Murder Under a Full Moon

by Abigail Keam

  “Yes, miss,” Violet said, giving a little giggle.

  Mona rushed to change into a long sleeved navy dress, pleated at the waist and accentuated with a navy belt, and embellished by a white Peter Pan collar and cuffs. She put on navy pumps and pearl earrings. Looking in the mirror, Mona brushed her hair back and put on red lipstick, thinking she looked like the average Washington hausfrau.

  Taking a deep breath, she entered the suite’s living room where Abraham Scott sat, casually flipping his felt hat in his hands. “Mr. Scott. I am Mona Moon.”

  Scott stood. “Miss Moon. It looks like I have interrupted your breakfast, but I thought you’d be free. It’s so seldom one eats breakfast at eleven.”

  “Do I hear a small reproach in your voice, Mr. Scott?”

  Scott grinned. “I guess you do. I had my breakfast at seven this morning.”

  “Then you must be starving. Come and join me. I’d like to finish my breakfast before it gets stone cold.”

  “Be glad to.”

  Mona escorted Scott to the balcony where she had been enjoying her meal. “Please help yourself.”

  Mr. Hammond, the suite’s butler, laid down an extra plate and filled a water glass. Soon after, he put a glass of orange juice next to Mr. Scott. “May I serve you, sir?”

  “Yes, please. Anything but pork.”

  Mr. Hammond filled Scott’s plate with scrambled eggs, toast slathered with butter, pastries, and fruit.

  “Thank you, Mr. Hammond. You may leave now.”

  “Very good, miss.”

  Mona dived into her eggs after putting strawberry jam on her toast. “I’m famished.”

  Scott glanced at Mona’s hair, but said nothing.

  Catching Scott’s curious gaze, Mona said, “A strain of albinism runs in the Moon family.”

  “I don’t quite grasp your meaning.”

  “You’re wondering if my hair is dyed. It’s natural. I have an aunt with hair almost the same color and my father had platinum hair.”

  “I apologize. I didn’t mean to be so boorish.”

  “I’m used to it.”

  Scott laughed. “That people are boorish or the inquiries about your hair?”

  Mona smiled. “Both I guess.”

  “Well, you don’t mince words.”

  “Why should I?”

  “I guess the very rich can say whatever they want.”

  Mona’s eyes narrowed. “I was thinking along gender terms. Men say whatever they want, but they expect women always to be nice regardless of the truth. Even very rich women. I don’t like that game. Speaking of games, Mr. Scott, who are you and what do you want?”

  “Again I will apologize for my boorishness, especially if you pass me the strawberry jam.”

  Mona relaxed and handed Scott the jam. “You told Miss Tate that you were sent by President Roosevelt. Why should I believe that when your card contains no information other than a name? You could be some flimflam man working to rob me.”

  Between bites, Scott said, “You’re quite right, Miss Moon. You should be suspicious.”

  Mona handed over a basket of fresh pastries to Scott. “Here, have some more of these. You need to eat up.”

  “My mother always complained that I was too thin. Said that it put her in a bad light and had the neighbors thinking that she didn’t feed me.”

  Mona noticed that Scott ate in the European fashion of holding a fork and a knife throughout eating. Americans use one utensil at a time. “Was she a good cook?”

  Scott wiped his mouth with the napkin. “The absolute worst. I shudder thinking about her cooking even today.”

  Mona laughed. Although mysterious and possibly dangerous, Scott was entertaining. He had warm brown eyes and dark hair slicked back with pomade. She didn’t smell cigarette smoke on him, so Mr. Scott did not use tobacco. There was an eyeglass case in his jacket handkerchief pocket, which indicated Mr. Scott was nearsighted. His gray suit was several years old, but cut from the best wool material and his blue and gray tie was silk. Mona concluded Mr. Scott had seen better days in which to purchase the suit and tie, but had fallen economically the past year as the cuffs of his fresh white shirt were closed with buttons instead of cuff links. In regards to clothing for men, shirts were the first item needing to be replaced. Mona wanted to get a good look at Scott’s shoes to see if there had been recent repairs, but resisted the temptation to peek under the table.

  Scott looked about for Mr. Hammond. “May I have a glass of milk for these apple pastries?”

  Mona asked Violet, who was standing nearby, to get a pitcher of milk.

  Violet went off to find Mr. Hammond.

  As soon as Violet was out of earshot, Mona said, “Okay, Mr. Scott, we are alone now. Who are you and what do you want?”

  “I do work for President Roosevelt, but unofficially, of course.”

  Mona rolled her eyes. “Of course. Do you have anything to prove this?”

  “I see by the morning newspaper scattered about, you were looking for an article about last night’s debacle at the British Embassy. You won’t find it.”

  “The afternoon paper then?”

  “Never. The murder of Lars Dardel will never be mentioned in any newspaper. In fact, there will be no record of the event mentioned at all. Officially, Lars Dardel died peacefully in his bed last night from heart congestion.”

  Flabbergasted, Mona leaned back in her chair. “There seem to be an awful lot of murders going unreported in Washington.”

  “You’re referring to the death of the German diplomat yesterday near your accommodations on the second floor of this hotel.”

  “You are very well informed, Mr. Scott. Are you here to blackmail me by associating the Moon name with these two murders?”

  “No, miss. I am to be your liaison for William Donovan.”

  “Utterly outrageous!” Mona said, standing up and throwing her napkin on the table. “I will not be coerced, cornered, or corralled by a bunch of chest-pounding men. You tell your boss, he can go to the Devil.”

  Scott calmly slathered jam on his toast. “Please sit down, Miss Moon. I am here to tell you that your life and the life of Lord Farley are in danger.”

  Mona sat down. “What did you say?”

  Scott took a bite of his toast. “Delicious jam. I must say the Willard does it right.”

  “Mr. Scott, I’m waiting.”

  “Countries do not plan in years. They plan in decades. Mostly multiple decades. Even the United States. And what the United States sees is that Adolf Hitler will become president and will ignore the Versailles Treaty by rebuilding the German military, thus letting it loose upon the world.”

  “I doubt that, Mr. Scott. Germany’s economy is in tatters, and there is political infighting in the Reichstag.”

  Scott said, “You think Adolph Hitler is a blowhard.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “No, I believe the man is perfectly serious and when things go wrong as they always do, he is going to strike out at his scapegoats. You’ve heard his speeches. It’s not just the Jews he’s after but anyone or anything he deems unsuitable—Jehovah’s Witnesses, Eastern Europeans, political opponents, unions, newspapers—groups that might oppose him. The man is dangerous.”

  Mona said, “People like him because he is charismatic, and he has a strong economic plan. You’ve got to admit he is a great orator. On the other hand, Hitler’s ideology is unpleasant, that’s for sure, and his association with Mussolini is cause for concern, but he has nothing to do with me.”

  “You can disagree with me on Hitler’s personality all you like, but one thing is for real. Germany wants minerals. Without copper, iron, tin, they cannot rebuild their military, and they will get their minerals by hook or by crook. You own the largest copper mines in the northern hemisphere. You have already been contacted by Lars Dardel, a Swedish diplomat working as a German agent.”

  “Do you think he was killed because he contacted me?”

  “I would l
ike for you to tell me the entire conversation.”

  “There’s not much to tell. He did ask about copper and if Moon Enterprises would sell to Sweden. I said I would consider it if the Swedish government contacted me. I made it clear I would not sell to a private individual.”

  “Under no circumstances must you sell to any country in Europe.”

  “We already have several contracts in Europe.”

  “You will need to cancel them.”

  Mona took a deep breath. She disliked being dictated to. She and her lawyer, Dexter Deatherage, had made a five year plan, and the U.S. government seemed bent on tearing it to shreds.

  Just at that moment, Violet brought in a pitcher of milk and set it on the table.

  “Thank you, fair lady,” Scott said, pouring the milk into his now empty water glass.

  “Violet, please make sure that Mr. Scott and I are not disturbed.”

  Giving a forbidding look at Scott, Violet closed the French doors to the balcony and waited in the parlor.

  “You were saying that Lord Farley and I are in danger, Mr. Scott.”

  “There are several of us who work incognito for the government, and our job is to strategize. We sort of play mental chess—like ‘what might the other guy do if Moon Enterprises won’t play ball with selling copper ore.’ Well, I tell you what I’d do, Miss Moon. I’d bump you off, have your Aunt Melanie instated to Moon Enterprises as president, and get a board of toadies to do what she wanted. Then I would bribe or blackmail Melanie Moon to do as I ordered.”

  Mona did not show surprise that Scott knew who her aunt was and understood the woman’s weak character. “Do you have proof of this plan?”

  “Two German agents have been killed in twenty-four hours that have had some proximity to your person. The first man carried documents that have led us to believe the Nazis are planning to rearm. The second man was killed after he spoke to you about purchasing copper, which is needed to rearm. The world is playing a deadly game, and it has led to your doorstep. We feel that you will be contacted again, and if you refuse to sell the copper, you will be eliminated.”

  “Did you kill Lars Dardel?”

  “I did not.”

  “Did a British agent kill Dardel?”

  “We don’t know for sure, but we think Dardel was killed because he made some error.”

  “Which was?”

  “Not getting you to agree.”

  “Who was the woman screaming?”

  “His wife. Emma Dardel. She found his body.”

  Mona thought that explained the initials on Dardel’s cigarette case. “What does the Swedish government say?”

  “They have kept mum. No official statement yet. Remember that the Swedes have claimed neutrality, but they lean pro-Germany.”

  “I’m quite flummoxed, Mr. Scott. Your story is fantastic.”

  “And yet, here I sit, having breakfast at lunchtime with the fabulous Miss Moon, spinning my tale.”

  Mona said, “What about Lord Farley? You said he was in danger, too.”

  “Lord Farley’s father is on his deathbed if he hasn’t already died while we were having breakfast. His lordship received a cable this morning to come to England at once. He will call you to tell you that your trip is off as he must hasten to his father’s side. We believe Lord Farley will be contacted on his sea voyage by enemy agents.”

  “For what reason and by whom?”

  Scott explained, “We know that the Prince of Wales is pro-German. After all, the Windsor family is really German, aren’t they? Remember Kaiser Wilhelm was Queen Victoria’s grandson. So, it is only natural that Germany wants pro-German MP’s sitting in the House of Lords as well. Lord Farley will naturally take his father’s position in the House of Lords. Just follow the natural conclusion.”

  “Lord Farley is fanatically anti-fascist. He will never be turned.”

  “And that is what will put his life in danger.” Scott folded his napkin and took a last sip of milk. “Keep my card. Call that number whenever you want to see me. A woman will answer. She will hang up after twenty seconds, so keep your message short.”

  “I won’t be calling, Mr. Scott, because I don’t believe you.”

  Scott gave a nasty little smirk. “I wish you were correct, Miss Moon. It does sound like the stuff of second-rate spy novels, but I assure you I am right as you will soon see.” He rose and gave a polite bow. “One last word, keep that snub nose revolver of yours close. You’re gonna need it.”

  Surprised, Mona’s mouth dropped open. She closed it quickly. Mona rapidly assessed that either the suite’s maid or the butler, Mr. Hammond, had gone through her things.

  Mona rang a small bell and Violet opened the French doors, whereupon, she ordered Violet to escort Mr. Scott to the hallway and lock the suite’s door after him.

  Pacing in the drawing room, Mona couldn’t decide whether to tell Violet of the conversation with Scott or send her home on the next train. If Scott was correct, Mona should remove Violet from danger as soon as possible.

  All of a sudden a ringing phone pulled Mona out of her deep contemplation.

  Violet answered.

  “Miss Mona, it’s Lord Farley.”

  Mona’s heart froze.

  6

  After a lengthy conversation, Mona put the phone receiver back into its cradle.

  “Bad news, Miss Mona?” Violet asked.

  Mona sat in a chair by the window and stared at the world humming outside.

  “Miss Mona? May I do anything for you?”

  “It seems our trip to England has been postponed. Lord Farley’s father is ill. Very ill. Lord Farley is going on the next available boat and does not wish us to accompany him. He feels his father is dying, and this would not be an opportune time to visit.”

  “Surely, you can understand. Everything will be topsy turvy. It is only natural he would want to sort things out before you came.”

  Mona nodded. “I do. I certainly do, Violet. It’s just that we waited too long for me to meet his father. We wanted it to be perfect, but neither life nor death waits for perfect opportunities. I really should be by Robert’s side and helping. He shouldn’t be on his own facing this.” Mona didn’t voice that she was worried Robert would start drinking again.

  “Lady Alice and her husband, Mr. Nithercott will be only a phone call away if Lord Farley needs help.”

  “I feel I should be with Robert.”

  Violet got a look of rapture on her face. “If his father dies, then Lord Farley will become duke. Just think of it—you will be a duchess.”

  “Robert’s father dying changes everything for Robert and myself.”

  Violet’s face fell. “Does it? In what way?”

  “There will be great pressure for Lord Farley to marry one from his own class. I am just a commoner and an American at that.”

  “You are richer than any of those folks,” Violet said indignantly.

  “That doesn’t matter to the British. They put more emphasis on titles and lineage. Oh, they like money and they might welcome mine, but it might not be enough for me to marry someone in Lord Farley’s position.” Mona rose from her seat. She was agitated and wanted to smash something. “Let’s not think about that, Violet.”

  “Shall I start packing for home?”

  “Not yet. I have some unfinished business left to do.” Mona needed to see Alice Roosevelt, but hesitated going out by herself. She did not want to be approached by another agent and felt she would be targeted if alone. Mona got the weird feeling she was being spied upon. “When do the lads get here?”

  “The Pinkertons and Samuel with Jamison shall be arriving this afternoon on the three o’clock train. Rupert Hunt will be at the hotel by eleven tonight. I got his telegram this morning.”

  “Any word from Dexter Deatherage?”

  “Nothing as of yet.”

  “Then he hasn’t heard about Robert’s father. That’s good. It hasn’t hit the papers yet.”

  “What sh
all we do then?”

  “Well, I feel discombobulated and strange. Let’s go to the dining area and get something to eat. When a woman can’t break, smash, or shoot something, the next best thing is to eat something sweet and have a nice cup of tea. I understand the Willard’s cinnamon bread pudding is awfully good.”

  Violet looked at her wrist watch. “Then what?”

  “I think we should stay in our rooms until the gentlemen arrive.”

  “Is there something going on, Miss Mona? You seem awfully skittish since Mr. Scott visited. Did he say something to you unbecoming?”

  “No, Violet,” Mona lied. She did not want to involve Violet unless it was absolutely necessary. “I’m just upset about our trip being canceled. I’m worried about Robert.”

  Violet bit her lip. It never occurred to her that the Duke’s death could cause a break between Miss Mona and Lord Farley. She had just assumed that once the grieving period was over, they would get on with the marriage. It all seemed so complicated now. She wanted to hug Mona, but knew her employer was not the hugging sort. What could she do to make Mona feel better?

  Mona followed Violet out of the suite and to the main floor by way of the stairs. “Wait a minute, Violet. I want to send a cable to Mr. Deatherage. Please go ahead and order for me.”

  “All right.” Violet headed into the dining room.

  Mona approached the front desk and rang the bell.

  A clerk stopped putting letters and telegrams into guest room key slots. “Yes, miss?”

  “I’d like to send a telegram, please,” Mona said, scribbling on the Western Union form. “I’d like it to go out now.”

  “We can accommodate.”

  Mona handed the paper to the clerk. As the hotel clerk read it, he turned pale. “Are you sure you want to send this, miss?”

  “Word for word. Just as I wrote it.”

  IF I SHOULD DIE, NOT A NATURAL DEATH STOP INVESTIGATE STOP UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES LET AUNT MELANIE TAKE OVER STOP SEND CODED REPLY STOP

  7

  Samuel and the others arrived at the hotel around four o’clock. Mona rented out the entire west side of her floor. The Pinkertons were housed in their own suite directly across from Mona. Samuel and Jamison took over the butler and maid’s room at the very end of the hallway, as Mona knew they would appreciate their own private rooms. She told her staff very little except that she was being hounded by men, who wanted her to sign foreign copper contracts, and she needed relief from their unwanted attentions. When Samuel broached the subject of Mona’s trip to Great Britain, Mona replied that the trip had been temporarily pushed back.