Murder, She Uncovered

by Peg Cochran

  Water puddled on the sidewalks, and Elizabeth did her best to sidestep them even though she’d put her rain boots on over her shoes. Rain started again by the time she reached the corner.

  She put up her umbrella and peered down Madison Avenue. She could see the bus pulled up to the curb at the stop before hers. Within minutes it was lumbering down the street. It came to a stop and the doors opened with a hiss.

  Elizabeth was only going a few blocks and, had the weather been fine, she would have walked, but she was glad to take shelter from the rain, which had picked up in intensity.

  She didn’t bother to sit, but she grabbed a strap and watched out the window as the bus made its way up Madison Avenue.

  She got out at the stop closest to the apartment building where the Tylers lived and where Mary Tyler had jumped to her death. Based on what the butcher had told her and Kaminsky, it looked as if Gordon Tyler was having an affair and that that either drove Mary Tyler to commit suicide or…Elizabeth didn’t want to form the words even in her own mind, but the reality was that it was entirely possible Tyler had pushed his wife out that window himself.

  Her plan was to follow him when he came out of his apartment building and hopefully get a picture of him meeting the other woman.

  She was sure that would give Kaminsky the front page story he wanted.

  The rain had stopped again by the time Elizabeth reached the Tylers’ apartment building. At first, she sheltered under a tree whose branches spread in an arc across the sidewalk, but water dripping from the leaves made it uncomfortable and she was forced to move. She kept her eye on the door to the apartment building, which opened several times. Unfortunately none of the people leaving was Gordon Tyler.

  She’d been loitering on the sidewalk, trying to look…if not inconspicuous then at least not suspicious…for over an hour when the rain began again. She was soaked even before she could get her umbrella open. She realized that it was perfectly possible that Gordon Tyler was tucked up warm and dry in his apartment with no plans to leave for the day.

  Elizabeth envied him. But she’d promised herself she would do this for Kaminsky. She hated seeing him worry. He was a good reporter—an excellent reporter—and he’d given her a chance when it was unlikely anyone else would have.

  Elizabeth huddled under her umbrella, but her hands and feet were getting numb from the chill damp. She spied a coffee shop across the street. There was a large picture window looking out over Seventy-Fourth Street and right in front was an empty table for two.

  Elizabeth dashed across the street, cursing when she landed in a puddle just short of the sidewalk. Water sluiced over the tops of her short boots and down into her shoes. The temptation to return home and get into a nice hot bath was strong, but she resisted it.

  A bell tinkled as she pushed open the door of the coffee shop. The rush of warm air heavy with the scent of coffee and frying foods felt heavenly. Elizabeth slid into a seat at the table by the window and rubbed her hands together briskly to warm them.

  A waitress, her expression indifferent, appeared at Elizabeth’s side, her pencil already poised over her order pad.

  “A coffee, please,” Elizabeth said.

  The waitress nodded and wordlessly moved away. She returned moments later with a thick ceramic cup and plunked it down on the table in front of Elizabeth. Coffee sloshed over the side and puddled in the saucer. Elizabeth pulled a paper napkin from the dispenser on the table and put it under the cup to soak up the spill.

  She noticed a movement out of the corner of her eye and quickly glanced out the window. An elderly gentleman walking a miniature poodle on a leash had emerged from the Tylers’ apartment building.

  Elizabeth kept her gaze on the window as she stirred sugar into her coffee. She fished in her change purse for some coins and put them on the table. If Gordon Tyler appeared outside, she didn’t want to miss him while she was paying the bill.

  She was nearly finished with her coffee when the door of the building across the street opened again. The window was beginning to fog over, but she saw immediately that it was Tyler.

  Elizabeth grabbed her purse and her camera—she’d never taken off her coat—and bolted out the door, the Open sign banging against the glass behind her. Tyler had begun to walk toward Lexington Avenue and Elizabeth kept pace with him glancing across the street every few seconds. The light at the corner was red, and she took the opportunity to cross the street and stand a discrete distance behind Tyler.

  They were halfway down the block toward Third Avenue when Tyler suddenly turned around. Did he sense he was being followed? Elizabeth quickly pivoted and pretended to look in one of the shop windows at a display of Hoover vacuum cleaners.

  Tyler began to walk again and so did Elizabeth, although she stayed farther back this time. He was a tall man and it was easy to spot his dark brown trilby above the heads of the crowd.

  The light at Third Avenue was green and Elizabeth was able to blend into the crowd waiting to cross. She was beginning to wonder if this was a fruitless mission. Tyler might be out for nothing more than a walk. Although how likely was it that anyone would choose to take a stroll in such inclement weather?

  Elizabeth made her way down the street toward Second Avenue, quickly dodging behind someone or stopping to look in a shop window whenever she thought Tyler might turn around. She had to laugh at herself—she was beginning to feel like a character in the spy novels her father liked to read after dinner.

  They reached the corner of Second Avenue and Elizabeth was beginning to despair. Obviously she was on a fool’s errand. She was glad she hadn’t told Kaminsky about her plan, only to disappoint him in the end.

  She was contemplating turning around—by now she was chilled to the bone—when a woman came walking toward Tyler from the opposite direction. She was wearing a cherry-red coat and had dark curly hair. Her lips were painted bright red and curled into a smile.

  Elizabeth fumbled for her camera.

  Tyler quickened his pace and when he reached the woman he grasped both her arms, led her into the shadow of a doorway and pulled her toward him for a kiss. Elizabeth’s shutter clicked. It sounded so loud to her that she feared Tyler would hear it, but the pair was too wrapped up in each other to notice.

  Emboldened, Elizabeth stepped closer and clicked the shutter again, this time focused more closely on the woman’s face.

  She wanted one more picture. She cocked the shutter again and waited for the perfect shot. Tyler must have sensed her presence because he suddenly looked right at her, his mouth open in astonishment. Elizabeth took the picture.

  “Hey!” he shouted, pointing a finger at Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth began walking swiftly as she fumbled her camera back into its case.

  “Stop!” Tyler shouted, but Elizabeth kept moving.

  The bad weather had sent everyone indoors. The sidewalk was nearly empty and there was no chance of blending in with a crowd. Her only hope was to outrun Tyler and get out to Lexington Avenue where there would hopefully be more people and more places to hide.

  Tyler continued to shout and Elizabeth could tell by his voice that he was getting closer. She didn’t dare look over her shoulder but kept her eyes on the sidewalk in front of her. She was halfway down the block when it began to rain again—a cold pelting rain that immediately found its way down her collar and onto the back of her neck. She realized she’d left her umbrella in the coffee shop, but even if she’d had it with her, she wouldn’t have wanted to waste time trying to open it.

  The pavement was uneven. She stubbed her toe on a raised piece and turned her ankle. Tyler was right behind her and she felt him grab the strap of her camera case as she tried to regain her balance.

  She yanked the strap back and continued walking. Tyler was close enough for her to hear his ragged breath and it spurred her on even though her ankle was begin
ning to ache.

  “Stop!” Tyler yelled again.

  Elizabeth noticed that a couple walking toward her turned their heads in her direction, a look of surprise on their faces. They must think she’d snatched something from Tyler, Elizabeth thought.

  Tyler’s footsteps became fainter and when Elizabeth risked turning to look, she saw him standing in the middle of the pavement shaking his fist at her, the girl in the cherry-red coat clinging to his arm.

  Elizabeth felt almost giddy as she headed up Lexington Avenue toward home, her camera case clutched tightly to her side. By the time she turned onto Madison Avenue, she was drenched, her hair hanging down limply on either side of her face and the hem of her raincoat thoroughly wet from the slanting rain.

  She wished fervently that she didn’t have plans to go out that night. All she really wanted was to strip off her wet clothes, put on something comfortable, make herself a cup of tea and settle down with her book.

  * * *

  —

  “Good heavens,” Helen said when Elizabeth walked in. “What happened to you?” Helen put her book facedown on the sofa next to her.

  “It’s raining,” Elizabeth said, running her hands through her wet hair.

  “Darling, I can see that, but didn’t you have your umbrella?”

  “I couldn’t get it to work properly.”

  “Maybe Jones can take a look at it. He’s marvelous at fixing things.” Helen smoothed out the pleats in her skirt. “You’ll have to hurry if you’re going to be ready on time for Marjorie’s engagement party.”

  “I have plenty of time,” Elizabeth said. She walked over to the windows and held her hands over the radiator to warm them.

  “You have to dry your hair and put it up in pin curls. I know you have some lovely natural curl, but you really might want to consider a permanent wave. It makes all the difference.” Helen touched her own blond locks.

  Elizabeth held her nose. “Those permanent waves stink to high heaven. I’ll cope—don’t worry.”

  Helen fiddled with the silk tassel on the pillow next to her on the sofa, letting the tendrils run through her fingers.

  “The party’s at the Ritz-Carlton, isn’t it? Do you know Barbara Hutton made her debut there? It was in all the papers.”

  Elizabeth detected a wistful note in her mother’s voice.

  “Maybe Marjorie’s engagement party will give Phillips ideas.” Helen was smiling, and there was a coy look in her eyes.

  It had never occurred to Elizabeth that Marjorie’s engagement might give Phillips ideas as Helen put it, and the thought gnawed at Elizabeth later as she wound sections of her damp hair around her finger and secured them with bobby pins.

  Elizabeth knew her mother wanted nothing more than to see her settled with someone with the right manners, the right connections and from the right social class. Helen was certain that that would make Elizabeth happy.

  Elizabeth was equally certain that it wouldn’t.

  Chapter 12

  The car pulled up to a stately building on Madison Avenue and Forty-Sixth Street. A long row of shiny black Lincolns and Cadillacs idled at the curb, their exhaust pipes blowing puffs of smoke into the air while they waited to pull in front of the Ritz-Carlton hotel and disgorge their passengers.

  The doorman opened the door with a practiced flourish and gave a peremptory bow to Elizabeth as she gathered her skirts and exited the car. Phillips was waiting for her on the sidewalk with his arm crooked. She took his elbow and they made their way to the grand entrance.

  The rain had mercifully stopped although clouds still scudded across the sky, covering and uncovering the moon as if the moon was playing a childish game of peekaboo.

  A small group was clustered in front of the mirrored elevator doors, waiting. They watched as the elevator indicator made its way around the dial from number three to number two and finally quivering in place, to number one. The door opened and the crowd pressed forward.

  Phillips smiled ruefully at Elizabeth as they were pushed toward the back of the car, the ladies’ satin and taffeta gowns crinkling as they rubbed against one another. The women filled the car with a heady bouquet of perfume and face powder and the men of cigar smoke, gin and whiskey.

  Marjorie and Bertie were waiting at the entrance to the ballroom to greet their guests. Marjorie was in a splendid Mainbocher strapless gown—a style that had become all the rage that year. It was a brilliant sapphire blue that matched the color of the sapphire-and-diamond engagement ring she sported on her left hand.

  “Darling,” Marjorie said when Elizabeth approached her. She laid her cool cheek, soft with powder, against Elizabeth’s. “It’s been simply ages. How are you?”

  Before Elizabeth could answer, Marjorie turned away. “Ann, darling,” she said to a tall blonde in a yellow dress, “I’m so glad you could come.”

  “Shall we get a drink?” Phillips said, as he steered Elizabeth into the room.

  The magnificent ballroom was lit with crystal chandeliers, twinkling wall sconces and flickering candles in elaborate silver candelabra. Waiters in white gloves circulated with champagne flutes on silver trays and a selection of tantalizing hors d′oeuvres.

  “Would you like champagne?” Phillips said, snagging a passing waiter.

  Elizabeth accepted the glass and took a sip. She loved to watch the way the bubbles chased one another up and down the flute, popping in exuberance when they reached the surface.

  A group of older people—Elizabeth thought she recognized Marjorie’s mother and father from parents’ weekend at Wellesley—were clustered together, the women tightly corseted and dripping with impressive jewels, the men with their gold watch chains stretched across their broad stomachs and bristly mustaches to make up for their receding hairlines.

  A waiter came up to Elizabeth with a tray of hors d′oeuvres—celery stuffed with crabmeat. She took one, along with the napkin he handed her, and nibbled on it carefully—she didn’t want to smudge her lipstick.

  Suddenly the sound of static filled the room, and everyone turned toward the stage. A man in dinner clothes was tapping the microphone, which emitted crackles and screeches. Finally, satisfied that it was functioning, he held it to his mouth.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said with a flourish, “straight from their performance at the Steel Pier in Atlantic City, may I present the very popular Jan Savitt and his Top Hatters. With vocals by the lovely Miss Carlotta Dale.” He ended the last words on a high note and with a sweep of his hand.

  The orchestra filed onto the stage and there was a hush as a woman walked out and took her place in front of the microphone. She was wearing a clingy white dress with a low neckline that showcased her curves. Someone in the back gave a wolf whistle and everyone laughed.

  The band swung into “You Go to My Head” and couples headed onto the dance floor.

  “Would you like to dance?” Phillips put his glass down on a table and held his hand out for Elizabeth’s.

  “Spinning around my brain like the bubbles in a glass of champagne,” Miss Dale crooned, caressing the microphone.

  Phillips put his arm around Elizabeth and grasped her hand in his. He was a smooth dancer—easy to follow and light on his feet. Elizabeth waited to feel some sort of spark. She remembered how Marino’s hand just brushing against hers had set her alight. She and Phillips had been dating—or more accurately, Phillips had been asking her out—for over a year now.

  But try as she might, she couldn’t picture herself spending her life with him…or anyone like him.

  They danced several more times and then the band announced they were going to take a break.

  Elizabeth excused herself and went to the ladies’ room to powder her nose and freshen her lipstick. Several women were in front of the mirror, the skirts of their gowns squashed together in a kaleidoscope of co
lors from pastel pink to deep blood red.

  They chattered like birds at dawn as they repaired their “faces” and prepared to return to the dance.

  Elizabeth snapped her compact shut and headed back to the ballroom.

  Phillips was with a cluster of people from their set. She noticed that the men had exchanged their champagne for martinis and that their voices were getting louder and their laughter more raucous. Gladys Montgomery was standing with them. She hadn’t seen Gladys since that night at Delmonico’s when she had had dinner with Marino. For a moment Elizabeth had the overwhelming urge to turn tail and run.

  Instead she made her way through the crowd to stand at Phillips’s side.

  Phillips handed her a glass of champagne. “I snagged this for you.”

  “Thanks,” Elizabeth said. Her mouth had dried up and she took a sip gratefully. She rather wished he’d gotten her a martini instead.

  “Why, Elizabeth. I’m surprised to see you here,” Gladys said with a sly look on her face. She tapped Elizabeth on the arm and glanced from Elizabeth to Phillips and back again. “I’m glad to see you with someone from our set for a change.” She emphasized the words from our set.

  Elizabeth clenched her teeth and smiled, biting her tongue so she wouldn’t say anything. Phillips looked at her curiously then took another sip of his martini. He swayed slightly and Harry Brooks reached out a hand.

  “Steady there, old man,” he said.

  The band began playing “I Married an Angel,” and Bertie Alsop yelled out, “Not yet I haven’t!” His words slightly slurred. Everyone laughed and Marjorie slapped him on the arm.

  The song ended and the band began another. Several couples headed to the dance floor and others started to move toward the bar, where the bartender was mixing martinis and Manhattans with practiced ease.

  “Let’s go,” Phillips said, taking Elizabeth’s arm. His breath surrounded Elizabeth in a cloud of gin.

  He began to lead her out of the ballroom.