“You need some money? I get it.” As Jack had done earlier, she slipped a few bills onto Gina’s tray. “You gotta understand. I need that photograph. Just for a little payment I got coming. A bit of insurance, if you know what I mean.”
“Insurance?” Gina asked, slipping a box of Marlboros over the bills. Why not? It would buy her papa a little more medicine. She glanced over at Gooch, who was frowning in her general direction. A chill coursed over her. Had he seen the exchange?
“That rat Jack’s gone and left me,” Mimi sputtered, her baby face suddenly looking ugly and wrinkled. “The fink’s gone back to his wife. Said it’s over between us. Two nights we had together. Two goddamn wonderful nights,” she added, before her blue eyes narrowed. “Then he dumps me! Dumps me! Can you believe that? What a bunch of hooey!”
Gina could believe it easily but cast about for more agreeable words. “What a bum!”
Mistaking Gina’s ironic tone for sympathy, Mimi continued. “So you can see I need that picture. One gal to another.” Her tone turned wheedling. “You’ll help me out, won’tcha?”
“Sure, sure,” Gina said, edging away.
* * *
Later, as Gina waited for Billy to fix a tray of drinks while the girls were dancing on the floor, Mr. Darrow said something to her that she didn’t quite catch.
“What did you say?” she asked, trying to be heard over the trumpets and piano.
“I just commented on the fact that it is so very strange not to see Marty around.”
“I suppose,” she said, wishing she could slip her shoes off without anyone seeing her. Her feet were killing her.
“A camera is an amazing instrument,” he said. “Do you agree, Miss Ricci?”
“Aw, please, Mr. Darrow, call me Gina,” she replied. “Yeah, I suppose so. I’ve never looked inside one, though. No one has brought one by for my papa to fix, I don’t think.” She turned back to Billy, noting the three drinks on the tray. “One more gin and tonic.”
“You said three for table four,” the bartender replied, sounding more surly than usual.
“No, I said four for table three,” she said, glancing over at the table in question. Sure enough, there were two couples waiting on their drinks, just as she noted. “See, four people.”
“Sure, sure,” he said, reaching for the gin. Before he poured the liquid into the cocktail glass, he first poured out a full shot, which he proceeded to down in one gulp.
“A strange instrument,” Mr. Darrow said again, clearly in a musing mood. “Catches so much more than those being photographed may realize. Expressions of hope, worry, anger, despair, happiness—all caught in an instant, for all eternity. Unlike a seated portrait, of course, which captures more of how the artist sees the subject.”
“Yes, that’s true.” Gina thought about Jack and Mimi, both slipping money onto her tray. One wanted to keep the photograph hidden, if not destroy it. The other wanted it brought to light, used for some bitter gains of her own.
Billy placed the last drink on her tray. “Get a move on, toots,” he said.
“I’m going, I’m going,” Gina said, adding some napkins to her tray.
CHAPTER 10
Gina rolled out of bed with a sigh. Marty’s funeral was that afternoon, and she was dreading it already. In her mind, she knew she needed to attend, out of respect for both Marty and her mother, but she wasn’t quite sure she could bring herself to go.
To kill time, Gina had decided to head over to the drugstore to get some medicine for her papa. His palsy had been awful bad of late. Last night, when she had arrived home around one in the morning, he’d been awake and in pain. She thought she’d get him some nice bath salts as well, which she hoped would ease the fatigue in his joints and muscles. Might as well see if there were any perfumes to be had, too, since she had already used up her only bottle of scent. Even after the cost of Madame Laupin’s frocks had been deducted from her pay, she was pleased to have a little more spending money than she could ever remember having.
As she waited for Mr. Rosenstein to fill her papa’s prescription, Gina walked up and down the aisles, sucking on a butterscotch. The sight of cameras on display stopped her, her heart giving a lurch as she thought about Marty and his camera, tucked away under the floorboard.
A thought struck her then, and she stood stock-still in the middle of the aisle. Perhaps she could just take Marty’s camera somewhere and get the film developed. She could find out what he’d been hiding, and then—
Here, her imagination stopped short. What in heaven’s name would she do when she saw the images that Marty had begged her to hide? She had no clue. That was not something to worry about now, she decided.
Benny came over then. “You thinking about getting a camera?” he asked. “We’ve got the latest Kodaks for ladies. Stylish, like yourself.”
“Stylish, that’s me,” she said, pretending to spritz herself dramatically with the perfume she’d selected.
He pulled out a bright pink camera case and opened it up to disclose a bright pink padded interior. “See, the camera goes here, and there’s where you keep your extra roll of film. It’s called a Vanity.”
She took it from him, turning it about in real admiration. She pointed to a little pink compartment that had been snapped shut. “What’s in there?”
Benny grinned. “Open it and see.”
Curious, she unsnapped the top to find a space for a small tube of lipstick and a compact. “How darling!” she exclaimed, imagining what it would be like to own such a clever thing.
Then, remembering why she was looking at the cameras in the first place, she asked as casually as she could, “How would I get the photographs developed?”
“That’s easy,” Benny replied. “Take the roll to the Kodak store, over on Polk. They’ll make the photographs for you. Drop if off and they’ll have them ready for you a few days later.”
Gina found herself sweating at the thought of a stranger developing Marty’s last roll of film. Who knew what was on that roll? Benny’s next words made her even more nervous.
“They do a real nice job,” he assured her. “When you go in the store, you can see all the photographs hanging out to dry.”
“Oh, for everyone to see?” she asked. Golly, that will never do, she thought.
“Sure enough,” he replied. “Sometimes I’ve taken my little sister Jasmine in to look at them. Once we were laughing so hard, the manager told us we had to leave. Which we did, but we came back later and soaped his windows.” He chuckled a little at the memory.
“What if there’s a picture of something, you know, private? Something you might not want strangers to see?” she asked.
Though he cocked his head and gave her a funny look, he still answered her question. “Then you’d better develop them yourself,” he said. “Mind you, that’s not cheap. Requires lots of equipment. Chemicals, too. We don’t carry that stuff. We just sell the cameras and the film, not the kits. And the kits don’t always work right, I’ve heard.”
“I see,” Gina said, glancing back at the cameras, a new thought forming in her mind. Could she find a way to develop the film herself? How could she start with Marty’s film, though? She’d have to take a few rolls herself and practice developing them. It wouldn’t matter if she messed up her own rolls. She just couldn’t mess up the one Marty had shot. She pointed to the pink Vanity Kodak he’d just been showing her. “How much is that one?”
“Thirty dollars,” Benny replied, regret in his voice. “We do have a few used ones, for a quarter of the price. I just don’t know how well they work, to be honest.”
After examining the three used cameras, Gina selected the one that appeared to be in the best condition. “I’ll take this one, Benny, with a box of film, please,” she said. On a whim, she put the perfume she’d been considering on the counter as well. Why not?
Although she did feel a twinge as she handed over some folded-up bills. Papa won’t remember that we only had meat twice th
is week, she silently reasoned.
Before she left, she had Benny show her how to load the camera and unwind the film when it was done. The process was simple enough, but she left the store still feeling vaguely uneasy. Could she really learn to develop photographs? What if she messed up? What if she never learned what Marty had hoped to keep hidden?
* * *
Gina stood in front of the mirror, and carefully fixed her black cloche hat. After she returned home and made her father a midmorning snack, Gina wanted nothing more than to try out the camera, but it was time to ready herself for Marty’s funeral.
She felt strange about attending the funeral alone. Yet her Papa had made it quite clear that he wouldn’t have gone even if he hadn’t been in so much pain, and he didn’t understand why she was going either. Nor did it seem likely that any of the girls from the Third Door were going. She’d overheard Lulu and the other girls talking about how much they all hated going to funerals. Even Ned seemed to want nothing to do with it.
Deep inside, she just knew that her mother would expect her to pay her respects to her cousin. It was clear that Marty had been fond of her mother. Perhaps Marty had been a favorite, too. With a pang she realized she’d never know. “I’m leaving now, Papa,” she called.
He glanced at her and did a double take when he took in her long black dress. It must have reminded him, as it did her, of Aidan’s funeral so long ago. He scowled now, perhaps at that memory. “Do as you please,” he said, before turning back to his newspaper.
* * *
About forty minutes later, Gina hopped off the bus on State Street and began to walk slowly north toward Holy Name Cathedral. The church itself loomed above her, its shadow reflecting the dark shadows she felt deep inside herself. She hadn’t attended Mass in years. She could almost hear the taunting voices of the nuns from her elementary school whispering that she was lapsed.
As she watched a pair of older women dressed entirely in black walk into the church, she wondered if the Signora or Big Mike would be there.
Gina sighed. It was too late to worry about that now.
Before she walked in, Gina stopped to look at the cornerstone, which still showed the bullet holes from where the gangster Hymie Weiss had been gunned down in front of the Cathedral by Capone’s men a few years before. Everyone had heard about the hit, and she’d heard many mothers had taken their sons there as a bit of a cautionary tale. Although what the tale was, she wasn’t quite sure, other than don’t futz around with Al Capone.
Suppressing a shiver, Gina mounted the flat stone steps, walked through the arched entrance, and entered the dark interior of the cathedral. Before passing into the nave, Gina picked up a Mass card from a small tray beside several lit candles.
After sliding into a back pew, she looked at the card. On the front was a portrait of a sorrowful Madonna holding an earnest baby Jesus, his finger crooked in blessing. On the back was a Bible verse from Jeremiah 31:3. “The Lord hath appeared of old unto me, saying, Yea, I have loved thee with an everlasting love: therefore with lovingkindness have I drawn thee.”
Below the verse was his name. Martin Liam Doyle. Born Monday, November 2, 1885, Chicago, Illinois. Died Sunday, January 13, 1929. Chicago, Illinois.
Tears welled up in her eyes as she took in the incorrect date of Marty’s death. No one knew that he had actually been killed the night before what was printed on the card. Marty staring up at her. Then that whisper. Take my camera. Hide it. What had he wanted her to do with it?
Gina sighed, pushing back into the uncomfortably hard wooden pew.
What if she had told people what had happened? What if she had told them about Marty’s death? You could have been a target, too, Gina, the dark little voice deep inside her intoned. So could Papa. Best to keep it all to yourself. Figure it out for yourself.
Being among all the mourners made her feel like she was losing her mother and Aidan all over again, and the darkness that had been twisting her insides threatened to overwhelm her. To keep herself from breaking into unstoppable sobs—which she feared would happen—she tried to focus on the people who were slowly filling the pews toward the front of the nave. The church was about one-third full, and she started to listen to the jumble of conversations going on around her. A few snippets floated toward her.
“Hadn’t come home in years, I heard,” one older woman said with a sniff.
“Practically killed his mother,” the woman next to her agreed. “He never did marry, you know.” That last statement was issued in an equally damning tone.
“Oh, that Marty,” the first woman said. “He always was a bit of a scamp.”
“Tragic end, of course.”
“Of course,” the first woman concurred. “Still, he likely had it coming, seeing who he ran about with all those years. Scofflaws!”
“Did you know, he worked in … one of those places!” The women’s voices dropped. They could have been speaking about someone working at a brothel, but perhaps to these women’s minds a speakeasy was equally sordid. Gina tossed her head. Probably a bunch of temperance do-gooders. Although most of the ones that lived in her neighborhood were Methodists. Maybe it was different on the North Side.
That reminded her of the thought that had been plaguing her since she had first decided to attend the funeral. Were any of her mother’s family members here? They had to be.
Just then, the great wooden doors opened again and a priest entered, dressed in white robes and carrying a cross. The congregation all stood at once in tribute. Behind him were other members of the clergy, all carrying lighted candles. The priest preceded the casket, which was borne on the shoulders of six pallbearers. Behind the casket were three mourners dressed heavily in black. One was an old woman who moved very slowly, supported by a man on either side, one older and one younger.
Gina regarded them carefully. Given their status behind the casket, they must be immediate members of Marty’s family. Perhaps hers as well.
She watched the men carefully lay their great gleaming burden in front of the altar. She gulped, thinking about Marty stretched out inside the coffin.
She was so lost in thought that she did not realize that everyone had been seated in the pews and she was the only one still standing, giving her an unrestricted view of the entire congregation. She saw Gooch sitting next to a woman whose face was heavily veiled under a fashionable hat. From the elegant slope of the woman’s form, she suspected it was the Signora. Since everyone was still watching the pallbearers setting the coffin in place, she was able to steal a few more glances around. She did not recognize anyone else.
One of the pallbearers turned back toward the congregation, unexpectedly meeting her gaze. She could see a startled look cross his face, even across all the pews, and she sat down hastily, trying too late to hide from the public scrutiny.
A man seated toward the back turned around as well, presumably following the direction of the pallbearer’s surprised gaze. She took a sharp intake of breath when she recognized Roark. What was he doing there?
The funeral Mass passed slowly, but Gina found herself remembering the rhythms of the church service. The Latin phrases came back to her, as did the call and response. Stand up, give the response, sit back down, kneel, pray, listen, pray, shake hands. Every time they were asked to stand, she tried to see if there was anyone else there that she knew, but the block of people was too great.
When the priest administered Communion, Gina stayed in her pew, somewhat self-consciously. Not wanting to meet any curious eyes, she focused on the priest as he offered the vessel full of wine for everyone to drink. Churches were one of the only places where wine could be publicly consumed, since they were not selling it to their parishioners. Of course, she had also heard that sales of church wine had risen sharply in recent years, and it was easy to imagine that at least some of the barrels were ending up in less godly hands.
After the Mass was complete, the priest spoke in English. “The family has invited you to a luncheon
at the residence of the decedent’s mother, Mrs. John Doyle, at one o’clock to complete our celebration of the late Martin Doyle’s life.” He gave the address of a well-to-do area on Oak. “This now concludes this morning’s Mass.” He gestured for the pallbearers to position themselves by the coffin again.
The priest led them out, swinging the censer to spread the burning incense’s fragrant smoke through the congregation. As they passed, the same pallbearer again swiveled his gaze toward Gina, a puzzled look on his face.
While many of the congregation started to walk toward Oak Street, Gina stood on the steps, in the shadows, watching Marty’s casket be loaded into the waiting funeral coach that would take him to the cemetery for his eternal rest.
Gooch and the Signora walked quickly past her toward a black car waiting on the southern corner of Superior and State. Neither of them seemed to have spoken or interacted with any of the other mourners.
“I just need to pick up some corned beef,” she heard an older woman say to her husband. “I’ll meet you over there.”
Gina moved back inside the church, thinking to light a candle for Marty and one for Aidan as well. A heavy feeling of loss washed over her, and she looked toward the glass windows to keep her tears from falling.
When someone jostled her arm, she glanced over. It was Roark.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
She continued to light the candles, silently saying a small prayer. “Same as you, I guess. To pay my respects.” Her words sounded hollow, false even to her own ears. She didn’t blame him for the suspicious frown he gave her. “Of course,” he said, walking away from her.
Sudden tears stinging in her eyes, Gina walked quickly out of the great wooden doors of the church. She was about to flee down the stone steps when one of the pallbearers hailed her.
“Young lady,” he called, carefully helping an old woman in black down the stairs. Gina recognized her as the woman who had walked behind Marty’s casket before the Mass. “Please, wait.”
Murder Knocks Twice Page 13