Oh Jack, these past two years haven’t been at all what I expected. When Mother told me Father was dying, I reached out. I thought I was being magnanimous in my forgiveness, bringing comfort to a dying man, setting aside the bad feelings that I’d been harboring all these years since you were killed. Oh, it still makes me catch my breath to say that. I can’t believe sometimes that you’re gone, sweetheart.
A single tear slides down her cheek. Jack, I couldn’t have been more wrong. This time has been so much more. Tommy and I were the ones who really benefited from our time with Father. Tommy came to love his grandfather. And Father’s greatest gift to me was that, after all the years of hostile silence and animosity, he came to believe in me. A priceless gift.
I miss you every day, Jack. These are dark days, but we’re coping. Not just Father’s passing, but the times in general. Lots of good men on the bread line. Their families hungry. There are wives and children abandoned, left to flounder when their men go off in search of work. Your labor leadership would be appreciated now. They need your voice.
Jack, I can’t stay long today, but I have something important that you should know. I’ve met a man. Ron McNeely. He’s a good man, to me and to Tommy. I’ll come back soon and tell you more about him.
Maggie listens to the birds sing as a ray of sunshine breaks through the dreary day. “Come on, Tommy, time to go. Your grandmother will be looking for us.”
Chapter 12
F ollowing her father’s funeral, life returns to normal, and Maggie spends the day in the office. Ron has been terrific at keeping the towering client files from toppling over, but she needs the normalcy of work to help her through this time.
Ron knocks at her door. Maggie is startled, having been deeply immersed in tracking down a missing reconciliation. “Maggie, there’s a Mickey Duffy here to see you.”
Startled, alarmed, curious, Maggie puts a smile on her face and goes out to greet him and show him back to her office. The door to her father’s office remains closed.
They settle into their respective chairs on opposite sides of the desk. “You’re looking good, Mickey.” Brighter, somehow. That’s good to see. “What brings you here?”
“Well, Maggie, I have a request. I didn’t feel right talking to you about it at the funeral or at home with Edith there. And I couldn’t ask you to come to the Ritz. It’s a business matter.”
“I hope it’s not accounting services. I said no to that a long time ago.”
“Well, not exactly. Let me be frank. Our paths have crossed several times over the years. You always seem to have your nose in my business. And I was hoping to put that nose to work for me.”
“Okay, Mickey. Now I am confused.”
“Someone is stealing from me.”
Maggie sits back, trying to keep her face neutral, and not let her alarm show. Has he found out about Mike? Does he know I looked through his books? I thought Mike had stopped skimming.
“Stealing from you?”
“Yes. At the speakeasies I own. I think the bartenders have worked up some scheme between themselves. Profits are down, and while folks don’t have much dough in their pockets these days, they do have a need to drown their sorrows. Business should be up. At least for the cheap stuff.”
Relieved that it’s not Mike, Maggie leans forward. “I’m not sure what you want me to do, Mickey.”
“Stick your nose into it. Find out what’s going on. I don’t know who else to ask. The bartenders all know my people. I suppose I could try and sweat it out of them. But what if I’m wrong and people have stopped drinking? I wouldn’t want to lose some good bartenders over some bad hunches.”
“All right. I’ll have a look. Although it won’t be me sitting on those barstools. I’ll send someone else who is less obvious.” Maggie gives him a level look. “But Mickey, if we do find anything, you have to promise me that you won’t kill them.”
Mickey gives her a tiger smile, and Maggie realizes how long it’s been since she’s seen it. “Of course not. But I do need to make my point to keep the other bartenders in line.”
“But no killing.”
“I’ll pat them on the head and remind them that it’s wrong to steal.”
Maggie rolls her eyes. This will be an interesting case. The Inspector is really going to enjoy it.
* * * *
“You know, Maggie, I always figured I’d seen everything. Automobiles, airplanes, telephones, electricity, women at university and working in an accounting office, but working with Mickey Duffy to catch a thief is something I never thought to see.”
Maggie grins at the Inspector.
“I was worried that he was on to Mike Malazdrewicz helping Joe and the treasury agents. I was almost relieved to hear that he wants us to look into a bit of petty thieving. I hope you don’t mind, but I said that we would. I owe him a favor for his help in returning your badge, and he’s been good enough not to kill me, or kidnap me lately. And he did send Tommy away.”
“Yes, there’s much we should be grateful to Mickey Duffy for.” The sarcasm is not lost on Maggie.
“I can always tell him I’m too busy, which certainly is not stretching the truth. The office is a madhouse these days, getting the year ends done up and out the door. And I’ve got to figure out what to do about the office generally.”
“I recall that, when you first went to work with your father, you thought it might be temporary. Are you reconsidering?”
“I am. I feel some loyalty to our clients. And it’s a good income, especially in these times. Although we’re starting to deal with bankruptcies, which is always distressing. And then there is Ron.”
“Yes, Ron. What to do about Ron,” Frank says, teasing gently.
“Oh, you.” Maggie grins at him. “I meant work-wise. His father is pressuring him to join the family firm. I know I couldn’t manage the office as well without him. The clients like him and ‘trust him’, as my father would say. No, there are decisions to be made. This little investigation for Mickey might be an interesting distraction.”
“Why don’t I find a spot on a barstool and watch what happens. If there is something going on, it shouldn’t be too difficult to catch.”
“Don’t be too confident. The bartenders wouldn’t want to be too obvious. If they are stealing from Mickey Duffy, it could be worth their life.”
“How is Mickey doing these days? You had mentioned your concern following your dinner with him and Edith.”
“That was a strange night. Edith does not like being a nursemaid, and Mickey was a lump for most of the evening. The doctors have put him on a strong sedative, although maybe they’ve adjusted the dosage now. He was brighter today when he was in the office.”
“You know what Napoleon Bonaparte thought of doctors, don’t you?” Maggie shakes her head. “He said that ’Doctors will have more lives to answer for in the next world than even we generals.’ It sounds like Mickey may agree with the general’s assessment.”
Chapter 13
T he tick of the grandfather clock echoes in the McNeely’s cavernous front hall. Maggie is balanced on the edge of the couch in the living room, sharing glances with Ron as they wait for his mother to arrive for brunch.
Curious to learn more about his family, she had finally accepted the invitation to join them at the family home in Brywn Mawr. It is a cold, dark house. Its emptiness seems to smother conversation. Joining them are Ron’s two older brothers and their wives. It is a sombre group. All of them except Maggie take turns looking toward the staircase. Eventually, a door closes upstairs and Ron’s father and mother slowly descend.
Ron jumps up, rubbing his hands. “Good, let’s go in and eat.” He extends his arm, and he and Maggie lead the procession of McNeelys into the dining room. Bustling around the table are a pair of uniformed maids, their actions carefully monitored by a stern looking man in a morning coat.
Settling into the chair that Ron is holding out for her, Maggie stares with dismay at the array of cutlery
and glasses. For a brunch? Ron’s father holds out a chair for his mother, who takes a few moments to get comfortable, giving Maggie time to study her.
Mrs. McNeely is thin, held together with gristle and sinew. She’s extravagantly done up in silk, with the rope of pearls around her neck looking almost too heavy for her to bear.
“Mother, may I present Mrs. Barnes. She’s Howard and Cordelia Gifford’s daughter.”
Mrs. McNeely’s thin, pale lips turn up slightly in a cool smile. “My condolences, Mrs. Barnes. Your father was well regarded.”
“Thank you, Mrs. McNeely.” Maggie’s voice barely above a whisper, careful not to disturb the still air around the table. Napkins are unfurled, soup is served, and the only other sound is the clink of silverware against fine china.
Mr. McNeely clears his throat, drawing all eyes to him. “So, Mrs. Barnes, what are your plans for your father’s firm, now?”
Maggie can feel Ron’s hand on her knee. “It’s still up in the air at the moment. Although I hope to have it settled soon.”
“I’m sure you’re aware that we’re holding a place for Ron at the family firm.”
“Father, let’s not talk business today. Not in front of guests,” says Ron.
Awkwardness descends again. Maggie notices that Mrs. McNeely has only had a mouthful of soup as the bowls are cleared by the silent staff.
“And you, Bryce, how is that Davidson contract coming along?” Mr. McNeely asks Ron’s brother sitting across from Maggie. A shrimp salad is put down in front of her. Mrs. McNeely gives a small shake of her head and her salad is removed, leaving her lace placemat empty.
“Everything’s going well, Father. They’re coming in to finalize things on Tuesday,” Bryce says.
Mr. McNeely nods.
Bryce’s wife, an almost invisible woman, steals a quick look at Maggie. “How long have you and Ron known each other, Mrs. Barnes?”
Ron leans forward. “Maggie and I have been working together since her father fell ill. It’s been great to have a steady hand in the office. And her clients have been a good addition to the firm.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you were a professional, Mrs. Barnes. For some reason, I thought you worked the front desk,” Bryce says.
Under the table, Ron pats Maggie on the knee. “Yes. I went to Drexel, although not at the same time as Ron.” Maggie smiles at Ron. He returns it, and suddenly the room feels warmer.
Mrs. McNeely makes a small cough and the butler comes to stand behind her. “I’m so sorry, but I’m going to have to go upstairs and lie down. Thank you for joining us today, Mrs. Barnes.” Mrs. McNeely slowly stands, and Ron’s father puts his napkin beside his plate.
“Let me help you, my dear.” He nods at the rest of the table. “I’ll not be a moment.” The pair haltingly make their way from the table, through the living room, and up the stairs. All eyes follow their progress.
The staff come and clear the empty plates and take away Mr. McNeely’s half-finished salad. “Should we wait, sir?” the butler asks Bryce.
“No. He’ll be a while. Please continue.”
Ron leans closer to Maggie, holding her hand under the table. The long, stilted brunch continues as Maggie thinks of Tommy’s boisterous energy and how out of place he would be at this table.
Chapter 14
O n Monday evening, Maggie had Tommy give her a hand to tidy the kitchen after supper before she pours herself a cup of coffee and joins the Inspector in the living room.
The dinner table conversation had been lively, with loud banter and much laughter bouncing off the walls. We probably didn’t need Tommy’s re-enactment of Captain Ahab catching his whale. And really, Archie and Dick egging him on from the sidelines didn’t help. Although after Sunday’s brunch, it’s good to be part of all that life and energy again. I’ll have to invite Ron for dinner some night so he can see how a real family behaves.
Maggie and the Inspector’s tradition of gathering each evening for Evening Report to discuss progress on cases has evolved into an anticipated way to unwind and make sense of the day’s happenings. Trained as an investigator with considerable years of experience, Frank has learned that success lies in established routine. Meeting each evening with Maggie has given them the opportunity to turn over existing facts and look for new patterns, to bring new information triumphantly to the other, and to challenge existing theory. However, if the routine has been beneficial from an investigative perspective, both she and the Inspector also find it beneficial in a personal sense.
Sadly, Maggie’s hectic schedule at the accounting office has meant that investigative projects have been curtailed. Regardless, the pair don’t like to miss out on their evening ritual.
Maggie, settled in her chair, sips the last cup of coffee of the day. In the background, the radio plays softly. The drapes are pulled, shutting out the world and, in this moment, she and Frank are in the comfortable cocoon of the routine.
“I’m glad we still manage to get together in the evenings, even if the office is keeping me too busy for us to take on another case.”
“With Joe working so closely with the treasury agents, there’s been little call for the Phantom Informant. Do you suppose we’ve been put out to pasture, my dear?”
“Hardly. I think that this is just one of those lulls in investigative activity that we should take advantage of. Soon enough, we’ll be running hard again. Have you started work on Mickey’s little problem?”
“Not really. Did he give you a list of the suspect speakeasies?”
Maggie slaps her forehead dramatically. “Oh, my brain. Yes, he did, although it’s still on my desk. I’ll be sure to bring it home tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? Isn’t tomorrow one of your off-days?” Frank asks.
“Usually, but with the work so backlogged with just Ron and I to pick up Father’s clients, I’ve been going in every day until three. That way I can get home and throw something together for supper.”
“How are you holding up, Maggie? The reading of your father’s will was today, was it not?”
“Yes, Mother and I met at the lawyer’s office. I didn’t know the size of my father’s estate before all this economic upheaval, but he was an astute and cautious business man. Mother and I have been left well provided for. And he set up a generous trust for Tommy’s education. Father survived the stock market crash in ’29 and, I think, with careful management, there will be enough for Mother to be comfortable.”
“What happens with the firm?”
“That was a shock. I am humbled by the trust he’s placed in me. He’s left me the whole firm—the whole thing, Inspector. No qualifiers, no other partners. Gifford Accounting Services and its clients are mine. It’s a huge responsibility as Mother, Ron, and I all draw an income from it. I’ll need to contact the clients, introduce myself, and ask for their continued trust and business. I must admit to being excited by the prospect of what lies ahead.”
“You’re a natural businesswoman, my dear. Was Ron expecting to be given a partnership?”
“I don’t think so. The intention has always been that his clerkship at the firm was a temporary matter. Now that he’s received his accounting designation, I’m sure that he’ll be joining the family firm. Certainly, there’s a lot of pressure on him to give his father a date.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
“Anxious, to put it mildly. I’m not sure a woman practicing alone will have the same authority as a woman in a firm with a man. And also the work load can be horrendous at certain times of the year. A clerk is something I will have to have if I am going to meet the expectations of our current clients. That is, if I can keep our current clients.”
Maggie picks up her coffee cup, staring into its dark depths. How do I feel about that? Do I want to give up the office? Do I want to give up Ron? It would be simpler if he weren’t in the office, but maybe I don’t want simple anymore.
“Surely, Ron is not going to be satisfied in a role as accounting
clerk now that he’s a certified public accountant?”
“I know. I have many decisions to make. And those decisions go beyond my work hours and Ron’s role. I was thinking of setting up a scholarship at Drexel University, in Father’s name, for women entering the profession. He gave me a chance, and I would like to pass that opportunity on to others.”
“I like that idea, Maggie. And I think your father would have, as well.”
The telephone’s ring shatters the tranquility in the room. Maggie rises to answer it.
“Tommy. The telephone’s for you,” Maggie calls up the stairs.
Tommy comes clattering down, curious who would be calling him after supper.
* * * *
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