by Abigail Keam
“Then I’m surprised the priest agreed to perform the funeral if Dardel was not officially Catholic.”
“His wife is a big donor to this particular parish,” Scott said, winking.
“Still, Dardel must have been well-liked for so many people to come to his funeral.”
“If he had been well-liked, the church would have been filled. Most of the women here were discarded dalliances of his. And the others? Well, let’s say they work for me.”
“Ambassador Boström is attending.”
“Only because it would look bad if he didn’t. Hey, Mona, don’t waste your time feeling sorry for this guy. He’s not worth your pity.”
“It’s just that he was so pathetic, but I do feel sorry for his wife. I was at Ambassador Lindsay’s party when Dardel made a move on a Hollywood hopeful. She’s inside the church now.”
“She is Lisa LaMour.”
“Oh dear.”
“That’s what I say. Not very subtle, is it? Her real name is Zofia Kowalsky. Her family immigrated to England after the last war.”
Organ music from the church floated outside and the front doors were swept open by the altar boys.
“That was a quick funeral.” Mona turned to Scott. “Did you find out who attacked Violet Tate?”
“Have dinner with me tonight, and I’ll tell you.”
Curious, Mona said, “All right, but I’ll meet you.”
“Okay. Come to the jazz club around nine.”
“The only thing they serve there is gin.”
“They fry up a mean ribeye and skillet potatoes.”
“Sure they do,” Mona said sarcastically, wondering what Scott was up to.
“You’ll see.”
“I need to go inside. I want to speak with Mrs. Dardel.”
“See you tonight.” Scott tipped his hat before walking away.
Mona called after him. “Hey, Scott.”
“Yeah,” he said turning.
“I usually go for my gun when men touch me without permission.”
Grinning, Scott said, “Noted.”
Mona nodded and went back into the church, darting between the clumps of people chitchatting in the aisles. She found Violet sitting in the same pew waiting for her. Alice was up front and center chatting with Ambassador Boström. The poor widow sat grief stricken looking on as the priest closed the casket. Mona felt pity for her and the woman sitting next to her.
She went up to the widow. “Mrs. Dardel. My name is Mona Moon. I would like to express my condolences.” Mona turned to the older woman, who looked as though she was in a state of shock. Her eyes had the appearance of someone suddenly surprised as she stared at the coffin. “I assume that you are Mr. Dardel’s mother. Very sorry for your loss, ma’am.”
Mrs. Dardel looked up through tear stained eyes. “My mother-in-law doesn’t speak English.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Who are you?”
“I met your husband at Ambassador Lindsay’s party. We talked briefly about Sweden purchasing copper ore from my mines.” Mona noticed Mrs. Dardel wore her watch on her right wrist and her black mourning band was on her right forearm.
“That’s what your conversation was about?” Mrs. Dardel asked rather pointedly.
“Yes, it was about copper.”
“I saw the two of you on the patio having quite the cozy yak.”
“That’s correct. We spoke on the patio.”
Was Mrs. Dardel implying something? Mona wasn’t sure of the undertone of Mrs. Dardel’s statement. “Have the police caught the culprit yet?”
“No and they never will. Lars has officially died of heart issues. I had to agree to this false report, or the British threatened to say that Lars committed suicide. If they did that, Lars wouldn’t be permitted to be buried in consecrated ground.”
“Mr. Dardel is being buried in a Catholic cemetery?”
“That’s how they control people. They find a weak spot and exploit it. The truth almost never comes out.”
“Who are they, Mrs. Dardel?”
“They thought they knew everything, but they didn’t,” Mrs. Dardel said, looking at Mona triumphantly. “Lars was going to convert for me. Even this old bag sitting next to me didn’t know. Her darling son. Huh! Lars hated her.”
Mona was amazed at the confessions spewing from Mrs. Dardel’s mouth. “Again, I’m so sorry.”
“Go away, Miss Moon, and leave us to our grief. We don’t know you and don’t care to hear your lies.”
Mona gave a small bow and retreated. She made her way to Violet, who was thumbing through a hymnal. “Let’s go.”
“Mrs. Longworth wants to go to lunch. Said she has something she wants to tell you. Says to meet up at the Old Ebbitt Grill in half an hour.”
“Well, we do have to eat, and I don’t like to partake any meals at our hotel unless Samuel fixes them.”
Violet gave Mona a pleading look. “I’m starving.”
“Let’s go now. I could do with a cool drink.”
“Can we order an appetizer? You know—just to take the edge off.”
Mona teased, “I hear your stomach growling now. Let’s hurry before you fall down due to lack of sustenance.”
As they rushed out of the cathedral, Mona peeked back at Rupert Hunt, disguised as an old man surreptitiously taking pictures of everyone at the funeral. Even Violet didn’t recognize him. Mona hoped he would have the photographs ready before nine that night.
Mona wanted all the ammunition she could get before her meeting with Scott.
At seven that night, Rupert Hunt reported to Mona. After listening to his report, Mona was loaded for bear.
21
Dressed in a gold lamé halter top dress that exposed her flawless back, Mona was shown to Scott’s table. The dress was so tight-fitting, it would have shown evidence of undergarments had Mona been wearing any. The dress followed the curve of her waist and hips all the way down to her gold open-toed shoes. The top of the dress folded into several layers low on her chest, displaying alabaster skin. Mona’s hair was pulled back into a bun twist fastened with golden-colored hairclips. Gold coiled serpentine bracelets encircled her upper arms. She wore no makeup except for the heavy kohl outlining her eyes and a lipstick tinted so deeply red, it almost looked black.
Scott jumped up as Mona was seated by the waiter. “Wow, that is some dress! Lisa LaMour has nothing on you in the looks department.”
“I never thought she did.” Mona put her purse on the table with the clasp undone and facing her. “Buy me a drink, Scott.”
“Abe, please.”
“Like Honest Abe?”
“Maybe.” Scott waved to a waiter who immediately rushed over.
“Yes, sir?”
“A bottle of your best champagne.”
“Yes, sir!” The waiter hurried off to get the champagne. It was between the band’s sets and he wanted to fill as many drink orders as possible because of the tips. Patrons were more likely to tip before the band played or they got too intoxicated to remember.
“I didn’t think you were going to show.”
Mona leaned forward. “I’m here as requested. What did you want to see me about?”
“This.” Scott handed Mona a London newspaper.
“I’ve already seen the article.”
“The one that stated that Lord Farley buried his father, and that the King and Queen of the United Kingdom attended his father’s funeral.”
“Yes, I’ve read it.”
“And?”
Mona shrugged. “And what? The man has buried his father according to the customs of his country. I don’t know what you expect me to say.”
“You weren’t by his side.”
“That’s obvious.”
Scott pointed to the picture in the paper. “That woman standing on the left of Lord Farley is Lady Alice, your best friend, and the chap standing next to her is her husband, Ogden Nithercott.” Scott tapped on the picture. “Who’s the lady on th
e right?”
Mona didn’t even bother to look at the picture of the stylish young woman in a couture black dress hanging on to Robert’s arm. Her head was covered in a long black veil. “You know who it is, so why ask?”
“Lord Farley is escorting this woman from the grave of his father.”
“It’s Lady Imogene. She is a distant cousin of Robert’s.”
“And she will inherit the estate if Lord Farley does not produce an heir.”
“You are wrong there. If a male heir can’t be found, then the estate reverts back to the crown.”
The waiter brought the champagne and two glasses.
Scott waved him away.
Mona watched Scott uncork the champagne and pour it. She waited until he took a drink before she sipped from her glass.
“I see that you are being careful.”
“I don’t want to have happen to me what happened to my men.”
Scott held up his hands. “Innocent.”
“I believe you.” Mona took a short breath. “On that issue.”
“Let’s get back to Lady Imogene.”
“What about her?”
“It’s plain from the newspaper picture that she’s gunning for him. Even the article refers to their ‘close relationship.’”
Mona took another sip of her drink and didn’t reply.
“I thought you might be lonely.”
Mona laughed. “You couldn’t persuade me to be your spy by threats and intimidation. Now you are trying to seduce me? Oh, Scott.”
“Call me Abe, Mona. Come on. Let’s be friends. You know that English guy is not going to marry you. It’s a different ball game for him now.”
“I am interested in who attacked my little Violet.”
“Still working on it. Don’t have the answer for you yet.”
“Well, I have been digging a little on my own.” Mona pulled out some 3x5 snapshots from her purse. “Here’s a picture of you having lunch with Lisa LaMour after the funeral.”
Scott glanced at the picture. “Good shot of my profile. Sort of looks like John Barrymore.”
Mona pulled out another one. “Here’s another one of you meeting with a gentleman in the park two days ago. Looks like you are handing him something.”
Scott picked up the photograph and tossed it back to her.
“This is my favorite. This was taken on the day after Dardel’s murder. You were seen entering the Dardel household. To pay your respects to the grieving widow, no doubt?”
“That’s right.”
“I thought you were just aware of Dardel—you didn’t give the impression that you knew him personally.”
“Washington is a small town. Everyone knows everyone else.”
“You never mentioned that you and he knew each other.”
“Like I said, this is a small town.”
“It’s obvious that you knew him because here’s a picture of you coming out the back entrance of the Swedish Embassy.”
The last photograph made Scott uneasy, and he tried to change the subject.
“Why do you think the new Duke of Brynelleth has not even bothered to call or send you a cable?”
Not missing a beat, Mona pushed on. “I called William Donovan. You do not work for him. He says you are an independent agent who works for the highest bidder.”
“I think Lawrence Robert Emerton Dagobert Farley has switched his loyalties.”
“Who are you really? Is Abraham Scott even your real name?”
Seeing his ploy was not working, Scott admitted, “I never said I worked for William Donovan. I said I had been sent by President Roosevelt.”
“Unofficially, like William Donovan? President Roosevelt doesn’t even know that I exist, so why would he send you. Quit telling such lies. I’m sick of them.”
“Believe me when I say President Roosevelt does know of your existence. My orders were to ferret out subversive affiliations or ideology that you might have. He and others are interested in how you turned Moon Enterprises around so fast in such a short amount of time. He wanted to know if you were the real deal or simply a naïve fool fronting for more sinister players.”
“What others?”
“Men who are convinced there’s going to be another world war. We are making a list of which Americans will step up to the plate when the time comes.”
“Lots of things can happen before this so-called war of yours. Roosevelt could die. Hitler could die. I could die. No one can predict the future.”
“We can predict probabilities. Here’s a probability, Mona. Robert Farley has not communicated with you since his father died. From the looks of that newspaper photo, he has already replaced you with a woman, who’s ten years younger and from one of the most ancient families in England. They are both British and descendants from the royal bloodline. Besides money, what do you have to offer the new Duke of Brynelleth? You can’t overcome five hundred years of tradition.”
Mona pushed the photographs she had taken of Scott toward him. “Keep the pictures, Abe. Put them in your scrapbook.”
“Not going to crack, eh? Must be a blow to your ego, though. You’re going to be thirty soon. Most people would call you a spinster. You’re aging out of the marriage market.”
“Whatever Robert Farley does is his own business, and I will support whatever he decides about his future.”
Scott roared back in his chair. He was laughing so hard, he could barely get out the sentences, “Oh, you silly fool. You’re already a laughing stock in town. Everyone thinks Robert Farley has already dumped you.”
“That may be true, but my life doesn’t revolve around a man. If Lord Farley chooses to go down a different path, I wish him well, but I won’t lose one night of sleep over it.”
Scott stopped laughing. “You are a cold one, aren’t you? You look cold, you know, with that white hair and strange eyes. Even your pale skin looks cool to the touch—flesh a corpse would have.”
Mona gathered her purse. “You’re a charmer, Abe. A real charmer.” She stood, getting ready to take her leave. “Thanks for the champagne. See ya around.”
Scott watched Mona walk away. He couldn’t help admiring Mona’s guts. She had a wild spirit no man could tame.
Walking out the door, Mona saw Rupert Hunt follow her with his men, who had been stationed at various tables throughout the jazz club as added protection. She hoped none of them saw tears gathering in her eyes. “Never let them see you cry,” Mona mumbled to herself. “Don’t give them that satisfaction.”
Was Scott right?
Was she losing Robert Farley to a twenty-year-old girl?
22
Mona was going on her seventeenth hour of sleep and still shut up in her room.
Violet softly knocked on Mona’s bedroom door. “Miss Mona, time to get up. You’ve slept all day. You need to eat something.” She quietly opened the door and found Mona still asleep. Violet picked up Mona’s evening gown, hung it up, and tiptoed out of the room.
Worried, Violet wanted to call a doctor, but Samuel stopped her. “Leave Miss Mona be, Violet. She’s sleeping off her grief. That’s nothing a doctor can do for her.”
“Maybe Scott drugged her?”
“You know that’s not the problem. Let her sleep. It’s healing.”
Earlier in the day, Rupert Hunt had told them both what Scott had said to Mona about Robert Farley.
“I was close enough to hear the entire conversation. He worked her over about Farley, but she never broke script. Mona stayed focused, even when Scott was cruel. I swear he was trying to break her spirit.”
“Maybe he did,” Violet suggested. “Miss Mona hasn’t been out of her bedroom since she came back from the club.”
“Mona’s a tough cookie. She’ll work this out on her own. I say leave her alone,” advised Hunt.
So that’s what Violet, Samuel, and Jamison did. They let Mona sleep.
Sleuthing on their own, Violet and Samuel purchased more London newspapers and tabloids,
and they were not happy with what they read. Lord Farley was now officially Duke of Brynelleth and according to the papers, he was keeping company with Lady Imogene, who was acting as hostess of Brynelleth.
“What should we do?” Violet asked.
Samuel advised, “Act normal and don’t bring up Lord Farley. Let’s carry on as normal. When Miss Mona wakes up, she’ll be very hungry, so I’m going to make a real Southern meal—pinto beans with onions, greens, and cornbread washed down with buttermilk.”
“I don’t think Miss Mona cares for buttermilk.”
Samuel winked. “But I do.”
Violet chuckled.
“What’s funny?”
“I was just thinking about something Mrs. Longworth said to me a few weeks ago when I ordered corn mush for lunch. ‘You can take the girl out of the South, but not the South out of the girl!’”
“She was right, wasn’t she?”
With a lopsided grin, Violet said, “I do believe so because my mouth is watering at the mere mention of that meal, Samuel. Makes me think of home. I miss it so.”
“Let’s get to it then. I’ll send Jamison out for vittles. By tonight, we will have a feast to eat.”
Five hours later, Mona awoke to the aroma of fried catfish, stewed okra and tomatoes, pinto beans, and freshly baked cornbread wafting through her bedroom. She took a shower and washed her hair. Putting on slacks and a soft top, she opened her bedroom door to find Jamison, Samuel, and Violet at a little card table in the drawing room eating off the hotel’s fine china.
Violet jumped up. “Miss Mona. We were just having supper.”
Blinking, Mona glared at them, making the three feel uncomfortable.
Jamison and Samuel glanced at each other, wondering if Mona was angry.
“THAT’S IT!” Mona cried, suddenly. “The solution I’ve been looking for. I’m going to give a dinner party!”
23
“I don’t know, Mona. You’re asking a lot,” Alice Longworth replied.
“You owe me. I wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for you.”
“That’s rude of you. You wanted to meet your idol Eleanor Roosevelt, and you did because of me.”