by Vicki Delany
“He’s not. That’s Martin McEnery, from the local paper.”
“The one who wrote that verging-on-slanderous article.”
“The very one. He’s brought a photographer, so they must be intending to do a story on the pageant. That’s his excuse for being here anyway.”
“Thanks, Jim,” I said. “If you’ll excuse me, there’s something I need to do.”
I left him and made my way through the crowd. “Pardon me,” I said to the men talking to Velvet. “I need to borrow Miss McNally.”
Velvet pushed herself to her feet. “What’s up?”
I pointed out the newspapermen. “I’d like you to keep an eye on those two, under the pretext of being friendly. If they are here to write about our beauty pageant and take photos of the contestants, that’s good publicity for us and they’re welcome. If they start asking questions about Harold Westenham or any supposed communist activity, or poking around where they don’t need to go, let me know.”
She gave me a quick salute and hurried away. I was about to head back to the top of the hill when I saw a man push his way through the crowd and approach the newspapermen. He thrust out his hand to McEnery, and they shook. He was dressed in casual clothes, beige trousers and a short-sleeved brown-and-yellow-striped shirt. Chief Monahan, out of uniform. Velvet slid up to them and said something to the newspapermen. Monahan left them and found himself a seat at the edge of the circle.
I wondered what he was doing here. Interested in the pageant? Enjoying a day off at the lake? Or had he come for other reasons and found a crowd assembling?
Olivia and Randy walked together to stand at the bottom of the dock. An excited hush fell over the audience. The contestants shifted nervously. Some patted their hair, one stuck her hand into the top of her two-piece bathing suit and made some adjustments. This wasn’t exactly Miss America. One or two of the women were moderately attractive, but none of them were as pretty as Velvet. The oldest looked as though she would have preferred to be just about anyplace else. She hadn’t put on her bathing suit, instead she wore pink-and-yellow shorts with a white shirt and scuffed sneakers. Her shoulders were hunched, and she kept her head down and her eyes on her feet. Her dark blond hair was long and thick, she had a nice figure and good legs, but if she didn’t smile she’d never win. I assumed she’d been pushed into this by her husband or her mother. She might have been signed up without her knowing.
“Ladies and gentlemen. Boys and girls. Haggerman’s guests all. Welcome. I’m Randy Fontaine, and I’ll be your host for this afternoon’s pageant.”
The crowd cheered, the sound echoing off the hills, and Randy took a deep bow. “I’m joined this afternoon by none other than the fabulous, the famous”—Randy swept his arm before him—“the fantastic star of stage and screen, Miss Olivia Peters.”
Loud cheering.
Olivia stepped forward and gave the adoring audience a bright smile and casual wave. “What a marvelous group you are, and so kind to come out on this beautiful day.” She looked absolutely radiant, with the blue lake behind her, the blue sky above. I had a glimpse of my mother, the star, and—to my considerable surprise—felt a touch of pride. Olivia’s job here was to provide the glamour, the excitement, the star element, in the way only she could. My job was to keep the place running. We might make a good team after all.
“Miss Peters and I will be your judges,” Randy said. “But we’ll need a third.”
I was pretty sure I knew who the third would be. Mr. Hart, who’d taken cabin one, our most expensive, for the entire month of July, and was accompanied by a family group large enough to overflow into the main hotel. Mr. Hart sat proudly in the front row, his hands crossed over the top of his cane.
“Chief Monahan,” Randy said. “Would you be so kind as to do the honors for us today, sir?”
The chief stood up, beaming from ear to ear. He walked through the crowd, pausing now and again to say something to an onlooker or to shake a hand. He arrived at the front and greeted my mother with a light kiss on the cheek. Perhaps only I knew her well enough to recognize her displeasure.
“Let’s have a quick photo.” The newspaper photographer put one knee on the ground and held up his camera. Chief Monahan placed himself between my mother and Randy. He threw his arms around their shoulders. Olivia edged away, although her smile didn’t falter.
“Big smile, Randy,” the photographer called. “Chief. That’s great.”
So that was why Monahan had come: to get his picture in the paper. Not to investigate a brutal murder.
Randy should have asked me before he invited the chief to be a judge, but he likely thought he was helping Haggerman’s get on the man’s good side. He was probably right, but I still thought the honor should have gone to Mr. Hart.
Still, there would be plenty more pageants as the summer went on and the guests turned over.
I was pulled out of my thoughts by a low voice in my ear. “Elizabeth, might I have a word?”
“Oh, hello, Charlie. Here to get material for your act?”
“Plenty of material, Elizabeth, but I’d never dare use it. See the one second from the end?” He pointed to the oldest of the women, the one I’d noticed earlier. “I’ll bet her husband pushed her into this, and she looks as happy about it as if she were facing a firing squad. The one in the front expects to win, but she won’t. Your mother will never vote for a girl who’s so obviously desperate.”
“You’re a good judge of people.”
“I try to be. So I can make fun of them. Are you interested in this or—”
“Let’s walk,” I said.
We headed for the footpath. A shadow broke away from a patch of shrubbery next to the side of cabin one and slid around the building. I stopped.
“Everything okay?” Charlie asked.
“Yeah.” I started walking again, and he fell into step beside me. “Someone’s watching the pageant who should be at work. I’ve scared them off.”
Charlie chuckled. “You’re a formidable boss, Elizabeth.”
“Don’t tell anyone, but it’s all a front. I’m a softy beneath.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.” He was dressed in knee-length green shorts and a Hawaiian shirt splashed with orange and purple flowers. The grease in his hair sparkled in the sun.
The tennis courts were empty, and only one handball game was underway. “Joan Rosenberg hails from Brooklyn,” Randy said into the bullhorn, and the Brooklynites cheered.
“I was with you this morning,” Charlie said, “when the police chief came to talk to you about his son Francis.”
“Yes, and?”
“Something started niggling at me. It’s been bothering me all day, and finally it came to me. I was a lawyer in my past life and in the army, which is where I knew Harold Westenham.”
“So you told me.”
“The name Francis Monahan is what was niggling at me. Seeing Chief Monahan just now, in his civvies, I remembered. In late 1944, I worked briefly on a case in France. Minor stuff, and I was given a major case not long after, so I forgot about it. Until now. As we moved through France following D-Day, the people were so happy to see us. Parties in the streets, invitations to their homes, cafés and restaurants thrown open. Nothing but joy and goodwill. In some small town whose name escapes me, one of our GIs stole a necklace. Middle-class family—they didn’t have a lot before the war and even less after, but they did have a gold necklace that had been an heirloom from earlier days when the family was well-off. They’d hidden it all through the war. And then, after liberation, they invited a bunch of GIs to their house for what they could scrape together by way of a meal.”
“And one of our soldiers took their necklace.”
“Yup. The homeowner brought it out to show his guests, and the next morning it was gone.”
“Francis Monahan.”
�
��That’s not an uncommon name. Might be someone else entirely. I’m only telling you what I remember, Elizabeth. As the guy’s working here, and some of your guests have valuable things, I figured you needed to know. I’ve seen several nice pieces of jewelry on display in the evenings.”
“Thanks for telling me. People can change, and I’m not going to judge Francis. But you’re right, I needed to know.”
“One more thing. Monahan’s commanding officer was none other than Harold Westenham.”
“Really?”
“Really. And what makes me remember this, among all the other stuff we had to deal with in those days, is that Harold was in a rage. A total and complete rage. As far as he was concerned, it was a disgrace to the entire American army that one of our guys blatantly abused our guests’ hospitality and stole from people we were supposed to be rescuing. The war was still going on, we were always on the move, but Westenham wanted nothing less than a full-scale trial and court-martial.”
“Which is what happened, right? Francis went to jail.”
“It’s all coming back to me now. Thing is, Elizabeth, there’d been some doubt that Monahan acted alone or was even primarily responsible for the theft. The necklace was found in his kit, and so he was the one charged. He wasn’t the brightest soldier in the army, by far, and there were whispers that he had a pretty hard time of it from some of the other guys.”
I thought of the waiters here, laughing at the shy, awkward dishwasher struggling with a stutter. Maybe even causing accidents he’d be blamed for.
“Westenham and I talked it over,” Charlie said. “I thought the case wasn’t solid enough, but Westenham was determined to see it through. And so Francis Monahan was arrested. As it happened, I moved on before the trial, and I never thought about the matter again. Until ten minutes ago, when I realized how the names were connected. Westenham. Monahan.”
We’d reached the end of the public path long ago, and we stood at the edge of the woods. The sound of Randy’s bullhorn and the cheering of the crowd was a faint noise in the background. Closer to, I could hear the rustle of the wind in the trees and the gentle babble of the brook as it tumbled over rocks and gravel toward the lake.
We began walking back. “Thanks for telling me this,” I said.
“I’m sorry Harold didn’t come up to me that night. Say hi. Maybe if we’d gone for a drink . . . Maybe what happened wouldn’t have happened.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps it would simply have happened at another time. In another place.”
We arrived back at the dock in time to see Chief Monahan and Olivia presenting the beaming winner with her sash. Most of the other contestants pretended to smile, but their faces were frozen in anger. The one Charlie’d said was being too obvious about wanting to win threatened to burst into tears. The older woman, who hadn’t wanted to take part in the first place, looked pleased not to have been centered out.
Monahan put his arm around the shoulders of the winner and they, along with Olivia, posed for the newspaper photographer while the crowd slowly dispersed.
Back to work for me. I turned around quickly, and there he was, standing at the top of the hill, staring at Olivia with openmouthed adoration.
Chapter 17
Louis Frandenheim, who’d been banned from the property. I marched toward him, my blood boiling. So intent was he on Olivia he didn’t see me coming.
“What are you doing here?” I yelled.
Louis jumped. His watery eyes blinked rapidly. “Goodness, Miss Peters. You frightened me.”
“I’ll do a lot more than frighten you. I told you if I saw you here again I’d have you arrested.”
He tucked his chin into his chest and hunched his shoulders, like a child who’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I . . . I . . . I’m here to see my sister and her family. You can’t keep a man from his family.”
“I can. And I will. You were spying on me earlier today, weren’t you? By the path near the woods.”
“Not spying, Miss Peters. I . . . I was looking for my sister’s girl.”
“You were hiding in the woods until you could track down my mother. The bulldog chased you off. You’re lucky he didn’t attack. He’s very vicious, particularly if he thinks my mother’s being threatened.”
Louis blanched.
I looked around, hoping to see a hotel security guard. Instead, I saw something better. Chief Monahan and the newspaper guys heading my way. Randy was taking the bullhorn back to the office; the pageant contestants had dispersed, some openly weeping, the winner, as Olivia had predicted, preening as she showed off her sash. Down by the dock, Olivia and Velvet were chatting to a group of women.
“Chief Monahan.” I waved. “Can you come here for a moment, please? Randy!”
“Now, Miss Peters, there’s no need . . . ,” Louis whined.
“Great show, Mrs. Grady,” the chief said. “I was proud to be part of it. Tomorrow’s front page, Martin here says, above the fold. Provided we don’t have any more murders or fires set, right?” He slapped Martin McEnery on the back.
“That’s nice,” I said. “This—”
“What did I tell you, Mrs. Grady? Haggerman’s can be an asset to the town, and the town’ll return the favor. We all help each other out ’round here, right?”
“Right,” McEnery said.
“I trust that means you won’t continue going around saying we’re a bunch of communists.” I momentarily forgot why I’d called him over.
The chief of police narrowed his eyes. He studied my face. I held my ground and didn’t flinch. McEnery glanced at Monahan, and I realized he was waiting for a clue as to how to react.
“Two-way street, Mrs. Grady,” Monahan said at last. “Do we understand each other?”
“I believe we do. As for more immediate matters . . .” I indicated Louis, who’d started edging away. “This gentleman has been ordered to leave my property, and he refused.”
“So?” the chief of police said.
“ ‘So’? What do you mean, ‘so’? I’m asking you to escort him off the property and order him not to return.”
Monahan chuckled, and then he indicated his shirt. “I’m off duty. Dropped by to help judge your little beauty contest. Call my office and make a complaint. Let’s go, Martin, I’ve got stuff happening back in town. Can’t spend all day lazing around.” They walked away. My mouth might have flapped open.
“See, Miss Peters,” Louis said with a smirk, “nothing to get yourself worked up over.”
“I—”
“There you are! When Mr. Fontaine told me you were back, I couldn’t believe it.” Louis’s sister strode down the path, wagging her finger in front of her. “Will you never learn, Louis? I gave you money for the bus to New York.”
“Wasn’t enough,” he whined.
I almost expected her to grab him by the ear. “I’ll give you enough!” Instead of his ear she grabbed his arm. “Do you want to see us all kicked out? I’m not having my vacation ruined because of you. My apologies, Mrs. Grady. This will not happen again. I’m going to send my son with him this time. He’ll see Louis gets to New York. Once there, he won’t be able to afford the bus fare back.” She marched off, dragging the protesting Louis with her.
Chapter 18
Back in my office, I ignored the towering stack of papers on my desk, shoved aside the mountain of pink message slips, leaned back in my chair, and thought over the events of the past few days. It seemed like we’d had one disaster after another, everything from a busboy dropping a room-service tray to the murder of a guest.
I called the switchboard and asked them to locate Rosemary. She returned my call a couple of minutes later from the ballroom. In the background I could hear sounds of the room being set up for the Saturday evening cocktail party. “One of the bartenders up and quit on me, Elizabeth,” she said. “I can’t manage toni
ght with only one. I’m going to help out behind the bar. If Olivia doesn’t like it, I’ll tell her to find me a replacement herself.”
“Okay. Whatever you need. Why’d he quit?”
“Fool wants to be an actor, and he heard about an audition in New York. He’ll be on the next bus to the mountains tomorrow, but I’m not taking him back. I need reliable staff. What’s up?”
“I want to ask you about something that happened earlier in the week.”
“Elizabeth, I can barely remember what happened earlier in the hour, but I’ll try.”
I asked my question, and she told me what I needed to know. I thanked her, and said I’d handle Olivia regarding the matter of Rosemary working behind the bar.
At 6:25 I locked up and left the main building. In the pool, hotel nannies or mothers were trying to coax protesting children out of the water. At the lakefront, Velvet had fifteen women of all ages spread out along the dock, bending and stretching. A couple of men lounged in chairs, smoking, sipping glasses of whiskey or bourbon, and watching the women while arguing about the state of the world. On the beach, Randy was leading a substantial crowd in an enthusiastic game of Simon Says. Mrs. Brownville and several of her friends had pulled a circle of chairs together and were enjoying a cocktail before dinner. They also, I assumed, were arguing about the state of the world. Or the tiny part of it that is Haggerman’s Catskills Resort, at any rate.
“There she is now! Yoo-hoo, Mrs. Grady!” Mrs. Brownville began waving.
I was too late to pretend I hadn’t seen her, so I put on my professional smile and approached their group. “Good evening, ladies.”
“I was telling my friends here how thrilled MarySue is at being crowned runner-up Miss Haggerman’s this afternoon. Of course runner-up isn’t the same as winning, but I’m confident that with some further instruction in deportment, she’ll be a winner next time.”
“Uh, yes.”
“MarySue’s my niece. My sister’s youngest. Such a nice girl, I can’t understand why she isn’t married yet.” Mrs. Brownville smiled at me. I smiled back. I did not tell Mrs. Brownville why I had not remarried.
