“Of course, Inspector. And I’ll come home early to pack it up again before Tommy gets home from school.”
“Thank you, my dear. That would be most considerate.”
Chapter 22
T he next day drags on. The papers on Maggie’s desk receive little attention, preoccupied as she is with the view out the window. She begs off a lunch with Ron, knowing that she’d not be good company.
Maggie is impatient for the clock to strike three so that she can go home and pack up the things she left spread out on the dining room table. She’s also anxious to talk with Frank. Will he forgive me? What will he say?
There’s no sign of him when she arrives home. She carefully replaces the fragile photographs and papers into the box, laying the family tree diagram on the top. I hope he’s here soon. I’m dying to hear what he has to say.
At dinner, the lodgers are delighted to enjoy a meatloaf with mashed potatoes rather than the usual work-day effort to disguise leftovers. There’s apple crisp for dessert. Maggie keeps glancing into the living room as she clears the table. Still no sign of the Inspector. Worried, she scrubs the dishes, sending Tommy to his room with homework and the last piece of the crisp.
She sits in the living room, by herself, watching the clock. I’ve done it now. He must be furious with me. He’s never missed Report. I shouldn’t have pried. I should have told him sooner.
“Mother? Are you all right?” Tommy is standing in the entryway to the front hall.
“Hello, sweetheart. Yes I’m fine. Why do you say that?”
“You’re just sitting there. You’re not writing, and the radio’s not on.”
“I’m just enjoying a cup of coffee and some peace and quiet. I have a problem that I’m wrestling with, and this helps me think,” Maggie says.
“A work problem?”
“Yes, Tommy. A work problem. And I’m still thinking about it.”
“Oh, okay. I just came down to a book. Do you want me to get you another cup of coffee?”
“Why thank you, dear. That would be lovely.”
Tommy sets down her coffee and grabs his book from the front hall.
“I’ll be up to say goodnight in a bit,” she calls after him.
At ten o’clock, she shuts out the lights except for the front hall. Checking the locks on the door, Maggie also goes upstairs to bed. What have I done?
* * * *
Frank hasn’t noticed the passing of time. He’s spent the evening sitting in Mickey Duffy’s basement, watching Mickey brood. The two of them are alone. Mickey stares at the pool table, newly felted, balls racked in a perfect triangle in the center, waiting to be played. Beside Mickey is a glass of whiskey, untouched these many hours.
Frank is in the other chair, unnoticed, studying Mickey. My great-great-grandson, imagine. There’s something of Bill around the eyes. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. Another black sheep. Did you cause your mother the same pain as my brother Bill did ours? Frank remembers watching their mother weep, crushed with worry. Bill not home for days. Missing? Thoughtless? Drunk? Dead?
Mickey sighs. He pats his pocket, in search of something. Extracting a cigar and clip, he begins the process of lighting it. Frank is mesmerized with the first sign of movement in hours. Snip. He puts the clipper on the table and strikes two matches. Just the same way Father did it. I wonder who showed him how to smoke a cigar? His grandfather? According to Maggie’s diagram, it was his mother who was the Duffy. A slow burn on the tip. Then into Mickey’s mouth, a pull or two to draw in the air and get it going. Another sigh. More silence.
Frank also pulls out his cigar, always clipped. He lights it, also using the two match technique. One puff, two puffs, pulling the air through the phantom cigar. Mickey’s cigar clipper, resting on the table, catches his eye, and he gets up for a closer look. He sighs.
That explains the clip. I was right all along. I knew as soon as I saw it in that coffee shop all those years ago, engraved with the crest of the Philadelphia police. I should have known it was mine. The commemorative clip I got when I retired. I bet he’s had a few chuckles at that over the years. Imagine. Mickey Duffy having it. Life does have some interesting turns. I guess he got it from his mother or his grandfather. Passed down all those generations. To wind up in Mickey’s hand.
I wish I could talk to you. But what would I say? Hello, I’m your great-great-great something grandfather? Not likely. You’d be as sceptical as I was. A copper in the family? He’d say I was the black sheep.
The two men sit in silence with their cigars. The light above the pool table casts a soft glow on the basement walls.
What bit of sardonic fate has twisted our lives together, Mickey Duffy? And why?
Chapter 23
M aggie sits in front of her dressing table in her bedroom, putting the finishing touches on her make-up and hair. I hate calendars. Anniversaries. Birthdays. Four years ago tonight. A flash, shots, blood. Maggie shudders.
This year will be different. It’s her birthday, and Ron has invited her out for dinner. Wear something special, he’d said.
Maggie puts her hair brush down. It’s been three days since I’ve seen the Inspector. He’s never done this before. What if he doesn’t come back? Should I go tonight? What if he turns up for Evening Report and I’m not there? What if I never see him again?
A knock at her door, and Tommy’s voice. “Mr. McNeely is downstairs, Mother.”
“Thanks, sweetie. Tell him I’ll be right down.” Deep breath. A final check in the mirror. Not bad for an old dame.
At the bottom of the stairs, Ron gives an appreciative wolf whistle. Maggie, delighted, grins, and strikes a runway pose.
“You are one gorgeous gal, Maggie Barnes,” Ron says.
She laughs and gives him a quick peck on the cheek. “You’re not bad yourself, Ron. Now, where are we going?”
He helps her on with her coat. “Nope. It’s a surprise.”
“Handsome, and a man of mystery,” she says with a coy smile.
Tommy, who has been waiting to see them off, rolls his eyes.
Heading out of town, Ron still refuses to tell Maggie where they’re going. She peppers him with questions, excited by the surprise. They pass the corner for Overbrook where she grew up; where the Duffys now live. They drive past Merion Station where she met Delores and went to the farm, then the turnoffs for Narberth and Wynnewood. The car headlights pick up the sign for Ardmore where Joe’s folks live. They drive past Haverford.
Ron nods to the road sign as they drive past. “We’ll have to go there this summer with a picnic. They have a covered bridge that’s very romantic,” Ron says with a wink, and keeps driving.
”This is the Bryn Mawr corner. Are we going to see your parents?” Maggie asks.
“Nope. Although I did mention that we might stop by later.”
“Where are we going, Ron? We’re going to be in Atlantic City soon. Come on, you goof, tell me, tell me, tell me,” she wheedles, batting her eyelashes, and giving him what she hopes is a convincing smile.
“Ha. Not a chance. Like I said, it’s a surprise, and besides, we’re almost there,” he says with an enigmatic smile.
Finally, the car slows. Swinging into a long drive, Maggie can see a large Tudor-style mansion: red brick with limestone corner pieces, ivy climbing the front façade. Diamond paned windows glow with an amber light. Its many chimneys are silhouettes in the night sky. Sweeping down from the front door to the gravel drive is a broad stone staircase.
“Where are we?” Maggie asks in a hushed whisper.
“Wootton Hall. It was once owned by the Drexel family, but it’s a country club now.”
They pull up into the crenelated porte-cochere, where a uniformed staff person runs to open her door and help her from the car. Another attendant takes the keys from Ron, who comes round to take Maggie’s arm.
The doorman gives a small bow as he holds open the door. “Good evening, Mr. McNeely. A pleasure to see you tonight.”
Maggie gives Ron a curious glance. He gives her arm a squeeze, and winks. She can hear music coming from inside. “Ron, it’s like a magic castle.”
The front entrance hall is paneled in dark wood, and the marble floor shines. Covering the black and white squares are richly-patterned oriental carpets. Hanging from the ceiling is an ornate chandelier—an icicle wedding cake hanging upside down.
The maître-D at the front door, rigid in his tuxedo, welcomes them and shows them to a table. The dining room is hushed, murmured conversations around linen covered tables. Posh diners glance their way—a few smiles and nods.
“Those are my father’s clients,” Ron explains, and pulls out her chair. Maggie clutches the large menu, noticing hers has no prices. Crystal water glasses are filled, and an ice bucket is placed at the side of their table, the neck of a champagne bottle sticking out from the stiff, white napkin.
With glasses full, Ron raises his. “A toast. To the beautiful birthday girl.”
Flustered, Maggie blushes, peeking at him over the rim of her champagne glass.
The evening is full of magic. They talk of work, of Tommy, of his family, of hers. The meal is superb. The champagne flows. Music, from another part of the building, provides the grace notes. Coffee and dessert arrive too soon.
“Thank you, Ron. This has been such a wonderful evening. I don’t think I’ve ever been to a place so beautiful.”
“I wanted tonight to be special.” Ron gets up and goes down on one knee. Maggie’s stomach flutters, and she holds her breath. The sounds from the room disappear and there is only Ron, in front of her.
“Happy birthday, Maggie. I hope that this is just the first of many birthdays we get to celebrate together. Would you do me the honor… ” He pulls out a small box and opens it. Inside, nestled in velvet, is a square-cut diamond ring, the candlelight from the table making it sparkle. “…of being my wife?”
Maggie sits frozen, her hand to her throat. She looks at the ring. She looks at Ron. He looks back, waiting for her answer.
The sound from the rest of the room is turned back on. Curious patrons cast discrete sideways glances at them. She puts her hand over his, covering the box. “Please, Ron. Please sit.”
Puzzled, Ron resumes his seat. He closes the ring box and leaves it beside his plate. “Maggie? I love you. I thought you loved me. What’s wrong?”
Maggie smiles. She reaches for his hand. “I am very fond of you, Ron. But this is so sudden. We’ve not talked of marriage,” she says quietly.
Ron pulls his hand back. “Fond? You’re fond of me? Are you saying ‘no’, Maggie?”
“I guess I am.”
* * * *
Maggie, still in her coat, sits on the bottom step of her front hall whispering into the telephone. Her face is wet with tears.
“And then he proposed. To me,” she says, the receiver clutched in her hand.
“Oohh,” squealed Edith. “Did you say yes?”
“No. I said no.”
“Maggie, that’s just wrong. Why would you say no, sweetie?”
“So many reasons.”
“What are you going on about? He proposed. Accept him already.”
“It’s my age, Edith. I’m too old for him.”
“I told you. That’s nonsense. You’re a very young early thirties, and he’s a very mature almost thirty. You’re perfect for each other.”
“And I have a son. Who will be fifteen in a few months.”
“You were a child bride, Maggie. Tommy is a lovely boy. Any man would be proud to call him son.”
Maggie continues to cry quietly into the phone.
“Maggie, honey, why are you crying? What’s wrong? Why are you so upset?”
Maggie pulls the receiver in very close, whispering. “Edith, what if he is marrying me for my money?”
She has to hold the receiver away from her ear, Edith’s loud peals of laughter shrieking from the other end. Edith recovers and Maggie pulls the phone back close. “I’m serious, Edith. I mean, after tonight, I know his family has lots of dough, but what if he doesn’t? Or maybe he doesn’t want their money? Maybe he thinks I inherited a bunch of money from Father’s estate. What if this is his way of taking over the firm? This could be his way of carving out something for himself away from his family.”
“Doll, you’ve been listening to too many radio dramas. He doesn’t care about your money. Don’t be so insecure. Of course he’s bananas about you, just you. Why wouldn’t he be? It’s been a shock, but you need to sleep on this, Maggie. You are definitely not thinking straight tonight. You’re going to see him again tomorrow?”
“Oh, my goodness. I hadn’t thought of that. How can I go into the office? What will I say?” Maggie questions Edith, more panic stricken each second.
“Start with good morning. And now you should go to bed. It’s past midnight.”
“All right, goodnight, Edith. And thanks for talking to me.”
“Are you kidding? This is the most excitement I’ve had at midnight for months. Take care, doll.”
Chapter 24
G et on with it. How bad can it be? What a chicken you are, or is it a silly goose? Maggie smiles, her hand on the office doorknob. Foul fowl.
“Good morning,” Maggie says, as she opens the office door and comes in. A slight tremble in her hands is the only sign of her panic. Please be normal. Please be normal. She smiles at Ron, who gets up and comes round his desk to stand in front of her. He takes her gloved hands.
“I goofed. Badly. Forgive me?” he asks. His smile appears to be crooked.
Thank goodness. “Only if you forgive me.” She smiles back.
“For what?”
“For saying no,” Maggie says.
“Does that mean you’re going to say yes?”
“Not today,” Maggie says, a small smile forming.
“But that means someday, right?” Ron answers. He registers a small smile, and searches her face for the answer he wants.
The two stand hand in hand, smiling at each other. Maggie pulls the warmth of his hands through her gloves, feeling their strength.
“Fond of me?” he asks in a husky voice, with a twinkle in his eye.
“Very,” she replies, equally husky, equally twinkly. Maybe I could enjoy serving tea.
“Okay. Then it’s a proposal delayed, not denied. I won’t take the ring back to the jewellers just yet.”
Maggie pulls her hands away, but Ron grabs them again, “Maggie, I don’t know why you said no, but don’t be mad. If it gets awkward between us, it makes it hard for me to keep pursuing you, which I’m going to keep doing. I’m not taking no for an answer.”
Just then the telephone rings; the business day starts. Relieved, Maggie takes a steadying breath and goes into her new office, her father’s former office, and closes the door. Sitting in the chair facing her desk is Frank.
She looks at him and rolls her eyes. “Really? Today? You suddenly want to see me today?”
Frank looks at her with concern, half rising out of his chair in front of the desk. “I’m sorry. Is this a bad time?”
“Oh bother. No, sit. I might as well take my lumps from all the men in my life.”
Maggie hangs up her coat and hat on the clothes tree behind the door. Ron’s disappointed in me. The Inspector’s disappointed in me. I’m not really batting a thousand right now. She sits down, clasps her hands on top of her desk, and waits.
“You’re probably wondering where I’ve been,” Frank says.
“I had noticed you weren’t at Evening Report,” she says evenly.
“I was at the Duffy’s. I wanted to see Mickey for myself.”
“You just went over there? And lurked?” Maggie asks, surprise in her voice.
“I lurk unseen in a lot of places, Maggie. It comes with the territory.”
Maggie pauses, unsure if he’s referring to being a detective or a ghost.
“I needed time to process what you shared with me the other nigh
t. It was a lot to take in,” Frank says, his palms up.
Maggie waits for him to continue. This is his story now.
“When I looked at your diagram of my family, and despite your very thorough work and Muriel’s contribution, there were still some missing pieces.”
“Who was missing?” Maggie asks.
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