Tough Cookie (Maggie Sullivan mysteries)

by M. Ruth Myers

  “Why don’t you sit down?” My interest was quickening.

  He complied, although with obvious hesitation.

  “When you were asking me questions the other day, you told me to think about anything odd that had happened. I don’t know if this qualifies...”

  “Rogers, you’re smart. And if I had to pick one person I felt certain had Mr. Wildman’s interests at heart, it would be you.”

  It startled him. He began to relax.

  “It was late last summer. Possibly fall. I can’t remember, exactly, but it was unpleasantly warm that night. I couldn’t sleep. I’d been seeing a young lady–” He brushed a hand at the air, dismissing what he’d been starting to say about his own problems. “Anyway, I’d gone for a drive. Out toward Bellbrook ... do you know the area?”

  “Not much out there.”

  “That’s why I like it. The countryside. The peacefulness. Especially at night. When it’s warm, with the windows down, you hear frogs ... owls.... Anyway. Four or five miles outside the city there’s a place, a tavern. It’s not exactly rough, but it’s not a place you’d expect to see someone from Dayton. I’ve stopped there a few times – not in one of Mr. Wildman’s cars, in my old clunker.

  “Coming back that night, just after I passed it, I noticed a car in the ditch. The one Mrs. Tarkington drives.”

  His teeth scraped his lip, then scraped it again. This was uncomfortable for him.

  “I knew Mr. Wildman would want me to stop. And she’s a nice woman. When she’s not drinking.” He looked at me earnestly. “She’s ... left her husband a few times. Stayed at the house. She gets dried out, and she’s very pleasant. She adores her nephew. But it wasn’t Mrs. Tarkington in the car that night. It was her husband.”

  He set his cap on the desk and looked squarely at me.

  “I don’t like him. It’s why I hesitated coming to see you. For fear that my judgment is clouded. That because I don’t like him, I’m making too much of it.”

  “Why don’t you just tell me what happened. For the record, I don’t like him much either, but I’m used to sifting through things and I know more about the problem.”

  He gave a wan smile.

  “He was mad as hops. Asked if the old goat had me spying on him. Then he spun around, and I thought he meant to punch me, but drunk as he was it wouldn’t have done much damage. He lost his footing and I had to catch him to keep him from falling. He started looking around, yelling was that little toady even helping himself to the limousine with the boss away – Mr. Wildman had gone to a meeting in Indianpolis. He kept raving, slurring, saying he knew the two of them met there, that he knew a lot of things, that he wanted his share.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “He passed out and I put him in his car and drove him home.”

  Twenty-eight

  By one o’clock my stomach was pleasantly full and I’d bought a terrific new coat I found on sale at Rike’s. Several of the better places had marked theirs down to make room for spring things coming in. I’d looked at Thal’s and Donenfeld’s, but you couldn’t find much better quality than the one I’d ended up with. It was gray like plenty of others, so it would blend in, but it was warmer and a cut above the one I’d had.

  What sold me on it were the large pockets angling slightly down. As soon as I got back to the office, I tried them out. My Smith & Wesson fit easily into the right one. It came clear so smoothly Wyatt Earp would have been impressed.

  I’d picked up the early edition of the Daily News as well as that morning’s Journal. Both carried lengthy articles about what they were calling a hit-and-run, the line the brass at Market House headquarters were peddling. Both listed the victim as “a vagrant woman whose name was unknown”. Such an unmarked end to a life bothered me. The News noted that the woman had died shortly after reaching the hospital, and that another pedestrian (that was me) had been “slightly injured” by the recklessly speeding car. There was a bordered box next to the story. It asked readers who might have seen a black car with non-streamlined headlights and a crumpled right fender to call the police.

  At three twenty-five Pearlie called.

  “You still want to do this?”

  “I do.”

  He grunted and gave me an address.

  “You know how to find it?”

  “More or less.”

  “There’s space between it and what’s left of the building beside it for trucks to get through. In back’s an area where they stored iron and such. Nico will be about halfway back. Him and another car.”

  “He’s that scared of me, is he?”

  “Nico don’t take chances. And he don’t like–”

  “Smart mouths. Yeah, I’ll remember.”

  “Park by the first car. One of the gentlemen in it will introduce you to Nico.”

  “When does this happen?”

  “Four o’clock. They’ll wait five, six minutes. You ain’t there by then they’ll be gone.”

  “Gee, think I should scoot?”

  I hung up before he could answer. Half an hour. I was dealing with someone who didn’t take chances all right. No time for me or anyone else to get to the rendezvous spot to check it out or to get an accomplice in place. I shivered, all too aware I could be walking into a trap.

  But I already was hoofing it toward the elevator.

  * * *

  The address Pearlie had given me was in an industrial area a good way north of the river. The street had a salvage yard and some warehouses, two mid-sized factories that looked to be limping along and a couple more that had closed. One building of indeterminate use had burned to the ground, leaving only a wall and its corners. Per instructions I turned in between the burned-out wall and a warehouse that showed no signs of activity.

  Ahead of me was an open area big enough for another factory. Iron girders rusted in one corner. Next to them was a stack of something covered by canvas. There were barrels and some sort of flatbed wagon, but mostly the place was empty. At the center of it sat a large gray Cadillac, not as big as Wildman’s but fine enough.

  A black Buick waited between me and the Cadillac. At sight of me four men got out, each standing behind the door he’d opened. I stopped forty feet away and killed the engine. I sat with my hands on top of the wheel.

  In honor of the meeting, and mostly to show my motives were pure, I’d even put on gloves. It didn’t seem to impress Nico’s boys. While two of them started toward me, the other two got back in and drove the Buick around behind me. Nice manners seemed to dictate that a guest wouldn’t check on them, so I didn’t. I knew without looking that they’d blocked the drive I’d come through, cutting off any exit.

  “You expected?” asked the man who opened my door. He had a scar on the side of his chin.

  “Why, yes, I believe I am. My name’s Maggie Sullivan. May I give you my card?”

  Pearlie hadn’t specified I couldn’t get smart with the hired help.

  In answer he motioned me out with a natty looking automatic. I complied, arms bent at the elbows to display my hands. Someone behind me patted my coat pockets.

  “Undo your coat and turn around,” the one with the scar directed. “Don’t worry none. Pete’s a gentleman.”

  Pete was middle-aged with a sour expression. He ran his hands over all the right places, looking bored by the process. At his nod, the one in charge spoke again.

  “Okay. Come on.”

  The three of us walked to the Cadillac where a man who was leaning against it straightened and opened the rear door.

  “Get in,” said the man who sat inside.

  He was short and squat with a soft look which I suspected might be deceptive. I wasn’t eager to find out. His fleshy hands were folded on the ivory handle of a walking stick. I figured this was one of those don’t-speak-until-spoken-to situations, so I waited.

  “A private detective,” he said, looking me over. “Not something I’d let a daughter of mine do. Uncouth.”

  I held my tongue
. Could be he was testing me. He appeared to lose interest, turning his head to gaze out the front window.

  “Maggie Sullivan. I’d heard about you before an acquaintance asked me to meet you. They say you’re good. You’re not as mannish as I expected.”

  There was a roundness to his cheeks and to the knees beneath his fine wool trousers, yet he wasn’t fat. His black hair contained flecks of white. He mostly looked straight ahead as he talked to me.

  “I understand you’re interested in a man named Draper.”

  “I am.”

  “Can I ask why?”

  “In the beginning, because someone hired me. Mr. Draper had conned him with a bogus business deal.”

  “What I hear is Draper made fools of several smart men with that scheme.” The man beside me sounded amused.

  “One took exception to it.”

  “The smart one.” There was the sound of stirring spittle, which I took to be Nico chuckling. “Let somebody get away with duping you and a man looks weak.”

  Nico and my client were a lot alike, it appeared.

  “As soon as I began asking questions, someone took exception to it,” I said. “Then Draper ended up drowned.”

  “And last night someone tried to kill you, I’m told.”

  “Yes. In my occupation, letting somebody scare you off makes you look weak.”

  He nodded. I didn’t care to contemplate whether Nico and I shared any similarities.

  “I’ve been told Draper might have had a partner,” I said. “But no one’s confirming it and no one seems to have an idea who it could be.”

  He recrossed his hands on the walking stick. A few flakes of snow were sputtering down outside. He turned to look at me again.

  “It would be a mistake to think you were weak, I expect. When you came to this meeting it must have crossed your mind I could be that partner.”

  “It did.”

  “You came anyhow.”

  “Yes.”

  The walking stick rocked back and forth. Maybe it was his personal Ouija board.

  “I never met Draper. I had no business with him. I deal with a different clientele, you might say.” His eyes were bright as they studied me. “I hear things. Maybe another time I’ll know something that helps you. This time I can’t.”

  Reaching across with his walking stick, he rapped on the window. My door opened.

  “Thank you for seeing me,” I said and got out.

  The door closed. The man who had held it went around and got in the front. A driver I hadn’t noticed was already behind the wheel. I turned, expecting the two who’d patted me down to be waiting, but they’d disappeared.

  “Miss Sullivan.”

  Behind me, the Cadillac’s rear window lowered. I stepped closer to hear.

  “Maybe he’s not dead.”

  “What?”

  “Maybe the man you’re looking for isn’t dead.” He started to crank the window up. “You’re a most attractive woman, Miss Sullivan. I’d hate to see that change. Please don’t mention this meeting.”

  Before I could speak an engine purred to life and the gray car glided away. The black Dodge guarding the entry doubled around behind the Cadillac and they drove off and I was alone.

  Twenty-nine

  After leaving the spot where I’d met Nico and his choirboys, I pulled over in front of the first respectable looking business I saw. I needed to let my brain catch up. My palms were damp, which didn’t happen to me very often. I closed my eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. It irked me that I hadn’t noticed the plate number on the car used by Pete and the guy with the scarred chin. Since I was sitting here with my hide intact and all my teeth, it was possibly a fair trade.

  What in the name of St. Peter did Nico mean saying Draper might not be dead? He claimed not to know Draper – not to know anything about him. Maybe it was only a trick to throw me off. Except it was the sort of comment guaranteed to make me dig more. And if Nico was helping someone who didn’t want me snooping, as private as our confab had been, why not get rid of me then and there with a bullet?

  One of the keys to surviving in my line of work was thinking clearly. Right now I knew I wasn’t.

  “Maybe we should call it a day,” I muttered to the DeSoto.

  Instead, as I neared downtown, I decided to try and catch Freeze before he went home. If he ever did. I parked the car in the same place it had spent the night and walked to the office. To my surprise, Freeze picked up on the second ring.

  “Anybody besides his secretary identify Draper’s body?” My chair felt unusually friendly.

  “No. His lawyer was out of town. Sister up in Cleveland was about to have a baby and couldn’t travel. But the secretary had been with him a good while. Seemed pretty torn up. Why?”

  “Just wondering if there could be anybody I’d overlooked. Grasping at straws, I guess. I don’t suppose you’ve turned up anything on that car?”

  “Had men checking garages all day. Nothing.”

  When I hung up Nico’s voice filled my ears and all my bones went wobbly. I felt cold in spite of the radiator clanking away. All day I’d been running on anger and pride and determination not to be stopped. Suddenly everything in the past twenty-four hours caught up with me. The alley last evening. The terrifying sensation of being strangled and dragged at the same time. The dying woman. Getting into a car with a man whose hands rested on an ivory-topped walking stick.

  I opened my bottom desk drawer and poured half a jigger of gin. My hands were trembling. A couple of sips of the gin helped, but if I had any more I’d keel over. I got up and emptied the rest in the pot that held the dead plant. When I made it back to the desk I propped my elbows on the familiar wood and supported my head. My last smidgen of energy had evaporated. I could no more get up and walk to my car than I could to the moon.

  For a while I tried to negotiate with myself. A good night’s sleep would put me back on my pins. My bed was an absolute pleasure palace with three pillows. I had a new Hemingway novel from the library, or a P.G. Wodehouse I’d received for Christmas if I wanted something sillier. I wished I could bounce back like Mickey Finn in the comics

  It’s possible I closed my eyes for a minute. At any rate, the soft rap on my doorframe startled me. My hand shot under my chair at about the same instant I snapped to enough to see Connelly watching me with amusement.

  “Jesus, Connelly! I could have drilled you.”

  When had he nudged my door open part way? How long had he stood there watching me?

  “Rough day?” he asked.

  I shook my hair back.

  “I’ve had worse.”

  I wanted to grind the heels of my hands into my eyes to push back the weariness. I settled for flicking crossly at a curl that had stuck to the edge of the adhesive tape on my cheek. Connelly ambled in with his arms crossed, looking relaxed.

  “I got off early. Seeing as how you got the roughing up you did yesterday – and remembering times when I was fool enough to put in a day after similar treatment – I wondered if you might like me to go bring your car to you, maybe drive you home?”

  The impulse to refuse got lost somewhere between my brain and my tongue.

  “I wouldn’t mind it.” I admitted.

  “I’ll need your keys.”

  “Right. You know where my car is?”

  “Yep. Heard Freeze sent you home in a squad car, so I knew it sat out all night. I stopped by on the way and gave it a look over, made sure it hadn’t been tampered with.”

  That possibility hadn’t even occurred to me when I’d driven off to meet Nico. More proof that my mind wasn’t hitting on all its cylinders.

  “Thanks.” I handed him the keys.

  Connelly said to give him ten minutes and then come downstairs. By the time I made it, I realized he’d been a better judge than I was of how slowly I’d move. I’d just reached the door to the lobby when he pulled to the curb directly in front of me. He got out and came around to help me in.


  “It’s getting a mite slick,” he advised. “Watch your step.”

  He took my arm. Snow was falling thickly, fluffy white flakes, yet somehow it didn’t seem as cold now. I found myself leaning on the arm that supported me more than I wanted. My body wouldn’t listen to me.

  “Why don’t you keep the car after you drop me,” I offered as we set out. “Bring it back sometime this weekend.”