Tough Cookie (Maggie Sullivan mysteries)

by M. Ruth Myers

  “I consider it too ridiculous even to contemplate,” he replied loftily. “Draper never worked with anyone. He’d had an unfortunate experience with someone letting him down where he worked before, taking credit for something he’d done. I believe it had left him somewhat distrustful.”

  “You knew a bit about him, then. You were friends? Apart from business.”

  “No, no. I’m afraid work leaves me little time for socializing. We enjoyed a cordial relationship when we wound up at the same meeting, luncheon, something like that. We made no effort to see each other apart from business.”

  “A past betrayal hardly seems like the thing a businessman would discuss in public.”

  “It was just a comment in passing. Perhaps in the lavatory. My only point in telling you was to debunk this idea about him having a partner. Who suggested that, if I may ask?”

  I smiled without answering.

  “What chance his partner could have been Vern Tarkington?” I asked.

  “Tarkington! That oily little dolt? A person would be a fool to trust him in anything – especially anything requiring duplicity! He gambles, carouses, runs off at the mouth. He’s nothing but a leech, getting everything handed to him – everything! – and still wanting more.”

  A startling savagery blazed in Hill’s eyes for an instant. Then, recognizing his lapse in control, he pressed them closed briefly and cleared his throat.

  “I do apologize. I have a low opinion of Mr. Tarkington. It may somewhat color my judgment, but no, I don’t believe he could have been helping Draper.”

  Hill took out his watch again. I didn’t think it was entirely a hint.

  “Just a couple more questions. Can you remember who first mentioned Draper’s deal?”

  “Regrettably, no. I’ve thought about it numerous times.”

  “Do you attend parties with Mr. Wildman?”

  He looked at me blankly.

  “I ... banquets and other events sometimes, yes. Why?”

  “I’m told Draper often talked to the wives.”

  “Did he? Yes, perhaps.”

  “Anyone in particular?”

  His forehead wrinkled.

  “Surely you’re not suggesting–?”

  “I’m not suggesting anything, just thinking one of them might be able to tell me more about him.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t differentiate wives very well. I meet them, of course, but–” He spread his hands.

  In other words, they didn’t merit his attention. He glanced at the clock on the wall.

  “If there’s nothing else pressing, Miss Sullivan, I really do have a full schedule. Oh, and as regards the backgrounds of Mr. Wildman’s domestic staff, you might wish to start with his chauffeur, Rogers. You’ll find no mention of it in his file, but the man has served time in prison.”

  Eighteen

  Leaving James C. Hill, I was so deep in thought I didn’t notice the elevator at the end of the hall arriving. Nor did I register someone stepping out of it until a friendly voice greeted me.

  “Lovely scarf, Miss Sullivan. It brings out the blue of your eyes.”

  Looking up I saw Frank Keefe strolling toward me.

  “Nice coat, Mr. Keefe. It brings out the silver of your tongue.”

  Keefe threw back his head and laughed. No denying he was a fine looking man, his dark hair windblown and his expensive gray topcoat open in a display of insouciance which none of the other men duped by Draper even approached.

  “What brings you to these parts?” His gaze flicked over my shoulder toward the door that led to Hill and Wildman.

  “Tried to talk to someone I’d heard might or might not have invested with Draper. He wasn’t very forthcoming.”

  Keefe chuckled. “James C. Hill?” He pronounced the name with the same rounded importance Hill himself did. “He’s like that.”

  “How about you?” I asked, not confirming it.

  “Meeting with Hill. We’re on a committee studying how that proposed speed change is likely to affect downtown businesses. Dull way to start a day. My spirits would improve considerably if you’d agree to dinner with me tonight.”

  “Thanks all the same. I can’t.”

  He looked over my shoulder again.

  “You’re still looking at something to do with Draper, then? Even with him dead?”

  I shrugged. “Just tying up loose ends. Speaking of which, you mentioned Draper talking to the wives at parties.”

  “There’s no figuring people, is there? Do a good deed here, rob people blind there.”

  “Can you recall him talking to anyone in particular?”

  Keefe pursed his lips.

  “Lucinda Graham,” he said suddenly. He gave a chuckle. “Skinny little woman, timid as a mouse. Most likely her husband scared any spirit she did have out of her. All bluster and bully. Have to say gatherings are nicer without him around.”

  “What happened to him?” My brain was perking up considerably.

  “Big competitor bought him out. Made him a bigwig at their headquarters in Chicago.” Keefe eyed me, his brain working too. “They didn’t move out there ‘til after Christmas, though, months after Draper took off. You’re not thinking there’s a connection, are you?”

  I decided to dangle some bait.

  “Who knows? I’ve heard rumors Draper had a partner.”

  “That’s sure one devil of a loose end.” He stretched an arm and checked his wristwatch. “Late again. James C. will be testy. I’d better go.” He broke out his grin. “Sure you won’t reconsider dinner?”

  Resuming my course toward the elevator, I gave a wave with my bandaged hand.

  “I already got one cat scratch today. Can’t risk getting more from your other girlfriends.”

  His laugh was still echoing when I pressed the button. The elevator started up from somewhere below. As it arrived, just before the door began to open, Keefe’s voice floated to me.

  “You should wear your skirts shorter, Miss Sullivan. You’ve got terrific legs.”

  * * *

  Had Keefe asked me out because he was an unapologetic skirt chaser or because he wanted to find out why I was still asking questions related to Draper? It was a coin toss. His claim of a meeting might be true. The city commission was considering reducing the speed limit to twenty-five in some areas. Then again, Keefe might simply be fast on his feet, particularly if he had something to hide. I mulled over such possibilities the whole time I drove to Wildman’s place.

  Rogers was waxing the long navy Cadillac when I found him. It was blustery for that sort of thing in the open, but he and the behemoth were both tucked comfortably safely inside a garage whose overhead doors suggested room for four cars. Working inside ensured the fresh shine didn’t get spotted if it started to drizzle, but Rogers was probably glad enough for it since he was working in rolled up shirt sleeves. His back was toward me.

  “Good morning, Rogers,” I called before I got too close.

  He looked around, giving a pleasant nod as he recognized me.

  “Good morning, miss.”

  “How’s that cheek you banged?”

  “Good as new, thanks.”

  “Looks like the car is too.” I indicated the front fender. Both it and the headlight looked fresh as a daisy, no sign that they’d ever received so much as a scratch.

  “It is amazing,” he said proudly. “Mr. Wildman had replacement parts flown in by aeroplane. We just got it back yesterday, late. I thought I should give it a polish before it was used again – take a good look at it just to make sure nothing was missed.”

  I nodded. It had been a gamble hoping to catch him here, given how often he must be out driving Wildman places. But I’d learned showing up without notice got more productive answers than giving people time to concoct stories.

  “I guess it helps having a brother-in-law who can tell his mechanics to drop whatever they’re working on and pitch in,” I said.

  Rogers looked around for a place to put the chamoi
s he’d been using. Avoiding my eyes he wiped the tips of his fingers across the top of the canvas apron protecting his clothes.

  “Mr. Wildman doesn’t use his brother-in-law’s facilities. I believe ... well, the car requires special expertise. And of course a large work bay.”

  His embarrassment was hard to miss. If he didn’t want me to know there was family discord, I’d play along.

  “Well, it’s a beauty of a car,” I said. “Why I actually strolled back to see you, though, is I’m trying to learn about anyone working in Mr. Wildman’s house who quit in the last couple years. Especially anybody who might have been miffed.”

  Rogers frowned, comfortable meeting my gaze now.

  “As far as I know, the last person to quit was the man I replaced, and he left because he was getting to an age where he got stiff waiting in the car day after day. His cousin had a chance to buy a taxi company that went bust. I think he – the man I replaced – went in as a partner.”

  “And when was that? When you came here?”

  “Five years ago.” He was curious now, and maybe a little bit wary.

  “This has to do with Mr. Draper. Harold Draper.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know who you mean.”

  “He did some business with Mr. Wildman a while back. There were some problems.”

  His puzzlement seemed genuine. “I know very little about Mr. Wildman’s business.”

  “Still, you drive him places; recognize some of the people he meets; maybe notice who some of them seem chummy with.” I gave him a smile of encouragement. “People often notice things they don’t even think about at the time.”

  He gave it some thought.

  “You mentioned problems,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “You think someone in this household might have contributed to those problems?”

  “I think someone who had a good bit of contact with Mr. Wildman did. Someone who also knew Draper.”

  The chauffeur considered for a time, then shook his head.

  “Sorry, nothing’s coming to mind. I honestly can’t put a face with that name, nor an office building either. I wish I could. Mr. Wildman’s been ... very kind to me.” He looked at his hands. His jaw worked once. “You should probably know ... I served time in prison. Mr. Wildman hired me in spite of it. He said everyone deserved a second chance. I pinch myself every morning at my good fortune.”

  Before I could comment, or form a question, one of the doors at the back of the house burst open and the little boy I’d seen the night Wildman’s sister brandished the gun came racing out. He jumped down three steps at the edge of the terrace while a woman in a proper gray suit hurried after him calling at him to be careful.

  Roger’s eyes had lighted with anticipation. The boy ran toward him waving.

  “If you need to know anything else – about me – could we talk later? I’m supposed to drive young Stuart and his governess to his music lesson.”

  I nodded agreement as the boy barreled toward us, filled with excitement.

  “Is she good as new, Rogers?” He ran to the Cadillac.

  “Good as new, Master Stuart. We’ll be taking the Dodge today, though, since I still want to check a few things on The Duchess.” He shrugged out of the apron and reached for his jacket. “Why don’t you and your governess wait under the apple tree while I back out?”

  The boy skipped obediently off. Smiling faintly, Rogers looked after him.

  “If you do think of anything – not just about Draper, but anything odd in, say, the last six months – will you let me know?” I asked.

  He nodded, but his thoughts were elsewhere. I went back outside.

  Wildman’s son trotted over. He’d looked like a normal kid running in to see Rogers. A gap in his teeth announced a new tooth soon to break through and he was a little bit bowlegged. But as he looked at me, his face was grave for its years.

  “You were here the night Aunt Doro came with the gun. You’re helping my father.”

  “That’s right.” I felt awkward. I wasn’t sure how I should answer if he said more about his Aunt Doro.

  “I love my father. Will you please make sure no one hurts him?”

  My throat phlegmed up. “I’ll do my best.”

  He blinked somberly. His small head nodded approval.

  “Father says that’s what we should always try to do. Our best.”

  Nineteen

  Downtown, at the heel of it where I had my office, was worlds removed from the sort of existence Wildman and even his household staff enjoyed. I parked my car in a gravel parking lot. I ducked through the produce market to buy a couple of apples from one of the sellers braving the blustery day. They were sheepnose, with skin so dark it was almost black. There were tastier apples, but sheepnose ripened and got picked later than most, which meant they were crisper than others this time of year. I stuffed them into my purse and headed for a sandwich shop on a little street called Pine.

  Usually I cut through an alley, and today was no exception. I’d only gone a half dozen steps when I heard a thump, something soft against metal, maybe. A sound I couldn’t identify. Even alleys I wouldn’t risk at night were generally safe in the daytime, but caution kicked in. I hadn’t forgotten being roughed up and left in a ditch last year, or that Draper, although he’d drowned, had gotten a blow on the back of his head.

  The sound had come from somewhere ahead, so turning my back to return to the street didn’t seem like a great idea. Easing my hand toward the Smith & Wesson in my coat pocket, I moved forward a couple of steps. There were garbage cans halfway down. From the sandwich shop where I was heading, maybe, or a nearby bakery. Since I thought what I’d heard might have been something bumping metal, I moved toward the cans. As I got closer, I could see there was no one behind them. Two of the lids had been flung aside, though. Irritated to think I’d been spooked by a rat or a hungry cat, I leaned in for a peek.

  There was just time enough to glimpse hair and a face as a figure surged up at me. I jerked back with fingers taking position on my still-hidden .38.

  “Get out! I ain’t doin’ anything wrong,” warned a hostile voice. A woman whose hair was just a shade or so lighter than mine stood nose-to-nose with me, shivering in a summer-thin dress patterned with small purple flowers. “I ain’t hurtin’ nothing – just lookin’ for scraps nobody else wants. Ones I wouldn’t have fed to the dog when I had a job.”

  She clutched a shriveled turnip top and what at best guess might be a string of dough in one raw-knuckled hand. Her nose and cheeks were red and chapped. The glob I thought was dough had black bits clinging to it. She’d brought her prizes up to her chin, ready to cram them into her mouth if I made a move.

  “You scared the bejesus out of me, banging around in that can,” I said. “There’s a soup kitchen two blocks up.”

  “They’re out.” She eyed me with weary contempt. “Been to three this morning, and all of them run out.”

  I opened my purse. Her tongue darted to her chapped lips as I gave her the apples. She bobbed her head.

  “Thank you kindly.”

  “Ditch whatever you found in that garbage can. It’s likely to kill you.”

  “You think that’s worse than starving?”

  I turned away so she could bite into the apples. Before I’d put one foot forward I heard the first crunch behind me. I went back to the street with my shoulders hunched in spite of my coat, knowing full well she’d likely eat what she’d found in the garbage can too.

  * * *

  I wasn’t very hungry after meeting the woman. Back in my office I warmed up and thought about how fortunate I was compared to some. It wasn’t the first time.

  After a bit I had some gin and began to go over the information I’d gleaned from my visits that morning.

  Wildman had been at home when I left Rogers and went around to ring the bell at the front of the house. The butler told me his employer was on another long distance phone call. He conveyed my request and
a few minutes later came back to report I had Wildman’s permission to talk to the people who worked in his household.

  None of them told me anything useful. No one recognized Draper’s name, or appeared to, other than the butler. He thought he might remember the name from a phone call or two. Although he and the cook were more astute than the others, none of them seemed as alert as Rogers. Maybe that was what being behind bars did for you. Or what landed you there. The governess wasn’t back from the music lesson by the time I left. I’d talk to her later.