by Marja McGraw
We hung up and Stanley called my name. “Sandi, come look at this.”
He’d returned to his computer.
“Did you find something?” I asked.
“Yes. I found information on Prescott Strong. He worked for the Windsor family as an attorney. There’s an article in one of the newspapers about Estate Wineries, and it says that Prescott and Jeffrey had been friends since they were youngsters. In fact, Windsor helped him get through law school; financially, that is.”
“Is there anything to indicate he’s still living?” Pete asked, joining us.
“He passed on a few years ago and his son took over the law practice.” Stanley stared at the computer screen and read something, looking intent.
“There’s more. It seems that Windsor’s son and Strong were in a vehicle accident and both were killed. This relates a story about Thomas Windsor taking Strong to a doctor’s appointment when the accident happened. The interesting part is that the police department couldn’t find a reason for the accident. Marcus Windsor was in the car with them, but he hit his head and said he couldn’t remember anything until waking up in the hospital.”
I thought about so many of the things we’d heard and read. “It seems like several of these people’s lives were still intertwined, even after all the years that passed.”
“Tight knit little group, wouldn’t you say?” Felicity joined in with her thoughts. “Stan has been filling me in. Doesn’t this almost sound like a conspiracy?”
“No,” Pete said. “It sounds more like someone had something on someone else. I’m thinking blackmail.”
“That’s a possibility,” I said, agreeing with him. “Maybe someone knew who’d committed the murders. Blackmail could be an easy way to make a living.”
“On the other side of the coin,” Pete said, “we still don’t know why the three victims were killed in the first place. Maybe we’re working with two scenarios here.”
“Very frustrating,” I said. “Let’s go talk to Eloise and see if her father mentioned any of these people in his notes. I never did have time to read all of them.”
My cell phone rang and I walked toward the front of the office. My husband and friends were now merrily putting forth more scenarios, and I couldn’t hear over their voices.
“Ms. Goldberg, this is Margaret. I talked to Estelle like you asked. She said she remembers Water Boy very well. She said he was kind of, and this is her word, creepy. She said he was a young man with greasy hair, he was very large and quiet, and he always seemed to be creeping up on people. She said he’d get a certain look on his face that made her feel like he was thinking evil thoughts. Again, that’s the way she put it. She said people tended to avoid him. Oh, and yes, he was the cleanup guy for the speakeasy.”
“Did she remember his name?” I asked.
“No, but she said she’d think about it. She said it was right on the tip of her tongue but it just wouldn’t come to her. She asked if you’d be back to talk to her.”
“Tell her I’ll be there in the morning. And thanks!”
We hung up and I passed the story on to Pete.
“We need a name,” he said.
“No kidding. Jeffrey Windsor sounds like he wasn’t the nicest kid on the block, and Edgar Barrow was the bartender. Humin was a customer who became obsessed with Horace’s murder. Loretta was a singer, and it sounds like she was kind of a loose woman, not to mention a victim.”
Pete chuckled. “Loose woman?”
“Well, that sounds better than other words I can think of. Let’s see. Archie, Eloise’s father, ran errands for the brothers, but I don’t think he spent a lot of time at the gin mill. Who else have we got? Prescott Strong was Jeffrey’s friend, and… Oh, yeah, I keep forgetting about Horace’s neighbor, Phil Harper. Last but not least, there was Water Boy, who was creepy. Have I forgotten anyone?”
“I don’t think so. I’m sure we’ll learn more about each one through Humin’s notes and his wife’s diaries. The list is getting too long. The more names we have, the harder it’s going to be to figure this out.”
“Too many suspects, and not enough motives,” Felicity said. “There has to be a way to narrow things down.”
“I can cross a couple of the names off the list,” Pete said. “Humin was investigating it. If he were the killer, he wouldn’t keep looking into it. Edgar was the bartender and he was fairly observant, but I have a feeling that most of what he told us was gossip. Those days were just good memories for him. And Phil Harper, as I recall, had a wife that kept a tight leash on him. I think he was a playboy wannabe. Of course, Archie wouldn’t be a suspect. Like Humin, he was looking into it. I wonder if the two of them ever compared notes.”
“Maybe we’ll find something in the diaries or Humin’s notes,” Felicity said.
Pete started ticking people off on his fingers. “So who’s left? We’ve got Jeffrey Windsor, Prescott Strong and Water Boy, whoever he might be.”
I thought for a moment before I said anything. “I don’t like to think this way, but we have to remember Estelle, too. After all, she was jealous of Loretta.”
“And we don’t know if there are any other suspects yet. I feel like we’ve only touched the tip of the iceberg.” Pete looked as frustrated as I felt.
“Let’s go talk to Eloise,” I suggested.
We left Stanley and Felicity to their reading and research and headed out.
Eloise was pruning rose bushes in her front yard when we pulled up. She waved and pulled off a pair of gardening gloves.
“We’ve got more questions for you,” I said.
“Can I say I’m not surprised? I figured you’d be back before long.”
“Let’s go inside,” Pete said. “It’s cooling off out here.” The cold never bothered Pete, but I had a feeling he wanted Eloise out of sight.
We sat at her dining table and she brought us each a glass of iced tea.
“Okay, what’s up? Did you find something new?” She sipped from her glass.
“I never had the time to finish reading your father’s notes, and you seem to remember a lot of what’s in them. Do the names Prescott Strong or Water Boy mean anything to you?”
“Oh, I know who Prescott is. His name used to be in the newspaper fairly often, until he died. Yes, his name was in Archie’s notes. So was Water Boy’s. Archie could never understand why the brothers never fired him. According to my father, Water Boy set everyone’s teeth on edge. He was sneaky, and he’d come up right behind people without them knowing he was there. He’d make a rude noise and walk away laughing. He – “
“Do you know what his real name was?” I asked.
“Give me a minute to look at Archie’s notes.”
She left the room and returned with the box containing her father’s things, and began rummaging through it. She must have gone through things several times because it seemed like she knew right where to find everything.
“Here it is. Water Boy’s name was Bruce Brown.”
Pete groaned. “It’s too bad he has such a common name.”
“Well,” Eloise said, “there’s more to go on than just his name. Pop had a bad feeling about him and kept tabs on him. He was a loner. He never seemed to make any friends, and yet certain people called on him from time to time.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
She scrunched up her lips before speaking. “After the gin mill closed down he moved on to… I’m not sure what it was; a gang, the mafia, some spoiled rich guys – it could have been any of the above. Anyway, he was their bad boy of choice. If someone needed to be taught a lesson, they called on Water Boy. By the way, he kept that nickname. For some reason he thought it was cool.
“From what Archie wrote, I gather that Water Boy wasn’t all that bright, but he was muscle if anyone needed him. He didn’t ask questions. He just did their bidding.”
“Is there anything to indicate his age? That might help us find him, if there are any records.”
S
he paused and read more of the notes.
“There’s nothing about his age. Hmm. I missed this, as many times as I’ve read Pop’s reports. The brothers finally did fire Water Boy – about three days before Horace was killed. Ain’t that a kick in the pants?”
Chapter Twenty-two
“I‘d say being fired sounds like motive,” Pete said, “but that doesn’t account for Loretta’s death.”
“She could have witnessed the murders.” Eloise sounded expectant, as though waiting for confirmation.
“Here’s the thing,” I said. “Horace and Harley were murdered in their home. Loretta was killed in the back room at the speakeasy. It just doesn’t compute. If she witnessed the murders, why would she run back to the gin mill?”
“Maybe she didn’t have anywhere else to go,” Stanley said.
“Everybody stop for a minute,” Pete said. “We’re doing exactly what Rick and I did. We’re making a lot of suppositions without having the facts to back them up.”
He turned to me.
“I know you like these old cases, Sandi, but I can’t say they do that much for me. They’re frustrating. There’s no one to follow, no one to grill, and we have to depend on, and hope for, something to come at us out of the blue.”
I was surprised. He’d never said anything about how he felt before, and I decided he needed a spur of the moment pep talk. “Think of it as a puzzle that we have to put together. We – “
“I’m not into puzzles.”
“Okay, then think of it as a challenge. You love a good challenge. And don’t forget that someone threw a rock through Eloise’s window and broke into her house. Someone broke a window and our house was searched for heaven knows what. There’s something current going on here, even if the case is an old one. Here’s the challenge: you take the current part and I’ll take the old part.” As good as my intentions were, it wasn’t great as far as pep talks go.
“You’re forgetting, sweetie pie, that these cases go hand in hand.” He glanced at Stanley when he called me sweetie pie. I guess he wanted to let him know he could use pet names, too.
“I’m not forgetting anything,” I said.
“I can work with modern technology and look for finger prints and other giveaways. You can’t.” He smiled. “However, I accept the challenge.”
“So do we,” Felicity said. “Stan can work with Pete and I’ll work with you, Sandi.”
“You’re on,” I said, grinning. “The only issue I have is that Stan is so good with research and the computer.”
“Not to worry,” she said. “I’ve learned a lot from him. Besides, we’ve got the notes and diaries to work with, and we’ll put them to good use.”
I raised my index finger. “One more thing. Time is on our side, but not on theirs. We’ve got all the time in the world to figure this out. They’ve only got until the next time someone decides on a new move.”
Stanley stood and walked to Pete. I took his seat and picked up a diary.
“Let’s get started,” I said.
“Come with me,” Pete said, turning to Stanley. “We’re going to start doing some modern detecting.”
We watched them walk out the door, with Stanley tripping over… I wasn’t sure what he tripped over, but Pete grabbed his arm to steady him.
“That’s my Stan,” Felicity said. “He’s even clumsier than I am. They sure think they’re smart.”
“Yeah, but we’re smarter.”
“Uh huh.” She picked up one of the other diaries.
“Let them go look for fingerprints. We’ll look for fingerprints of a different type.”
Felicity looked at me with a question in her eyes.
“What I mean is, each fact that we can come up with is like a fingerprint.”
She nodded and turned her attention to the diary in her hand before stopping to make a request. “Tell me about your interviews with Edgar, Jeffrey and Estelle. Maybe if I hear what they had to say, something will grab my attention while I read.”
I told her what each of them had said, and included that Jeffrey preferred to be called Rusty.
“That helps,” she said.
Things were quiet while we each read the entries. I knew we wouldn’t stick to our challenge, but it was fun thinking about it.
She turned a page. “Ouch!”
I glanced at her.
“Paper cut.”
“This is going to take forever,” I said about half an hour later.
Felicity didn’t seem to hear me. She was reading intently, shaking her head while she read.
“Did you find something?” I asked.
“Maybe. This diary is from before the murders. Officer Humin stopped at the speakeasy after work to unwind, according to his wife. When he came home he told her about someone attacking Loretta.”
“Does it say who? Or what kind of attack?”
“He told his wife that when Loretta took a break from singing, she went outside to have a cigarette.” She paused. “I guess they didn’t know what smoking could do to your voice back then. Anyway, she came back several minutes later. She was crying and her mouth was bleeding, and her eye was an ugly color. Someone had hit her. Humin tried to help her, but she said to leave her alone, and she wouldn’t tell him who did it. She went to the back room and cleaned up.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes. The Glosser brothers were angry, but she wouldn’t tell them who’d hit her, either. They were ready to take the law into their own hands, but Humin put a stop to it. He told his wife they were pretty vocal about finding out who’d hurt her, and he half expected trouble from them in the future. He said that later in the evening someone came in with blood on his knuckle. When he asked whoever it was what had happened, he said he’d been opening a crate and cut his hand on a nail.”
“He didn’t tell his wife who it was?”
“Nope.” She continued reading, nearing the end of that particular diary.
I read, too, and I wasn’t learning much until…
“What’s the date on the entry about someone hitting Loretta?”
Felicity turned back to the page that had caught her attention. “This was on June fourteenth. Why?”
“Because here’s an entry from about two weeks later. Humin said Loretta came in with another black eye that she tried to cover up. He told his wife that she said she was going to Nebraska to visit her family for a while.”
I flipped through several pages, browsing along the way. I didn’t see anything else and searched for the next diary. I found it and it covered a period of about three months. Mrs. Humin had a new baby to contend with and she didn’t write every day. Then I found something interesting.
“Listen to this,” I said. “Humin told his wife that Loretta had returned. He said that she was in a bad mood all the time, and that she wouldn’t socialize with anyone. She still sang, but there was a tone of sadness in her voice.”
“Ol’ Humin was a pretty observant guy,” Felicity said. “I’ll bet he made a great cop.”
“Too great. It looks like he was killed for being good at what he did.”
We each continued reading, but my mind kept going back to something from the past.
“You know,” I said, thoughtfully, “in a way this reminds me of another case we solved. I wonder if Loretta left because she was pregnant.”
Felicity raised an eyebrow. “Could be, although in those days being pregnant and not married would have been scandalous. On the other hand, maybe she was frightened and needed time to get a new perspective on things. I’m surprised she came back, to tell you the truth.”
We read for a bit longer, until Felicity said, “You know, I could go for a piece of pie like you and Pete had. What do you say?”
“Sure. I could use a break, but I think I’ll just have a glass of iced tea. Gotta watch the old waistline, you know.”
My friend grinned. “I know, but sometimes those desserts just seem to call out my name, and they can be relentless.”
She’d always been concerned about her weight in the past, which surprised me because she wasn’t a runway model. Of course, she did do some modeling involving her face and cosmetics, so maybe she’d always been afraid of her face becoming too round. And maybe she was honestly thinking about retiring. Well, good for her.
Since she’s my closest friend, I wouldn’t mind having her around more often.
I gave in and had a second piece of pie with her. The heck with my own waistline.
I glanced at Felicity and pointed to my lip, letting her know she had whipped cream on her upper lip.
She delicately dabbed at her face, wiping off the evidence of pie.
“I wonder if the boys have come up with anything,” she said between bites.
“Right now I don’t care. Maybe if Pete had been honest with me about how he feels when we take cold cases I wouldn’t have accepted this one.”
I’d always thought he enjoyed the old crimes.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “He’s not being honest now. He’s always enjoyed working on vintage murders. And without fail, there’s almost always been a connection to the present.” I’d begun to feel a little miffed with my husband.
“Maybe he’s got something else on his mind,” Felicity said.
I relented. She could be right. “He talked about taking a break and going to Washington. He even mentioned the idea of moving there.”
“Oh, no. Please don’t move up there. I’d be lost without you.”
“You would?”
“You’re the closest friend I have. It seems like if I’m not working or with Stan, I’m always doing something with you.”
Friendship is a pretty special thing. I valued her, too.
“I’m not saying we’ll move up there, but you and Stan could come with us. We have a guest house, you know.”
We glanced at each other and started to laugh.
“You’d think we were sisters and joined at the hip,” Felicity said.
“We can choose our friends, but not our family. I choose you as the sister I never had.”
We walked back to the office where we found Stanley at the computer with Pete hovering over his shoulder.