“You insulted somebody in the Black Hand?” Sarah marveled.
“Not exactly,” Frank said, realizing they’d needlessly made an enemy. “Esposito sent one of his men to fetch us and instead of letting him escort us back, we drove off in the motor and left him standing.”
“It felt like the right thing to do at the time,” Gino said, “but he hates us now.”
“Ah yes. Men are so sensitive,” Sarah said with a small grin.
“Some men are,” Frank agreed. “We probably should have been a little more considerate.”
Sarah sighed loudly but didn’t confirm his theory. “So did you discover anything in East Harlem today?”
“I tried to talk to the cop who arrested Gino, but I just got a runaround and was never able to find him. Teo took me to the apartment where Esposito was killed, though, and we were able to search it.”
“You were?” Gino asked in surprise. “How did you get in?”
“We opened the door. It wasn’t locked this time either, which made me wonder why, but there was nobody around to ask, so Teo and I just went on in.”
“And what did you find?” Sarah asked.
“A very nicely furnished place where nobody really lives, according to the neighbors. All the furniture was brand new, but Teo doesn’t think anyone has ever cooked in the kitchen. It looked very clean. Somebody used the bedroom, though.”
Sarah frowned. “How do you know?”
“The bed had been slept in and not made up, and there were clothes in the cupboard and the dresser.”
“Whose clothes?” she asked.
“Women’s clothes. Only women’s clothes. Expensive ones, according to Teo. Silk underwear. A silver comb and brush set, too.”
“Silver?” Gino echoed in amazement.
“Oh dear,” Sarah said. “This sounds like just what people thought it was, a place for Esposito to meet his mistress.”
“That’s what I thought, too,” Frank said. “The neighbors said Esposito spent several nights there, probably when the woman was there, too.”
“I don’t suppose you saw any sign of her,” Sarah said.
“None at all, and if she heard about the murder, she’ll be long gone.”
Sarah nodded her agreement. “It’s not hard to believe a man like that has a mistress. He might even have more than one, especially if he treats them this well.”
“It’s possible, I guess, but whoever stayed there had left behind her old clothes, and we assume she wore some of the new clothes back to wherever she went when she left.”
Sarah frowned. “What did the old clothes look like?”
“A brown skirt, a shirtwaist, and undergarments, according to Teo. Nothing particularly distinctive. Teo talked to the neighbors, too. They saw the woman leaving yesterday morning.”
“Did they know her?” Sarah asked, still frowning.
“No, or at least no one admitted to it, but she had yellow hair, and she was wearing a blue dress. Teo said Jane Harding was wearing a blue dress yesterday when she returned to the settlement house, a dress she’d never seen before.”
“Oh dear, that’s true. It was really a skirt and jacket, but it was beautiful. I thought it was awfully fine for working at a settlement house, too. But Jane Harding couldn’t possibly be the woman in that apartment, could she?”
“She has yellow hair and a blue dress, and the hair in the brush was blond.”
“But Jane was kidnapped,” Gino said. “She couldn’t have been that woman.”
“Jane did get back to the settlement house the same morning the neighbors saw a blond woman leaving the flat,” Frank said.
“Yes, but that doesn’t make any sense,” Gino said. “A woman who was kidnapped doesn’t just walk away.”
“Jane did claim that when she woke up that morning, her guard was gone and the door was unlocked,” Sarah said. “So in effect, she did just walk away.”
“You’re right, Gino. None of this makes any sense,” Frank said.
“Is it possible Esposito kidnapped her because he thought he could win her affections with some pretty things?” Gino asked. “Would that work on a woman, do you think, Mrs. Malloy?”
Sarah’s eyes grew wide as she considered Gino’s question.
“What is it?” Frank asked.
“Jane’s cousin, Lisa Prince, told me Jane was always jealous of her because her family was wealthy and Lisa had much nicer clothes than Jane did.”
“But how would Esposito know that?” Frank asked.
“He wouldn’t,” Sarah said. “And how would he even meet Jane or know who she was? Teo said she’d only been here a few weeks.”
“A woman like Jane would stand out in that neighborhood,” Gino said. “And lots of people would’ve seen her at the settlement house, so they’d be talking about her, too.”
“So maybe Esposito saw her, but what would make him think she’d even be interested in him?” Sarah asked.
“Nothing,” Frank said, “so we’re probably wasting time trying to figure this out. Besides, we know she didn’t kill Esposito, so what does any of this matter?”
“How do we know that?” Gino asked.
“Because she was at the settlement house last night,” Sarah said. “She locked herself in her bedroom and wouldn’t come out, not even to see Christopher McWilliam.”
“All right. Then the only reason we’d need to know who this mistress was is if she killed him,” Gino said.
“And maybe she did,” Sarah said, “but Jane Harding didn’t.”
“If Jane really was the woman being kept in that flat, though, she might know something that would help us find the killer,” Gino said.
“We can keep that in mind,” Sarah said, “but we can’t go asking her about that. If Esposito really did keep her in that flat for two days, heaven only knows what he may have done to her. She made it clear she didn’t want to talk about what had happened to her, and we aren’t going to force her to talk about it.”
“Of course not,” Frank said quickly, in case Gino wanted to argue. “The question is, who else might have wanted Esposito dead?”
“Any number of people,” Sarah said, “if he’s been kidnapping people’s wives and children and extorting money from local businessmen.”
“So the first thing we need to do is start asking around Italian Harlem,” Gino said.
“Except you aren’t going anywhere near Italian Harlem,” Frank said.
“Why not?”
“Because you might get killed, that’s why not. You’re going to stay right here for the time being.”
“Here? In your house?”
“I can’t think of any place safer. Can you?”
Gino gaped at him for a long moment, clearly unable to.
“We’ll have to send word to your family of course,” Sarah said. “They’ll be worried if you don’t come home.”
“I’ll go out as soon as I’ve finished eating and send them a telegram,” Frank said. “Then one of us will go visit your family tomorrow and explain what’s going on.”
“You can’t go,” Sarah said.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m sure everyone knows Gino works for you, so if anyone is watching their house, looking for Gino, they’ll figure out why you’re there.”
Frank frowned. “That seems convoluted to me.”
“She’s right, though,” Gino said. “You and I went to see Petrosino, too. Everyone in Little Italy will know that.”
“So I should go,” Sarah said.
“People in Little Italy know you, too,” Maeve said, finally coming into the dining room. Plainly she’d heard at least part of the conversation.
“Then Maeve should go,” Gino said.
“Me? Why me?” she asked, genuinely startled.
�
�Because nobody in Little Italy will know who you are,” Gino said. “And besides, it’s time you met the rest of my family.”
VI
The next morning, Gino needed a minute to remember where he was when he awoke in one of the Malloys’ spare bedrooms. Then he allowed himself a few minutes to be annoyed that Mr. Malloy thought he needed to hide out here for heaven knew how long, quaking in fear of the Black Hand.
He supposed he should fear the Black Hand. They were pretty ruthless, after all, but he certainly wasn’t going to hide here for the next few days or even weeks—because it could take that long—until they found out who had really killed Nunzio Esposito. Especially because Mr. Malloy would need his help, if he hoped to have any success at all in Italian Harlem.
Luckily, he’d hit upon the perfect solution while lying in bed last night, too restless and angry at his predicament to fall sleep. He waited until Mr. Malloy had headed back up to East Harlem, where he was going to make a second attempt to question the cop who had arrested Gino. It would probably be a fruitless effort to find out who had told the cop to go find Gino in the flat with Esposito’s dead body. Then he waited until Mr. Malloy’s mother had taken Brian to the school for the deaf, where he learned how to sign, along with all the other stuff kids learned in school. And he waited until Maeve left to take Catherine to that fancy school she went to uptown before Maeve headed back down to Little Italy and the Donatelli house. And finally, he waited until Mrs. Malloy left after a call from the maternity clinic she ran on the Lower East Side. One of the women there was in labor, and they were worried about her. Then, when no one was around to overhear him, he used the telephone to leave a message at a certain boardinghouse for Miss Verena Rose. Miss Rose was a girl he’d met a few months ago on another case, and he was pretty sure she could be of great assistance in helping him out of his current situation.
* * *
* * *
Maeve couldn’t believe this. How was she even going to communicate with Gino’s parents? He’d said their English wasn’t very good and Maeve spoke no Italian at all. What if she couldn’t make them understand? What if they didn’t even believe she knew Gino? He’d explained numerous times how the Italians didn’t trust anyone they didn’t know, and even then, they preferred doing business with people to whom they were actually related. Maeve didn’t fit either of those categories and never would.
She could feel people staring at her as she walked down the street. They were probably staring at her red hair. Not many people in Little Italy had red hair. Gino had suggested she go at noon time, since his father would be home for lunch then and she could explain the situation to both his parents at once. He’d neglected to mention it would also be the time of day when lots of people would be on the streets. If the Black Hand didn’t get him, she just might stick a stiletto between Gino’s ribs for getting her into this.
At least a dozen children—those too young for school—were racing around in the street in front of the house Gino’s family shared with his aunt and uncle and their family, engaged in some game only they understood. Maeve wondered idly how many of them belonged to the Donatellis. Gino’s mother and her best friend had married brothers. The brothers had done well enough to buy the house and divide it for their two families. It was probably just as crowded as most tenements but with a lot more privacy, since everyone was related.
She looked up at the ramshackle house, which had been squeezed in between two others. It was the best kept of the three, with a neat but tiny patch of lawn separating it from the sidewalk and cleanly swept front steps leading up to the porch.
Maeve took a deep breath and climbed the steps. She rapped sharply on the front door, trying to give the impression that she was confident of her welcome. After a few minutes, a young man opened the door, a puzzled smile on his face when he saw her. He looked so much like Gino—just as dark and handsome—that he must be one of the brothers.
“I’m looking for Mrs. Donatelli,” she said when he didn’t speak.
“Mama,” he shouted, making her wince. “But if you’re a social worker,” he added to Maeve in a normal voice, “you’re wasting your time. She’s not going to change the way she does things.”
What an odd thing to say. “I’m not a social worker.”
“Then who are you?”
“I’m Maeve Smith. I—”
His expression changed so quickly, Maeve blinked in surprise. His amused curiosity dissolved into a worried scowl, and he grabbed her arm. “Get inside quick.”
She didn’t resist because she’d intended to go inside, but she couldn’t understand why his attitude had changed so abruptly.
“Mama!” he called again, this time more urgently, as he slammed the door behind her.
She could hear Mrs. Donatelli before she saw her. She was chastening her son in Italian, probably for yelling like that inside, as she bustled out from someplace in the back of the house, probably the kitchen since she was wiping her hands on her apron as she came. She was a small woman, her body only slightly thickened from bearing six sons. Her dark hair had just a hint of silver, and her pleasant face was remarkably unlined.
When she saw Maeve, she stopped dead, and asked the young man something in Italian.
He answered her, saying Maeve’s name. This led to a rapid exchange of questions and answers, punctuated by lots of hand gestures, in which Gino and Maeve’s names were mentioned.
“I just need to speak to Mrs. Donatelli,” Maeve tried. “And Mr. Donatelli, if he’s here.”
The young man gave her a horrified glance and then apparently relayed this information to his mother. She shouted, “Angelo!” at the same time he shouted, “Papa!” In another moment, an older man emerged from the back of the house, looking annoyed and dabbing his mouth with the corner of a napkin that was tied around his neck. He frowned when he saw Maeve, and when the young man announced her by name, he also stopped dead in his tracks. Both parents looked her up and down with grim interest.
Then for some reason, Mr. Donatelli started shouting at his wife, who started shouting right back. The young man merely watched, looking troubled. “I just need to talk to them for a few minutes,” Maeve told him, feeling a little desperate now. “I need to tell them something about Gino.”
At the mention of Gino’s name, both his parents fell instantly silent and glared at her as if she were the one who had framed Gino for Esposito’s murder. Since they didn’t even know about Esposito’s murder yet—at least she didn’t think they did—that couldn’t be it. She tried a reassuring smile, but that just made Mrs. Donatelli burst into tears.
The young man muttered what was probably an Italian curse and said, “We better go in the parlor.” He ushered her into the room that opened off the front hall. It was full of well-worn furniture, obviously the place the family would gather. The young man motioned her to sit down on the sofa, then went back and ushered his mother into the room. She was still weeping but trying to dry her eyes with her apron. Mr. Donatelli just looked angry, and he glared at Maeve in a way she found completely unjustified. Although maybe they did already know about the murder charge and were just taking out their fury on her.
The parents sat in armchairs facing her, and the young man moved to a spot between the chairs and remained standing. He crossed his arms, and they all three glared at her for a long moment. Before she could think of how to start her explanation, the young man said, “Gino didn’t come home last night. He might have run out on you.”
“Didn’t you get Mr. Malloy’s telegram?”
The young man relayed her question. “We got it, but now that we know . . . Well, it makes sense, doesn’t it?”
Nothing made sense so far, at least to Maeve. “I have some . . . unpleasant news to tell you about Gino, but—”
“We’ve already figured it out, miss,” he assured her. “But we can’t make him marry you. In fact, considering you�
�re Irish, I doubt my parents would even want him to. Besides . . .”
Marry? What were they talking about? “Wait a minute. First of all, I’m not Irish.” Which was true. She was American.
The family conferred for a moment.
“Are you even Catholic?”
Maeve was completely lost now. “What does that matter? Don’t you even want to hear what I have to tell you about Gino?”
“Look, miss, I’m sorry if Gino got you in trouble, but you’ll have to settle things with him. We can’t—”
“I’m not the one in trouble. Gino is!”
“But he’s not the one having a baby, is he?” the young man countered a little too smugly. Mrs. Donatelli understood enough of that to make her cross herself.
Baby? What on earth was he . . . ? Maeve needed only another moment to finally figure it out. Trouble. They thought she was in trouble.
Pregnant.
By Gino.
Good Lord! That was funny. It was, in fact, hilarious. “No!” she cried, hoping Mr. and Mrs. Donatelli at least understood that English word. “No, no, no!” By the third no, she was laughing, because it really was hilarious. She started shaking her head, figuring they’d understand that, at least.
They were staring back at her in confusion, probably wondering if she was insane.
When she could speak again, she said, “Gino is the one in trouble. He was arrested for murder yesterday.”
The young man’s mouth dropped open. “Murder?”
“Yes, but it’s all right. Mr. Malloy bailed him out of jail. He stayed at the Malloy house last night, because we thought he’d be safer there for now.” Should she explain about the Black Hand and the danger? She probably should, but she’d stop here and give him time to explain to his parents.
His mother was already chastening him again for not translating fast enough, and Maeve waited patiently while he did, folding her hands in her lap and trying her best to look like the kind of girl who would never have to plead with a young man’s parents for help bringing a reluctant lover to the altar.
Murder on Pleasant Avenue Page 10
