His voice appeared calm, but there was a tightness in his jawline Frances hadn’t noticed before.
Dolores swept them along. ‘Don’t tell me you were lying in wait for me because I’m horrendously late,’ she said. ‘You know how I hate to be rushed. I grow all tense.’
Jack said, ‘It’s all right. Pauline arrived early, and she’ll have set out your creams and potions.’
‘That’s good,’ Dolores said. ‘But you missed the most bonzer afternoon. Uncle Sal told me the most engrossing stories you can imagine. And don’t get me started on the cake.’
He gave her a forced smile. ‘These things happen, but I’m glad you had a good time.’
Frances held out the cardboard box. ‘Where shall I put this?’
‘Ginny’s,’ Dolores said. ‘I’ve got the tiniest refrigerator in my apartment, but Ginny’s kitchen houses one the size of a small country.’ She linked her arm with Jack’s. ‘I forgot my keys again, but if you open the door for me, I might be nice and let you have what’s in the box.’
‘I’m intrigued.’ He freed himself to take a key-chain out of his pocket and unlock Dolores’ door.
‘Don’t forget to deliver darling Frances back to me,’ the singer said, fluttering her fingers.
∞∞∞∞
They walked down to the other end of the corridor. Jack unlocked a door and ushered Frances in.
Her heels clicked on the polished ash floor. An oriental rug, muted with age, covered most of the floor. A built-in window seat made of the same ash was framed by bronze-coloured drapes tied back with simple ribbon.
A water colour hung on one wall, depicting the unloading of a ship in Port Adelaide in broad, confident lines. A mirror on the opposite wall reflected the painting with its bold hues of blue, green, pink, and yellow that, for Frances, were the essence of her city. She ran her fingers over the wooden frame, looking in vain for the painter’s signature. The only other pieces of furniture in the long hall were a Victorian walnut chest and a matching coat rack, half hidden in a niche. Two doors were positioned left and right of painting and mirror.
Jack opened the first door on the left. Frances followed him. The kitchen she found herself in came as a surprise. The electric stove was sizable and the enamelled refrigerator took up pride of place. Still, Ginny would find herself hard pressed to prepare big meals on the small workbench or the scrubbed pine table that would sit two at most, let alone wash a mountain of dishes in a sink the size of a toy bath.
‘Disappointed?’ A bit of the tightness in Jack’s face melted away.
‘More surprised. I’d have thought a busy cook would need more space. It must be difficult to manage here.’
He leant against the table. ‘It serves its purpose. I don’t cook that often, and rustling up an omelette or a steak is no big deal.’
‘Your kitchen? I thought this was your housekeeper’s apartment.’
He dug his thumbs into his pockets. ‘You didn’t honestly think I’d waltz into someone else’s home without asking, did you?’ Jack shook his head. ‘And I thought you were brought up nicely.’ He was teasing her.
She decided to repay him in kind. ‘Maybe it’s the company I keep that’s rubbing off on me.’ She fluttered her lashes at him.
‘Maybe.’ He opened the refrigerator door. ‘Hand me that box, please. What’s in it, by the way?’
‘Plum ice cream and pound cake. Do you have a cake tin?’
He took the ice cream bowl out of the box, setting it next to a tub of butter. A dozen eggs, a rectangular parcel wrapped in waxed butcher’s paper, mustard, a jar of pickles, and bottles of milk and juice barely filled a quarter of the fridge.
The refrigerator door sighed as he closed it. The bread bin, hidden away in a cupboard sitting flush with the stove, contained half a loaf. Jack stowed the cake next to it.
‘Would you like coffee?’ Without waiting for an answer, he poured a couple of handfuls of coffee beans into a grinder and cranked the handle. The aroma made Frances’ mouth water. He filled the percolator with hot water from the tap.
‘Can I help?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘Dolores has all we need in her apartment, but the coffee she makes tastes like she soaked flypaper in it.’
Hissing steam curled up from the percolator. Jack wrapped a tea towel around his hand and lifted the percolator off the stove.
Trying hard not to giggle, Frances trailed him to Dolores’ apartment. First Bluey and now Jack, both displaying unexpected domestic traits.
Pauline gaped at her from an adjoining room as Frances entered Dolores’ apartment. Pauline was prevented from talking by the bobby-pins she held in her mouth as she tried to put Dolores’ heavy tresses up in a loose knot at the nape of the creamy-white neck, with a few tendrils curling down the temples.
Dolores waved at them, her gaze unwavering on the large square-cut mirror that sat on top of a tall dresser. The back of her black satin dress was low-cut, revealing the same creamy white skin until four inches below the shoulder blades. The front of the dress hinted at bare skin, but the fabric fell in soft waves halfway to the waist.
She stretched her neck so Pauline could slide another bobby-pin into the hair-do.
‘That’ll do, Pauline. You can go now,’ Dolores said, adding a few strokes with a black pencil to her brows. ‘How do I look, Jack?’
He blew her a kiss. ‘You’d outshine the moon if you set your sights on it. Pauline, you can go down if you wish and get something to eat. Now, Dolores, where would you like your coffee?’
‘My sitting room, darling. Make it half a thimbleful, and then I need to rest my voice for a few moments.’
Jack briefly rested a hand on Dolores’ shoulder. ‘I can always have the band playing a couple more tunes without you if you’d like.’
‘That’s sweet of you, darling, but no,’ she said. ‘You know as well as I do that once I start that, I’ll soon make a habit out of it, because I’m lazy, and before you can snap your fingers I’ll get a reputation for being unreliable.’ She touched his cheek. ‘Now where’s my coffee?’
Frances felt self-conscious again as she watched the easy rapport between them. She drank her coffee in slow sips. Dolores gave her a rueful look. ‘Can you forgive me for dragging you here and then deserting you straight away? Jack, you’ll have Bluey take her home, won’t you? I really feel bad about it, but I’m hopeless when it comes to tight schedules.’
‘That’s all right,’ Frances said. ‘I’ve enjoyed it.’
‘I’ll take her home,’ Jack said. ‘Bluey’s got other things to do.’
‘Thanks, darling. And maybe we should give Pauline a tiny pay rise? To show her we appreciate her looking after everything, even if it’s not her responsibility?’
‘If you wish.’
Dolores bestowed a dazzling smile upon him. ‘Can you give the poor girl a few shillings tonight, so she can take her dress to the dry-cleaners first thing in the morning? Or she could drop it off tomorrow night and put it in with my laundry? She got a nasty stain on it when she cleaned up in the powder room downstairs.’
Jack furrowed his brows. ‘Why wasn’t the room cleaned last night?’
‘Darling, how should I know? All I can tell you is that Pauline looked for something to do while she was waiting for me, and obviously someone had put more powder on to the mirror than on their face. Pauline must have trailed her arm along it because I noticed a long floury streak on her sleeve the second I saw her.’
She paused. ‘I don’t believe she’s got more than two or three dresses, apart from her work uniform, and I’d hate her to have ruined one because she hadn’t changed yet.’
A muscle in the right corner of Jack’s mouth twitched. ‘I’ll take care of it. Frances? It’s time to go.’
Dolores shut her eyes. ‘You’re a star.’
15
Jack ran down the stairs. Frances followed at a sedate pace, not quite knowing what to expect. Something clearly had upset him,
and she had no clue other than that Pauline was somehow involved. She clenched her hand into a fist. Her palm felt sweaty. She couldn’t imagine picking a fight with Jack, but if Pauline needed support, she’d be there for her. She quickened her steps.
Jack pushed the low swing door, that led from the ground floor hallway to the service rooms of the club, open. It swung back and forth until Frances stopped it with her hand. Two men in dress suits made way for her as she hurried past.
‘Sorry,’ she said, but she didn’t slow down. She didn’t want to lose Jack in this maze of back rooms that, judging by warring smells and noises, housed kitchen, laundry, storage, and staff rooms, as well as a rehearsal room for Dolores and the band.
He headed straight to the powder room.
She followed him inside. He stood in front of the mirror, put on a pair of glacé gloves he had snatched along the way from a cupboard, and ran the tip of his index finger along the inside edges of the frame. Every couple of inches he paused and checked the gloved finger.
‘What are you looking for?’ Frances asked.
‘Spilt powder.’ He didn’t bother to turn around, taking up his search again.
She moved closer, blowing softly into the corners of the frame. A few particles floated up from the frame. ‘I think that’s what you’re looking for. Though it could be simply dust.’
Jack rubbed his finger along the indicated spot. A few grains of something white clung to the glove. He touched the stuff with his tongue and spat it out. A shutter came down in his eyes.
He turned around on his heels, marching out of the powder room and into a small storage room. ‘Bluey?’
The stolid man walked out of the kitchen, a half-eaten cold pie in one hand.
The vein on Jack’s left temple pulsed. ‘Who was in charge of the cloakroom and ladies’ powder room last night, the hours before closing time?’
Bluey tugged on his earlobe. He looked as bemused as she felt, thought Frances. Jack seemed to have forgotten all about her. Whatever it was that had made him angry, it must be bad. The tension around her grew until all her nerves were stretched taut. She stood transfixed, until Bluey said with an air of finality, ‘It was Len’s turn.’
‘Go get him. You can eat on the way.’
Bluey crammed the pie in his mouth, exchanging an odd look with Jack. He gave a tiny nod in reply.
‘Jack?’ She touched his shoulder, to remind him of her presence.
He gave her a distracted glance. ‘Give me a few minutes, and then I’ll take you home.’
‘Do you want me to wait outside?’
‘It might be better, kiddo. This could get ugly, and it’s got nothing to do with you.’ The ghost of his usual smile hovered on his lips. ‘Or your friend Pauline, in case you’re wondering. I can promise you that much.’
She stared at the ground. Part of her wanted to leave, but somehow, she couldn’t. She’d trusted him, now he needed to trust her. If not ... She moved back against the wall where a battered wardrobe cast her in shadow. The words came out timid, not as strong as she’d intended. ‘I’d rather stay.’
Jack took off his gloves and slapped them together in the palm of his left hand. They sounded like a whip. ‘It’s up to you. I wouldn’t blame you for leaving.’
Bluey frog-marched a man into the room. Frances recognised him as one of the men she had passed earlier. His square forehead glistened, his porky stubs of fingers clenched and unclenched. Part of his left ring finger was missing.
‘Take a seat, Len,’ Jack said, leaning against the edge of the table. ‘I have a few questions.’
Len’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong, boss.’
‘Right-ho.’ Jack’s smile left his eyes cold. He reminded Frances of a cat letting a mouse get away for fun, before pouncing. ‘No worries, then. Take a load off your legs.’
Len plonked down onto a wooden chair, resting his fists on his fleshy thighs. Bluey moved behind the chair.
Frances tried to shrink back further into the shadow.
Len slid his tongue over his upper lip. ‘Sweet,’ he said, his voice coarse. He swallowed. ‘Fire away, boss.’
Jack’s gaze travelled along the ceiling. ‘Oh yeah, Len, last night. Pretty busy, wasn’t it? Punters floating in and out of the club, till the small hours.’
‘Yeah?’
Jack waved the soiled glove in the air. ‘Couldn’t be bothered with a bit of mop and tidy-up, some of us.’
‘I never.’ Len’s upper lip stuck out. ‘I did them powder rooms as soon as I could, like always. Till midnight it was Anna’s job anyway, popping out of her cubicle and giving it a seeing-to whenever the room was empty. You know you don’t want us men to go in there while there’s still customers around.’
Jack nodded slowly. ‘Maybe you did the room a bit early and someone popped in there after Anna’d gone and while you were handing over the last couple of coats and stuff?’
Len moistened his lips again. His Adam’s apple bobbed harder. ‘Could be. I got but two eyes, boss.’
Frances didn’t see where this was leading, but why Jack had warned her away was beyond her.
He ignored her completely, while he continued his interrogation. ‘And maybe some sheila went in there while her gentleman friend hung around outside, making sure she had a bit of privacy?’
Len’s shoulders stiffened. ‘No harm in that.’
Jack’s smile had a reptilian quality. ‘None whatsoever. Unless, of course, the gentleman happened to have given the lady a little something she’d rather not share.’ He gave Bluey a nod.
Bluey grabbed Len’s shoulder, pulling him off his chair. Len winced. Frances pressed her knuckles against her mouth to stifle any sound.
‘Who was it, Len?’ Jack asked. ‘Who was that obliging gentleman, and how much did he pay you to look the other way?’
Len twisted in Bluey’s grip. ‘You’re bloody breaking my arm, mate.’ The veins in his throat protruded. ‘I didn’t mean no harm, I swear.’
Jack slid off the table. His fist slammed into Len’s nose. A crunch, and then blood spurted from Len’s nostrils, the only colour in his white face.
‘The name, Len.’ Jack’s voice was low.
Len spat out. His saliva was mixed with red streaks. Bluey pressed harder on Len’s shoulder. The injured man howled.
‘Whitey,’ he gasped. ‘It was Whitey Morgan. What’s it to you anyway, boss?’ Blood dripped onto the floor.
Frances felt bile rising in the throat. She closed her eyes, fighting it down.
‘You know the rules, Len.’ Jack sounded calm. ‘No drugs in my club, no pimping, no hawking any other illicit wares than a couple of drinks.’
‘Those sheilas were gagging for the snow, boss.’ Len’s speech was slurred.
Frances opened her eyes.
A red trickle ran unhindered into Len’s mouth. ‘If I’d stopped him, they’d have screeched the place into the ground, and then you’d have had the cops busting us.’
‘You don’t listen, Len. No drugs, not for anyone. Who were the girls?’
Bluey gave Len’s shoulder another hard squeeze.
‘One of them used to wait tables on the Floating Palais.’ His pupils dilated. ‘Her girl-friend said they had something to celebrate and wanted to spend a bit out of the petty cash. That’s all I heard, boss, I swear.’
‘Let him go, Bluey.’
Len slumped forward. One hand gingerly touched his nose, the other clutched his shoulder.
‘I’m blimmin’ hurting, boss.’
‘Bluey will take you to Doctor Lum Yow. He can stick a bit of plaster on your nose and give you a bottle of his tonic for your shoulder. Bluey, make sure he doesn’t wet himself in the car.’
Bluey gave Len a slap on his sound shoulder. ‘I’ll better walk him up to North Terrace. Our mate here looks a mite pale, as if he could do with a bit of air.’
‘The Chinese quack? I don’t want any of his foreign poison, for Pete’s sake.
’
‘Suit yourself.’ Jack motioned for Frances to follow him. She hesitated before she stepped out of the shadow, avoiding Len’s gaze. Her hand hurt. She stared at it. Deep marks ringed one finger. She must have bitten it without feeling it.
Jack took her arm. ‘I’ll see you later, Bluey.’
Len grasped Jack’s sleeve. ‘What about me, boss? I could work in the kitchen tonight, swap with Davey, if you want me to.’
Jack let go of Frances as he peeled Len’s fingers off his sleeve with obvious distaste. She held her breath. Surely, he wouldn't hit the man again? No, he said, ‘Bluey will help you gather your stuff. You’re out.’
Len began to wheedle. ‘But I need this job, Jack. You’re not gonna give me the spear over one bloomer? Not after everything we’ve been through.’
‘Give him a fiver out of the petty cash, Bluey. For old times’ sake. And then get him out of my sight.’
Flecks of red covered Jack’s hand. He caught Frances staring at it. ‘I told you it could get ugly,’ he said with a curious undertone.
She nodded without looking up.
He stopped in front of the car. ‘I never said I’m a nice man, Frances. If you don’t like what you see, that’s too bad. But at least I’m not pretending.’ He raised her chin with two fingers. ‘What would you have me do? Let that miserable swine get away with letting drug dealers take over my club? They’re worse than killers, that lot. They destroy the soul along with the body.’
She dug her teeth into her upper lip. ‘I know.’
‘I didn’t hurt Len much, although it was tempting.’ A tear must have rolled down Frances’ cheek, because Jack dabbed at something with his handkerchief.
‘I wanted the names, kiddo. There was no easier way to get at them.’
She swallowed, hearing the crunching noise again in her mind, and Jack’s relaxed voice. ‘It’s just – you enjoyed hurting him.’ She shivered.
‘No. But I won’t lose any sleep over Len’s little aches. I’ll always take steps to stop bad people from muscling in on my club, my friends, and my city.’ He paused long enough for his words to sink in, before he asked, ‘Ready to go home?’
A Matter of Love and Death: a historical mystery you don't want to miss Page 13