by Beth Byers
“Oscar Lexington. He used to be our chauffeur.”
“But your mom fired him, right?”
“Yep, and it’s lucky for him he didn’t wind up in jail. He punched our gardener Josephus dead in the face and broke out one of his teeth.” Edwina looked over at Agnes, who was enjoying her cigarette and the dose of gossip she was getting. “I don’t miss him. Oscar was a rotten chauffeur. I used to worry he’d strip the gears every time he’d drive me anywhere.” She grinned. “I’m much happier having my own car now, anyway.”
“Men like Oscar should be working for the gangsters downtown, not in nice houses like this. Maybe Calvin Blue should work for those guys, too.” Agnes blew out a long plume of smoke, then stubbed out her cigarette. “Hey, I’ve got to powder my nose,” she announced with a bright smile, then grabbed Edwina’s hand. “Come on, Eddie. Let’s go see if there’s anyone to flirt with on the way.”
It was no surprise that Agnes’ desire to get up from the table and circulate a bit had nothing to do with ‘powdering her nose’. As soon as they were out of the ballroom, she looped her arm through Edwina’s and pulled her toward the kitchen. Knowing her irrepressible friend probably had some plan in mind, Edwina dutifully followed along.
Stopping outside the kitchen door, Agnes smiled smugly and leaned against the doorframe. “I couldn’t carry my hip flask with me tonight, because I’d usually tuck it into the top of my stockings and it’s too big for my little handbag. Your cook said I could keep it in back of the icebox and come by for little nips now and then. Want a drink?”
Edwina burst out laughing, not surprised. “You bribed Mrs. Wallach to hide your gin for you?” She grinned. “You’re incorrigible, and yes, of course I want a drink.”
Agnes’ smile was smug. “Knew it.” She pushed the swinging door open and the heady aroma of roasting meats and baking desserts instantly wafted toward them.
Just as they walked in, a stoneware pitcher flew by, right in front of their eyes, and smashed onto the kitchen wall beside them. It shattered into flying chunks of pottery and shards spraying everywhere.
“Hey!” Edwina shouted, jumping back and putting her arms up to protect herself. Peering around the open door, she could see the plump Mrs. Wallach standing by the row of sinks, her arm in a sling and her eyes wide in absolute shock. Standing next to her was a red-haired girl Edwina had never seen before, dressed as a server for the party. Her face was distorted with emotion, and her breathing was coming in heaving gasps, as if she’d been crying or running. The girl’s mascara was smeared all around her eyes, giving her the appearance of an angry raccoon.
“Oh, Miss Winterwood!” Mrs. Wallach sputtered, lurching forward and grabbing the arm of the serving girl. “I am so sorry! Petunia here was having a bit of a meltdown and she thought you were someone else coming into the kitchen.” Her voice dropped to a sharp hiss as she addressed Petunia, who was now openly sobbing. “Trust me, after this little incident you won’t be hired by any decent family in the entire city of Chicago. I don’t care if you have only been here for three days. You’re fired. Throwing pottery at the family that employed you! You should be taken out back and tossed into that frozen pond, or horsewhipped, or whatever they do to emotional wrecks like you. When you’re a woman in service you put up with a lot of things, and that includes a pinched bottom or two.”
“But it wasn’t just a pinched bottom,” Petunia said between gasps for air. “He’s a horrible, horrible man!”
Edwina walked over and stood in front of the distraught girl, as Agnes headed for the icebox to retrieve her waiting liquor.
“Are you okay? Who’s a horrible man?” Edwina asked gently. “And you’re not fired, so stop crying.” Giving a quick nod to Mrs. Wallach, as if to say she’d handle things, Edwina pulled Petunia away from the cook’s grasp and steered her toward the long work table in the middle of the huge room.
“I’m sorry I almost killed you with a pitcher,” Petunia said, her voice low and ashamed. “I didn’t mean to, Miss! I just thought you were… him.”
“Who?”
“Calvin…something or other. I didn’t catch his whole name.”
Agnes walked over, silver flask in hand, and made a sound of disgust. “Calvin Blue, I’d wager. Does he have bright blond hair and roaming hands? Laughs like a donkey?”
“Yes. Well, I didn’t hear him laugh,” Petunia said, her eyebrows pulled together as if trying to remember. “He wears a lot of bay rum.”
Agnes glanced at Edwina. “Sounds like our boy.” She unscrewed the cap on her flask and handed it to Petunia. “Here. Take a nip of this. You’ll feel better.”
Petunia looked doubtful but took a quick swig, then immediately started coughing and gasping for air. “That’s supposed…to make me feel better?”
“Always works for me,” Agnes replied with a shrug, then took a long drink herself.
“What did Calvin do?” Edwina asked as she accepted the flask from Agnes and took a sip of the strong gin it contained.
“I’d been helping in the kitchen, and when I took some supplies for fresh drinks he was there in the service hallway. He backed me up against the wall, and then he tried to kiss me and put his hands all over…” Petunia’s eyes watered at the thought, her voice trailing off. “I dropped the ice bucket I was carrying and ran as fast as I could back to the kitchen.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to go anywhere near that man again, and Mrs. Wallach said I’d be safe in here.”
Mrs. Wallach’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, that tears it. You didn’t tell me it was Calvin Blue, but I should’ve known it would be him. You know what he called me when he found out I’d fallen on the icy backstairs and had to wear a sling for three days?” She looked around to make sure she had everyone’s attention. “One-winged Wallach. Can you believe it? And after all he’s done to the innocent women of this town and how he’s been taking advantage of vulnerable people who just owe money, I’m surprised someone hasn’t done something about him. He’s putting people in the poor house.”
Agnes looked surprised. “He’s a loan shark? Is that what you mean?”
She shrugged. “So I’ve heard.”
Reaching into her beaded handbag, Edwina offered a clean handkerchief to Petunia, which was gratefully accepted. There was an innocence and vulnerability to the new servant that touched Edwina’s heart. Maybe it was her habit of always championing the underdog, or maybe it was the fact that she’d felt out of place for much of her life, but whatever it was, she knew she was going to try to help Petunia.
“Leave this to me,” she said with a friendly smile as she patted Petunia’s hand. “I’ll make sure he gets his just desserts.”
“Thank you, Miss Winterwood.” She took a long, shuddering breath. “Your family is so nice. I can’t thank you or your brother enough.”
“My brother?”
Petunia gave a tremulous smile. “Mr. Graham Winterwood. He told me about this job and then asked Mrs. Wallach to hire me.”
Agnes screwed the lid down tight on her flask. “Eddie, I’m scared to even ask what you’re planning for Calvin Blue, but I’m going to anyway. What did you have in mind to do to him?”
Edwina Grace Winterwood, raised to be a delicate flower of femininity and good breeding, looped some of her unruly curls back behind her ear with one finger and smiled in a way that would’ve scared Satan himself.
“I’m just going to give him what he deserves, that’s all.”
“Like what?”
“Like kill him.”
Chapter Four
As soon as the door to the ladies’ room shut behind them Agnes leaned against it and fixed Edwina with a dismayed stare.
“Eddie, you can’t kill one of your guests.” Now that they were in private, she could give her unvarnished opinion, and apparently it did not include approval of murder.
“Oh, says who?” Edwina asked airily as she fished a lipstick out of her handbag.
“Everyone. Me. Your mother. And Emily
Post would not approve. You’ve read her book, haven’t you?”
Edwina rolled her eyes at her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she reapplied the lipstick. “Mother made me read it, saying I needed to know more about etiquette. It’s definitely not written for the modern woman, I can tell you that for nothing.” She blotted her makeup with a tissue, then examined the results. “Besides, there’s nothing in there about it being bad manners to kill someone at your own party.”
“Uh HUH. Tell that to the cops.”
Edwina gave a short bark of laughter. “Police wouldn’t worry me. You’ve met my mother, right? Well, telling her what I’d done at her big social event would be a whole ‘nother ball of wax.” Edwina tossed the tissue in the trash and turned toward Agnes.
“I’d have to move to Ecuador or Australia to get away from how angry she’d be.”
Edwina was still thinking over their encounter with Petunia in the kitchen while she and Agnes walked back to their table in the ballroom. George, her friend from the garage, was sitting down and having a lively discussion with Preston about the chances of the White Sox for the upcoming year, but they broke conversation off long enough to stand up when the women joined them, then sat down again.
“You’re late,” Edwina told George, her tone coming out grumpier than she’d intended.
“Hey, I had something important to take care of. Can’t you cut a guy a break once in a while?”
Preston leaned over and scanned the front of George’s outfit. “And the lapel of your tux has a rip in it. Looks like it got caught on something.” He gave George a smirk. “You been working on a car after getting dressed?”
“Quit giving me a bad time. Not everyone has the money for a tux of their own,” George groused, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest in defiance. “Some of us have to borrow one. I do the best I can with what I have. Besides, pretty boy, you don’t have a leg to stand on. Doesn’t your mother still lay out your clothes every night?”
There was a general laugh at this from everyone but Preston. It was a sore topic for him, how close he was to his mother, and he’d put up with quite a bit of teasing about the fact that he still lived at home. Some people considered him a good-time Charlie, always rolling with the punches and taking life in stride, but Edwina knew there was much more to her friend than that.
Agnes gave Preston a lazy smile and pulled a cigarette out of her purse. “Got a light, sailor?”
Grinning, Preston pulled out a pack of matches and lit her cigarette. “So, after we get some dances in, what are we going to do afterward? How about going out to Bernie’s?”
George shook his head. “To the speakeasy? In this weather?” He gave a snort of disapproval. “You’re crazy. Can’t we just go down to Edwina’s family’s billiard room and have a quiet little drink?”
Blowing a raspberry of disgust, Agnes shook her cigarette at George. “You’re becoming an old man, Mr. Bromley. The day you won’t escort me to a speakeasy for a good time is the day you can start wearing a hearing aid and calling people ‘sonny’.”
There was a general laugh about that, and Edwina stopped a passing waiter and pulled two tall glasses of limeade off the tray he offered. “I can’t tonight. No more gin for me.”
Agnes suddenly sat bolt upright in her chair, obviously shocked. “What do you mean, you can’t go out? You’re not going to let a little sub-arctic weather keep you home when you could be down at the speakeasy with us, are you?”
“I’ve got a meeting tomorrow at 8, with the committee for this year’s Chicago Car Show. I can’t show up as the only woman on the panel and have a hangover if I want them to take me seriously.”
Preston looked disappointed. “Are you sure? I can’t believe they’re already having meetings for that thing. The show’s not until March, is it?
“It’s not too early to me,” Edwina said. “All the signs and flyers are in the new Art Deco style, and it’s going to be huge. Rumor has it they’re got Erté himself doing some of the artwork.”
“Sounds riveting,” Preston pronounced, giving a great yawn. “Artwork. Big deal.”
Edwina playfully stuck her tongue out at him. “Cars are art. They’re art and speed and freedom and the best in engineering the world can possibly create. This car show gets bigger and better every year, and you need to come with me and see it. This year they’re supposed to be showing the new Auburn Boattail Speedster.” She rubbed her hands together in gleeful expectation. “I can’t wait.”
“Oh, yeah?” George sat up. “I’ve heard good things about that.”
Edwina grinned. “Me, too. Let’s just say Eddie needs a brand-new car.”
George looked interested. “Who gets your old one? Are you going to sell it, maybe dirt cheap? Hey, don’t forget your friends, old buddy old pal…”
The next few hours were a whirl of dancing and talking, laughing and socializing. It was nearly midnight when the band started to wind down. Edwina was partial to Louis Armstrong’s style of jazz, and after an especially rousing Charleston with a young real estate investor named Charles Redding, she was gasping for air and hot from the exertion. The entire ballroom seemed overheated and nearly airless from smoke and sweat as couples kept the music going.
After she’d excused herself from her dance partner, Edwina headed down the servant hallway, finally arriving at the door to outside. It was quiet in the hall and the door was cool to the touch, a welcome feeling after the frantic dancing in the other room. She knew the stone veranda outside would be covered by an awning, keeping the door out of the worst of the snow and bad weather. Pushing against the door handle, the wintry wind instantly swirled through the widening crack. She breathed in the pure, clean air with absolute joy, but when she pushed harder on the door it wouldn’t open any more.
Peeking through the small crack, she could see the awning had done its job and kept the blowing snow from coming all the way to the door, so she pushed again.
It still wouldn’t move.
About to give up, she peeked out again, more carefully.
There, lying in the dark on the ice-cold stones, was a tuxedo-clad man, lying face down and motionless.
Edwina could feel her heart skip a beat as she stared at the still figure, only lit by the reflected glow from the nearby snow and the filtered light coming from the hallway.
The sharp Chicago wind toyed with the man’s hair.
His honey-blond hair.
And, blown on the uncaring wind, she caught a faint whiff of bay rum.
Chapter Five
“Yes, officer. No doubt about it. It’s him all right.” Edwina looked down the body, pulled inside in the hallway, now lit and blocked off so the partygoers wouldn’t come by to gawk.
The policeman sat back on his haunches and adjusted his hat. “Thank you for identifying him, Miss Winterwood. I do hope this whole incident hasn’t been too trying for you.” He pulled himself to his feet with some effort, adjusting his gun belt as he stood. “It’s never easy the first time you see a dead body that’s not already in a casket.”
“Oh, I’ve seen a dead man before,” she said, then instantly wished she’d kept her mouth shut. Two years before, she’d been walking along the shore of Lake Michigan and had nearly tripped across the body of a fisherman who had died. It had been an odd feeling, looking at someone who had passed away, and she’d scrambled off the sand and back toward the nearest shop to ask them to call the police. The tobacco shop owner was startled but had done just as she asked, and then shut down his store so he could be with Edwina when the police showed up. The coroner had finally concluded the cause of death was a heart attack several hours before Edwina had found the body. After reassuring her that there was absolutely nothing she could’ve done, he kept his promise to be sure the Winterwood name wouldn’t be linked to the death in any way, especially through the newspapers
This was different, though. This time it was murder.
No doubt about it.
The wooden handle of the icepick was still protruding from Calvin Blue’s right ear, stuck into the canal so far that no metal was showing. A thin trickle of blood was the only other indicator of the attack that had killed him.
Officer Cavendish nodded toward Edwin’s father, Rawson Winterwood. “Sir, it might be best if you took the ladies out of here now. Now that the scene’s secured my men can do the rest, and the medical examiner will be arriving shortly.”
Always the man in charge, Rawson inclined his head gravely at the policeman. “Of course. I’ll leave my man Orvis here to assist you as needed, and I’ll check back with you shortly. My staff and whatever you need is at your disposal.” He put out a hand toward Edwina. “Come along, dear. Let’s not get in the way of the experts.”
Edwina shrugged of her father’s hand and turned toward Officer Cavendish again. “Aren’t you going to question anyone here? Most of us saw Mr. Blue at the party tonight.” Her thoughts jumped back to Petunia and the flying pottery pitcher that nearly beaned her. Petunia would have plenty to say if questioned, and even if Edwina didn’t want to get her into any trouble, her statement could be part of the puzzle that should be given to the police.
Edwina leaned toward the policeman and lowered her voice to a near-whisper. “I may have information about this… gentleman’s personal habits that could be of use to you.”
Officer Cavendish stepped back and smiled indulgently. “Well, thank you for offering, Miss Winterwood, but I wouldn’t worry your pretty little head about it. My men have the investigation all in hand, and I’m sure the truth will out. Now, if we need to speak to you, we know where to find you.” He paused, waiting for her reaction, but Edwina clapped her mouth shut hard and stared at him until he gave his final thoughts. “Might want to run along, then, Miss.”
