Sirens

by Janet Fox

  What an idiot that Patrick is. One of these days…

  I put the pages down. The investigation. Teddy must have found the bomb materials. And how that finding implicated Patrick.

  I finished the removed pages; the entries now picked up again in the journal.

  July 12

  Ran into John. I can’t even write about it now.

  It feels bad, holding this all in, holding myself together. The only time I can think now is out in the greenhouse, when I’m alone.

  July 17

  I stood in front of the police station for over an hour. Had to move on when I feared someone would get suspicious.

  What Pops could do with that $20,000. I keep thinking about Ma and Jo, dressed nice. About Jo getting a real education, going to college, even.

  But Danny would know: that’s what I’d be afraid of. And then we’d all be in danger. No, it’s no good.

  July 21

  John thinks Danny was involved in the business. Naturally, I tried to fend John off. The last thing we need is to invite suspicion.

  Danny’s a good guy, working for his people, trying to help. How could he be involved? Still, it’s probably a good thing I didn’t tell Danny about what I found.

  I tried to persuade John that Danny was just a businessman, but John is obsessed. And me? There’s a real danger that if—

  And there it was again. Another set of missing pages. The last set, as this was where the journal ended. I leaned back and the chair creaked, and I was back in New York, with cars honking and engines accelerating, and brakes squealing, and the smells of grease and dust and frying food. Just as I was so close, another missing section.

  Teddy was not involved in the bombing. But Daniel’s brother, Patrick, he was another matter. He was the bomber. And that, that was what made trouble for Teddy, for me. He knew the truth, and that’s why Daniel Connor was not letting any of this go.

  But Teddy was not involved. I leaned forward until my head rested on the table and breathed a sigh. I hadn’t realized how worried I was until I felt this relief. I thanked all the stars that Teddy, my Teddy, could still be good.

  The knock on the door startled me so, I almost dropped the journal on the floor.

  The matron peered around me into the room, suspicious, then straightened. “You have a phone call. You can take it in the corridor.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Young men are not allowed in the hotel,” she said over her shoulder.

  I picked up the receiver and said hello, then heard the operator click off before I heard Charlie ask, “You okay?”

  I thrilled to his voice. “I’m fine.”

  “Want to meet me for dinner? I got a big tip for my booking last night. It’s burning a hole in my pocket.”

  Charlie was practically grinning through the phone line. I grinned back, hugging the big black receiver to my cheek. “Sure. Where and when?”

  “Would you mind taking a cab down to my place, about six? I’ve got something special in mind.”

  I hung up, still smiling.

  I took a hot bath and pulled out my one nice dress. It was a soft green rayon with little woven branches running through the fabric, making a raised pattern, the thread of the branches of a darker green. I knew it must have looked good on Melody, but I had to say, as I looked in the bedroom mirror, it suited my darker coloring and blue eyes to a T. And with the dropped waist with its fat loopy dark brown ribbon, it sure was the style. It came with a long skinny brown jacket to cover it, and I’d brought the only jewelry I owned, my grandmother’s pearls, which I fastened around my neck.

  Maybe all that preparation paid off, because when I arrived downtown and Charlie opened his door, his mouth dropped open so far I thought his jaw might touch his knees.

  “Wow,” he said. “You look…You’re a knockout.”

  I started to giggle and drew both hands over my mouth so I wouldn’t look foolish. I swallowed hard and said, “Thanks.”

  He stepped aside so I could enter. Feeling sheepish, I gestured at the dress. “It’s Melody’s. Everything I have, I got from her.”

  “Well, she has nothing on you. I mean, she’s nice enough. But…” His voice trailed off. Then he squared his shoulders. “Someday I’m going to be rich. I’ll be a hit cornet player in a hit band. You wait. Then if you want a pretty dress, why, you can just ask, and I’ll take you to the finest place in town.” He paused. “Maybe it’s all gonna start when I get to Chicago.”

  All sorts of thoughts went through me then, and they went through my mind so fast I could scarcely keep up. The first thought was, Why, Charlie was willing to buy me pretty dresses sometime in the future, which meant he wanted me in his future. That gave me such a thrill it went right up my spine. The second thought was, Good for you, Charlie, for having a dream.

  And the third? It was a contradiction, not a question. The third thought was, Why should you have to pay for my dresses, Charlie O’Keefe? Why shouldn’t I be ready and willing and able to buy my own pretty things, whenever I want, with money that I earn?

  “It’s really sweet of you to say, but I can take care of myself.”

  I regretted the words the minute they were out. Charlie’s face grew dark, and he turned away.

  “I knew it,” he muttered.

  “Knew what?” My stomach was all twisted up now.

  “Nothing, never mind.”

  “No, Charlie, tell me—”

  “It’s that…that you’re better than me. Smarter. You come from a better class. I’ve been waiting for you to throw me off. You probably think this place”—and he cast his arm around the room—“is pretty shabby.”

  “No, Charlie, no. That’s not what I meant.”

  He stood there, hulking, his broad back to me. “I thought you might want to come to Chicago, maybe, after I get settled. I guess not.”

  I sighed. “Charlie, that’s not it. I want to be independent, that’s all. I want to be on my own, making my own way. Pops wants me to get married just for the sake of it. He doesn’t believe in me. And he certainly doesn’t think a girl can do things, make something of herself. Please, Charlie. And I’m not smarter than you. And you’ve got such a talent.” I hesitated. My words came out small and squeaky. “I meant what I said before. I really like you.”

  His shoulders drew back a little.

  “Honest,” I said.

  He turned toward me.

  I said to him, “You’ve been so nice and all. I’m sorry I said anything. I was wrong.”

  Our eyes met, and we stood there for a long moment before he smiled. “I guess it’s no secret that I like you, Jo Winter.” He raised his head. “I hope you’re not playing with me. I want to believe you. And I do believe in you.”

  I felt a flutter of happiness at that. “The only thing is…”

  His smile sagged, and his lips formed a thin line.

  “I just don’t know that I can come to Chicago. I hadn’t realized it before, but I think New York is where I belong.”

  Even as I said the words, I knew it to be true in my heart—that the crazy, busy, clamorous island of Manhattan had grabbed my heart, just as firmly as this boy had. I wanted them both. But I might have to give one of them up. “Charlie, I do like you. I’m just trying to follow my heart. And you have to follow your heart, too. If you need to go to Chicago to make music, why then…” My voice broke.

  “I want to make music,” he said. “But now I know I want to make music with you around.”

  We stood, the two of us, in awkward silence, looking anywhere but at each other.

  “I like you, Charlie,” I whispered.

  His voice was gruff, low. “I like you, too, Jo Winter. Really like you.” He worked his hands. “Maybe Danny’ll help get me a booking here. It’s not like I want to leave.” He shook his head. “I’ve got a few days. Something’ll work out.”

  Oh, how I prayed for that to be true. Even as I grimaced inwardly at the mention of Danny.

  He
smiled. “Right now I’d like to show off this pretty girl I’m with. Show New York what a star really looks like. Okay with you?”

  I nodded, and we stepped out into the June evening, with my whole being singing like an electric wire in a high wind.

  The street was alive with activity. The vendor carts still carried the day’s fresh produce, and women were out buying for the evening meal. Old women in black from head to toe, the old style, complete with shawl and button shoes and skirt to the ankles; younger women in shorter skirts but still handmade muslins with white linen shirtwaists, certainly not flapper fashion, and usually these younger ones had a child or two or three in tow. The alleys were festooned, from one balcony to the one across, with lines of laundry that could be winched back and forth. Shirts flapped like flags, sheets billowed like sails.

  What men were around were hawking—or pickpocketing. One such, a young guy, younger than me, bumped up against Charlie, who stopped and seized the boy by the shoulders.

  “You’ll not be doing any of that here, if you know what’s good for you,” Charlie said, his voice a low growl.

  The boy slunk away, melting into the crowd.

  Charlie took my hand in his, mine feeling so small and delicate in that big maw of his that I felt insignificant. But happy.

  To our left was a storefront whose sign was in Hebrew; to our right was one that sold nothing but handkerchiefs. We had to walk down the middle of the street, dodging autos and horse-drawn wagons, because the sidewalks were stuffed, all the way to the curb, with pushcarts holding goods to be sold.

  Charlie’s building had one telephone in the hallway outside the landlady’s apartment. It was ringing as we stepped outside; seconds later she came running down the street after us.

  “Mr. Charlie! Telephone call for you. Important.” As we followed her she said to Charlie, “I hope your cousin”—and she narrowed her eyes while looking at me—“is getting on well, being newly arrived from the old country, and all.”

  Charlie raised his eyebrows at me, mouthed, I lied.

  I smiled and nodded, trying to look like Charlie’s cousin, and keeping my mouth shut, for there was no way I could feign a brogue.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Daly,” Charlie said. We walked back to the tenement and up the steps; Charlie lifted the dangling phone. “Hello?”

  He was silent, listening, and he turned away from me so that I could not see his face. The tinny sound of the voice from the receiver filled the air: a woman’s voice. I guessed it must be Lou.

  “Uh-huh…okay…yes…right.” Charlie hung up and turned toward me, his expression solemn.

  “What?” My belly clenched.

  Charlie nodded toward the landlady’s open door, took my elbow, and steered me back out to the street. We faced each other on the busy sidewalk. “The problems for your family aren’t behind you. Leaving them didn’t change anything.”

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “That was Lou. She’s just heard from Melody. Someone roughed up Chester. Picked him up in a speak last night and gave him a real going-over. He’s in the hospital, Jo. This isn’t over just because you wish it was.”

  Chester. I clutched Charlie’s hand. “What can I do?”

  What could I do?

  CHAPTER 41

  Lou

  It was in ’23, when Danny figured out about Melody, that things got ugly. Sure, Teddy and that John Rushton tried to hush it up, but Danny, he has his ways. He didn’t find out until too late, of course, but that didn’t matter. Danny blamed everything on the Cates and Winter families. And that made them all his enemies.

  Danny, he went about revenge in his own sweet way.

  I met Melody not too long after I met Danny, when her pop and Danny started doing banking business together. I told Danny privately that I had some tingly feelings about that Cates family—they were pretty upper crust, and there was something else I couldn’t put my pinkie on—but Danny brushed me off, and besides, I liked Mel.

  So I started to spend time with her. I told Danny he’d have to let me have girlfriends, ’cause a girl needs other girls, you know? Sometimes guys can be just too dense. And besides, who else can a girl talk to about la mode and such? And how else could I keep an eye on things?

  Mel is the perfect flapper. It’s as if Scott Fitzgerald writes his stories about her. She has the body and the face for it, which does make me a little jealous, since I’m a curvier type. Danny, he liked me that way, but it isn’t the fashion. So I’m always on one diet or another, trying to make myself skinny like Mel or Jo. And Mel, she’s got the attitude, that nothing-is-really-important attitude. Although sometimes I do worry about her.

  Sometimes I think she’s more like Eugenia Kelly, that rebellious party girl of, gosh, ten years ago, and I worry that Mel will end up in the same bad way. Melody had some deep secrets, but she didn’t let on, not even to me. I’ve had to figure it all out strictly on my own.

  It wasn’t until a couple years after we met that I figured it out. And really, that might’ve been when Danny had his first inklings. When they brought Patrick back, all broken, Mel was visiting at the house. I could see right off she’d known him from somewhere. From before. I could see it, and my tingly feelings about exploded when I watched her watch him.

  I could tell she would’ve used those sharp red-painted nails and killed Patrick herself, if he hadn’t already been dead.

  CHAPTER 42

  JUNE 8–9, 1925

  The past and the present are within the field of my inquiry, but what a man may do in the future is a hard question to answer.

  —Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, The Hound of the Baskervilles, 1901

  Jo

  All my pleasure at being with Charlie vanished. I asked, choking, “How ‘roughed up’?”

  “Someone got the jump on him. They wanted to know where you were. When he said he didn’t have a clue, they took it out on him.”

  “But he’s okay?”

  “They broke a couple of ribs, did a number on his face. Threatened him. I guess he’s pretty banged up.”

  I covered my mouth with my hand. I might not like Chester, but he didn’t deserve that business. I hoped I wouldn’t be sick right there on the sidewalk.

  “He’ll be okay.”

  “This is my fault,” I said. “I’ve got to take care of it. Now.”

  Charlie looked at his hands. He looked up at me. “It’s Connor, isn’t it?”

  I nodded.

  “Do you know what he wants?”

  I swallowed. “Teddy. And if he can’t have Teddy, then he wants Teddy’s journal. And now I know why.” I paused. I had to trust him. “There’s actual evidence in the journal that Danny’s brother was the Wall Street bomber.”

  “His brother, Patrick?” Charlie had an odd look on his face.

  I nodded again.

  “Well, that’s not a problem then.”

  “It isn’t? Why not?”

  “Because Patrick’s dead.”

  Dead! I felt a sweep of relief. “So nothing will come of it if I give Connor the journal, right? It’s useless to the police if Patrick is dead.”

  Charlie rubbed his chin. “I guess that’s one way to look at it.”

  I spoke fast now, sure that I was right. “Danny Connor wants it so his brother’s name won’t be sullied. He must want to destroy it so no one ever discovers his brother was involved. There’s nothing there for anyone else to worry about, if the bomber is already dead.” I paused. “Danny’s just protecting his family’s reputation. Right?”

  “Right, I guess.” Charlie pursed his lips.

  I reached for Charlie. “There’s only one way to put a stop to this. I need to see Danny Connor. Can you arrange it?”

  Charlie shook his head slowly. “Jo, that’s too dangerous. No. I won’t put you in that kind of danger.”

  I spoke fast, again without thinking. “It’s my choice.”

  His eyes grew sharp. “I can’t even protect you? What kind of guy do you
want me to be? Some good-for-nothing, lazy bum?”

  I wrapped my hand around his arm, which tensed as I touched him. “Charlie, I wish you’d understand.”

  “Well, I don’t. It’s not how I was raised. I was raised to take care of a girl, to keep a girl safe. I was too young to take care of Lou, and now you won’t let me….” He chewed his lip hard. “This isn’t right. You putting yourself in danger and not letting me protect you. You won’t let me do anything for you.”

  I tightened my fingers. “Yes, I will. Please help me set this up. We’ll meet in a public place. If you help me, you could be there. I’ll be fine in a public place. Danny Connor wants the journal, and I’m going to give it to him.”

  “I don’t know….” Charlie’s eyes were dark, and he still wouldn’t look at me.

  “I’ll give it to him. and that’ll be that. You’ll be there.”

  Charlie looked down the busy street.

  “Charlie, no one else knows I’m with you, right?” And my insides twisted as I wondered whether Charlie was hiding something from me. “Louie doesn’t know where I’m staying, does she?”

  “You think Lou would tell Danny?”

  “I don’t know. It’s best if she doesn’t know anything. She loves him.” Who knows what someone might do for love?

  I only wished I had time to read the rest of Teddy’s journal. But that couldn’t be helped now. I was sure that what I had read was all I needed to read.

  Charlie placed the phone call. When he came back outside, his face was hard and ashen.

  “Okay. I don’t like it, but I won’t fight with you. For better or for worse, Connor’s meeting you tonight.”