“What did the car look like?” asked Fio.
“That’s what I keep thinking about. I thought it was black. But knowing what Daphne had been driving, the car that hit Crusher . . . you say it was dark green, Lane?” he asked.
“Yes. Just a sedan, a little sleeker than the police cars, but a similar green. Maybe a little darker,” I replied.
“Yeah. It might’ve been her car. Which, if it was hers, would mean Murk is tight with her. At least, tighter than Crusher had been. Because she had to have raced off to find Crusher right after that meeting. And killed him.”
CHAPTER 50
The back room of the deli was hot and sticky. It didn’t matter that it was the middle of winter, the room gathered humidity and heat, making armpits and hairlines damp like it was mid-August. The refrigerator needed cleaning and emitted a noxious odor of mold and sour milk.
But they liked the room. It was theirs. Many a meeting was held at the dingy table, plans confirmed, motives questioned, the thirst for dirty business quenched.
“I think that’s as good a plan as we’ve ever come up with,” said Wulf.
Murk sat back in the greasy chair, lightly caressing his paunch, clearly pleased with himself. “Yeah. I think so, too. They don’t expect that I can do much. Of course I’ve banked on that for years. They even fell for my red herring of a name. Can you believe they bought ‘Cushman’?” He ran a hand through his sparse hair, smearing a smudge of resulting sweat on his shirtfront as he subconsciously circled it some more.
Wulf barked out a laugh. “You mean like the bread? What morons.”
“You said it,” laughed Murk. He took a breath as a dangerous look came to his eyes. “We have them anxious about our retaliation, taking out more cops. But I wouldn’t mind taking out the pip-squeak mayor and that little aide of his. She thinks she’s hot stuff. Takes liberties like she’s more important than she should be. Needs to learn her place.”
Wulf caught the dark look in his partner’s eye and knew enough to shut up and listen. He squinted as he thought about the problem. “You know, boss. You want to get at the mayor and that Miss Sanders . . . you don’t get them. You get who they care about.”
“I’ve already been working on plans for our little mayor, but his family is too hard to touch, not to mention I’m not into killing kids,” said Murk disdainfully.
“No, no. I mean her boyfriend, that cop. And he’s one of La Guardia’s right-hand men.”
A gleam of understanding hit Murk’s eyes as he said, “You know who her boyfriend is?”
Wulf pulled one side of his mouth up in a sly grin. “You do, too. That detective who came in with the mayor the night you had that tall cop killed. They’re an item.”
“Now you’re talkin’. We could get two birds with one stone. Another cop out of the way just as we threatened and teach little Miss Sanders and the mayor a lesson to boot. I like it. I like it a lot,” said Murk.
“Okay. Let’s put a tail on them and see if we can get an opportunity. If we grab her, he’ll come after. Maybe we can even get them both,” said Wulf, enjoying the moment of being on the inside of the action. He’d been trying to go up the ranks for a while.
Murk’s eyes suddenly zeroed in on Wulf, like a predator sizing up his prey. In a split second, Wulf went from feeling on top of the world to feeling like he might wet himself. He swallowed.
Murk slowly stood up, placing his hands on the table and leaning in to Wulf. “But. If you ever draw attention to yourself again like you did outside the Savoy with that black cop, I’ll kill you myself. Go.”
CHAPTER 51
That night we all needed a break. We craved music, simplicity, food, drinks, and friends. We headed out to Little Italy.
It had begun to snow again and the narrow streets looked magical, with warm lights blinking out through the dark night that had been softened with a coat of fluffy snow. It felt like it was cleaning the city, cleansing our palates from a rough day. Finn was still busy late in the day, so I called and said I’d meet him at our favorite place, Copioli’s.
Roarke, Roxy, and I all went into the sumptuous-smelling restaurant. The scent of garlic, butter, wine, and tomatoes embraced us at the door. The little red candles flickered invitingly on the tables. I waved to Sam and Florence as we pulled a couple of extra tables together. I kept a seat open next to me for Finn.
“Too bad Val couldn’t come,” said Roxy. “But I imagine it was a rough day for her. She looked really tired.”
“Yeah, and she and Peter used to come here with us once in a while,” I said.
We went ahead and ordered a few pasta dishes, a few bottles of wine, and a big salad to pass around. I of course ordered the crumb-coated baked green olives that I could eat by the bushel. The waiters brought over steaming fresh bread and all three bottles of wine right away. We dove in, enjoying the easy atmosphere and close friends.
Of course, the real Little Italy was uptown in East Harlem, the largest Italian settlement in the States. But this small area that butted up against Chinatown was special to us, somehow. It was closer to City Hall and all our offices, but it also held a certain charm with its squat buildings pressed up against each other, lights hung back and forth across the street, the friendly waiters that moved fluidly to the rhythm of the place like busy ballerinas.
After we finished off every last bit of the garlic and tomato sauces from each plate with the end caps of the fresh bread, we sat back in our chairs replete and content. I sipped my coffee and started eyeing the dessert menu, when the musicians began setting up. Even just tuning up, the classical guitar and the bass, with the accordionist and bongos player prepping their instruments while laughing and telling stories, the restaurant’s very air sparkled with anticipation. In New York, you often just fell into great events. Things you couldn’t expect or plan for. Like live music that made the crowd move and share a sudden camaraderie and contagious smiles.
I went over to the bass player and had a few friendly words, then handed him a couple coins and a grin. When the guitarist gave a nod that he was ready, they launched into their first song. The glittering candlelight created sparks on the glassware, the smoky air filled with scents of good Italian cooking and whiffs of perfume, and the smoldering, swing-your-hips music all came together to pull us into action.
The patrons at the middle tables worked together to pull all our tables to the side to create a makeshift dance floor. The owner came out of the kitchen with a pleased gleam in his eye as he dried a platter with a towel. The sultry, rhythmic song made you want to move, it was impossible not to join in. Roarke and Roxy were already dancing and Sam put his giant hand out to Florence.
My partner had impeccable timing, walking in the door with a burst of frosty air. His dark eyes searched for mine and I felt the heat rise through me as we locked eyes. He shook off his snowy coat and hat and came over.
“Come on, Lane,” he said in his low voice. He rolled his sleeves up and his arm came automatically around my waist to pull me smoothly into the dance. He smelled like winter and his own particular woodsy aftershave. He’d changed from his dress blues into his favorite black suit with a maroon shirt and black tie underneath a smooth vest.
The muscles of his chest and arms rippled as we danced. I caught the eye of the bass player and winked.
“How was Pete’s family doing?” I asked.
“Oh, as good as can be expected,” he said. “But I think the large turnout at the ceremony really surprised them, made them feel better that Pete had been loved and successful.”
“The whole service was so moving.” I set my cheek onto his shoulder, his arm pulling me closer. He felt like home.
“I heard you had a big day,” he said with a wry tone.
“Pfft. When don’t I?” I quipped.
The song ended and the bass player nodded when I looked his way. Years later, Rosemary Clooney would sing a similar song, but I was convinced this was the original.
Hey mambo, mambo I
taliano . . .
Finn gave me a wolfish grin and we moved into the rhumba kind of rhythm. The place had been alive before, but there was something about this song . . . light conversations ceased, this was serious dancing. Hips swayed lower, smiles grew wider, eyes turned smoldering, the tempo swinging us around the stars. I spotted one waiter swing the hostess onto the floor and another who gathered up a gal standing by the bar. Even the owner came out of the kitchen, pulling his wife along, who happily slid the apron from her waist to fluidly join in.
The band extended the song, none of us wanting it to end. But eventually, they felt the ending. At the final notes, the entire place sang Mambo! Italiano!
It was New York’s weird magic. We all applauded and even shared a few hugs all around.
We decided to take a quick break and went to the bar for a beer.
“Oh, that was so fun,” I said.
“It was! We need to hit another Irish pub, too,” said Finn with knowing eyes.
“I’d love that,” I said, fondly remembering our reel at the pub in England.
“Love, did you figure out the details to your idea for tomorrow night, Valentine’s Day?” he asked.
“I did, in fact.” I asked for a water, still parched, then added, “Yes, it’s all set. With Crusher out of the picture and Daphne most definitely in the picture . . . we still need to find out more information and specifically if Uncle Louie Venetti is involved in anything. Do I have that right?”
He nodded and said, “Yeah. He’s been quiet, but the pinball racket started with him. If he’s moved on to other deals, it’d be good to know. If we could find a place where it’d be . . . uh . . . less deadly to ask about his whereabouts and activities . . .” He rolled his eyes in emphasis of how difficult that could be. I laughed when he said less deadly.
“Exactly. And I have just the thing. Aunt Evelyn set it all up today. Tomorrow night we are going to the Valentine’s dance at the Elmo.”
CHAPTER 52
Finn looked at his desk. The many layers of green paint kept the two bottom drawers from shutting, giving it the appearance of a dilapidated bulldog. He loved it like a crummy old pair of perfect slippers.
He stacked his finished casework and neatly filed it away. Lane had given him the Voodoo Macbeth tickets the night before when they all went to Little Italy. What a night. There were fancier and more trendy places, but usually there wasn’t enough room to dance. And at Copioli’s there was an energy that you couldn’t match anywhere else. He supposed it was from the spontaneity. The fact that the crowd made it happen, it wasn’t scheduled. There was a magnetism with spontaneous things. He laughed to himself as the image of Lane throwing her stockings into the Thames came skating back to mind. Talk about spontaneous. He could only imagine what tonight would hold for them as they went sleuthing at El Morocco.
Finn was delighted to attend Voodoo one more time. Plus, they’d seen it the first time at the Lafayette in Harlem. They’d been lucky to get tickets, as it was sold out for ten weeks straight. This time, after touring the country, Voodoo came back to New York City and was at the Majestic, in Brooklyn. He not only wanted to experience the whole thing all over again, but to experience it after he’d faced his past, what he thought had been a curse. The delight of a night with Florence and Sam, and meeting that engaging Orson Welles again, filled him with pleasure.
Finn had a busy social schedule with Voodoo coming up, on top of the Elmo that night. He grabbed his heavy overcoat and hat and left the station for his quick meeting. He had received a surprising message that just might prove to be a trump card. He opted for his favorite haunt to meet contacts, the English-style pub.
Finn walked in and met with his contact over fish ’n’ chips. They carefully chose the back, wanting to stay out of the window. His contact went over the new details he’d located. Things were coming together, but they just needed the place and time.
Finn rubbed his hands together in anticipation. He’d been outwitted when he went to England, unable to foresee all that his devious brother had been capable of. Finn still broke out into a sweat at the thought of just how close he’d gotten to being committed.
Despite Lane’s positive outlook, she could see the deception when he’d been blind to it. As he and Lane danced late into the night at Copioli’s, she’d looked at him with wary eyes when they discussed the fact that as an NYPD detective, he was a target yet again. He was certain that images of him being dragged away to the police wagon had been flitting through her mind, because they sure had been filling his own thoughts.
But he assured her he had a plan. She wanted to know the plan, but he needed to keep it even from her. He’d learned that anyone could be deceived when it was the right lie from the right person. No one was impenetrable. So he decided to go on the offense. And with this new contact, he would not be taken in again.
CHAPTER 53
I’d been dying for a chance to go to El Morocco, affectionately called the Elmo. If you wanted society to know you? Gaze upon your fashion sense? Get the latest gossip and perhaps be entered into the halls of celebrity by Lucius Beebe at the Herald Tribune? You went to the number one rendezvous of café society, the Elmo. However, it cost a pretty penny and you needed to have people in the know to get in. I never had quite a good enough excuse for Aunt Evelyn to pull some considerable strings to get me in. This, however, was just the ticket.
I slid on my new silk stockings that I’d been saving for just such an important event. I clipped on the garters and gently slipped the dress from its hanger. I slunk into the floor-length white satin that gracefully hugged my curves and felt as light as a wisp of air. I had curled my hair into hundreds of twirling chocolate-colored tendrils, then pulled up the back and pinned it artfully into place with curls here and there, and one longer one kissing the side of my face.
I looked at my dresser that held some of my favorite mementos from my mother: her silver brush set and the jewelry I’d wear tonight, along with a sweet little wooden cat with his tail curled around his perfect, stripey legs. She’d always loved little ginger cats, but we’d never managed to get one. I picked up the Art Deco set of silver and diamond earrings and the matching slender bracelet and secured them all into place. Lastly, I took the white mink stole and slipped it around my shoulders, feeling its sumptuous fur that tickled my chin as I snuggled into it.
From upstairs in my room, I heard the ruckus of Finn coming to the door and Ripley and Mr. Kirkland answering, followed by the light steps of Aunt Evelyn quickly tapping down the stairs to join in. I took one last look at my reflection to double-check my deep red lipstick and glittering appearance, then headed down.
“Hello, everyone!” I greeted as I landed on the last step at the foyer. The warm lamp sent glowing shadows throughout the welcoming space. I suddenly remembered a very sweet dance Finn and I shared in that very spot to jazzy piano music floating down the stairs from Aunt Evelyn’s studio.
Finn’s gray-green eyes connected with mine. Aunt Evelyn gasped a little and said, “Oh, Lane! You look divine!”
Mr. Kirkland was looking between me and Finn, probably sensing the electricity between us because he had a cheeky grin on his face. He said in his gravelly voice, “Lane, you look terrific. Finn? Take care of our girl.” That last part he said with just a touch of threat, which made me chuckle.
“I will do my best, sir,” said Finn, biting back a smile.
I went to him and kissed him on the cheek, inhaling the scent of the aftershave, which I loved. He turned a quirky smile and a cocked eyebrow to me. I think I might have uttered a hungry mmmmmm when I inhaled. I thought that had been to myself.
“Okay! We’re off!” I declared.
“Hold the phone!” cried Aunt Evelyn. “I have a little surprise for you that I arranged with a friend. You can’t merely walk up to the Elmo or take a cab. The doorman will look down upon you and might not even let you in.”
A double honk of a horn sounded from outside and Evelyn remarked, �
��In fact, it’s just on time.”
Finn held out his arm to me as we went to the door. He had on a crisp black suit with just a hint of a pinstripe in the fabric, a bright white shirt and tie, and a new black fedora with a white band and tiny white feather on the side. He looked delicious.
Kirkland opened the front door with a flourish. I held the banister as I stepped down the front steps of our brownstone in awe.
“Oh my,” I whispered.
A driver stepped out and opened for me the back door of the silver Rolls-Royce Phantom.
“Now that’s bloody brilliant,” said Finn.
“Take good care of them, Tommy!” said Evelyn.
“Will do, Mrs. Thorne,” said the driver, decked out in a matching dove-gray uniform.
The backseat was covered in a soft, buttery leather. Every ounce of this heavenly vehicle was striking.
“New shoes, Lane?” Finn asked, glimpsing the tips sticking out from my gown.
“Yes. They’re scrumptious!” I pulled up my dress so he could see them in total. They were white satin with very high heels, a sliver of an ankle strap, and flat beads that had been sewn into a clever Art Deco design on the toes that sparkled in the light.
“Beautiful!” he whispered, not looking at the shoes but at my legs. “Say, Lane, is that your mom’s dress that she wore in the photograph with Uncle Louie by the Central Park casino?”
“The very same. I tried it on when we were in Michigan and it fit like a dream. The whole ensemble is hers other than the shoes. Even the little diamond clip in my hair.”
“She’d have loved to see you wearing it. You look amazing.”
That sentiment filled me with pleasure and reminded me just how much my life and my story were connected with my parents, even though I’d lost them so long ago. It was an odd feeling indeed, to have lived more of my years without my parents than the years with them. It was moments like these that made me feel like they were still all around me.
The Pearl Dagger Page 24
