I met him when I was in high school. He came to one of our gymnastic competitions. I wanted to be a professional gymnast, like Sonja Henie.”
“I thought she was an ice skater.”
“That, too, but I swear, she does everything. I’m her biggest fan.” She looked lovingly down at the dog that stared up at her with a wagging tail. Attention now riveted on the dog, it sneezed with excitement. “But these days, I don’t know what I’d do without Poopsie, my husband’s gone so much.”
Lola Mae removed a percolator from the back burner of the stove and poured coffee with a steady hand into the two cups.
“Ladies underwear, you know.”
“Beg pardon?”
“Mr. Latham, my Bart. He sells ladies underwear to all the big department stores east of Chicago and as far down as Nashville.” She looked around with a sigh. “He does very well, but I do get lonely. Biscuit? I make them from scratch.”
Without waiting for an answer, Lola Mae turned back to the cabinet and grabbed two bread and butter plates. She picked up a wire basket on the counter draped in a red and white checkered cloth, and unwrapped the cloth to expose a dozen or so golden brown biscuits.
“That’s where I met Bart, you know. Nashville. We’ve only been married two years. It’s my first marriage but Bart’s divorced. He’s a little older but very steady. Strawberry jam? I make it myself. Howie loves my strawberry jam. I give him some every Christmas. Or I should say, Chanukah. He’s Jewish, you know.” She held out the basket to Percy.
“I know. Thanks.”
Percy reached for two still warm biscuits and put them on the plate. The apples she had for breakfast were long gone and she was hungry.
She relaxed a little. There would be no trouble getting any information from the eager-to-chat younger woman. That is, if she had anything good to offer besides homemade biscuits. Lola Mae sat down at the small green Formica table and turned to her with an eager smile.
Percy broke open a biscuit and slathered it with jam, while giving Lola Mae a capsulated version of Howie’s predicament. After she’d finished, pausing only to allow a few ohs and ahs from the woman, she got to the reason for her visit.
“So the long and short of it is, can you give me any information that might help Howie about last night? Did you see him, talk to him? Anything you can remember at all?”
“Well, I didn’t talk to him, but I did see him through the peep-hole of the door leaving early this morning, Poopsie and I.” She turned to the dog. “Didn’t we, Poopsie?” The dog wiggled and barked at her feet. “Ever since he started leaving for work in the middle of the night --”
“That would be close to three a.m., right?”
“That’s right. Anyway, Poopsie starts barking the minute he hears Howie’s door open and close and then his footsteps down the stairs. We’re not used to it, you see. He used to leave for work right before six a.m. I get up around then, so sometimes I’d take Poopsie and we’d walk Howie to his job. It’s only three or four blocks away, so it’s a nice walk for a little dog.”
“So Poopsie barked this morning?” The woman nodded. “That would be sometime near three a.m. This is important, because the victim might have died around midnight. You’re saying, you heard a noise in the hallway, got out of bed, and looked through the peep-hole where you saw Howie leaving for work?”
“Oh, yes. I don’t know why he’s been working different hours lately. I mean, he’s been leaving for work at six since I’ve been here and all of a sudden --”
“Would you be willing to tell the cops that?” Percy interrupted Mrs. Latham, who stared at Percy in confusion. “Tell them that you saw Howie leave his apartment at around three o’clock this morning? Can you be specific with the time?”
“It was two-fifty-five exactly. I looked at the clock and almost didn’t get up. I thought it might be Howie but I wanted to make sure. I saw the back of him just as was going down the stairs. You think I might help clear Howie? How exciting!” Her hazel eyes sparkled and she broke out in an amiable grin.
“I don’t know,” Percy answered, thinking out loud. “They might say he tiptoed out earlier, killed her, and then snuck back, only to make a racket leaving at his usual time, so he could have you for an alibi.”
“You couldn’t sneak around with Poopsie.” Lola Mae’s tone was firm. She gave her small dog an adoring look. “Poopsie hears every little noise. And barks at everything. He likes to patrol the hallways.”
“He thinks of this building as his, huh?” Percy smiled at the woman. “You be sure to tell the cops that when they question you, which should be sometime today. They’re looking to hang this on Howie, so you need to be sure to mention Poopsie’s superior hearing.”
Percy winked at her then stood, feeling the interview was over and she should get on with the day.
“Thanks for the grub. I’ve never had southern biscuits before. They’re delicious. Lots of butter, right?” The woman nodded. “I love butter,” Percy said mostly to herself.
“Oh, I’m so glad. I use all my rationing coupons for butter an
d cream.” An earnest, eager to please face looked up at the detective. “Percy, should I mention to the police about the woman who came here and tried to get into his apartment the other day?”
Percy sat back down. “What woman? When was this?”
“Oh, let’s see. Maybe last Friday? No, it was Thursday.” Percy waited while Lola Mae sorted out her thoughts. “Yes, it was Thursday, around ten-thirty in the morning. Poopsie started barking at something in the hallway and I went to the door and looked through the peep-hole, like I always do.”
“Go on,” Percy encouraged.
“And there was this woman, a little younger than me, well-dressed in sort of a green-gray coat with a fur collar, and a matching hat. Very stylish. She had blue-black hair.” She turned to Percy. “The same color as your son’s hair. You don’t often see people with blue-black hair and pale skin. Is that what they call black Irish? I’ve never known what black Irish really means, do you? Mr. O’Hara down the street --”
“What was she doing, this woman?”
“I’m sorry. Sometimes I tend to prattle on. Mr. Latham is always telling me to get to the point.” Her tone was self-deprecating but charming.
“Don’t worry about it. This might be important, Lola Mae, so don’t leave anything out. Prattle on, but let’s stick to the woman.” Percy grinned slightly.
Thrilled, the woman leaned forward in concentration, Poopsie sitting enraptured at her feet. “Well at first, she knocked softly on Howie’s door. So softly, I don’t know how anybody who was inside could hear; if anybody was inside. But Ralph – that’s his roommate – is fighting the war overseas and anybody who knows Howie knows he’s at work at a ten-thirty in the morning.”
The woman got caught up in the story, much as people do when gathered around a campfire late at night telling scary ghost stories. “Then she looked around and leaned her ear into the door. You know, the way you would if you wanted to hear if anybody was inside. Then she tried the doorknob to see if it the door was unlocked. You know, to see if it would open.”
The Chocolate Kiss-Off (The Persephone Cole Vintage Mysteries Book 3) Page 6
