“Oh, he works for some Wall Street bigwig. Crazy hours, good money, he likes the job all right. But I’m not sure it’s what he wants forever.” She poured more ketchup onto her plate.
“So, he’s a businessman? A trader or something?” I asked.
“Oh no. Not like that.”
“Oh. Like a bodyguard for the guy?” I was trying my hardest to sound breezy, light, just making casual conversation. But I had the feeling I was walking on thin ice. I wanted more information and yet I got the distinct feeling she didn’t want to give it.
“Jeez, Lane, you’re asking a lot of questions.”
“Well . . . I’m just wondering why you’re being so secretive. Why do you want to hide that you’re happy? You look happy, Val. I want to share it with you.”
Her sweet smile came back and she realized that I really did mean it. I wasn’t just foraging for information.
“Oh, Lane. I was just really taken aback by Peter’s murder. I met Raff near that time and it just felt like I was being insensitive by suddenly being over the moon about someone.”
“I can understand that.”
“You can?” she asked hopefully.
“Of course! Look, Val, your friends just want you to be happy. You and Peter hadn’t been an item for a while, it had always been on again, off again.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” she said, pulling a long strand of hair behind her ear.
“Wait!” I said, a thought hitting me and making me smirk. “You met Raff not that long ago and he’s nice and tall?” I asked.
“Yyyyyes,” she said uncertainly.
“Is it the guy who caught you when you tripped and almost fell in Penn Station?” I blurted out at full speed.
She wrinkled her nose in a self-deprecating grimace and set her forehead right onto the table in utter mortification. I heard a muffled, “Yes.”
I cracked up. I told her back then that it was actually very romantic. I’d always dreamed of falling, gracefully of course, and having a stranger catch me. I was right. She started to outright giggle and I felt the tension fully leave both of us.
We chatted on about all sorts of fun things. We finished our lunches and I felt that we had made great strides in not letting secrets harm our friendship.
On our way back to work, I prattled on about going to the Elmo. At first I was excited just to share the event. But then I realized she wasn’t going to open up about being there, too. She changed the subject quickly as we walked into City Hall and went right to work at her desk.
Despite our good talk, it still bothered me. Why didn’t she tell me about going to the Elmo? That’s a dream come true for both of us, why not share it? She’d met that mystery man several months ago, which meant she’d been keeping this secret for longer than I thought. And most importantly, the gun. She hadn’t given me a good answer about a job where Raff would require a gun. It’s possible my office gossip, Ralph, was mistaken. But really, the problem remained that Ralph said he specifically saw a .38 special. Which means he was close enough to actually identify a piece.
There was no mistake.
CHAPTER 57
I called a council of war.
We met at my place and after some wine, cheese, olives, and fresh bread from Mr. Kirkland’s own hands, we sat around the fireplace ready to talk.
It was our core group of Finn and me, Roxy, Roarke and Fio, and Aunt Evelyn and Mr. Kirkland. Aunt Evelyn asked the first pointed question. “Why isn’t Valerie here?”
Roxy and I exchanged glances. “Well . . . she’s part of the reason why I called the meeting,” I said. Roarke and Finn caught each other’s eye and worry puckered Aunt Evelyn’s brow.
“Oh dear,” she said.
“But first,” I began, “we need to organize and get everything straight. So, to begin with, we have Daphne involved with Murk and the pinball racket. She just took out the last major player, the Crusher. We also have a lot of mistaken identity happening.” We had all brought each other up to speed on the rather thrilling last few days, so we could dig right in on what to do next.
Fio said, “I understand why gangsters try to get each other out of the way. So I get why Daphne killed Crusher. But what I’m curious about is why Daphne still has her sights on you, Lane. I mean, she does like to toy with you, but there’s something there.”
I agreed, but other than Roarke and Finn, I hadn’t shared my strange memory of that perfume and a syringe from so long ago. I didn’t have any proof that anything untoward happened, just an odd sensation of fear that mingled with that scent.
Mr. Kirkland interjected, “I did find out that that old contact of ours is in town. Sparks had dropped off the face of the earth, he’d moved to California and none of us heard from him in ages. Word on the street is that he’s back in the business. I have to see if I can find him myself.”
“He did not seem happy to see my mom,” I said, eyebrows raised, subconsciously rubbing my arm where he’d left the fingerprints.
“Yeah, which is strange,” said Kirkland with a contemplative furrow of his brow. “I’ll get on that.”
“You know, I think there’s something more with Venetti and Daphne,” I said.
“Why is that?” asked Finn.
“Well, when we were talking, he asked about what I’d learned in England about Daphne. But he said that he and I both had a vested interest in that woman. And his tone when he said it was full of an untold story. I think she had more of a role all along. I used to think she’d waited in the shadows, working with Rex on the sly to become his most trusted partner. But Venetti has something against her. If she was just the next leader of the Red Scroll, Venetti would just take it in stride that she was the next rival in line. No big deal. But his voice says they have a past. And it is most definitely a big deal.”
“Ooooh,” said Aunt Evelyn. “That makes sense. And with her ability to disguise herself—she had living quarters arranged in a lunatic asylum, for cryin’ out loud—she could’ve been working unseen for ages.”
“Exactly,” I said.
Finn piped in, “I do have news about that guy we arrested outside Ophelia, Lane.” I smiled a little on the inside when he said we arrested. “He admitted that he thought the girl in the red dress was you.”
“Aw, crap.”
In spite of himself Finn laughed. “But I have to say, he’d been aiming for you, but I don’t think you were the target.” He shook his head like he was trying to make sense of it. “He clammed up after that, but he did rat out Eugene Murk and Wulf. So they were working together, but it doesn’t make sense.”
“You know, it makes me think of what that girl said when they were in the elevator. She’d mentioned the name Lane, but don’t forget she said the guy had been muttering about getting his hands on ‘that guy Finn.’ Maybe I wasn’t the target.” I looked at the group carefully. “Maybe I was the bait.”
“Oh dear,” said Evelyn.
“Why would they be specifically targeting me?” asked Finn, baffled.
“Hmmmm,” grumbled Kirkland, making Ripley lay a consoling head in his lap. He patted his big head as he said, “Well, it would be within their plans for another cop as a target, of course.”
Roxy spoke up for the first time, having been listening intently. “Well, on top of that, it’s well known that you are close to the mayor, Finn. I’ve heard people say you’re his right-hand man right up there with Commissioner Valentine.”
I nodded. “True. It’d be a big blow to the department and Fio’s administration. It would make it look very weak.” I took a sip of my wine. “Oh, wait.”
“Oh God,” uttered Roarke.
“Shut up, Roarke,” I bantered with a smirk. “You say he was working with Murk, right? And Murk is working with Daphne?” I asked Finn.
“Spot-on,” he said.
“Murk saw us all together when Peter was shot. You, me, and Fio.”
Finn blanched a bit and said, “And you smashed him up against the wall.”
Kirkland barked out a laugh, earning a dirty look from Aunt Evelyn.
I said, “I did and I don’t regret it. But on top of that, it’s pretty common knowledge that you and I are an item, Finn. I definitely got on his bad side, and I am most certainly on Daphne’s bad side.”
I thought about Finn being a target in England, with his cruel family and just how diabolical they were. A surge of compassion hit me and I looked at Finn, locking eyes. His mouth was set with determination. He’d been a little lost in England, out of his element until things had been righted.
Finn was not out of his element now. He wouldn’t be fooled again.
Evelyn said, “So that leaves us with Valerie. How and why is she a part of this puzzle?”
Roxy and I shared a look of solidarity.
“Well . . . Valerie’s been out of pocket a lot the last few months. She’s met someone and has been keeping it a secret for a long time. That’s her business and I think it stemmed from her not feeling like she could announce it so close to when Peter was killed.”
Mr. Kirkland nodded and rested his elbows on his knees. “But why does it seem like it’s part of our case?”
“He might not be. But he’s at least his own case to be figured out, because there are a few things that don’t add up. She was at El Morocco when Finn and I were there and even when I talked about our evening, she never opened up about being there, too. So she’s certainly keeping secrets. But the most worrisome part is that Ralph ran into them once coming out of the movies. Finn, do you know of an officer named Rafael Catalano? Goes by Raff?”
Finn shook his head and said, “No, but I can check around. Why, do you think he’s a cop?”
“Actually, I don’t. Valerie said he had a job working for a guy on Wall Street but was evasive about exactly what kind of job,” I said, curling my legs up onto the cozy chair.
“Then why do you think I should ask around the department?” he asked.
I inhaled and said, “Because. Ralph said he was carrying a .38 special.”
CHAPTER 58
“I can’t believe you found me, Sparks,” said the silky voice.
“After all this time,” he said. “It’s good to see you again, Daphne. You look amazing, like you haven’t aged.”
Daphne pulled on her silk stockings, then dropped her deep purple robe and stepped into her black dress. She went to her mirror at the dresser and touched up her lipstick.
She felt his gaze scanning her from head to toe, lingering on her breasts for a moment as she pulled her hair up and placed a gorgeous heather-gray hat upon her head and secured it with a hatpin topped with a large pearl. “Here, can you finish buttoning me up?” she asked, turning her back to him.
“Sure, doll.” She looked at his reflection in the mirror as he came over to her, tucking his shirt into his pants. He still had a twitch once in a while after all those years, but his graying temples gave him a more sophisticated air and he still had a tight stomach and nice shoulders. His chest was nicely furred beneath that crisp black shirt.
She watched through the mirror as his capable hands buttoned the pearl buttons up to her neckline. “It’s good to have you here again, Sparks.”
“I’m glad I found you. I’ve been looking for years. I thought you might end up back here in New York.”
He looked at her pale face, so full of long stories, determination, and . . . sometimes she scared him. When someone made her mad, her face looked like a mask of sorts. You got the feeling that something was lurking behind it. She was a deadly and precise executor of plans. She was beautiful, but also unpredictable. He found that arousing and they’d always been terrific partners.
In the mirror their gaze locked for a moment. Just behind those blue eyes of hers, something flickered.
He blinked, that equally hated and loved twitch of his. That was odd. Why did he twitch just then? He usually felt that twinge when he was agitated. Over the years it became a kind of sixth sense, when there was danger around or something he should brace himself for.
“Oh darling, you’re a little twitchy tonight. Can I get you a nightcap?” she asked.
“Yeah, doll, a brandy if you have it.”
“I’ve got everything,” she purred. She went to the cabinet with crystal glasses and set them down. She picked up the brandy decanter and poured two fingers into each glass.
Sparks began to relax again. He reached for the brandy snifter she held out to him and enjoyed the rich aroma. He took a sip and then said, “You know, the other day I was looking for you at the Elmo.”
“You were?” she asked as she went to the mirror again and checked her mascara, deciding to add a few more strokes.
“I was, I figured you might be there on Valentine’s Day.”
Her hand stopped in midbrush along her eyelashes. She repeated what he said. “Valentine’s Day. No, I wasn’t there.” She carefully set down the mascara box.
He finished off his brandy and slung on his suit coat while slipping into his shoes.
“Yeah, funny thing. I almost had a heart attack,” he chuckled.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, I swear I thought I saw Charlie. Charlie! Can you imagine?”
She slowed her breathing and raised her chin to look down her nose. “No, I can’t imagine.”
“Yeah,” he said, warming to his subject. “I grabbed this gal’s arm and even said stupidly, Charlie? ” he said, mimicking his voice. “She turned around and right away I realized my error. Funny timing, though, huh? It was right after that I found you.”
Daphne handed him his hat and he said, “Thanks again, doll. You always did know how to show me a good time.”
“Hmm, yes. Take care, Sparks, and I’ll see you soon.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek and he wavered for just a moment.
“You okay, doll?”
“Oh, I’m fine! You go on, now. Thanks for coming over.”
“Okay. See you soon.” He placed his hat carefully on his head and turned around.
As he walked to the door, Daphne carefully pulled the long hatpin out of place. Her feet padded along on the floor behind him.
As he reached the door, she whispered, “You shouldn’t have gone to the Elmo.”
His eye started to violently twitch.
CHAPTER 59
I decided to take a walk and look for books, a favorite pastime of mine. I had an unusually long lunch break because Fiorello was across town at a big meeting with his commissioners. I’d finished up my work and had a bit of time on my hands. I wanted to ruminate on this puzzle. Preferably while browsing for books.
So I headed to Book Row over on Fourth Avenue. I mean, six blocks with forty-eight bookstores, what’s not to like? I headed over and saw my favorite book person just coming out of his store. “Hi, Ben! How are you?”
“Great, Lane! Looking for anything in particular today?” he asked pleasantly. Ben was about my age when he opened his first bookstore ten years ago, right before the Depression hit. But he made it, which is what drew me here just as much as the luscious books.
“Anything you think I should read? You know what I like and what I like to keep up on.”
“Well . . . I have something that’s a bit of a departure from what you usually like. But I promise, no thwarted love.” He gave me a wink, knowing I loathed thwarted love more than anything. Poetic sadness. Bah!
“Sure! What is it?” I asked, already gazing fondly at three tomes that caught my eye.
“Sinclair Lewis’s It Can’t Happen Here. But come inside, I have to get it.”
We walked into the happily messy place full to overflowing with books of all shapes, sizes, and ages.
“Hey there, Fred!” I said to the little guy stacking books pretty artfully. “Did your dad put you to work already?” I asked with a teasing tone.
“Oh, hi, Miss Sanders! No! I wish! I keep asking him, but he says I have to wait until I’m thirteen.” He made a rude noise that made me laugh.
I watched h
is head swivel around the store with pride and under his breath he said, “But we need more books.”
“Here you go, Lane!” Ben handed me the book and I flipped through the pages. My favorite thing about Lewis was not just that he was the first American to win the Nobel Prize in Literature, but that he had a gritty way of characterizing strong women in the workforce. I felt a kinship with them that I usually didn’t feel with the typical females characterized by simpering, weak ankles, and always asking the lead man, “What should we do?” In real life, at least with the women in my life, I’d never heard a woman ask a man what they should do.
There had been a hubbub about this novel when it came out about a year and a half ago, but I hadn’t read it. It didn’t really grab my attention at the time.
“It’s about a character who ends up winning over FDR as president, with a platform of getting America back to traditional values and patriotism. He makes a lot of promises that speak to all of us who are hurting and wanting a better life,” summarized Ben.
“Sounds good, except for the part of beating Roosevelt,” I said with a cocked eyebrow. Mrs. Roosevelt was a dear friend of Aunt Evelyn’s.
“Well . . . here. I don’t want to ruin it for you, so I’ll just read the back cover blurb.
“Vulgar, almost illiterate, a public liar easily detected
. . . he was an actor of genius.
A vain, outlandish, anti-immigrant, fear-mongering
demagogue runs for President of the United States—
and wins. Sinclair Lewis’ chilling 1935 bestseller is
the story of Buzz Windrip, who promises the poor,
angry voters that he will make America proud and
prosperous once more, but takes the country down a
darker path. As the new regime slides into authoritarianism,
newspaper editor Doremus Jessop can’t believe
it will last—but is he right? This cautionary tale
of liberal complacency in the face of populist tyranny
shows it really can happen here.”
I’d seen firsthand how easy it was for desperate people to overlook obvious duplicity if there was something winsome about a candidate, such as Jimmy Walker, New York’s favorite wise-cracking mayor. Or if people wanted change at the risk of everything else, including working with organized crime. It sounded an awful lot like the man ruling Germany currently.
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