Murder, She Uncovered

by Peg Cochran

  “Noeleen was dating him?”

  Orla gave a hoot of laughter. “Hardly. He took her for a ride in his sports car one night when the Posts were all at a party and she was able to slip out of the house.” She motioned for Kaminsky to hand her another cigarette.

  He had one left in the battered pack he pulled from his pocket. He looked at it rather forlornly as he handed it over.

  “Noeleen went on and on about it for months until it nearly made me sick.”

  And green with envy, Elizabeth thought, noticing the sour look on Orla’s face.

  “You have no idea what this Duff’s last name is?” Kaminsky scowled at his notepad.

  “Sorry, no.” Orla began to get up. “Mrs. Lis will be calling us for dinner soon.”

  “How about one photograph?” Kaminsky said, motioning for Elizabeth to get out her camera. “To go with the interview.”

  “Sure. Good thing I slept in pin curls last night.” Orla took off her scarf and shook out her shoulder-length red hair. She fluffed it with her hands. “How do I look?”

  “You look fine,” Elizabeth said, taking a step backwards.

  She shot a couple of photos, then put her camera back in its case.

  “If that’s all…” Orla said, her hand on the doorknob.

  “Thank you for your time,” Elizabeth said.

  She and Kaminsky were headed down the steps when a police car pulled up to the curb. The back door opened and Marino jumped out.

  “Looks like Orla’s dinner is about to be interrupted,” Kaminsky said.

  Elizabeth couldn’t control the grin that spread across her face as Marino mounted the steps two at a time.

  “Cara,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

  Elizabeth had every intention of saying no, but looking into Marino’s dark eyes she felt like she was under a spell.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” Marino squeezed her shoulder. “What is your address? I’ll pick you up around eight o’clock, okay?”

  Elizabeth nodded and gave him her address, which he scribbled on the back of a receipt he pulled from his pocket.

  “Ciao,” he whispered as he turned away and knocked on the door of the boardinghouse.

  Kaminsky was waiting for Elizabeth at the bottom of the steps.

  “That was an interesting conversation, don’t you think?” He rooted around in his pocket and pulled out the empty cigarette pack. He swore and tossed it into a nearby trash can.

  “I imagine we should track down that young man Orla mentioned—Duff.”

  Kaminsky’s mouth twitched into a grin. “Now you’re thinking like a real reporter, Biz. Yes, I think a chat with good old boy Duff is in order. One of the Posts will know his last name and whereabouts, no doubt.”

  “Do you think he’s the father of Noeleen’s baby?”

  “Could be. Or that Killian fellow. He certainly is a strange one.”

  “Mrs. Brown insists he’s harmless.”

  “She would, wouldn’t she? Maybe that operation he had put ideas into his head.” Kaminsky cackled at his own joke.

  They had walked half a block when Kaminsky said, “So what was that little tête-à-tête you had with the good detective about?”

  Elizabeth glanced at Kaminsky in surprise.

  “That’s French,” he said, waggling his bushy eyebrows at her. “It means—”

  “I know what it means,” Elizabeth said. “And”—she stuck her nose in the air and assumed a haughty expression—“it’s none of your business.”

  Chapter 8

  The subway stopped between two stations and Elizabeth sat in her seat, fuming and tapping her foot. The conductor announced that they were stopped—as if they didn’t already know that—but gave no explanation for the delay. Elizabeth wanted to get home in time to wash up, freshen her makeup and change her clothes before her date with Marino.

  The fact that she’d used the word “date”—even if it was only in her own mind—made her pause. She should have told Marino no. This relationship could go absolutely nowhere. He was different than everyone else she knew and different had an understandable appeal. But it usually led to heartache in the end.

  Elizabeth was fumbling in her purse for her keys when Jones opened the door to their apartment.

  “Good evening, miss,” he said in his deep voice. “Will you be dining with us this evening?”

  “Good evening, Jones. No, I’m having dinner out,” Elizabeth said, stopping herself in the nick of time from saying she had a date.

  “Very well.”

  “You’re home, darling,” Helen said as she came around the corner. “Mrs. Murphy will be announcing dinner soon, but there’s time for you to freshen up.”

  “I’ll be going out,” Elizabeth said, hoping to escape before her mother asked for too many details.

  Helen’s face brightened. “Seeing Phillips, are you? You two are becoming a regular item. I had lunch with Marguerite VanderKamp today at the Palm Court—we hadn’t seen each other in ages and had so much to catch up on—and I told her that I wouldn’t be surprised if I found myself planning a wedding in the very near future.”

  “Mother, I told you, I don’t think—” Elizabeth began.

  “Nonsense, dear. You and Phillips are both the right age to be settling down.”

  Elizabeth was about to protest but decided instead to hold her tongue. There was no arguing with her mother. Helen would eventually be disappointed, but there really wasn’t anything she could do about it. She wasn’t about to marry Phillips just to please her mother.

  She hurried down the hall, stopping by her sister Rose’s bedroom door to say a quick hello before continuing on to her own bedroom. Elizabeth then stood in front of her open closet door in an agony of indecision. She had no idea where they would be going to dinner. Marino had already taken her to Little Italy and Chinatown—places she had never explored before. The restaurants there offered wonderful food, but were far more casual than the Stork Club, for instance, where one was expected to be dressed to the nines.

  She finally settled on a deep blue silk shirtwaist dress with a pintucked bodice and a keyhole neckline. She changed into a fresh pair of hose—they had a small run at the top, but she’d mended it with a bit of silk thread—and fastened them to the clips on her garter belt. She slipped the dress over her head, did up the zipper on the side and fastened the matching silk belt.

  She took a deep breath as she sat at her vanity and looked in the mirror. Her nose needed a bit of powder. She ran the powder puff over her face lightly and rummaged in the drawer for the lipstick she wanted—Coty’s Votre Rouge. She applied it carefully, blotted with a tissue and then reapplied. According to an article she’d read in Vogue magazine, that technique would ensure that the color lasted all night. Finally, she ran a brush through her hair and fastened a diamante clip on the right side.

  She was taking a light jacket from her closet when her mother appeared in the doorway. Helen’s lips were pursed, and her forehead was wrinkled in a frown.

  “There’s the strangest man at the door asking for you,” she said. “Jones let him in. He said his name is…” She hesitated briefly as if searching her memory. “Salvatore Marino. And he seems to think he’s having dinner with you. Is that possible?”

  “Yes, actually it is.” Elizabeth tucked her clutch under her arm. “We are having dinner together.”

  “Who is this man? What do you know about him?”

  “He’s a New York City police detective. I met him when I was photographing a murder scene.”

  Helen gasped. “You can’t be serious. I knew you would meet all the wrong sorts of people on that job of yours.”

  “We’re just friends, Mother, don’t worry.” Elizabeth smiled at Helen.

  Sh
e gave her mother a quick hug and hurried down the hall to the foyer.

  * * *

  —

  “Where are we going?” Elizabeth said when they reached the sidewalk where Marino’s taxi was waiting.

  Marino smiled. “I thought tonight perhaps we would dine at a place where you usually go. I’ve shown you a bit of my New York, now I’d like to see some of yours.”

  Elizabeth hesitated. “There’s El Morocco and the Stork Club, of course, but they’re terribly dear.”

  Marino squeezed her arm. “I just got paid today. The sky’s the limit.”

  Elizabeth thought for a minute. “There’s Delmonico’s if you like steak.”

  “I love steak, and I’m starved.” Marino patted his stomach. “Let’s go then.”

  Lights from the buildings blurred as the cab sped down Park Avenue. Finally the taxi pulled up in front of a wedge-shaped building on Beaver Street with Delmonico’s in large gold letters over the front.

  Marino opened the taxi door for Elizabeth and held out his hand. She grasped it, surprised by the feeling the warmth of his palm sent through her.

  The restaurant was crowded, it’s exclusive clublike atmosphere ringing with conversation and laughter.

  The maître d′ seated them at a table near the front, frowning at Marino’s slightly wrinkled suit and crumpled shirt. Marino picked up his menu and tugged at his tie.

  Elizabeth sensed his unease and wished she had picked a different restaurant. At least she hadn’t chosen the Stork Club or El Morocco.

  He ordered Elizabeth a Manhattan and a martini for himself. The waiter returned quickly with their drinks on a silver tray. Elizabeth hoped the cocktail would help to put Marino at ease.

  He took a sip, leaned back in his seat and Elizabeth noticed that the lines on his face were starting to relax.

  “Are you still investigating Noeleen Donovan’s murder?” Elizabeth asked. She plucked the maraschino cherry from her drink and popped it into her mouth.

  “Yes, and it’s been frustrating,” Marino said. “The crime took place on Long Island, but the police out there are too overwhelmed to help. Their theory is that it’s someone close to Noeleen—someone who probably knows her from Manhattan. We interviewed her employer and a few of the other employees, and it seems Noeleen didn’t have much of a life when they were at the Posts’ summer house.”

  Noeleen thought of the young man Orla had mentioned—Duff—but she presumed that Orla had also told the police about him.

  They were half-finished with their drinks when the waiter appeared again to take their order.

  Marino chose the Delmonico steak and the wedge salad—the restaurant’s specialties—and Elizabeth ordered the filet mignon.

  Marino rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’m thinking that if we find whoever got Noeleen in the family way we’ll find who killed her. Maybe she wanted to get married—saw it as a way to escape her life as a servant, but he didn’t want the responsibility, so he took the easy way out. Not that killing someone is easy. You’d spend the rest of your life with that sin on your soul.”

  Their meal arrived and Marino tore into his steak with gusto.

  Elizabeth found she wasn’t all that hungry after all and merely picked at her entrée.

  They finished eating and the waiter cleared their plates and brought dessert menus.

  “What would you like?” Marino asked.

  “We could share,” Elizabeth suggested.

  “Okay. Your choice.”

  “We should have the Baked Alaska. They say it was invented here at Delmonico’s. I had it when we came here to celebrate my college graduation.”

  Marino raised his eyebrows. “Baked Alaska? What is a Baked Alaska?”

  Elizabeth laughed. “It’s hard to describe. It’s an ice cream cake topped with meringue that’s put in the oven and baked until the meringue is golden.”

  Marino laughed. “Let’s have that then.”

  They were waiting for their dessert when a group of diners from the back of the restaurant began to leave, threading their way through the tables toward the entrance. They were passing Elizabeth and Marino’s table when one of the women stopped.

  “Elizabeth! Look everyone, it’s Elizabeth Adams. Darling, it’s been simply ages. Where have you been?”

  Elizabeth looked up. She groaned inwardly. She hadn’t thought anyone would see her and Marino dining together. Especially not Gladys Montgomery. She was a dreadful gossip. And there was Paul Butler, a good friend of Phillips.

  Elizabeth was ashamed to realize that she felt slightly embarrassed to be dining with Marino. She raised her chin.

  “Hello, Gladys. And Paul.” She peered around them. “Hello, Jean, Walter.” She gestured toward Marino. “This is Sal Marino.”

  Gladys’s face took on a look that Elizabeth recognized. It was her “I’ve got a juicy story to tell” look.

  “Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?” Gladys said to Marino.

  Marino leaned back in his chair and smiled.

  “I don’t think so. I’m sure I would have remembered you.”

  Gladys put a hand to the naturally platinum hair she prided herself on and gave Marino a kittenish smile.

  “I know,” Paul exclaimed. He had his hands stuffed in the pockets of his trousers. “You’re a cop, aren’t you? I remember seeing your picture in the paper when that DeWitt murder was all over the news.”

  Marino wagged a finger at Paul and nodded.

  “Oooh, you’re a cop?” Gladys said, her voice low and sultry. She looked at Elizabeth with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Is he going to arrest you?” She gave a throaty laugh. “Have you done something terribly naughty?”

  Elizabeth felt her stomach knot. They were making fun of her. Or maybe not of her, but of Marino, and that made her mad. She clenched her fists in her lap. Marino looked at her and shook his head almost imperceptibly.

  Elizabeth unclenched her hands and tried to relax. She gave a smile that she hoped didn’t look as pained as it felt.

  “It’s lovely to see you.” She nodded at Gladys and the others. “But I think I see the waiter coming with our dessert. I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.”

  Gladys looked like a child deprived of a treat, but she and the others moved on and Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I’m sorry,” she said as soon as they were gone.

  Marino gave an easy smile. “Don’t be. I understand. I’m not the sort of man they’d expect to see you dining with.”

  “Yes,” Elizabeth said, gritting her teeth. “A man who makes his own living and doesn’t live off a trust fund or Daddy’s money.”

  “Please don’t let it bother you.”

  Marino put his hand over Elizabeth’s and she felt all her tension melt away.

  “You’re right. Let’s not let it spoil our dessert,” she said as she noticed the waiter bearing down on them with the Baked Alaska.

  The waiter put the plate in the middle of the table and handed them each a spoon. An easy companionship enveloped them as they shared the dessert.

  “That was delicious,” Marino said, pushing his plate away. “An interesting combination of hot and cold on the tongue.”

  Elizabeth had never thought of it that way before. She rolled her last bite of dessert around in her mouth and made herself notice the different sensations. She enjoyed eating good food, but she’d never before approached it with the level of attention that Marino gave it.

  The waiter appeared and cleared away their dishes. Moments later he returned with the bill. Elizabeth winced when Marino took out his wallet to pay. The meal had been expensive and she knew he was saving as much of his salary as he could to buy his parents a house outside of the city.

  The air, when they finally stepped outside, was cooler than
it had been earlier. Elizabeth was glad she’d worn a jacket.

  “Look.” Marino pointed up at the moon, which was full and hung low in the sky. “It’s beautiful,” he whispered. He turned to look at Elizabeth. “And so are you.”

  Elizabeth felt her face flush. She was uncomfortable, and hastened to change the subject.

  “Is it the harvest moon?” she said.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know. I just know it’s lovely,” Marino said. He was staring at Elizabeth and she knew he wasn’t talking about the moon.

  “Shall we get a taxi?” Elizabeth said.

  Marino stepped off the sidewalk, held his hand up and whistled. A taxi with its sign lit cruised down the street. It pulled up to the curb and screeched to a halt.

  Marino opened the door and Elizabeth slipped into the back seat. Marino leaned forward, gave the driver Elizabeth’s address and then settled back in his seat.

  Earlier traffic had dissipated and it wasn’t long before they pulled up in front of Elizabeth’s building. Marino told the driver to wait and went around to open the door for Elizabeth.

  He cupped her elbow as he walked her toward the front door, stopping shy of the entrance and pulling her into the shadows.

  Before Elizabeth could react, he was kissing her—gently—as if she was fragile and might break. He pulled away quickly when he heard the doorman clear his throat.

  Elizabeth was surprised to find herself disappointed that he’d stopped—a thought that later kept her occupied and unable to fall asleep.

  Chapter 9

  Elizabeth was pleased with the photographs she’d gotten of Orla Cullen yesterday, although she wasn’t sure that Orla would feel the same way. She thought she’d caught a certain venality in Orla’s eyes that Elizabeth suspected Orla meant to keep hidden.

  Elizabeth pulled the last photo from the stop bath and hung it on the carousel. Orla had seemed jealous of her cousin Noeleen at the same time she protested that they were the best of friends. She was holding something back and Elizabeth wondered what it was. It might simply be envy of Noeleen’s position with the Posts, but she suspected it was more than that.