A Fatal Fondness

by Richard Audry

  Chapter VII

  As Jeanette placed her dark straw hat on the rack back in the office, it occurred to her that she had, in a way, jumped into the fire by way of the frying pan. That is, after her disaster in St. Louis, she had hoped that Duluth would prove a respite from the storm and stress. Helping a wealthy young lady navigate the rocks and rapids of approaching adulthood—how hard could it be?

  But she hadn’t reckoned on how strong-willed and contrary Mary had become. It seemed inevitable that Jeanette would have to tell John MacDougall that there was nothing she could do with the girl. Mary was practically out of control.

  After discovering that Mr. Roy was secretly ensconced in town, Jeanette had warned Mary about keeping company with him. Yet just twenty minutes ago, she had stepped off the streetcar three blocks too soon, telling Jeanette she was going to see “someone.” Only a fool would think that “someone” wasn’t Mr. Roy. And right now he and Mary were probably enjoying a little tête-à-tête conveniently out of everyone’s eyesight.

  But what could Jeanette do to stop what looked worryingly like an affair? For that matter, what could John MacDougall do with his obdurate daughter? Perhaps exile her to a convent? Jeanette, a Lutheran, wondered briefly if Presbyterians even had such a thing as a convent.

  She plopped down in her secretary’s chair with a groan and picked up the small stack of invoices that had to be paid. Since she had nothing else to do, she might as well disburse some money owed. She was writing a check to the stationers when a crisp knock sounded on the door’s mottled glass.

  “Come in,” she said.

  And who should enter but Mr. Edmond Roy himself, hat in hand. When he saw her, he gave her an apologetic smile. “Hello, Mrs. Harrison. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  So much for the theory of Mary bolting off for a secret rendezvous with the man. “No, not at all.” Jeanette returned the smile. “I’m happy to have some company.”

  Edmond glanced into the unoccupied inner office. “I take it Miss MacDougall isn’t here.”

  “You take it right. Off calling on somebody.”

  “Ah, a new client, perhaps?”

  “No idea. Do you need to confer with her?”

  “No, no. Just wanted to have a look at the office she’s been boasting about. And quite fine it is. Looks efficient and up-to-date. She mentioned that your business experience has been invaluable in getting the agency up and running.”

  It pleased Jeanette to hear that Mary was praising her, though this was a small operation, compared to the secretarial bureau down in St. Louis. “I’d give you the grand tour,” she said. “But it would take all of thirty seconds. So, do please have a seat and enjoy the ambience.”

  Edmond sat down across the desk from Jeanette. She had to admit he was pleasant to look at. His neatly trimmed beard and thick dark hair set off those deep brown eyes of his. Yet he didn’t strike her as any kind of a dandy. In fact, she felt a comfortable easiness in his manner—as though he had nothing to hide from her.

  “Mary tells me how grateful she is that you’ve come to stay,” he said. “She says if anyone can help make this impossible dream of hers come true, it’s you.”

  “Yes, well, she’s quite an unusual young lady, with quite an unusual dream.”

  Edmond looked amused. “I’d call that a distinct understatement. I’ve never run across any woman, young or old, quite like her.”

  Ordinarily, Jeanette wouldn’t ask a relative stranger such a probing question. But, after all, she had been given the task of keeping Mary away from the man. And as long as he was sitting right in front of her, this seemed the opportune moment to broach the subject.

  “May I ask you, Mr. Roy, what your intentions are towards Mary?”

  It seemed the question didn’t surprise him. The smile he gave her was almost bittersweet. “I hope, Mrs. Harrison, to be a good friend to her. Your cousin has been immensely helpful in my artistic endeavors. Barring the odd broken arm.” He chuckled. “I know that she can open doors for me and introduce me to people I’d never meet otherwise.” He fixed Jeanette with those piercing dark eyes. “I’m quite fond of her. But of course anything beyond a simple friendship would be ridiculous to consider, given our comparative positions in society. And I think, at the end of the day, Mary understands that.”

  Jeanette felt reassured by the man’s common sense. “Wise words, Mr. Roy. One can always do with a good friend.”

  Edmond stood up and put his hat back on. “Well, I shouldn’t take any more of your time. I enjoyed our chat. Please tell Mary I’m sorry I missed her.”

  So, Jeanette thought as soon as the door clicked shut behind him, perhaps not a gold digger after all, but a realist. John MacDougall should be reassured, knowing that. But Jeanette decided that, for now, she’d keep Mr. Roy’s sojourn in Duluth a secret. Mary’s father was at the moment on his way out east, hoping to discourage his sister from marrying some impoverished photographer, of all things. He didn’t need to hear that Mary was keeping company with a man he considered an equally unsuitable match.

  Just as the last check went into the last envelope, Jeanette heard a racket out in the hallway. The office door flew open and in tumbled those three street urchins, Jiggs, Bert, and Gordo, their shabby golf caps in hand.

  “We was in the neighborhood,” Jiggs said, “and figured we oughta see if you found out anything yet about my pocket watch and that skunk Beansie.”

  Jeanette gave them the severe schoolmarm stare that she well remembered from her own school days. She knew as well as anyone that demanding clients needed to be handled with patience and forbearance. But these young scalawags could also use a few lessons in good manners.

  “Gentlemen, please come in and shut the door. And two of you, take a seat. I don’t care which two.”

  Jiggs and Gordo—in their raggedy jackets and knee pants—did as instructed. Bert, again, lurked shyly behind them.

  “Now,” Jeanette said, “in answer to your question, we have started the process of formulating our inquiries into the incident, but have yet to begin interviewing subjects in the matter at hand.”

  Jiggs scratched his rat’s-nest head of brown hair. “Umm, what’s that mean?”

  “Well, it means we’re making plans, but haven’t done anything yet.”

  “But you’ve had a whole day so far,” he complained. “We gave you all the money we had. Seven dollars and change.”

  “Would you like your money back, then?” she asked with narrowed eyes, thinking it might be a relief to get shed of these pesky boys. “A full refund? Fine by me.”

  Jiggs scowled at her, mulling it over. “Naw, guess not. But how long’ll it take, d’ya think?”

  The door suddenly popped open and Mary rushed in. She looked surprised to see the three youngsters, but then she smiled. “So whom do we have here? Let me guess. The gentlemen hunting for the stolen pocket watch. And for their friend, a certain Beansie MacKenzie.”

  Jiggs appeared to be rendered speechless at the sight of Mary, who wasn’t that many years older than him. He at least knew to stand when a lady entered the room, though Gordo needed a whack on the shoulder. But rather than introduce himself, Jiggs just stared at her—as if witnessing some vision of loveliness. Gordo seemed to be suffering the same effects. Bert looked down and scuffed the flooring with his shoe. Jeanette had to bite her tongue to not laugh.

  “Quite right, Mary,” Jeanette said. “They’ve come to check on the progress of their case. I’ve explained it’s early days yet, but if they feel unhappy with our progress, we can gladly return their payment.”

  “No, no, no,” Mary tutted, walking right up to the dumbstruck Jiggs, who stood a few inches shorter than her. “You have to give us a chance to make our inquiries in this intriguing matter.” She offered him her hand. “I’m Miss Mary MacDougall. And you are?”

  For a few seconds, it seemed as if Jiggs had forgotten his name. “Uh, Jiggs Nyberg,” he finally mumbled. “And this here is Gordo Sinc
lair and Bert Zanetti.”

  Mary shook all three grubby hands. “Well, gentlemen,” she said, “I plan to visit pawn shops tomorrow to ask after your Linderoth timepiece. I think it’s likely your friend Beansie turned it into folding money at one of them.”

  “Yeah, that’s what we figgered,” Gordo agreed. “Sure hope no one bought it yet.”

  “Well, if they have, we’ll just have to track them down. And, more important, we’ll track down the felonious Beansie. Give us a few days and I hopefully will have news for you.”

  Jiggs looked to Gordo. The two of them exchanged a few whispered words.

  “If you do find Beansie,” Jiggs began, “I don’t want him turned in to the coppers. We’re all kinda like brothers. I just wanna get my timepiece back. That’ll be enough.”

  Mary’s face softened. “I understand it contains a photograph of your mother. I promise you we’ll do our best to find it. And if we find Mr. MacKenzie, we’ll put the fear of God in him—but won’t turn him in to the law.”

  The boys looked relieved. “That’ll do just fine,” Jiggs said. “If you need me, you can get me at the stable. You can also get Gordo, Bert, and me at the soup kitchen down on Michigan Avenue. We have supper there most nights.”

  “Mrs. Purcell’s place. I’m well acquainted with it.”

  “Chow’s good and they’re not chintzy with it,” Gordo put in.

  “Real good grub,” Bert added.

  “Just let Mrs. Purcell know if you need any of us,” said Jiggs.

  “Now, before you leave, I have just a few questions,” Mary said.

  “You betcha,” Jiggs nodded. “Shoot.”

  “Where are some of the places Beansie might pick up a little work?”

  “He sweeps up sometimes at the paint warehouse down on Lake Avenue, near the bridge,” Gordo answered.

  “And there’s that German café down there where he washes dishes,” said Jiggs. “What’s it called, Gord?”

  “Umm, umm… Vogel’s!”

  “Beansie likes workin’ in restaurants best of all,” Jiggs continued, “’cause they usually give him free meals.”

  “Who’re some of his other friends?”

  Jiggs thought for a few seconds. “Frank Palmquist, George McLaughlin, Pete Monkonen.”

  “Now Beansie can’t be his real name,” Jeanette observed.

  “No,” said Jiggs, “but once you hear his real name, you’ll know why he likes Beansie.” He grinned.

  “Go ahead,” Mary said.

  “It’s Tavish Angus MacKenzie,” Jiggs said. “I’d wanna be called Beansie, too.”

  “But why Beansie?” Jeanette asked.

  “Simple,” said Gordo. “He loves his beans.”

  “Can’t get enough of ’em,” Bert laughed.

  Jiggs nodded in agreement. “Carries around a spoon and a can opener in his back pocket. When he has a spare nickel, he’ll buy a can of pork and beans and eat ’em on the spot.”

  “Now this is very important,” Mary said. “What does he look like? What does he wear?”

  “Nothing special about his duds,” Gordo said. “Old brown jacket, gray knee pants, dingy white shirt that could use a washing, cap like ours.”

  “Nice shoes, though,” Jiggs noted. “He got himself new shiny brown shoes outta the Sears catalog last summer. Mrs. Purcell helped him order them.”

  “Cost a dollar fifteen,” Bert added.

  “What’s his face like?” Mary continued. “His hair? Any particular features that stand out?”

  Gordo scratched his head. “Just ordinary looking, ol’ Beansie. No scars, no birthmarks, nothing like that. Blue eyes, I think. Brown hair.”

  Jiggs nodded. “Right, blue eyes and brown hair chopped short. Shorter than me and Gordo, but taller than Bert.”

  After Mary asked a few more questions, the boys sauntered out, looking as if they’d just had an audience with a Gibson girl. As the door shut, Jeanette shot Mary a look of amusement.

  “I think the lads are smitten.”

  Mary fluttered her eyelashes. “Can I help it if I’m irresistible?”

  “That reminds me,” Jeanette teased, “you had another visitor.”

  “Oh? Who?”

  “Mr. Edmond Roy.”

  Mary’s eyebrows went up. “Edmond stopped by? What did he want?”

  “Just to see your new and efficient modern office.”

  “Well, what did he say?” Mary sounded a bit annoyed at Jeanette’s terse response.

  “Nothing incriminating, if that’s what you’re fishing for. He did mention how grateful he was for the support you’ve given his artistic career.”

  Mary’s expression seemed to gyrate between relief and disappointment. Jeanette wondered if she was relieved that Edmond had revealed no amorous intent, yet disappointed that he hadn’t.

  Though Jeanette enjoyed watching her cousin squirm, she decided the kindly thing to do was relieve her apprehension. “I’ve decided to keep your little secret for the time being. I won’t say a word about it to your father. So long as you keep the man at arm’s length, if you know what I mean.”

  “Understood, Jeanette. And thank you.”

  “Now, perhaps you can explain how you’re going to canvas pawn shops tomorrow when you’ve committed yourself to interviewing more cat fanciers.”

  “It’s very simple. While I’m out hunting for a Linderoth timepiece, you’ll be working feline duty. Me-ooow!”

  “But we’ve discussed this before,” Jeanette said with irritation. “You’re the sleuth, I’m the office manager. I’m no detective.”

  Mary grinned. “Well, until I can manage to be in two places at once, you’ll just have to pretend to be one.”

  * * *

  Bright and early Thursday morning, Jeanette sallied forth from the MacDougall house on Superior Street, and hopped on the streetcar going downtown. At Seventh Avenue West she caught the incline up the hill, then the streetcar along Highland Avenue. She exited after a few blocks and walked the short distance to the residence of Mrs. Vivian Sternberg—stalwart of the Duluth Cat Fanciers Club. In her bag Jeanette carried her notebook, with the questions Mary wanted asked, along with a few of her own.

  The Sternberg house was a tidy bungalow of cream-colored stucco, with dark maroon trim. The front door opened promptly after a few raps of the knocker and there stood the lady of the house—tall and thin, with a wiry jumble of bright red hair piled atop her head.

  “Mrs. Sternberg?” Jeanette asked. “I’m Mrs. Harrison, from Moody Investigations.”

  The woman offered a smile that revealed a certain lack of dentistry, but ample good nature. “Welcome, welcome, come in. I can’t tell you how relieved we are that you’re on the case. Mrs. Fesler spoke very highly of you.” She took Jeanette’s arm and almost dragged her inside.

  The interior was neat, if rather plain. Simple furnishings, a few family pictures on the walls, and a threadbare Persian carpet before the equally threadbare sofa. A lone tabby cat came languidly over, regarded Jeanette, and then walked away.

  “That’s our Little Nell,” Mrs. Sternberg said, motioning that Jeanette should sit on the sofa.

  “Named after the Dickens heroine?”

  “A favorite of mine. And as you can well see, she’s still pretty busted up about losing her best friend Pixie.”

  Actually, Jeanette couldn’t see any particular distress in Little Nell. The cat seemed utterly cat-like—unconcerned and bored.

  “Fact is,” Mrs. Sternberg continued, “we’re all pretty broken up over Pixie’s vanishment.”

  The woman had a British working class accent and Jeanette wondered how she managed to end up in Duluth, Minnesota, married to someone called Sternberg.

  “Well, that’s why I came,” Jeanette said. “We aim to find these missing felines and bring them home.”

  “Do you thig Pigsie’s still alive?”

  Jeanette turned to see a shorter version of Mrs. Sternberg padding toward them in stocki
ng feet and a blue muslin nightgown—skinny, red-headed, all arms and legs. She snuffled and wiped her nose with a pink hankie.

  “My daughter Virginia,” Mrs. Sternberg said. “Home from school today. Has a nasty head cold.”

  Jeanette was relieved when the girl did not offer an undoubtedly germy hand. “Well, Virginia, we have no reason to think that Pixie’s not among the living, do we? If she’s run away, certainly someone would take her in.”

  “I should hope so,” Mrs. Sternberg sniffed. “Sweetest little moggie that the good Lord ever did make.”

  “And if she was, well, cat-napped,” Jeanette continued, pulling the notebook and pencil out, “why go to the bother, if not to keep her well cared for? Now tell me what happened.”

  By the time Jeanette went out the Sternbergs’ front door, she had heard a tale much like Mrs. Fesler’s. Of a beloved kitty which had been there one evening, but was gone the next morning.

  It seemed that somewhere in Duluth there was a stealthy individual who took pleasure in stealing family pets. Literally a cat burglar. And how in the world could Jeanette and Mary stop him? Or her?

  Chapter VIII

  When Mary walked out of the house Thursday morning, she was slightly annoyed with her cousin. Over breakfast, Jeanette had continued to fuss about leaving the office unattended. She kept grousing right up to the moment when she set off for her appointment with Mrs. Sternberg of the cat club.

  As Mary rode the streetcar downtown, she mulled over the delicate balance she needed to maintain with her cousin. Jeanette certainly had the advantage over Mary when it came to running a business. No doubt potential customers would, on occasion, come to the agency door and, finding no one home, take their problems to another detective.

  But Mary had the advantage over Jeanette when it came to understanding the sleuthing trade. No one succeeded by sitting in the office. You nabbed a malefactor or recovered a stolen item by means of applying good old-fashioned shoe leather. And with two cases on their docket, Mary required Jeanette’s shoes out pounding the pavement, as well as her own.