by R. J. Koreto
Mariah shook her head and looked at me. “You sure earn your keep, Joey,” she said.
“What’s wrong with my conclusions?” asked Alice.
“Miss Alice, nothing is wrong with your conclusions,” I said. “But even if you know him well, you can’t just ask him about a private conversation. He isn’t going to tell you any more about Brackton. He doesn’t even care Brackton is dead. At best, all he’ll do is tell your aunt, and you’ll be sent back to Washington.”
“I suppose,” Alice said with a sigh. “But I am right about one thing—we need to find out more about Brackton. Yes, everyone hated him, and they’ve hated him for a long time. But why was he killed that particular night? That’s the big question. No one came prepared to kill him. They broke into the greenhouse to poison him there. What came out at the party? It must’ve been related to the fight he had with Simon Rutledge.”
“I can’t answer that, but I wish you luck,” said Mariah. Then she looked a little mischievous and bent her head close to Alice. “You’ve been keeping busy, girl. Is Joey being cooperative?”
Alice gave that a moment’s thought. “Yes. I’d have to say he is. And for my part, I am trying to behave a little more appropriately.”
“So thus far you see yourself as being appropriate?” I asked, more than a little surprised.
“I’m just hoping that when all is said and done, you won’t be sorry,” said Alice.
“Miss Alice, I’m already sorry.”
CHAPTER 12
All in all, it was a real nice dinner. Alice liked seeing Mariah again, and Mariah found Alice’s backstairs White House gossip entertaining. But when we were back in the motorcar, I could tell something was bothering Alice.
“You didn’t really mean that when you said you were sorry we got started with this, did you? It’s for a good cause—helping Mr. Carlyle.” She looked a little annoyed and a little uncertain.
“I’m not sorry I’m helping Peter. I’m sorry I’m involving the president’s daughter.”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said. You’re useless without me.” And her look told me I’d be in big trouble if I laughed, so I didn’t. She folded her arms and looked pleased with herself.
I saw her inside the apartment, and she said, “Be ready to go right after our breakfast tomorrow. We’ll be paying a call on Victoria Brackton. The first shock should be over, so it should be a most productive visit. Good night, Cowboy.”
“Good night, Princess,” I said. I headed downstairs. I realized that it was unlikely Mrs. Cowles would blame me for what happened outside the barbershop, and there was no harm in making a condolence call, so I was still on safe ground. At least, so far.
* * *
I had a good night’s sleep, and Dulcie gave us eggs and bacon in the morning. Alice was all excited to get going.
“No need to rush,” I said. “You don’t want to wake the poor woman up to pay a condolence call.”
“But I want to get her alone. And I’m sure she’s delighted to be a widow. I can’t imagine being married to Lynley Brackton was a picnic.”
“Marriages are funny things, Miss Alice. He may not have been the best husband, but she may miss him, anyway.”
“Since when have you become an expert in marriage?” said Alice.
“Not marriage. But people get used to the way things are, and a change, even if it’s good in some ways, can be unsettling.”
Alice frowned at that thought and then finished her coffee. “Let’s go. I’m sure she’s up by now.” A few minutes later, we were in the motorcar heading downtown.
“How well do you know Mrs. Brackton?” I asked
“Hardly at all. Quick introductions at a few parties, talk about how warm the weather is for this time of year and the latest fashions in hats.”
“She won’t think it odd that someone who hardly knows her is making a condolence call?”
Alice shook her head, astounded at my ignorance. “If you don’t know someone in Society, you still know them. We’re all of a kind. Besides, everyone is always welcoming to Alice Roosevelt.” She smirked. I could see her point. Even before her father became president, the Roosevelts were one of the best families in New York. Mr. Roosevelt’s move to the White House only made them greater. Hardly anyone would question a visit from his daughter.
The Bracktons had a townhouse that wasn’t as big and fancy as the Rutledge place, but it was still nicely set up with the brass all polished. A black wreath hung on the door. I was glad to see that Alice had managed to put on an expression that said, “I’m so sorry for your tragic loss” and not “I’m coming to investigate a murder.”
A servant opened the door, and I noticed he was wearing a black armband.
“I’m Alice Roosevelt, here to pay a call on Mrs. Brackton.” We watched the servant’s eyes flicker to me. “Oh, and this is my bodyguard, Mr. St. Clair. He is not permitted to leave my side.”
“Very good, miss. Please follow me.” He showed us into what seemed to be a library, filled with leather-bound books that were probably dusted twice a week but never read. I looked around, but Alice seemed impatient. She had been in dozens of rooms like this before.
A few minutes later, Victoria Brackton joined us. I had hardly seen her the night of the party, so this was the first good look I got of her. I made allowances for the fact that she had just lost her husband and probably wasn’t sleeping, but beyond that, she seemed hollowed out. I’d known plain women who became beautiful the more you knew them because there was a light, a fire, inside them. But I guessed Mrs. Brackton had once been beautiful, and that light and fire had gone out long before she became a widow.
A maid came right behind her with some coffee and cookies and then left, closing the door behind her.
“Victoria, I am so sorry,” said Alice, and she stepped over to give Mrs. Brackton a hug and then led her to a chair. I thought Alice had overdone it a little, considering she hardly knew the woman, but Mrs. Brackton didn’t seem to mind.
“Can I get you something?” asked Alice. “I mean, something besides these cookies and tea? I am at your disposal.”
“Thank you, but my maid just…” She stopped, as if she couldn’t be bothered to complete the thought. “Thank you for coming, Alice.” She looked at me and seemed confused.
“Oh, don’t mind him. That’s Mr. St. Clair, my Secret Service bodyguard. He has to be here.”
Mrs. Brackton frowned at that and kept looking at me. “You were there that night, weren’t you? Simon Rutledge said you were very helpful.” I thought maybe Mrs. Brackton was not as dazed as she first seemed.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said.
“That’s something like a policeman?” she asked. Just like the Rutledge maid, she was trying to find out who I was.
“Something like,” I said. Alice looked both annoyed that this exchange was derailing any conversation she had planned and curious about where it was going. Mrs. Brackton nodded and turned back to Alice.
“I know you are still in shock,” said Alice, “but I want to reassure you everything is being done to uncover whoever committed this crime. You know that my father was police commissioner here once, and Captain O’Hara, who is in charge of the case, was an associate of my father’s and knows you and I and the Rutledges are all friends. The police will devote their full resources.”
“I am sure you’re right. That’s very kind of you,” said Mrs. Brackton. But it was toneless, as if she wasn’t even aware of what she was saying. Her eyes wandered around the room and landed on me again. Alice seemed a little frustrated by the woman’s vagueness and tried to pull her back.
“Of course, the police can be rather difficult. It can be a little awkward to talk with them. They can be hardworking and efficient in catching criminals, but for people like us … what I’m saying is that if there is anything perhaps a little delicate that you feel uncomfortable relating to a police officer, you can tell me, and I’ll see it is submitted—discreetly
—through the right channels.”
That seemed to get Mrs. Brackton’s attention, and she thought on that, nodding slowly. Then she turned back to me again. “And I can trust your discretion, too, Mr. St. Clair?”
“You can rely on me as you rely on Miss Roosevelt.” I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile, and Alice seemed pleased with my response. Mrs. Brackton nodded, and I saw her gathering her thoughts.
“It’s rather difficult, you see,” she said, looking down so she didn’t meet our eyes. “That evening at the ball, I was preparing to take a drink of the Rutledge punch. We all know that when at the Rutledges’, you’re supposed to have at least one glass of that loathsome potion. Lynley had made a big show of having a glass as soon as we arrived, to much laughter. That’s what he was like. Later we found ourselves by the punch bowl again, and Lynley teased me about not having had my glass yet, so he poured me a glass, but I held it for the longest time. I couldn’t bear to sip it. So after a while, Lynley just said, ‘Oh, all right, I’ll have this one, too. Have a little bit for form’s sake.’ And he drank the rest.”
Mrs. Brackton looked up, and now, I could see what she was feeling. Alice knew it, too. It was grief. It was fear and horror. The poisoned glass hadn’t been meant for Lynley. It had been meant for her.
CHAPTER 13
Alice didn’t say anything for a few moments. I realized that her comments about feeling awkward around the police had been an attempt to get Mrs. Brackton to talk about any enemies her husband may have had. She didn’t expect this.
“You didn’t get sick from your sip?” Alice finally asked.
“No. I barely touched it to my lips. As Lynley said, it was just for form.”
“You are absolutely sure that Lynley didn’t have another glass that was poisoned?” asked Alice.
“Yes. You see, I was there with Delilah Linde, who wasn’t drinking anything—that is, no punch.”
“Had she also had her glass earlier?”
“I don’t think so. Lynley teased her about it, and she said she had been suffering a digestive ailment for several weeks and had been told to avoid all spirits. If I remember right, she had a glass of mineral water in her hand. She laughed and said we could check with her maid—she wasn’t just trying to avoid the Rutledge punch. In fact, she said because she was of Dutch background herself, she actually liked the punch and was sorry she couldn’t have a glass. Lynley said if she wanted, he’d drink a glass for her, too. Lynley was like that, very courtly.”
Alice had to hold her temper at that but knew there was no point in getting into an argument with a widow about her husband, whose body was still warm.
“So it was you, Mrs. Linde, and Lynley. Only you had a glass, right? And you fetched it yourself from the bowl?” Alice asked. Mrs. Brackton nodded. “What were you talking about?”
She shrugged. “What one always talks about at events like that—how pretty the debutantes looked, the quality of the band, and this year’s fashions.”
“It was a crowded room. People were coming around, waiters and maids. You know what it’s like and how hard it is to see at the time, and how hard it is to see later,” said Alice. “Could someone have poisoned the glass after you gave it to Lynley?”
“I don’t see how. I took my little sip and gave it to Lynley, who drank it straight down. He started feeling sick just minutes later.”
“But who would want to kill you?” asked Alice, more to herself than to Mrs. Brackton, but the poor woman looked like she was about to burst into tears.
“That’s just it,” she said, her voice trembling. “I have no idea. I don’t know who I can trust. That’s why I was asking you, Mr. St. Clair, if you had any connections in New York, with the police. I know, I’ve heard men talk about how the police can be owned by someone, but if you’re not one of them, I can trust you, too.”
“My father trusts Mr. St. Clair, so you may trust him, as well,” said Alice, almost daring her not to. “You can trust both of us.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Because I’m terrified.” And she was. I could feel it coming off of her.
“Delilah Linde,” said Alice. “She was the only one near you? I know others may have passed by, but she was the only one right there with you and Lynley?”
“Yes. From the time Lynley handed me the glass until I handed it back and he drank it. Of course, as I said, maids and waiters came by, and someone may have stopped to say hello, but one doesn’t really pay attention.”
“Tell me about Delilah. I was introduced earlier in the evening but don’t really know her,” said Alice.
“I didn’t know her terribly well myself. Lynley knew her family, or really her husband’s family. Marcus Linde is much older than Delilah, some thirty or thirty-five years older. He had been married before and only married Delilah a few years ago. He is a somewhat solitary man who dislikes events like these, and Delilah usually shows up with a cousin or family friend as an escort, I believe.”
“Does she mind, do you think?” asked Alice.
“She doesn’t seem to. She’s a lively and beautiful woman who never lacks for attention, so it’s not like she’s alone. Marcus Linde is wealthy and gives her all she wants.”
Alice frowned and thought for a moment. “I was with Mr. Rutledge and Philly Rutledge on the other side of the punch bowl table. We were laughing and talking. But at some point, I think I saw Mr. Rutledge looking across at the three of you. Was there anything happening, anything odd that you remember? It could be something one of you said, or a movement, anything out of the ordinary.”
“I couldn’t say…” said Mrs. Brackton, shaking her head. She seemed a little more with us now, and I think finding some people she could trust with the whole story made her feel a little better. Then she gave a shy smile. “Delilah is very attractive, as I said. She often catches men’s eyes, and men look at her.” She blushed a little. “Lynley did, but I didn’t mind. I know I am somewhat plain, but gentlemen are like that.” She seemed accepting of her lot in life.
“Why did she marry a man who was that much older?” asked Alice. Even I knew you didn’t ask questions like that, but that didn’t stop Alice.
“I don’t know much about her. Her maiden name was Van Dijk. They are an old family, but there were problems—reversals, bad luck, and a father who drank. Marcus Linde is extremely wealthy, and his first wife, I understand, was also younger, and well…” She coughed delicately. “Some men like having a young woman around as a companion.” She shrugged.
“Victoria, I see now you were the intended victim and not your husband. There is a lot to figure out here. But men’s business can spill over, and in ways we don’t understand now, this may have had something to do with Lynley’s businesses. He owned properties, I imagine.”
“I don’t know much,” said Mrs. Brackton. “I know he had concerns by the docks, here in Manhattan and in Brooklyn, and he had to visit them every now and then.”
“Did he have any business interests with Simon Rutledge?”
“Not that I know of. But maybe. He and Simon had been schoolmates, and so they always had a certain closeness with each other.”
I could see Alice thinking about her next question, and I was curious to see if she had figured out a way to ask a widow if she knew her husband was one of the most hated men in New York Society. She was as brave as her father, but could she be as diplomatic?
Alice gave Victoria a warm, inviting smile. Almost conspiratorial. “Men take their businesses very seriously. Sometimes too seriously. They get into arguments, and arguments become fights and even threats. Did Lynley have any fights with anyone, perhaps recently?”
I had thought Mrs. Brackton looked beaten. But at Alice’s question, I saw a spark there, and she favored us with a tight little smile. She wasn’t as beaten down as I had thought. There was more self-awareness than I had given her credit for. And just because you’ve been knocked around by life, it doesn’t mean you’re stupid. Just unlucky.
> “Oh, Alice, you are young and unmarried.” Fresh tears fell down her face. “I knew my husband. I knew what people said about him. He liked having his own way. He liked the house arranged the way he wanted it and the meals the way he wanted them. He could be difficult if things didn’t work out the way he wanted them to.”
“You are right that I am young, and there’s a lot I don’t know. But he doesn’t sound that different from many other men I’ve met in this city,” said Alice.
“Perhaps you’re right. But with Lynley, it was taken to extremes. There was no discussing anything with him. He had a small group of friends, but they were bound together by history and background, from school and family connections. I don’t think even his friends liked him. Is that an odd thing to say?” She gave a little laugh. “Still, we were husband and wife, and we had made a life together. We went to the right dinners and balls and invited the right people here, and there are worse ways to live your life. And now it’s gone. There are no places for childless widows,” she said.
“Did he have mistresses?” asked Alice. I had a mouthful of the excellent coffee all the better houses seemed to have, and I damn near choked on it. Talking of mistresses was bad enough, but talking about them with a recent widow was appalling.
I had hoped at least that the small part of Victoria Brackton that seemed to look clear-eyed at her marriage would address that particular betrayal, but it was gone now. She just turned red, and her hands fluttered around her head, as if she had lost control of her reactions.
“I … what a question … of course I…”
Alice wasn’t having any of it. She leaned over and grabbed both of Mrs. Brackton’s arms by the wrists and looked her in the eye. “No pretenses here. I need you to stay with me. Someone has committed murder. Someone may try again. After I’m gone, you can cry as much as you want, but I need to know this. Were there other women in his life?”
