Finn grunted a laugh and wrapped the guy’s hands behind his back good and tight. “Kirkland took you shooting, didn’t he,” he stated. I just flashed a Cheshire grin at him in answer. “I figured.”
I gave the gun back to Finn, then went over to the gal and helped her up. “Did you know that guy?” I asked. She looked scared, but mad, too, which was always a good sign that I didn’t have a fainter on my hands. I hated fainters.
“No! I was just walking by the elevator on the way to the coat room. He grabbed me and slammed the elevator door shut!”
“Did he say anything? What did he want?” I asked as I put an arm around her shoulders to lead her inside.
“Gosh, I hope he didn’t tear my new dress. I saved up for a month to buy it!” she remarked indignantly.
“I love your dress! I was just admiring it when you were grabbed. Here, let me see . . .” I looked at her back and all over to inspect. “Nope! Just a bit wrinkled, no tears.”
“He didn’t say much. But I kept thinking he’d been looking for someone else, because he said something about the street. No! The lane. Something about the lane and that he couldn’t wait to get his hands on a guy named Finn. Show him who’s boss. What was he talking about? Sounded like gibberish to me.”
Stunned and rather speechless, I whispered, “Yeah, gibberish.”
She patted her hair and said, “Thanks. I’m so glad you ran out. Say . . . is that a dagger you’re holding?”
CHAPTER 55
We decided to call it a night.
Finn arrested the guy and took him in after a quick call to the local precinct. Our driver came by to pick me up and I made my way home. The townhouse looked brilliantly welcoming in the night even though I didn’t want to say good-bye to my silver chariot. Aunt Evelyn and Mr. Kirkland must have still been up, because there were a few scattered glowing lights instead of the requisite one left on in the parlor when any of us had a late night. After I patted Ripley a fond hello and stroked his silky German shepherd ears, I walked to the back of the house where my favorite warm room was waiting.
Mr. Kirkland and Aunt Evelyn were reading, caught up in their own literary worlds. Mr. Kirkland had on a thick Irish wool sweater, bringing home the image of a swarthy seaman that I’d always thought of him as. Aunt Evelyn had been painting; her Gypsy garb glowed with its gemstone colors and her long hair trailed down her back. But they were so engrossed in their reading they didn’t look up until I was fully in the room.
“Hello! What a Valentine’s Day!” I greeted.
Aunt Evelyn looked up at me over her reading glasses. “Oh, Lane dear! You really do look smashing. I bet you and Finn made a glamorous pair. Probably in the society pages tomorrow.”
“Well . . .” I said with relish. “I hope that’s the one that makes it in the paper, not a photograph of my other partner . . .”
“Grrrrr,” rumbled Mr. Kirkland. “Other partner?”
“Well, our main goal was to try to pick up on any news on Venetti,” I said, sitting down with a whoosh. “But a dance with him hadn’t been what I was aiming for.”
Aunt Evelyn rubbed the space between her eyebrows and murmured, “Oh, good Lord.” Mr. Kirkland took that as his cue to pour a little toddy. I declined, opting for a hot tea. I took off my delightfully shimmering shoes and padded over to light the stove for the tea kettle.
“Yes . . . it was surprising. Finn wasn’t too pleased.”
“I can imagine,” said Aunt Evelyn, making me laugh.
“He was nearby the whole time, and I hadn’t been giving him the eye or looking nervous, so he kept his distance.” I filled them in on what Venetti had told me, both about his aims for business as well as keeping an eye on the deli next to the Landmark Tavern and its owner.
“Also . . . it’s very strange. A man grabbed my elbow tonight and called me Charlie. Then later, Venetti remarked that I looked just like Charlie. I had to ask who he meant.”
“Your mother!” blurted Kirkland. “Her closer friends and colleagues called her that. And in that outfit that was hers, you really do look so much like her,” he said with a sweet smile that reached deep into his eyes. “Charlie. Boy, I haven’t heard that nickname in a long time. It fit her fiery personality. She wasn’t exactly a demure little flower.”
“No, she was not,” said Aunt Evelyn appreciatively. “What did that man look like who grabbed your elbow?”
I thought about it and said, “Nothing stood out too much. White, average height, about five eleven or so. Medium brown hair graying at the temples. He looked surprised when he realized I wasn’t Charlie; he blinked a few times like he couldn’t believe his eyes.”
“Hmmm,” said Mr. Kirkland, intrigued.
Evelyn and I turned to him and I said, “What do you mean, hmmm?”
“There was a guy we used to work with who would fit that description and he had a bit of a tic. Looked like he was always blinking or winking. We called him Sparks because he was a radio guy and with his twitch, it just fit him. Got a couple of slaps, as I recall, from women who thought he was being a little too forward.” He chuckled at the memory. “I’ll look him up, see what I can find. It’d be interesting to meet up again. Haven’t seen him in years. He fell off the face of the earth a long time ago, before Matthew and Charlotte were killed.”
I went to fix my tea as the kettle started to boil. I put the tea in a diffuser and poured a little sugar and cream into my cup, then said over my shoulder, “Well, it wasn’t the only point of mistaken identity tonight.”
I leaned back on the kitchen counter sipping my tea. They both looked at me with a droll expression. I regaled them with the story of the girl in the red dress at Ophelia and our subsequent rescue.
“You really were busy tonight, huh?” rumbled Kirkland.
“Yeah. And I need to buy Finn a new tie because he had to use his beautiful dressy one for makeshift handcuffs. By the way, my shooting lessons came in handy. Finn had me hold the gun on the guy while he tied him up. I think he’d guessed that you and I were in cahoots.”
“You took her shooting? I want to go shooting!” exclaimed Aunt Evelyn rather like a sullen teenager. Mr. Kirkland just laughed his raspy chuckle and patted her on the knee.
“And this came in handy once again.” I threw my foot up onto the kitchen chair to retrieve my pearl dagger.
Mr. Kirkland choked, then laughed so hard, Evelyn felt compelled to slap him on the back repeatedly.
“Stop it! Stop it! I’m fine,” he said gruffly, his laughter ebbing. After he got his breath back, he went and poured himself some tea as I slumped into the comfy moss-green velvet chair.
When he came back to the davenport, he rested his elbows on his knees, cradling the steaming cup between his two hands. “You know, that dagger was Matthew’s. But Charlotte was as adept at throwing it as you are, Lane. She wielded that thing better than any street fighter I’d seen. One day, we were talking about life and she was practicing throwing it when we were back in Michigan. Matthew had set up a good wooden target for their practice. We’d taken out Rex, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that the Network wasn’t finished; even back then I’d had that sense. It was at that conversation that she popped the dagger up into the air, over to me, and said that I should take it. I was going to need it.”
“It was my mother who gave it to you?” I asked.
“Yeah. With Matthew’s consent, of course. He felt like it was lucky and he wanted me to have it, then one day give it to you.”
I took a long sip of tea and rested my elbow on the arm of the velvet chair. “So you were talking with my mom about the fact that maybe Rex’s people were still on the prowl. And she specifically tossed you the dagger and said you were going to need it?”
He nodded and said, “Exactly. Just like I said. What about it?”
I gave a knowing look to Aunt Evelyn and said, “There’s more to it than that. It’s not just lucky.” I set down my cup and took the pearl dagger into my hands and closely s
crutinized the ebony handle with pearl inlays. “You know the dagger’s story, right?” I asked.
Mr. Kirkland had known, but Aunt Evelyn was unaware, so I filled her in on the long story of beauty out of ashes from the outskirts of London. How my parents had seen the diamond in the rough within the drunken Alistair all those years ago, and how the very handle had been loved because of the beauty that was created out of misfortune.
We all headed to bed, full of the thoughts of the last two days and the days ahead. We’d learned a lot, but we needed to debrief and make a plan of action. Finn would look more into the slimy Eugene Murk, the owner of the deli, that seemed to be the impetus of all this. He’d also look into more ties between Murk and the Red Scroll group since he and Daphne seemed to have some sort of relationship.
As I disrobed from my gorgeous gown, I gazed at my wonderful bookshelves full of my favorite books. The colorful bindings added their own texture and depth to the deep blue walls. I caught a glimpse of a favorite red volume of a few of Shakespeare’s plays on my shelf. I was so excited to take Finn to Voodoo Macbeth one more time, his face absolutely shining when I gave him the tickets the night we went to Copioli’s. I knew it couldn’t stay in production forever, but I really hoped it would run for a long, long time. We suffered from so much racism and segregation . . . Aunt Evelyn always said that art helps us heal; maybe Voodoo would make a step toward healing. Fio sure believed in art’s redemptive powers; it was the very reason he started the public High School of Music and Art.
I was tired. I sat down for a moment in my white chair by the window, my cherished reading spot. Ripley nosed his way into my room and set his big head on the arm of my chair. I smiled and stroked his soft head and big ears. He set himself down with a huff of contentment and I put up my feet on the little ottoman.
I thought about the whole evening full of dances, intrigue, mistaken identity, holding a gun. I thought about that man mistaking me for Charlie. And as my eyes grew heavy, I thought about Valerie and her secrets. She had me worried. It was clear there was a lot more to it all than just a new boyfriend.
CHAPTER 56
Monday morning I was putting on my lipstick and matching raspberry dress with the little ruffles at the sleeve and down the front. The raspberry settees at Ophelia were running through my mind and put me in the mood for pink.
It was still snowy out, so I opted for my tall black boots again and I matched them with a wide black belt and black purse. As I slipped on my second boot, the ruckus that is Fiorello broke into my thoughts. He really was not a quiet man.
His bellows of greeting were matched by Ripley’s barking as I bounded down the stairs. He eats fast and was always eager to start the day, so I had to get a move on.
Fio, Kirkland, and Evelyn were just sitting down at the table when I scooted my chair out from the table. Today Mr. Kirkland fixed oatmeal with a little vanilla, a pat of butter on top with a little cream, and a sprinkling of cinnamon and chocolate. It was the best oatmeal I’d ever had in my life.
“So I see you made the society pages, huh, Lane?” said Fiorello with something akin to a sneer.
My stomach dropped. It would not do at all to have the mayor’s aide dancing with an infamous gangster. Not at all. “I did?” I asked queasily.
He chuckled and said, “Well, luckily Roarke is close buddies with Mr. Lucius Beebe. They’ve known each other a while, I think Roarke met him at Yale or something. Anyway, there’s a photograph of you, but only you and not your partner, nor his name. There is one woman in the photograph who has a slightly horrified expression as she’s looking at your partner, but believe me, no one will be looking anywhere except at those zebra chairs and your lovely countenance, Lane. So it’s all right.”
I’d gulped a few bites of oatmeal and slammed a bit of coffee down, relieved that there would be no press nightmares for us to deal with. After a little chitchat with Kirkland and Evelyn, Fio suddenly plunked his mug down with good humor and said, “Okay! We’ve got work to do!”
We quickly assembled ourselves and went out the door to his awaiting car and Ray the driver. When I got to the door, Ray leaned down and said softly, “Don’t tell him I told you about the secret whiskey cabinet.”
I clicked my tongue and said, “I got you covered, Ray. And thanks.”
On the way downtown Fio gave me the usual onslaught of information, to-do lists, and agendas. My pencil flew down the page of my ever-ready notebook. I loved my job. We passed the relief station with its long line of people looking for work. The lines were smaller these days, thank God. I didn’t make a ton of money, but I loved making a difference and I could never complain that my job was boring. Tedious at times, sure, like any job. But never truly dull. Of course, dangling off bridges, dancing with gangsters, and defusing bombs hadn’t been in the job description . . .
At work we opened up the offices and dove in. The petitioners whom Fio interviewed daily were lined up and ready. I threw my coat up on the hook and dove into the job. From the corner of my eye I spotted Valerie typing away as if she hadn’t anything unusual going on at all.
When I had a quick minute’s reprieve, I went to the coffee room to get a pick-me-up. Roxy saw me and followed after. She was giving me the eye and then nodded to Ralph, the office flirt and gossip, then nodded to Val, who was still studiously typing. Aha. I winked at Roxy. We’d find out from Ralph if he knew anything about Val.
“Say, Ralph, join us for a cup of coffee!” I nodded to Roxy, and poor Ralph, who’d had a hopeless crush on Roxy for months, was incapable of turning down those baby blues of hers. Not to mention her usual style of tight, form-fitting cashmere sweaters. Today she had on baby pink, perfectly highlighting her favored assets and obviously Ralph’s favorite assets, as well. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
I beat him to the coffee room and whispered with a wry grin to Roxy, “You wore that on purpose!”
“Absolutely. I had an idea of how we might get a little more information about Val,” she said.
“Fantastic idea,” I said as I filled my cup. We clinked our coffees together to lend our little operation a bit of luck.
Ralph came trotting in breathlessly. He always spoke a mile a minute and if anyone ever wanted to get a word in edgewise, we had to interrupt him forcefully.
He started right in at about the speed of a Type 75 Atlantic Bugatti. “Hiya, gals! Roxy, you look amazing, Lane, I saw you in the Tribune, fabulous dress, who’s that guy you were with, you know I’ve never been to the Elmo, can always spot those zebra prints though, boy, I need a cup of coff—”
“Ralph!” yelled Roxy a little too loudly. “Ha, sorry. Yes, hey, you know, uh, we’ve been trying to come up with an idea for Valerie’s birthday soon, we were wondering if you had any ideas?”
“Me?” he questioned, for which I couldn’t blame him as we were her two best friends. I wondered what Roxy would come up with.
I turned to her in expectation. She landed on the not-answering-the-question option. “Uh, yeah. What do you think?”
“Well,” he said, putting a fist to his chin in thought. “Let’s see, well, besides the usual of little trinkets, hmm. . . . Well, you know, she has that new boyfriend, maybe something that they can do together?”
Roxy and I caught each other’s eye. “Great idea, Ralph,” said Roxy. She turned to me. “Yeah, great idea. Lane, what was his name again?”
“Raff!” he blurted. Victory. “Yeah, I ran into them at the movies last week. They were leaving when I was coming in. Looked like they were in a hurry, couldn’t talk long. Seems like a nice guy. That’s an idea, maybe movie tickets.”
“I don’t know much about Raff yet. Do you know what he does?” I asked, pretending to go for more coffee.
“Uh . . . I think he’s a policeman or something. At least, I saw a. 38 special on him. Well, I gotta run! Good talking with you gals, say, we should go dancing again at the Monaco, that was fun, have a good day!” He pitched his napkin into the trash can and
ran out the door.
“Raff,” whispered Roxy.
“The movies,” I said in hushed tones.
“Seems like a nice guy?” said Roxy, lifting her voice like a question.
“Carrying a gun.”
* * *
I forced Val to have lunch with me.
I began by asking her out, wanting to get caught up. She’d weakly refused at first, saying she had work to finish up. I pointedly looked at her in-box, which was empty. She laughed a little and gave in after she turned a nice fuchsia color.
We went to our favorite diner and had burgers. Even though she’d been a little deceptive and secretive, it felt nice to be in our regular spot, chatting and laughing. We picked up right where we’d left off without a moment of hesitation.
Until I asked about her new boyfriend.
She turned that fuchsia color again from her neck to the roots of her golden brown hair and almost choked on the pickle she’d just taken a big bite out of. She started to prevaricate and sputtered, “I don’t . . .”
I pierced her with the Please—don’t be ridiculous glare.
She gulped and took a drink of her Coca-Cola. All pretense fell away from her lovely freckled face.
“Yeah, I met him recently. His name’s Raff. Rafael Catalano.” She sounded completely hooked. I’d never heard her sound like that before.
“You really like him? Tell me about him,” I said.
“Yeah,” she said a little dreamily. “He’s tall, taller than me, which is nice. He’s good looking, but just shy of handsome. Which makes him more handsome to me. Weird, huh? And he’s kind of rugged on the outside, but he’s got an artist’s insides. He writes poetry when he’s on the subway going in to work every day.”
I smiled, enjoying watching her figure out why she felt strongly about him.
“What’s he do?” I asked, wondering if the gun would make sense. Maybe he was a security guard or maybe he really was a policeman. But somehow, I doubted that. Those careers didn’t allow for a night at the Elmo.
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