When Patrick came home for lunch he found her fast asleep on the couch, and didn’t disturb her. She could eat when she woke, if she was hungry, and meanwhile she was free in sleep, free from all the troubles that beset their family. He had nothing to tell her, in any case. Clancy had not been found.
When she did wake, she was not only hungry but full of a grand idea, so full of it that she telephoned Patrick at the store.
His secretary, Miss Morgan, sounded harassed. “He’s very busy, Mrs. Cavanaugh, and not in his office, but I’ll try to find him, if you don’t mind waiting.”
“It is very important, or I would not bother him,” replied Hilda, responding to what Miss Morgan had not said.
Patrick sounded harassed, too, and worried. “It’s not the baby, is it, darlin’?”
“No, the baby is well, and I am well. But I have had a thought, Patrick. Do the police know who the men were who made Clancy do all the terrible things before—to Uncle Dan and to me?”
“Oh!” The idea was evidently a new one for Patrick, as well. “I don’t know that they do. We kept it all as quiet as we could, y’know.”
“I think you should tell them. Because Clancy might be hiding with one of them.”
“They’re important men, Hilda. They’d not take kindly to the police bargin’ into their houses and askin’ questions.”
“Then the police will not barge. They will be very polite and will treat the men well. But they must ask, Patrick.”
He groaned. “I expect you’re right. But I hope you’re wrong, all the same. There’ll be an almighty ruckus raised if those men are involved, or if they’re not, for that matter. I’ll stop at the police station on me way home. You haven’t mentioned this to anybody else, have you?”
“No, Patrick. I have sense.”
She also, however, had a cook with excellent hearing, who happened to be near the hall telephone niche at the time Hilda made the phone call. Mrs. O’Rourke told Mr. O’Rourke all about it when he brought in a bucket of gooseberries from the bushes in the back yard. “And she thinks it’s those politicians who nearly killed Mr. Malloy last election time, remember?”
“Hmph! Crooks, the whole boilin’ of ’em. I wouldn’t put it past ’em, and that’s a fact. And I’ll tell you this, Mrs. O’Rourke. I’ll bet you dollars to doughnuts I know which one is lettin’ that Clancy hide out with him, so there!”
Mrs. O’Rourke had forgotten, when she placed the morning grocery order, that she was nearly out of flour for her gooseberry pie, so she sent Mr. O’Rourke to Sindlinger’s for a twenty-pound bag. His good friend James O’Brien happened to be there picking up a barrel of molasses, so O’Rourke helped him load it in the wagon. “Say, did you know those scoundrels that nearly did in Dan Malloy are at it again? I hear they’re hidin’ Clancy Malloy, who’s wanted by the police. Most likely it’s Goodman who’s at the bottom of it. He’s a villain if there ever was one alive!”
O’Brien ran into Kelly at the tavern on the way home. Kelly told his whole neighborhood, and the story grew with each telling
Patrick came home late, tired and out of sorts. “I don’t know if I’m goin’ to be able to manage that whole store by myself,” he told Hilda as he threw himself down in a chair. “Dan seemed to run it with one hand tied behind his back, but there’s too much I don’t know. In just two days I’ve made a right mess of the office, not to mention lots of other things. I may have to go in tomorrow and try to sort out the tangle.”
“Tomorrow is Sunday. You will not go to work. Sunday is a day of rest, and it is rest you need. We will not go to eat with the family, but stay at home, only ourselves. Did you go to the police?” she added without so much as a pause for breath.
“I did. They’re not wild about the idea of goin’ to some o’ the biggest men in town and askin’ ’em, are they harborin’ a criminal. Seein’ as it’s Uncle Dan involved, they’ll do it, but they’re not happy.”
The police, however unwillingly, conducted for the next two days (Sunday or not) a thorough search of the houses of nearly every Republican politician in town. They found no trace of Clancy Malloy, nor any clue that he had ever been there.
15
CLAIMS MANY MORE
Torrid Wave Kills in Various Cities
—South Bend Tribune, July 19, 1905
Where was Clancy Malloy?
As July crept toward August, and the punishing heat returned, the Cavanaugh, Johansson, and Malloy families thought about little but Clancy. Where was he? Was he alive or dead? Still in South Bend, or about his dubious business elsewhere? Aunt Molly was torn between outrage at what he had done and agonizing sorrow over what her son had become, between a desperate hope that he would be found and a desperate fear of what would happen when he was. To Dan, who was slowly—very slowly—recovering from his heart attack, Molly presented a bright face and a cheerful attitude. To the rest of the world, especially to Hilda, she allowed her true feelings to show.
For her part, Hilda was quite simply furious with Clancy. “There is no end to the trouble he makes!” she stormed to Patrick. “He gave Uncle Dan a heart attack, he is making Aunt Molly sick with worry. He must be found!”
She had what she thought was a bright idea about that. “Sam Black!” she pronounced one morning with satisfaction. “There was much talk that he was the one behind some of these bad things. Perhaps he and Clancy are working together, and Sam knows where Clancy is.”
“The police are way ahead of you, darlin’,” said Patrick absently, still reading the newspaper. “They’ve talked to Sam more than once. He claims he doesn’t even know who Clancy Malloy is. Look at this, Hilda. The fools are still doin’ it.”
He handed her the front page of the Tribune, with its article about a speeding Santa Fe train breaking all records from Los Angeles to Chicago. “Over sixty-one miles an hour, on the average. It’s craziness, that’s what it is. They keep it up, there’ll be more people killed.”
Hilda fanned herself with the paper. “This heat will kill me if it does not stop.”
“Don’t say that!” Patrick said sharply. “It has killed people. Look for yourself.” He pointed at the paper she was still holding. “LaPorte, Chicago, even right here in South Bend.”
But Hilda, listlessly looking at the front page, had her attention caught by the story below the one about the South Bend man’s death. “Look at this, Patrick. Train robberies!”
Patrick looked. “It says the stories aren’t true.”
“The police always say that when they cannot find out who did something. And the railroad men would not want to admit the robberies, or people will be afraid to use their trains to send money. Do you know what I think, Patrick?”
Since she was obviously about to tell him, he simply waited.
“I think that Clancy is behind this! No, listen, Patrick,” as he looked skeptical. “Clancy is in hiding. He has to live somehow. I think he has been stealing from the trains to buy food.”
“And nobody knows about it?”
Hilda looked scornful. “Of course they know about it! They will not tell, because they are afraid of him, him and his ‘boss,’ whoever that may be.”
The heat was making Patrick’s brain slow and his temper grumpy. “And who might ‘they’ be, for that matter? You’re free with your ideas, but short on facts.”
Hilda’s temper was not at its best, either. “And you, you do not want to believe me because you might have to do something about my ideas.” She pushed her plate back. “It is too hot to argue. It is too hot to live. I will go back to bed.” And she did, lumbering up the stairs with none of her usual quicksilver grace.
Patrick shook his head. He would be nearly as glad as she when this baby made its appearance in the world.
* * *
By the end of July Hilda had decided that none of it would ever be over. The heat would continue to torture her, the baby would never be born, Clancy would remain at large, and life would be unendurable. She ate whatever c
old food Mrs. O’Rourke could contrive, but in every other respect she had reverted to her behavior of months before.
Meanwhile Patrick was working long hours, trying to keep the store running smoothly in Dan’s absence, and running into obstacles every step of the way. Dan had known by instinct, apparently, what people would buy. He knew all the suppliers, he knew when merchandise could be delivered, he knew exactly what markup would be fair to the customers and still make money for the store. Patrick had been learning these things, but he still had a lot to learn, and he made mistakes, it seemed, daily. The staff were hot and weary, the merchandise limp and dusty. And when, at the end of each long, sweltering day, Patrick came home, everyone there was hot and cross, especially Hilda. Patrick, too, had decided that life was, if not entirely, at least very nearly unendurable.
Then August dawned one Tuesday morning, and the longed-for miracle had occurred. The sky was clear, the air was cool, there was a balmy breeze. Hilda accepted with a smile the coffee Eileen brought her. “You look very nice today, Eileen. Is that a new dress?”
Eileen was wearing, under her apron, a flowery print dress from the Sears, Roebuck catalog, the same dress she’d worn off and on since it had come in the mail a month ago. Prints were the latest thing in summer attire for servants, and Eileen thought it pretty, too. “It’s freshly ironed, ma’am,” she said tactfully. “What shall I bring you for your breakfast?”
“I think I will go down for breakfast today. And Eileen, run me a cool bath, will you, please, and lay out anything I can still wear.”
There wasn’t much choice. Hilda was bulging. She could wear only the loose skirts that Eileen had run up for her out of thin muslin, and dressing sacques on top. The sacques were pretty, made with embroidery and lace inserts, but they were still lingerie, and Hilda had at first blushed to wear them downstairs. But Patrick hadn’t noticed that they were boudoir wear, and they were comfortable—or as comfortable as any clothing was these days. Thanks be to God, at least she could get through the day, now that the weather had changed, without wishing she were back in Sweden in a snowbank.
All the same, she was disconcerted when Eileen announced that Sergeant Lefkowicz had come to see her.
“It’ll be all right, ma’am,” whispered the little maid. “He’s a man, and men never really know about ladies’ clothing.”
“Sergeant, it is good to see you,” Hilda lied. She gestured at the couch she was lying on. “Please forgive me if I do not get up.”
Lefkowicz grinned. “My ma told me I shouldn’t come, that you wouldn’t feel like company just now.” Evidently he had got over his embarrassment about her pregnancy.
“It is all right. I feel better now that it is cooler.”
“Well, that’s why I’ve come. It’s about the picnic, see.”
“Picnic?” Hilda asked blankly.
“For the Boys’ Club. Remember?”
“Oh! Oh, Sergeant, I forgot. It was my idea, even, and I forgot completely.”
“Well, it’s been too hot anyway, for the grownups, at least. And of course I know you couldn’t come, now. But we’ve hit a dead end when it comes to finding that Clancy Malloy, and I thought it might be a good idea to talk to the boys, see what they might know.”
Hilda forgot her decision a few days ago that life would never again hold any interest. “Yes! That is a very good thought. I do not know why it did not come to me, but oh, the weather has been unbearable!”
“You’re right about that. But I was thinking maybe next Saturday—not this week, but the next. Would that give you time to get it all put together?”
Another thing Hilda had forgotten was her offer to organize. The thought made her want to go back to bed again, but she had made the offer and she could not go back on her word.
“That will be enough time,” she said, her fingers crossed behind her back. “I cannot do it all myself, of course, but I think Mrs. Elbel will help, and perhaps Mrs. Studebaker.”
“And Mrs. Malloy.”
Hilda frowned. “I do not know about Mrs. Malloy. She is—”
“She’s worried sick about Clancy,” said Lefkowicz bluntly. “And about Mr. Malloy, too, though I hear he’s much better. My ma thinks it would do her a world of good to busy herself with something else for a change.”
Hilda cocked her head to one side. “Your mother is a wise woman, I think. We will do it!”
“Ma said,” Lefkowicz continued, “that you’d better not do any of it yourself. You can phone people and get it done that way. And if you need an extra hand on the day, she says, she’ll be glad to bake some cookies and fry some doughnuts and go over to help get all the food set out.”
“Not just a wise woman, but a good woman, too!” Hilda smiled. “Tell her thank you, and that would be very nice. And oh, Sergeant, I nearly forgot. Talking of boys made me remember. That other errand boy at the bank, the one who wanted to talk to you maybe. Have you found him?”
“No, and it’s not for want of hunting. It seems he’s been out of town, looking for another job.”
“He left his job at the bank?”
“So I hear tell. Kind of a foolish thing to do, times being the way they are, but that’s what his ma says.”
“It might not be a foolish thing,” said Hilda thoughtfully, “if there are bad things happening in banks. Do not give up, Sergeant. I think he has things to tell us, if we can find him. And now I must go to the telephone.”
16
To sleep: perchance to dream: Ay, there’s the rub...
—William Shakespeare, Hamlet
Her first call was to Mrs. Elbel. The two had not gotten along well at first. Hilda had resented what she thought of as a patronizing attitude on the part of the older lady. But Mrs. Elbel had gained considerable respect for Hilda over the way she handled the Boys’ Club Christmas party, and had worked with her smoothly ever since.
“Of course I’ll be happy to help,” she told Hilda promptly. “Some of the ladies are out of town, but I’m sure we can find enough to get the job done. Now let’s see. We’ll need tables—I can borrow those from the church—”
Together they made a list of duties and assigned each, tentatively, to one of their hoped-for volunteers.
“If you will write the invitation, I will give it to Patrick to have it printed,” said Hilda. “Your English is much better than mine.”
“Yes, and I’ll phone Mrs. Studebaker. Mrs. Clem, that is. I believe Colonel and Mrs. George are in France just now, but Mrs. Clem will be happy to help. At least—” She paused.
Hilda said, “She has not been well, I have heard.” There was sorrow in her voice. Mrs. Clem Studebaker, Hilda’s mistress for all the years she had worked as housemaid at Tippecanoe Place, was a true lady, kind when Hilda worked for her and kind now that Hilda had a home and a life of her own. But Mrs. Clem missed her dear, departed husband every day of her life, and Hilda had the awful feeling that she was longing to join him.
“She’s been a bit frail,” Mrs. Elbel admitted. “She’s in her sixties, you know, and that operation a while back laid her low. But she’ll have her cook prepare most of the food, I imagine, and she always has good ideas. It will do her good to help with this.”
That reminded Hilda. “And I will ask Mrs. Malloy to help, also. She, too, has been sad and worried, but she will want to work with us.” At least Hilda hoped so. She had not talked to Aunt Molly for several days, and the last time, the older woman had sounded tired and worn, not at all like her usual self.
Hilda did not confide the real purpose of the picnic to Mrs. Elbel, but to Aunt Molly she was entirely candid.
“Aunt Molly, I need your help,” she said after Riggs had called his mistress to the telephone, and Hilda had asked after Uncle Dan. “It is about a picnic for the Boys’ Club, but it is more than that. Would you come to see me, so I can explain? I would come to you, but—”
“But you’re feeling as big as a house, and tired as a washerwoman on a Monday night. Of course
I’ll come, dear.”
The two had not seen each other since soon after Dan’s heart attack. Molly’s eyes widened when she saw Hilda. “Goodness, child, you are as big as a house. The baby’s not due for another month, is it?”
“Yes, but I think maybe the doctor is wrong. Kristina, she kicks like a chick trying to get out of its shell!”
“A good, healthy baby, then. Now sit down, dear, and tell me what it is you need of me.”
Hilda explained about the picnic. “But Aunt Molly, it is not just to give a treat for the boys. That, too, but we think, Sergeant Lefkowicz and I, that it will be a good chance to talk to them about all the dreadful things that have been happening. Boys know a lot, and see a lot, and they may be able to help us.” She took a deep breath. “They might even know where Clancy is.”
“I see.” Molly was silent for so long that Hilda was afraid she was offended.
“I fear they will not find my son,” Molly said finally. “I fear he is dead. I would know, I think, if he were still alive. A mother can sense, sometimes, when her child is in peril. When I think of Clancy, when I pray for him, I get no feeling that he is in jeopardy. I get—nothing.”
Hilda was shocked. It was always possible, but— “You may be wrong, Aunt Molly. I remember, when Uncle Dan was missing, you thought he was dead. But he was not.”
“He was near death, though. If you hadn’t found him when you did—but yes, that time I was wrong. It was, I think perhaps, my mind that kept insisting he might never come back to me. In my heart, I could not believe it. But now—some of my people had the sight, you know. Oh, way back, it was, and the family never talked about it, but every now and then I—know things. And just as I am certain that Mr. Malloy will recover completely from his illness, I am sure, in my heart, that we will never find Clancy.”
She sat with head bowed for a moment, then looked up. “But this picnic is a good idea all the same, my dear. Especially if Clancy is never found, we must use every resource we have to get to the truth of the train wrecks, the fires, all the evil around us. I will certainly help all I can, and if we don’t learn anything useful, well—” she spread her tiny hands “—the boys will have a good time, and that’s worth the trouble.”
Murder in Burnt Orange Page 11
