by Janet Fox
Yes, I did. Teddy had asked me to. He had to pretend to be dead, that’s what he told me. So I helped him pretend, even knowing the pain it brought our parents. Such pain. Oh, how this room swam around me.
“Neil and Ryan found him not long after that, Josephine, or so they’ve assured me. Found him alive and then—and I do find this ironic—dumped him alive in a weighted sack into the Sound, right out here, not far from where you said you found his clothes.”
Now the room swam with a vengeance.
“The problem is, they never made certain Teddy was dead. They left. And now all these odd coincidences…” Danny moved toward one of the tall doors and stood staring out into the dark, toward the Sound. “I’m certain I’ve seen Teddy. I think you have as well. I believe he may have made it out of that sack alive.”
I gripped the chair back to steady myself.
Connor continued. “He’s a Houdini, your Teddy. He wriggled himself out of one thing or another, slick and sure. He got out of the war alive. He missed being killed on Wall Street in ’twenty. And he squirmed out of the sack my boys stuffed him into. Since he’s alive I’m quite sure he’ll come for you. And when he does, I intend to kill him. Along with everyone else who betrayed me.”
Lou sucked in air, a sharp, short breath.
I gripped the chair back with both hands now as the room grew fuzzy and dim, my fingers clenching the plush fabric. My words came out in a croaked whisper. “Why did you burn down my family’s home?”
“Neil and Ryan ransacked the place looking for the journal. They cleaned up after themselves.” Connor shrugged, then pressed on. “The fact that you’ve read most of your brother’s journal makes the rest of this easier. I imagine you know how I handle problems. Yes”—Danny leaned over and picked up the journal and held it—“over the last few hours, I’ve been doing my homework. Unlike my sweet Lou, who cannot remember Bach from one week to the next because she does not do her homework.” Connor put the journal down and then placed his hand on the back of Louie’s neck. I watched her eyes widen as his fingers tightened on her.
“Homework?” My words were slurred.
He picked up the journal again, turning it in his hands. “You’re here because your presence will bring Teddy.” He moved to the fire and tossed the journal into the flames.
I moved fast toward the fire, stumbling, my champagne glass cracking on the fireplace brick, and Lou reached me just in time, wrapping her arms around my waist and pulling me back before I reached into the flames.
My scar burned, my mind burned with hatred for Connor, as I watched the journal burn, as I’d lied to Rushton about his journal burning with our house, as I felt myself burn, as I felt my scar burn with shame. I felt the tears well, but as I swallowed them down my burning throat, as I watched the solid piece I had of Teddy for sure die, watched the flames consume his past, his thoughts.
I straightened and shook off Lou’s embrace, then turned to face Connor, my mind churning with thoughts of hatred and revenge.
He said, “Everything I did, everything I’ve done, I’ve done for my brethren. So that they would love me. And so that I could rise above.”
I seethed.
“I don’t expect you to understand, Josephine. How could you?”
I couldn’t.
“Ah, but don’t be too sad. I do have the last pages. The ones you haven’t read.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the final pages from Teddy’s journal.
I staggered, reached, but Connor pulled his hand away, fluttering the pages. “I don’t think so. These are for me,” he said. “I believe Cook has prepared salmon. Louise, would you lead the way?”
She came and took my hand, then led me down the room, which seemed all unbalanced and tipsy, turning and twisting. Again, as in the car, Lou closed her fingers around mine and squeezed.
The memory of that squeeze was the only thing that sustained me through a long and silent dinner.
And this. This sustained me all through the evening, through everything. That I truly had seen Teddy in front of the Algonquin, that it hadn’t been some trick of the imagination, some illusion. Daniel Connor believed Teddy was alive, just as I did. A Houdini, that’s what Teddy was. Teddy was alive.
And coming for me. Just as Daniel Connor wished.
This knowledge made me sick, and at the same time it filled me with joy.
I had no other alcohol that evening, but I slept as if sedated. Luckily, I’d managed to make my way into my own bed. When I awoke, the sun was streaming through the open curtains and the room felt hot, my mouth sticky and dry.
I dressed, and when I tried to open the door, there was Neil, waiting on the other side, unlocking it so I could make my way to breakfast. I was alone, and ate under the silent stare of Neil, with only the slow, sonorous ticking of the tall clock—a rare early American antique, collected from some family farmhouse, where it had lived for centuries, only to be sold to Connor by a poor farmer who probably didn’t know its worth—in the corner of the dining room to keep me company. That and, with incongruous disdain, an empty suit of antique English armor.
When I finished I asked if I could take a walk, Neil shook his head, his mouth twisting into a sneer. “You’re to stay in your room.” He lifted his hand and gestured at the stair.
“Where’s Lou?” I asked as we ascended.
“She went into town.”
“And Mr. Connor?”
“In the greenhouse.” Neil pointed, moving me up to my room, and I went inside and heard the door lock click behind me.
I went to the bathroom window. It was higher than the others, the windowsill about four and a half feet up, but I was delighted to find that it was not screwed shut. I pulled a chair over and pushed up the sash. The wind lifted the curtains, bringing in the smells of new-cut summer grass, the brick warmed by the sun, the salt and seaweed of the Sound. There was rain on the wind now, too, as low clouds gathered from the west and the sun flitted in and out.
I looked up and down the drive and lawns for any sign of Ryan or Connor before I leaned my head out the window. The height of this window made the cornice below a dangerous six-foot drop. But I could see how the bricks were laid and that I could hang on with my hands, and that once I made the cornice I could plant both feet and scoot along. I leaned out farther, hanging on to the window frame tight. A terrace, a small balcony, with French doors, hung to my left maybe twenty feet away. I tried to remember from my tour which room those doors led into, but the place was so huge all my memories were jumbled.
But the thought that I had an escape route gave me hope.
I leaned out once more and saw that below the balcony thick vines were trained up the side of the bricks. Perhaps a trellis perched underneath the ivy; perhaps the ivy itself would bear my weight.
If I had no other choice, I would risk it.
I heard a noise out front. A car pulled up the long drive; I could see it weaving through the trees. As it turned into the court I saw that it was Connor’s limo. I ducked my head inside and went to the fixed windows of the other room.
The limo pulled to a stop by the fountain, and Ryan got out from the driver’s side. Lou opened the back door and stepped out, and my breath caught. Charlie followed her.
They stood talking in the driveway. Ryan walked back around the house and out of sight. Lou, in a soft gray chemise, gray hat, long gray sweater, looked like a dove, her hands fluttering as she spoke. Charlie wore an argyle vest over his white shirt; the vest made him look young, collegiate, like he was home for the weekend from Yale or Princeton. My heart thumped.
Was Charlie involved? Lou said that she’d told Danny about my meeting with Charlie. Did Charlie know what was going on here? And, oh my sinking heart, did Charlie belong to Danny Connor?
Lou looked up and saw me and quickly shook her head, which I took to mean: Get back.
I stepped away from the window and went to the door, pressing my ear against it, listening as the front door opened i
n that great hallway below and Louie’s voice floated up. I couldn’t hear words.
Then I heard her coming up to my room and a minute later heard the door unlock.
I’d hoped Charlie would be with her, but she was alone. She closed the door and put her finger to her lips.
Then she said, loud, “Danny wants you to stay here.” She waved me to the other side of the room so that Neil couldn’t hear us. “I went and got Charlie,” she whispered.
“Does Danny know?”
She shook her head. “I figured that there’s strength in numbers.”
But that made me queasy. Would having Charlie here really stop Danny Connor from doing something terrible? I doubted it.
“What if Danny—”
“He won’t,” she whispered, but I read the doubt in her face.
“Lou, can I trust Charlie?” Could I trust her? She’d already betrayed me once.
Her eyes grew round. “Yes. Yes.”
“Because, Lou. If I can trust Charlie—if I can trust both of you—if he’s not in Danny’s pocket, then he’s Danny’s enemy. And you know what he does to his enemies.”
“He would never hurt Charlie.” The tears welled in her eyes. “Danny, he, he might be bad, sometimes, but he loves me, he does, I know it….” Her voice trailed off.
“Lou. Oh, Lou.”
The tears spilled then, and she looked at the floor. It had all been a mirage, a trick, an illusion, that Danny was good and kind; it was something he’d done to win her. He’d played it to the hilt, the best of showmen, until now. I wrapped my arms around Louie and hugged her hard as her shoulders heaved. We stood that way a long time.
When she pulled away, I knew she’d turned a corner. I could see it in the lift of her chin, how she squared her shoulders, how she dried her eyes with purpose, smashing those tears with her palm. If it was Charlie or me against Danny, I knew now where she’d stand.
Lou wasn’t Danny Connor’s moll any longer. She wasn’t anyone’s possession or plaything or victim. She was Louise O’Keefe. I loved her like a sister.
Then she said something that made me fearful all over again.
“Charlie and me, we thought we saw, just as we were turning in the drive…” Her eyes met mine.
“What?” I clutched her arm.
“Someone was out there. I think it might have been—”
“Teddy?” My heart pounded.
“I don’t see how. But still…” She added, “Ryan didn’t see him. He was busy with the gate.”
If Teddy was here, then Connor’s trap was working. As much as I wanted Teddy to come save me, I needed to get out of the mansion so that Teddy wouldn’t try to reach me.
“Danny says you’re to stay here. He’ll send food up. Charlie and I will be in the house, Jo. We won’t leave you.”
Lou hugged me hard and then, just before she left, she reached into her pocket and handed me an envelope. After she left I heard the key turn in the lock.
Inside the envelope were the pages from Teddy’s journal. And a note from Lou: Stole them out of his jacket. I sank onto the bed and read.
August 12, 1923
So. It wasn’t Mel’s fault. I should’ve known; Patrick was the lowest kind of scum. When he threatened to go get the boy, I snapped. I wasn’t going to let the likes of him go after Mel’s little boy.
I don’t like it, but it’s done. He deserved everything he got. I’m glad I took care of him.
That’s right, world. I killed Patrick Connor. With my own hands, I beat him to a pulp. Yes, it sickens me. Yes, he was the worst. But that doesn’t excuse what I did.
I’m no hero, just a murderous beast.
Oh, Lord. Teddy, you killed Connor’s brother? Danny wanted revenge, and no wonder. I read on.
Now there’s only one thing left. Family comes first, that’s the way of it. I have to protect Melody. And if it means I have to protect John Rushton once more, that’s what I’ll do. He’s the only one who can look after Mel’s boy…and since that’s what he’s been doing.
Thank the good Lord John agreed to take Leo in.
Maybe Mel can make peace with it one day.
September 2
Danny will be after me now. I’ve made my bed. John and Leo and Mel will all be safe. But with Danny’s eye fixed firmly on me and my whereabouts, he won’t be looking at them. I’m a dead man. I just have to keep Danny’s gaze from lighting on any of them, including Pops and Ma and Josie.
Josie.
But that other business…
I lowered my hand, unable for the moment to read on. Patrick was dead; Teddy had killed him. Danny Connor was bent on revenge for his brother. Teddy was a murderer.
But Teddy was a hero. I didn’t care what it looked like. I didn’t care what he’d had to do. As far as I was concerned, Teddy was a hero.
I lifted the remaining pages.
September 4, 1923
Danny knows I killed Patrick. It’s all over.
September 5
I can’t believe what I just discovered. Why didn’t I figure this out sooner? When I confronted him, he admitted it. Admitted he was as good as the cold-blooded murderer of Frank Rushton.
All along, Daniel Connor has been fronting for Patrick and the others in that business. All along, Danny was the benefactor. He was supporting the anarchists. He was responsible for Wall Street, 1920. All along. He was the one supplying the money for the explosives. He’s the one responsible. All this time.
I figured it out when he asked me to balance the books. Because I knew the numbers on those crates I ditched, I knew what was in them. I knew he’d bought and paid for the explosives. Others along with Patrick carried it out—maybe those Italian guys but maybe not—but Danny was the moneyman.
By having me balance the books, Danny Connor handed me the key to his prison cell.
He can’t ever read this journal, but someone must. I won’t be able to escape. I have to find someone who can set things right.
I’m an accomplice, just for hiding the evidence. That’s what he said when I faced him down. He’s holding that over me to keep my mouth shut. That and Ma and Pops and Josie. He said he’d take it out on them.
On Josie, sweet Jo.
I can’t ever let him get his hands on this journal. But it might help them. Might help her.
Teddy. Oh, my.
Now I understood why Danny Connor wanted the journal. Now I understood why he’d never let me leave this house in one piece. If I didn’t get out of here, I’d draw Teddy right into Danny Connor’s trap, and he’d kill us both.
I tucked the journal pages together with the scarf that was tied around the medal boxes and hid everything under my pillow.
I set my alarm for four A.M. I didn’t wear pajamas, but slim black pants and a black long-sleeved sweater so that I wouldn’t have to dress. It would still be dark at four, and I imagined sleep would even take Ryan and Neil by that time. I planned to make an escape out the window, and then…well, I hadn’t thought further.
I hadn’t thought about the rain.
CHAPTER 47
Lou
It happened so fast and so hard it was like hitting a wall at a hundred miles an hour.
One minute Danny Connor was the center of my life, and I would do anything, anything for him. I would do anything to keep him. I would’ve even done something awful to Jo.
There. I said it. Okay?
The next, Danny was like that old story, the kid’s story, you know the one? Where the emperor has no clothes? He was exposed. I saw everything he hadn’t wanted me to see. I’d been bewitched, or something.
It took Jo Winter to lift the spell.
When I heard him say that to her—“I intend to kill him”—that was the start. Well, I thought, Danny Connor, if you can be so cold-blooded as all that…Except the cold blood was running through my veins, let me tell you, ’cause I knew the kind of stuff he was really capable of. I’d just chosen until that moment to look away. That’s when I decided
to steal the pages for Jo.
But it really hit me when Jo hinted about Charlie. When Jo hinted that Danny might hurt Charlie, why, that was the last straw. I had to choose.
And what do you think? Who would you choose? Family? Or the guy? I’ve made some bad choices, brother, and this time I went the right way.
It hurts, it hurts, oh, unless you’ve been there, you can’t imagine what a choice that is. My heart about splintered into a thousand pieces.
And then I thought about Charlie, and I took those splinters and sharpened them to knife points. To use on Danny.
That’s right, Detective, just what you thought all along. Not Jo, Danny.
CHAPTER 48
JUNE 10, 1925
He believed that men lived many lives, coming back to earth again and again as children return to school after a summer of play.
—Fulton Oursler on Howard Thurston, The Sphinx, May 1936
Jo
The crack of thunder woke me from a sound sleep. A minute later came a flash of lightning, so bright it filled my room, and then another rumble. Rain slashed against the windows. I squinted at the clock ticking at my bedside: midnight.
Cursing, I slipped from the bed and went into the bathroom, pulled the chair over, and opened the window. Rain hammered my face as I leaned out, trying to see my route. I could not make it to the cornice, which was slick with sheeting rain, unless I wanted to break my neck. No escape for me from this room as long as the storm raged.
