by R. J. Koreto
“Not likely, Miss Alice,” I said. “It may be that someone wanted to kill Mr. Brackton and snuck into the party to do it, but they would’ve come prepared, not wait to break into the greenhouse to steal poison.”
Alice gave me a superior look. “I didn’t say I had the solution. I’m just thinking out loud, trying to work through the possibilities. Police detectives do that.”
Philadelphia looked a little stunned by the whole exchange. Gossip was one thing, but New York Society girls, Alice excepted, didn’t discuss this kind of thing.
Alice waved her hand, ending that line of conversation. “We’ll come back to logistics later when we know more. But we were talking about someone sneaking in to kill Brackton. Why would anyone want to? I mean, he wasn’t the most likeable of men, but still…”
“Personally, I loathed him,” said Philadelphia with a vehemence in that sweet face that seemed to take even her by surprise. Alice raised an eyebrow, and Philadelphia turned a little red, embarrassed by her own outburst. “I’ll admit it. It was beyond the usual ‘we just don’t like him.’ He had a nasty, sarcastic way of talking. I hated him for what he said about Abraham Roth. There was no call for that. I said last night I was glad he’s dead, and I meant it.”
“I don’t blame you. Abraham was quite a pet. I rather liked him,” said Alice. She looked at me hard to make sure I wasn’t laughing at her. “But to the matter at hand. This has been useful. We clearly need to find out more about Mr. Brackton. Do you know anything about his widow?”
“Mrs. Brackton? My mother knew her somewhat before her marriage. Her school nickname was ‘Mouse’ because she was so meek. Just the kind of woman to submit to a man like Lynley Brackton.” There was a mix of pity and disgust there—if not a lot of compassion. But Philly and Alice were young, and the young see things in black and white.
“We’re thinking of paying a call on her,” said Alice.
“Do you think that’s wise, so soon?” asked Philadelphia.
“It’s a murder,” said Alice, as if that explained everything. Philadelphia stood and placed a hand on Alice’s arm. “You will be careful, won’t you?”
Alice glanced at me and smiled. “That’s Mr. St. Clair’s job. He’s an incredible shot.”
“Oh, yes, I’m sure,” said Philadelphia. “But I meant careful in what you hear. There are stories … Society gossip and all … things you don’t want to get out.” She looked at Alice meaningfully.
“Of course. I can be very discreet in my murder investigations. Certainly better than the police.” Philly seemed a little reassured at that. As astonishing as it must have been to her that Alice was launching a full-fledged murder investigation, it was better than having a handful of Irish cops learning the secrets of a dozen of New York’s best families.
“One more thing before I go. I noted Mr. Brackton wore a heavy signet ring with the number seventeen in Roman numerals. And your father wears one, too. Do you know what it means? Some kind of club or freemasonry?”
“I don’t really know,” said Philadelphia. “Father belongs to a variety of clubs, and maybe that’s a reference to one of them.”
Alice looked like she was going to say something, then changed her mind. “Just idle curiosity; nothing to do with this, I’m sure. Anyway, thanks for talking to us.” They kissed goodbye.
“A pleasure meeting you again,” I said.
“Thank you for coming,” said Philadelphia, and she escorted us out of the room. “I hope I was able to help … in whatever you’re doing. You will be discreet, both of you?” She looked a little nervous, a little hopeful.
“Of course, dear Philly. And remember, the quicker we can find out everything, the less likely the police are to find out things we don’t want them to. We’ll talk again soon, and my regards to your parents.”
The butler showed us out the door, and Alice just stood on the very clean sidewalk for a few moments.
“I like you friend Miss Rutledge,” I said, “but I hope she never tries making a living as a card player.”
Alice grinned. “You saw it, too? I figured you would. She was nervous about something. What could an innocent debutante be worried about someone finding?”
I snickered at that. “Oh, come on, Miss Alice. Look at you, for one.”
“I am special,” she said.
“Yeah, I know. But I’ve been kicking around with your set for a while now, too long to think that every debutante is quite as, oh, unsophisticated as people would like to think.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she said. “Still, with Philly. I can’t imagine.”
“Yeah. And I’m still trying to figure out about Lynley Brackton being invited even though no one likes him. Just because he’s one of you. That’s a heck of a reason.”
“Don’t be so critical. I bet there were folks in Laramie whom no one liked but who still came to drink whiskey at the bar.”
I nodded. “Yes. You’re right about that. We had those who sooner or later offended everyone. I knew who they were when I was a deputy sheriff, guys who made themselves as hated as this Brackton guy. And one day I’d find one in a gully with a bullet in the back of his head. Did Brackton finally push someone here too far?”
“Did you ever find out who killed any of those men?” asked Alice.
“No one saw anything. No one heard anything. And anyone who might’ve done it had half a dozen witnesses who swore they were nowhere near the victim. After a while, I didn’t even bother.”
“People took care of their own,” said Alice.
“In Laramie. And in New York. It’s not going to be easy to get anyone to say anything.”
“No one is going to care if his murderer is found,” said Alice.
“There, you’re wrong, Miss Alice. In Laramie, we didn’t care. But men like Rutledge are going to demand a hanging.”
“We’re going to have to stop them, then. No matter what.”
It was the “no matter what” that frightened me.
“One more thing,” I said. “While you two ladies were upstairs, I had a conversation with a maid.” I recounted the story, and Alice seemed fascinated.
“I wonder what that’s all about? It sounds like she was afraid, or worried. Maybe she heard that the servants would be implicated. It’s a pity you were interrupted. We’ll have to come back to her. I don’t suppose she’ll be going anywhere. Meanwhile, I think we’ll stop looking at the logic of the circumstances and think about who hated Brackton enough to kill him. What’s interesting is that it was a last-minute decision, or they would’ve brought their own poison. Anyway, I think we need to call on the widow, Victoria Brackton.”
“Miss Rutledge suggested you wait a day, and I’m inclined to agree with her. Should we wait until tomorrow, maybe?”
Alice sighed dramatically. “The police won’t wait until tomorrow.”
“The police aren’t going to be questioning her at all. She would’ve told them last night she saw nothing and knew nothing, and I don’t see Captain O’Hara and the other boys in blue showing up to ask more questions. Anyway, you’re not the police.”
“I’m better than the police. I’m a Roosevelt. And you carry a badge.”
“Do you think that my boss, Mr. Harris, head of the New York office of the Secret Service, is going to be pleased with me running an unauthorized investigation?”
“You take things too serious, Cowboy.”
“And you’re getting in over your head, Princess.”
“You’re getting sidetracked. Back to the topic at hand. We need to talk with Victoria Brackton, but I suppose we can wait a bit. She’ll be better rested, and I suppose one day won’t make a difference. I also want to talk to Delilah Linde, who was with them, but not until I talk with Victoria. It seems improbable, but could Mrs. Linde have been the poisoner? It was so risky with people all around. Mr. Rutledge was looking over there; I’m sure of it. He was facing them, even while talking to me and Philly, and he would’ve seen something. I’
m sure he did—I don’t think it was just when Lynley Brackton got sick. I don’t see how … but maybe this will become clearer the more we know about everyone involved.”
“Why couldn’t Mrs. Brackton have killed her husband?” I suggested. Alice thought about that.
“It happens. But why then such an elaborate, public killing? You’d have a score of opportunities to kill a husband at home and make it look like an accident.” She discussed it so casually, as if she came across that every day. “But we need more details about everyone.”
“You can get the woman’s point of view from Mariah. She’s invited us for dinner tonight.”
“Really?” She grinned and clapped her hands. Alice liked my sister, and my sister found Alice endlessly amusing. “We have other things to do—buy some wine for her, and I want a hot dog and a knish and a beer, and I’m long overdue for a visit to my bookie.”
“Excellent all around, Miss Alice.”
“One more thing—remember that little gun you took away from that man who was stalking us in our last adventure?”
“It’s called a derringer. And to answer your next two questions, yes, I still have it, and no, I’m not giving it to you.”
Alice pouted and folder her arms across her chest.
“That wasn’t what I was going to ask.”
“Yes, it was.”
“What if I promise to practice my marksmanship under your tutelage?”
“And what if you accidently shoot me? You’ll call your father and say, ‘I’m sorry, Father, I shot my Secret Service bodyguard. Can you get me another?’”
“I’ll tell Mariah you’re being mean to me,” she said. I just laughed.
CHAPTER 9
We had a good afternoon. Alice enjoyed her hot dog and a knish, which apparently weren’t yet available in Washington.
Alice’s bookie worked downtown, off of Houston. He did business from behind a small table in the back of a barbershop. She always got a lot of looks when we went in. All the patrons were men getting haircuts and shaves and reading the Police Gazette, and not too many young ladies patronized the place.
As usual, we found Ike the bookie in the back. Viewing the proceedings with his sharp eyes, he wrote out slips from a pile of paper with the aid of a pencil he stored behind his ear. He collected cash in a series of envelopes, using a system known only to him, and paid out winnings from a stack of bills.
“Miss Roosevelt. A pleasure to see you again. I was afraid you were taking your business elsewhere.” How nice that she’s recognized by bookies, I thought.
“I’ve been out of town. But I’m back, and I’ve been saving my allowance.” They held a brief discussion—apparently, the horses were running in Florida—and Alice placed her bets.
“Can I interest you in a wager, Mr. St. Clair?” Ike asked.
I shook my head. “I play cards, not the ponies.”
“Mr. St. Clair feels he has control over his cards,” said Alice. “He can’t control a horse. Unless he’s the one riding it.” The bookie laughed.
Her business finished, Alice headed out the door at her usual double-time pace. But Houston isn’t Fifth Avenue, and I didn’t like her leaving the barbershop ahead of me.
“For heaven’s sake, nothing is going to happen to us,” she snapped.
But I beat her to the door, and taking a quick look out, I didn’t like what I saw. Across the street was a man in a worn jacket that didn’t match his pants. He also wore a cloth cap that shaded his face. He wasn’t doing anything, just leaning against a lamppost. He was facing the barbershop door but quickly turned away so it would seem he was not interested. I glanced down the block, and there was a similarly dressed man who was also now making a big show of not looking at us.
Revolvers, even small ones, were heavy, and I could tell from the way his jacket hung that at least the closer man was armed. From their awkward behavior, it was clear they weren’t professionals, but that didn’t mean they weren’t dangerous. Actually, amateurs can be even more dangerous.
“Back inside, Miss Alice,” I said as she craned her neck to see what I was looking at.
“What’s the matter?”
“A couple of men are interested in us. And we’re not going outside until I find out why.” I took her by the arm, and we headed back to Ike’s table.
“If you let me carry a gun, it would be two against two,” she said.
“Wouldn’t that be a great headline in the Herald: President’s Daughter Takes Out Three Windows, a Motorcar, and a Streetlight.”
We waited for Ike to finish with his current customer and then had him alone.
“Change your mind, Mr. St. Clair? I can give you some great odds—”
“Not now. There are a couple of men outside waiting for us. Who do you run with?”
Ike laughed. “I don’t ‘run’ with anyone. I pay the owner for the privilege of being here. This is small time. These are stacks of singles here, not twenties.”
“Come on,” I said. “You know what I mean. Someone owns this neighborhood. You pay someone else, too.”
Ike looked unhappy and glanced between me and Alice. He was a man who had dedicated his life to making bets and was now betting on Alice. “Miss Roosevelt, have a heart. I’ve always been fair, gave you good odds, even gave you credit in a slow week. Why are you causing trouble for me?”
“It’s not you, Ike. It’s who you know. Just answer Mr. St. Clair.”
He sighed and lowered his voice. “This is Irish territory. I give a cut to Liam Doyle’s boys.” Everyone knew about Liam Doyle. I had no doubt Ike was very careful about giving Doyle a piece of his take, in exchange for which Doyle would refrain from sending Ike to the bottom of the East River. “You’re saying Doyle’s sent a couple of guys to look at me?” Ike asked. The idea seemed to scare him. “I don’t cheat him by a nickel. I’d have to be crazy. And there are two guys out there? I’m just small time—”
I shook my head. “Those boys don’t look Irish. And maybe Doyle is having trouble with the Italians, but they don’t look Italian, either. Any other business associates who may have an interest?”
Ike shook his head. “There are other gangs, but who’s going to go to war with Doyle over my operation?” I had thought that maybe Alice’s gambling activities, especially as she was always accompanied by a federal agent, had made one of the gangs nervous, but that didn’t seem to be it.
“Is there a back entrance here?” I asked.
Ike pointed with his thumb to a door behind him. “There’s an alley that runs behind here.”
The door led Alice and me to a little storage area, then outside to an unpaved alleyway and the backs of neighboring businesses. “What now?” asked Alice.
“We think,” I said. I knew the alley could lead us away, but I had no idea if there were more toughs in the neighborhood.
“The afternoon is turning out to be more entertaining that I had expected,” she said.
“I’m so glad,” I said.
Meanwhile, Alice was thinking, too.
“Mr. St. Clair, I remember my father saying the best defense is a good offense.”
“So do I, Miss Alice, but I don’t see what kind of offense we can mount, and no, I’m not getting you your own revolver.”
“We’ll discuss that another time. But what do you think those men are up to? Are they out to kill me?” I had to give Alice her due, coolly contemplating that possibility. But I shook my head.
“No. There are two of them. You only need one to kill. And they don’t look crazy, like a couple of anarchists. I think they want to grab you. They could do it fast, and if they’re both armed and coming from different directions…” If it was just me, that was one thing, but with Alice in the mix, it was complicated.
“But there are people in the street,” said Alice.
“People don’t react quickly. This could be over before any of them have time to come to our aid.”
“They will if I tell them to,” said Alic
e, grinning.
“So now you’re a colonel, like your father?” I asked.
“No. I have no military training. But you will admit I am an expert in calling attention to myself. A good offense, Mr. St. Clair.” She outlined her plan. I wasn’t thrilled with it, but it did have the element of surprise, and I didn’t want to wait in case the toughs had reinforcements coming.
So it was back past an increasingly bewildered Ike, then Alice headed straight out the front door with me right behind her. The guy across the street looked up, and the one down the block saw, too, and started walking toward us. They could both beat us to the motorcar. I made sure my coat was clear of my revolver. Alice turned to me, winked, and then more loudly than I could imagine, screamed “Thief!” Both men were startled. A couple of workmen looked up, along with a young shopgirl and a clerk.
Alice pointed to the nearer man. “Thief!” she cried again. “Someone call the police and grab him before he gets away.” The men froze and began to panic. This was not what they had expected. Professionals would’ve handled it but not this pair.
Alice turned to the other one. “And that’s his accomplice,” she shouted. “Get them before they get away.” She continued to shout, and a couple of barbers joined us. More people on the sidewalk turned to look at Alice and then at the toughs, and other people stepped out of the shops to see what was happening.
The plan worked. Whatever the toughs had planned to do was now in tatters. These men had clearly been given specific instructions and weren’t used to thinking on their own. Everyone was watching them; a couple of men were moving toward them, and who knew when the cops would show up?
The man down the block turned tail and started to flee. Seeing he was now alone, the man across from us broke and ran, too. But I could get him. I pushed Alice back into the shop and took off after him. After half a block, he looked over his shoulder to see me gaining on him, and then he stopped, faced me, and reached into his coat pocket.
CHAPTER 10
“Son, you’ll be dead twice before you can get that out. You don’t want a shootout here, believe me,” I said.
