She tries again. “I’m so happy to get the extra money. Two more clients, Inspector. It’s more work, but I’ll handle it.”
“I wonder what she’ll say about seeing me.”
Maggie sighs. Her momentous news will have to wait a few more minutes. “I can’t imagine what she’ll say, Inspector. It took me a while to get used to you myself. Finding someone else who can see you is beyond my experience.”
“It’s that I’m so excited someone saw me. Someone other than you, dear. Now, what about our work? Has Joe taken the information to the colonel?”
“I tried to make an appointment to see him first thing tomorrow, but he’s taken the day off because of the wedding this weekend. I’ll call again early next week. With the raids being put off, timing is less critical. As soon as I have something set up, I’ll let you know. We’ll go together. Now, please will you listen to what I came out here to tell you?” Maggie lets out her news of new clients and potential ones in a rush, before Frank gets distracted again.
“Congratulations, Maggie,” says Frank. “My apologies for not listening earlier but, with no one else to talk, to I’ve been bursting about the Grandmother Kelly opportunity. It’s a chance to interact with another human being, and perhaps to gather more information regarding my perplexing existence. Imagine being on a deserted island all by yourself. Then, suddenly, there’s one more person on the island. My circle is growing by leaps and bounds.” The Inspector pauses, “But I mustn’t be selfish. You’ve got thrilling news of your own.”
“I understand how you’re feeling, Inspector. This is momentous. You’re hardly being selfish.”
“You’re too kind. My apologies again. I’m thrilled that your business is growing. That’s wonderful news. Were you nervous walking into the stores?”
“I was at the first one, but after that it was okay. I used the same lines Edith had suggested for the advertisement about how I could take the boring books off their desk so that they could concentrate on other aspects of the business. And it worked.
Frank nods. “People rarely go into business so that they can spend hours doing paperwork. They want to spend their time with customers, with merchandise, with earning money. I think you have found the winning strategy, Maggie. Now, how many clients do you want?”
“You know, Inspector, no one has asked me that before. I don’t know. With the three I have now, I can probably meet the loan obligation. Depending on the number of hours I bill, of course. And three more would be money in the bank, so to speak. I’m not sure how I’ll find time, between homework and lodgers and our investigations. I’m exhausted as it is, but it must be done. And school won’t last forever.”
“Then, if I could suggest, perhaps be content with the three you have, and see how busy that keeps you. And how many hours you bill. Are you billing by the hour or are you on a retainer?”
“One is a monthly retainer, and the other two are by the hour to start. I love talking about this. Nobody has been interested.” I can see why the Inspector is so excited to be able to talk to another person. What a lonely life I lead. I have Edith. And Tommy, of course. And my lodgers. But it’s a small circle. Maybe I should get out more.
“What do you think I should do about these? They’re the ones that I picked up at the Inquirer today. Maggie puts her mug of coffee down by her feet and withdraws the three envelopes from the pocket of her sweater. She fans them so that Frank can read them.
“Maggie, these names look familiar. Do you recognize the bottle manufacturer? Weren’t they on Eugene’s list last year as a vendor for Mickey Duffy?”
“Really? Oh, you’re right. What about the restaurant?”
“It’s been raided three times that I know of. It’s a front for a speakeasy.”
“And the barber shop?” Maggie has already folded the letters and returned them to her pocket.
“Another front most likely. Remember Tommy’s barbershop that blew up? What did Joe call them?”
“Cover-up houses. When I was out with Edith the other night, Mickey asked if I wanted a job with him. I said no, but now I think he’s gone ahead and mentioned my name to some of his circle.”
“I think you’re right, Maggie. What are you going to do?”
“Well, I should say no, I guess.”
Maggie pats the letters in her pocket. “But even shady businesses need bookkeepers. Like the bottle manufacturer. Not all of their clients are bootleggers. And the barber. I’m sure there are just as many non-criminals getting their hair cut. And I could use the money, Inspector.”
“It’s not that simple. I understand the breathing space additional clients would give you. And how important it is. But not these clients, Maggie. You’d know their business inside and out. A bookkeeper is also a secret-keeper. Are you sure you want to consider being a keeper of those kinds of business secrets? You’ve seen firsthand what can happen.”
Poor Eugene. “I know I’m supposed to say no, but I keep thinking of new dresses and bicycles.” Nerts. I could use the revenue from the three I already have for the loan and necessities, and I could spend the income from these three on myself. New dresses. A night out. Maybe a trip? Edith spends her money that way, and it comes from the same place as these. I’m working hard at school and for the lodgers. Don’t I deserve to have beautiful things, too?
“As they say, ‘Temptation is a bright light that illuminates who we really are.’ You should think long and hard about what you’re going to do about those letters, and what it might mean.”
Maggie sits, pondering the correspondence.
“Oh, all right. You win. I’ll write back and say that I can’t take on any new clients at the moment.” Maggie thinks of that lost potential revenue as she pulls her sweater tightly around her body. “So, that’s that then. Any other thoughts about Mayor Kendrick and Captain Copeland?”
“No, although I think I’ll try and be there when they confront Copeland. Can you arrange to find out from Joe when that will be? I feel it’s my duty. A dirty cop is cancerous to the department. It undermines everyone’s integrity,” says Frank.
“So, now we’re both involved in rooting out corruption. If I’m a minnow, bait for the small fry, what does that make you, Inspector?”
“I guess I’m Ahab chasing a great white whale,” Frank says, a grin just visible from beneath his mustache.
“All right, Inspector Ahab. Well, it’s been a long day. I think I’ll turn in.”
Chapter 43
O n a wedding day, it doesn’t matter about the weather, family squabbles, someone’s reception dinner being cold—it will always be a perfect day. Love, commitment, tradition. The promise of the next generation to come. Continuity. The future.
Joe is dressed in a new dark suit. He waits nervously at the front of the church with the pastor, flanked by Fanny’s brother, and a friend from the police department. Maggie watches with amusement as they yank at their tight collars, waiting for the bride to arrive.
The mothers sit in the front row, sniffling into lace edged handkerchiefs. Colonel and Mrs. Butler are also in the front row. He’s glorious in his dress military uniform and medals. Maggie and Tommy are a few rows back. Tommy was initially entranced with the spectacle, but now squirms restlessly in the pew. Maggie barely notices, lost in the reverie that weddings inspire.
The music swells and the familiar cadence ‘Here Comes the Bride’ fills the church. Fanny carries tradition and future down the aisle on a pair of slight shoulders. She is a beautiful bride, wearing a simple dress of ivory silk, its heavy folds falling to the floor. There are rows of tiny pearl buttons at the cuffs and down the back. Joe has given her a string of pearls. A crown of orange blossoms attaches her veil that trails well behind her, the ends held aloft by a small boy in a white shirt and bow tie. Fanny’s major indulgence—Maggie expected to see at least one splurge—is the bouquet. A massive arrangement behind which Fanny could hide. Calla lilies, ferns, ribbons trailing with small sprays of orange blossoms atta
ched to the ends. Tucked amongst the flowers are peacock feathers that provide splashes of brilliant color. Attendants carry similar, but smaller, arrangements. Scattered around the church and attached to the pews are more of the same flowers and feathers. Fanny’s attendants, her roommate and Joe’s oldest sister, are wearing individually styled dresses cut from the same ivory silk as Fanny’s dress. Her roommate, a committed flapper, dons a drop-waist dress with a scandalous hemline that floats just below her knees. Joe’s oldest sister, expecting another baby in a few months, wears a comfortable dress with an embroidered panel to disguise the pregnancy.
Jack. Our wedding day. You, me, one of your pals from work, the minister’s wife standing up with me. What was her name? It was so very long ago, sweetheart. But I was so in love with you. We had the whole world in front of us; the rest of our lives. Little did we know that ‘til death do us part’ would be called due in three years—thirty six months. Not nearly long enough. Ah, Jack.
Joe’s mother’s hat is mint green. Fine straw. Roses tucked along the brim. Real? Silk? That will be me some day. It’ll be Tommy standing in front of the minister, so proudly. A wonderful girl beside him. Me, smiling at the happy couple… thinking about the lonely life ahead of me.
Maggie looks at Fanny’s radiant face. Joe smiles shyly as he stumbles through his vows. Maybe it’s time. Maybe there will be a second chance for me?
The organist begins. The bride and groom share their first kiss as man and wife, and suddenly they’re heading out of the church.
Maggie passes Tommy the small bag of rice she’s brought from home. She’d explained that they would be tossing the rice as a symbol of the new family having lots of children; a description made more difficult in Maggie’s effort to avoid the word fertility. Perhaps Joe could have that conversation with him?
Tommy pelts Fanny and Joe with a handful of rice. Maggie grabs hold of his shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Toss. Gently.” He smiles sheepishly, and his next handful is lofted gently in the air and rains down on the happy couple.
There’s the photographer, the reception line, all the relatives and friends—mostly strangers to Maggie. She smiles and nods “A beautiful bride.” “A lovely wedding.” “How do you know Joe? Ah, a friend of Fanny.” During the reception, Maggie finds herself alone with Fanny in the ladies room.
“You look just lovely, Fanny. You’re glowing with happiness.” Maggie and Fanny are checking their make-up before heading out again.
“Thanks, Missus B. Maggie. You know, I need to thank you for knocking some sense into me. You remember, when Joe and I were dating? You got me to see that those shiny things weren’t as important as a good man.”
“And Joe is one of the best,” Maggie says.
“He is. And to think that I almost missed all this, and a future with him. I wanted those clothes, those parties, the latest trinkets so badly when I first moved to the city. Thank you for taking me in hand,” Fanny says, hugging Maggie. “I love Joe so much. We’re so happy.”
“And I’m happy for you. Now, you better get back in there. People will be wondering where the gorgeous bride has gotten to.” Maggie gives Fanny a gentle hug, being careful of her dress and veil, and holds the door open for her. After the door closes, Maggie turns back to the mirror, patting the waves of her short, bobbed hair.
I remember Fanny when she and Joe first met. She’d just moved to the city, and was dating other men who would buy her pretty things. She was such a dope. Am I? For wanting the lovely things that Edith has. Look at her. She’s not happy, despite the furs and dresses and jewelry. She’s ready to toss it all in a minute when Tony smiles at her like Joe smiles at Fanny. Maybe I’m focusing too much on things? Maybe I should be content with my own life, and not pine for Edith’s? I wouldn’t want her sorrow.
The bathroom door swings open and a pair of giggling girls stroll in, chatting about boys and weddings. Maggie takes a look at her own reflection; decides she likes what she sees. She heads back to the party.
Joe’s father stands to deliver the first toast of the night. He’s a working man. The heavy wool suit, worn for church or best. He beams with patriarchal pride. Raising his glass, Maggie can hear the faint echoes of Ireland in his speech.
“Health during your life,
A wife of your choice to you,
Land without rent to you,
A child every year to you,
And the light of heaven after this world for you.”
In deference to the Irish relatives who have journeyed so far to share this special day with them, he repeats the toast in Gaelic.
“Sláinte go saol agat,
Bean ar do mhian agat
Talamh gan chíos agat
Leanbh gach bliain agat,
Is solas na bhflaitheas tar éis an tsaoil seo agat.”
“Hear. Hear.” Glasses of punch are drained. Maggie chokes a bit as she swallows the strongly doctored punch. Had everyone felt compelled to dump a mickey into the punch bowl? She moves Tommy’s glass away from his plate.
Fanny’s father also stands to deliver his toast to the happy couple.
“May you be poor in misfortune,
Rich in blessings,
Slow to make enemies,
Quick to make friends,
But rich or poor, quick or slow,
May you know nothing but
Happiness from this day forward.”
Glasses are drained, again. At some point during the dinner, one of Joe’s police colleagues stands to deliver an impromptu toast. He sways on his feet, almost falling over. His friends at the table steady him as he raises his glass.
“To Joe and Fanny, may all your ups and downs be between the sheets.”
Ribald laughter and shocked gasps greet the end of the toast. Colonel Butler gives the unfortunate toaster a stern look. Shame-faced, he sits. The officers at his table slap him on the back, amused by his embarrassment.
Noticing Tommy’s drooping head, Maggie gathers up her son and makes her goodbyes. It’s been an emotional day, and she looks forward to putting her head on the pillow and dreaming of Jack.
Chapter 44
T he feeling of family carries through the weekend. On Monday evening, the matriarch of Joe’s Kelly clan sips tea with Maggie and Frank.
“Back home, it’s called an dara sealladh or the second sight. It runs in families. In ours it’s a gift the women share. The women with it are known as fáith, which is Gaelic for ‘a seer’. Someone who sees. Bean feasa or fey are also common terms. There have been fáith enough in Ireland since the beginning. Druids, poets, even doctors were thought to have an dara sealladh. We don’t often talk about it. Kelly women had a bad time of it when the church came to Ireland. No one wants to be thought a witch but, as far back as I know, there’s always been a seer or two in each generation.” Mrs. Kelly smiles at Frank.
“You must have a bit of Irish in you somewhere, Inspector Geyer.”
Frank nods. “My mother was Irish.”
“I thought so,” Old Mrs. Kelly says, nodding. “Ghosts, or as they are called in Gallic, taibhse or tash, live in a state between this life and the next. They are usually held here by some earthly longing or affection, or a duty unfulfilled, or maybe even anger against the living. Have you thought about why you’re here, Inspector Geyer?”
Maggie can see panic beginning to form in Frank’s eyes. Deep personal introspection is not something he’s comfortable sharing. “The Inspector and I are trying to provide a bulwark against the effects of Prohibition in Philadelphia. Perhaps that’s the unfulfilled duty?”
“Ta, a noble calling, for sure. And while I’m sure that an old copper like yourself, Inspector, feels strongly about continuing to protect the good citizens of Philadelphia, it’s unlikely that it’s personal enough. To keep you here, it needs be something vital to who you are, or were, as a man. Perhaps it’s protecting Mrs. Barnes? Whatever your purpose, there’s usually a connection, a strong emotion to tether a taibhse to ear
th. It needs to be stronger than the Almighty’s pull from heaven. It will become clear what your purpose is. Until then, enjoy your time here, for undoubtedly heaven awaits, Inspector Geyer.”
Mrs. Kelly turns her attention to Maggie. “Are you Irish by any chance, a leanbh?”
“Not that I’m aware. My father always said we came from England.”
“I met your mother at Fanny’s bridal tea. There’s Giffords in Ireland, so it’s possible. It would be strange to be able to see a taibhse, a ghost like Inspector Geyer, and not have the sight.”
“Does Joe have the sight?”
“Now, that’s an interesting question. In our family, it’s almost always just the women, although some men are sensitive, and I suspect Joe might be one of those. When Joe was a wee lad, I thought perhaps he was sensitive but, if he did, he seems to have outgrown it.”
“Sometimes my son Tommy is aware of the Inspector’s presence, not distinct, but rather as a type of energy than an actual man.”
Tasting the Apple Page 19