by Ariel Lawhon
A hoarse whisper. “Yes.”
“I didn’t have to give this warning. Could have called in a favor and had the problem taken care of. But I didn’t think that would be fair, considering how long you’ve worked for us.”
“Thank you.”
“See to it that he understands. Because my associates are not as patient as I am, and the next warning will be the last.”
He asked the impossible. Maria knew she could never tell Jude how he had gotten his promotion or ask that he accept the strings attached. She would find another way to undo this mess.
Mr. Crater adjusted his cuff links, collected his money clip and handkerchief from the bureau, and stuffed them in his pocket. Then he crossed the room and set his hand under Maria’s chin. Ran a thumb over her lips. “I wonder what would happen to a pretty girl like you if there was no one around to protect her?”
RITZI sat on the marble steps of the mausoleum that held the remains of Ulysses S. Grant. Her ankles were crossed and her hands were folded in her lap. She turned her face to the sun and drank in what little warmth November had left to offer. She kept her eyes closed as the timid footsteps and rattle of the wardrobe trunk approached.
“I’ve never been here before.” Maria settled on the step next to her, breathless.
“Me either.”
“Then why here?”
“It was the first place that came to mind.” Ritzi opened her eyes and turned to the side, taking in Maria’s nervous expression. She was perched on the edge of her step, like a bird ready for flight. “I was going to tell you no.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“George Hall showed up.”
Maria fiddled with the clasp on her purse. “I’ll make sure to thank him for the interruption.”
Ritzi stiffened. “You can’t.”
“I wasn’t serious. I just …” Maria paused. She wouldn’t meet Ritzi’s questioning gaze. “This is hard. I’m sorry.”
A shipping barge inched up the Hudson River, and the two women watched it with exaggerated interest for several moments.
“It won’t be as easy as you think,” Ritzi said after a long stretch of silence. “Especially when I really start to show. But I’ll try.”
“The adjustments I made to your costumes will buy you at least three months. Longer with a corset.”
“I’ve got one already. It hurts like hell.”
Maria lifted a white envelope from her purse. She placed it on the step between them. “Five hundred dollars. Just like I promised.”
“Where did you get that much money?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Listen, I don’t need any more trouble, okay? If that’s dirty, I’m not taking it. Deal’s off.”
Maria did her best to smile. “It’s not dirty. But it’s not exactly mine either.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Let’s just say the owner is missing.”
Ritzi lifted the envelope and felt the weight in her hand. “Crater?”
Maria shrugged noncommittally.
Somehow that knowledge made the exchange feel less like extortion. More like poetic justice. “Did you ever imagine yourself doing something like this?”
Maria gave a short, startled laugh. “No.”
“For what it’s worth, I never thought I’d be the kind of woman who’d sell a bastard child. Because call it what you like, that’s what I’m doing.”
“I never thought I’d have to buy one.”
“We’re quite a pair, then.” Ritzi stuffed the envelope in her purse. “I’ll do my best.”
“Will you let me know?” Maria asked. Her eyes were round and hopeful, and it hurt Ritzi to look at them. “When you feel the baby moving? My phone number is on the envelope.”
“Yes.”
Maria stood and wrapped her dark wool coat around her chest. She angled the trunk handle toward Ritzi. “Thank you.”
Ritzi worried that Maria would reach out and try to touch her stomach. But she kept her fists balled at her sides, as though restraining herself. Maria nodded once in that polite way of hers and then walked away. Ritzi watched her walk down Riverside Drive until she was out of sight.
Chapter Twenty-Six
PORTLAND, MAINE, SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 15, 1930
STELLA slammed the phone down on the bedside table. “How could you be so foolish, Mother?”
Emma glanced up from her knitting, startled. She sat in a high-backed chair next to the window. The curtains were open, and she leaned toward the natural light for help with the intricate pattern. “What?”
“There was a reporter asking for me just now.”
“I didn’t give this number to any reporters. You know that.”
“That was the concierge. George Hall was here. They just found him nosing around the observatory.”
“Why are you angry at me? I had nothing to do with that.”
“That letter you mailed for me, did you put it in a hotel envelope?”
“That’s all they had downstairs.”
“It led him right to us!”
Emma dropped the knitting to her lap and pressed her fingers against her eyelids. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that.”
“Obviously not.”
A defensive note crept into her voice. “How did he come by that letter, anyway? It went to the maid. Why did George Hall have it?”
Stella let out a long, defeated breath. “Detective Simon must have taken it from Maria.”
“Why would she do that?”
“They’re married.”
“You can’t be serious?” Emma looked stricken.
“Joe and I helped him get the promotion to detective earlier this year.”
“And you just now remembered this?”
“Of course not. I thought it was very convenient that he got the case, and I didn’t want him removed. Which is exactly what would have happened if I’d told the NYPD that his wife worked for us. It was best to omit that particular detail.”
“Clearly he knows. And said nothing.”
“Protecting his wife, most likely.”
Emma squinted at Stella over her half-moon glasses. Her bright blue eyes narrowed into slits. “What game are you playing at?”
“It’s not a game, Mother. It’s self-preservation.”
“How do you know Maria didn’t give that letter to George Hall?”
“No,” she said. “I’m certain Jude intercepted it. Besides, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation if you hadn’t used the hotel stationery.”
“I don’t plan on apologizing a second time. I didn’t intend that error, but I can’t keep secrets I don’t know about. Take care of the details yourself next time.”
Stella threw herself on the bed and rolled onto her back. All the pieces of her carefully constructed plan were being pulled apart by centrifugal force, disintegrating into chaos. She was losing control. “Joe has ruined me.”
“The fact that you’re in a hotel with a concierge proves that you’re not ruined. You have a perfectly good home—no, make that three perfectly good homes—you could go to. But you chose to come here.”
“Both apartments are in Joe’s name. I show up there and I’ll be slapped with a subpoena before I can unlock the dead bolt. The cabin is mine, of course, but it’s not made for winter residence.” Stella glanced at her mother and wondered if that’s what she would look like in thirty years. Silver hair and watery eyes and thin frame. “Did you know Joe tried to sell it?”
Emma’s jaw clenched. “The cabin? You love that place.”
“He wanted the money for his political campaign.”
“Please tell me you didn’t let him?”
“I walked into his office one morning in April and he was on the phone with Owney Madden, negotiating the price. Twelve thousand dollars. I stood there, dumbfounded. He’d never so much as asked me.”
Emma said nothing, merely waited, her knitting piled on her lap.
“Why the cabin? You have the apartment on Bank Street. And it’s empty.”
“We needed that apartment to keep his voting district in Tammany Hall, and we needed the Fifth Avenue apartment to live in. You know how he was about appearances. In the end, he emptied every savings account, cashed in every stock and bond, and collected life insurance policies and investments for his campaign. And every bit of it is in a brown leather satchel right here in this hotel. I found it all in the apartment when I went back in August.”
Emma’s knitting needles fell to the floor with a tiny clank. “And you couldn’t bother to tell me this?”
“It’s not something I’m proud of.”
“Nor should you be. But still, I deserve that much for gallivanting around the countryside with you.”
Stella swung her legs over the edge of the bed and met her mother’s bold gaze. “If they find Joe, it ruins everything.”
“Ruins what, Stella?”
“My life! Everything we built. Every night I spent alone. Every compromise I made for him. Every one of Joe’s affairs. Not to mention every penny we have. All for nothing!” Stella flung the words at her mother.
Instead of recoiling, Emma moved closer. “Your life—this life you’re screaming about—doesn’t exist. And if you don’t wake up and salvage the life you really do have—the one loaded with debt and scandal—you’re not going to have anything at all.”
Stella arced her back, the tendons in her neck drawn. She could feel the trembling in her spine and the tips of her fingernails digging into her clenched fists. “I have to try, Mother. I have to wait this out. If they find out I knew about Joe’s business dealings, they will freeze every asset we have and they will prosecute me. I will spend the rest of my life in prison for something my corrupt, philandering husband did. So you’ll have to pardon me for being unwilling to take the fall for him. I’m not leaving this hotel until Thomas Crain has finished his grand jury investigation. Only then will I go back to New York and attempt to clean up the mess Joe left behind.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
MOROSCO THEATRE, FRIDAY, DECEMBER 5, 1930
“WHO’S that?” Ritzi asked Lola, one of the girls on the chorus line.
Lola stepped closer to the mirror and applied a coat of fuchsia lipstick. It made her black hair and green eyes stand out in lovely contrast. “Name’s Mary Anne.”
The new arrival hung toward the back of the dressing room and tried to get into her costume without help—a hazing of sorts from the regulars, how they broke in the rookies. Her skin was pale and her hair typically blond. Large blue eyes. Cute smile.
“Who’s she filling in for?”
“She’s not filling in. Elaine didn’t show last night. You know the rules.”
Ritzi peered at the girl suspiciously. “That’s not like Elaine.”
“Maybe she spooked. She’s been in the papers a lot lately, poor thing.” Lola pointed at a column on the day’s front page. “It’s all anyone in this city can talk about. That judge.”
Oh, I knew him. Period. George Hall quoted the exact words Elaine used in the alley that night. The innuendo was clear. She’d been intimate with Crater and was willing to talk about it. A stupid lie just to make the paper. Elaine had been harassed by reporters for weeks after that, her name paired with their seedy theories in every paper in New York.
“Did Shorty say anything about Elaine? She’s been around Club Abbey a lot lately.”
“He’s the one that brought in Mary Anne. I doubt he cares. She’s one of Owney’s new discoveries.”
Ritzi took a seat next to Lola in front of the mirror and pinned her hair back with a pile of bobby pins. She set the feathered cap on her head and did not mention Elaine again. She had her theories, but they weren’t something she would share with Lola. Instead, she set herself to work getting ready for that night’s performance.
Ritzi’s corset hung on the back of her chair, and she was about to ask Lola to help lace her up when the door to the dressing room swung open and slammed against the wall. Owney Madden loomed in the doorway, and behind him the stagehands and crew gaped at the women in various stages of undress as they shrieked and ran for cover.
“Good God, Owney. Can’t you knock first?” Ritzi crossed her arms over her swollen breasts.
“I’ve seen it all before.”
“Well, they haven’t, okay? No need to give everyone a free peek.” She looked over his shoulder at a row of young men craning their necks at the view.
He shut the door and leaned against it. “Don’t be such a prude, Ritz. Everyone knows what you are.”
The chorus line stilled to a hush. Those still in a compromising state slid into dressing gowns or tugged clothing over their heads. They stared at Owney and Ritzi.
“What would that be, exactly?”
“Cheap.”
There was a stir of gasps behind them. Ritzi saw Lola plant her hands on her hips and stare daggers at Owney. But she did not come to Ritzi’s defense.
“Everyone out,” he said, and pointed at Ritzi. “Except you.” He opened the door and held it for the chorus line. The girls filed out one by one. A few gave Ritzi a sympathetic look, but most rushed to escape Owney’s wrath.
His hands were stuffed deep in his pockets as he circled the dressing room, looking for something.
Owney lifted her corset from the back of the chair. He motioned her over. “You really think this fools anyone?”
Ritzi cinched the belt of her dressing gown a little tighter. “I’ll get Lola to help me.”
“It wasn’t a suggestion.” He unlaced the back of the corset and held it out with both hands, elbows stiff.
When her robe landed on the floor in a light puddle, she sensed his eyes on her, white-hot. It wasn’t the first time that Owney Madden had seen her naked body, but she felt vulnerable nonetheless. Her center of balance shifted to her stomach and the bulge between her hip bones. Owney said nothing as she walked across the room, stark naked, and snatched the corset from his hands. It took every ounce of self-control she possessed to step into the stiff fabric without shaking. She turned away from his furious gaze so he could lace up the back. But she saw him in the mirror, staring over her shoulder, watching her face.
“Where’s Elaine?”
“Got rid of her.”
“What do you mean?”
He snorted. “You know damn well what I mean. But if you must have details, I put a bullet in her skull. Then I had a couple of my guys wrap her in a sheet, stuff her in the trunk of my car, and drop her off the Brooklyn Bridge two nights ago.” He grinned at the horrified look on Ritzi’s face. “Or was that too much information?”
His words ran together in a blur of lilted syllables, and it took Ritzi a moment to make sense of what he said. A sudden rush of heat overwhelmed her when she finally understood. Ritzi willed herself not to throw up. “Why?”
“Because Elaine couldn’t keep her name out of the papers. And I don’t want people asking any more questions about Joseph Crater.”
Ritzi blinked back tears, unwilling to dignify his admission with a response.
His hand dropped to the mound between her hips. Squeezed. “This was a dumb-ass thing to do.”
Something inside her rose, and then coiled, eager to strike. The unfamiliar protective instinct surged, and she struggled to force it into submission. Her voice was blasé even as the blood pounded in her temples. “It’s early. No one knows.”
“I thought you knew better than to let this happen.”
She laid her palms flat on the dressing table, an anchor to steady herself. “I did everything I could. It was an accident.”
“A mistake.
You’ll take care of it, hear?”
Or else. That was the threat he’d left off, but she could feel it dangling in the air. She would end this problem. Or else she’d wind up like Elaine.
His fingers were quick and nimble as he laced up the corset. He’d done this before, likely in reverse, but at least he was familiar with the mechanics. Ritzi didn’t complain as he jerked the strings and pulled them tight. He stopped at the point of discomfort.
“Take a deep breath,” he said.
She tried to fill her lungs but couldn’t quite expand them all the way.
Owney wrenched tighter and forced the air out in a sharp gasp. The face reflected in the mirror was cruel.
Ritzi’s eyes stung. They began to water, and she blinked, determined not to cry.
Owney gave the corset one last tug, and Ritzi felt her pulse at the back of her eyes and a tingle in her lips. They stared at one another in the mirror for several long seconds.
Please, she mouthed.
Owney loosened his grip on the corset, and she took a wild breath.
“Better?” he asked.
She nodded, unable to speak.
He tied her off and then resumed his prowl around the dressing room. “Got a smoke?”
Ritzi didn’t answer him. She rested a hand on her heart and took one deep breath after another. When his back was turned, she quickly ran her palm over her belly. The first tender act toward the child held captive inside her body.
Owney’s gaze settled on her purse. He knew she always kept a pack in there. He grabbed it off the dressing table before she could protest and dumped everything out. A pack of cigarettes tumbled to the floor. He snatched it up and tapped it against his palm.
Inside the lining of her purse was the black bank bag containing every dollar she had—both what she’d withdrawn and what Maria had given her. If Owney found it, her escape plan was ruined.
Desperate to distract him, she flung the words out, heedless of the consequence: “I did what you told me.” Ritzi stepped forward, bold. He couldn’t do anything to her here. Not with so many people around. “Every bit of it was on your orders. I slept with those men because you made me do it. I spied on Crater because you told me to. Every lie. Every time I stole something from a wallet or an office or an apartment, it was you who made me do it.”