by Radha Vatsal
“She’s gone for the day.”
“When will she be back?” Kitty peered past the woman and noticed sheets draped over the living room furniture.
“Later this evening. I’m not sure.” The maid didn’t budge an inch.
“Is she traveling somewhere?”
The servant shrugged and started to close the door.
Kitty put her foot in the way. “May I come in for a moment?” She smiled apologetically. “I’m a bit far from home, and I need to…well, I need to powder my nose.”
The maid stepped aside.
Kitty entered and was struck at once by the state of the apartment: sheets had been draped over every surface, even the lamps had been wrapped, and two large trunks stood in one corner.
This wasn’t some temporary move; Aimee Cole would be gone for a long time.
“So, Mrs. Cole plans to move back to Brooklyn?” Kitty asked.
“This way please.” Without answering the question, the servant escorted Kitty directly to the bathroom and closed the door with a click.
“I’ll just be a minute,” Kitty called. She opened the medicine cabinet. Half of it was empty, but Hunter Cole’s toiletries case remained, and Kitty pulled it down.
She undid the clasp and peered inside. Almost everything in the case was as it had been previously—but the vials were gone. Kitty replaced the case, pulled the chain to the toilet, and washed her hands.
She opened the door to the bathroom to find the maid waiting outside.
Passing through the dining room, she caught sight of a large envelope propped on the mantelpiece. She recognized the name of the rail company.
“Travel tickets?”
“Mrs. Cole is going to be Pequeñita Mary.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“She will be Mexico’s Mary Pickford. She’s leaving tomorrow.”
“You’re going with her?”
“No.” The maid looked sullen.
“Well, please congratulate her on my behalf. I’d love to say good-bye before she leaves town.”
“You won’t find her here. She wouldn’t want me to tell you, but I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore.” A look of disgust spread across the maid’s face. “She’s gone off to spend the day in Van Cortlandt Park with some foreigner.”
“A man?”
She nodded.
“Could you describe him to me?”
“I only saw him for a minute. He was a small, dark fellow. Not a gentleman.”
That didn’t sound like Dr. Albert.
“It’s shameful.” The maid pursed her lips. “And it’s been barely a week since Mr. Cole passed.”
• • •
Kitty called the Customs House again, this time from a telephone at a candy store around the corner.
“May I speak to Agent Soames?” she whispered into the instrument, trying not to be overheard by the shopkeeper. “This is Capability Weeks.”
“Ah, it’s you again. Well, you’re in luck, Miss Weeks. Soames just walked in. I’ll put him on.”
Kitty flashed a smile at the shopkeeper while she waited. She’d already purchased a full bag of peppermints and paid him an extra quarter to use his line.
“Is something the matter, Miss Weeks?” Kitty could hear the worry in Soames’s voice.
“I’m fine, but I’d like your help.”
“Can we speak later today? I’m a bit rushed at the moment.”
“I’m afraid it can’t wait. I’m sorry, but it’s difficult to explain on the telephone. I can come meet you—I won’t take much of your time, I promise.”
There was a pause. “I’ll take a break for lunch.” He gave Kitty directions to an eatery downtown.
She hung up the telephone, thanked the shopkeeper, and ran outside to her car.
Soames would help her. Soames would be able to make sense of all this. And then, if she needed to, Kitty could speak to Aimee Cole before she left town.
Kitty wove her way through the traffic, one hand on the horn like a taxi driver.
Who was Aimee with, and why, the day before her departure, would she be going to a park all the way up in the Bronx?
Some fool with a golfing cap on his head and a cigarette clamped between his teeth thought it amusing that Kitty was in a hurry and drove alongside in his roadster, winking and trying to get her attention.
When she didn’t respond, he retaliated by attempting to cut her off at an intersection, but she stepped on the gas, and the Bearcat leaped forward.
Take that. Kitty arrived at her destination faster than she thought.
She hopped out of the car, passed a tobacconist’s scowling wooden Indian, and pushed open the door to the luncheonette.
Soames waited for her at a table right in front. Kitty took the seat beside him and pulled out the vial from her pocket.
“What this?” he asked.
“Don’t laugh, but I think it might contain the germ that causes glanders, and I found it in Hunter Cole’s medicine cabinet.”
• • •
Soames folded his arms across his chest. “This is all very far-fetched.”
“I know, I know,” Kitty said. “But Mrs. Cole leaves tomorrow, and this may be my last chance to find out whether I’m correct. And if I am, don’t you want to know where those other vials are?”
“It could be something else that affects horses.”
“It could be nothing,” Kitty said. “Just water. Whatever it is, I want to know for sure.”
“We’d need to bring it to a lab for analysis. But that would take days, not hours.”
“Can we do it though?” Kitty persisted. “If you give me an address, I’ll take it across myself. You have work, but I have time.”
A newsboy came through the restaurant, waving a copy of the afternoon paper and calling in a singsong voice, “‘Ambassador von Bernstorff to Explain German Note Today! May Offer Lusitania Disavowal.’”
“They won’t open the door to you.”
“Come with me then.”
He checked his watch and placed a couple of coins on the table. “Let’s make it fast.”
• • •
“Do you always drive like this?” Soames held on to his hat with one hand while the Bearcat careened along. He glanced at the road flying beneath their wheels. “There’s nothing to hold you in place. You could fall right out of this thing.”
“That’s what I like about it,” Kitty said, enjoying his look of alarm.
He motioned her to stop in front of a row of ramshackle garages on Eleventh Avenue, jumped out of the Bearcat, and rapped on one of the metal shutters that stretched from the roof to the ground. “It’s Soames,” he called.
Moments later, the shutter slid up a couple of feet, and a freckled fellow with curly hair ducked out. He let out a long, low whistle. “Nice wheels, Soamsie. And who might this be…a girlfriend?”
“Miss Weeks is a reporter,” Soames replied dryly and introduced Kitty to Evan Monroe. “We’d both be most obliged if you could look into something that she’s brought along.”
“Any friend of yours, Soames, is a friend of mine.” Monroe lifted the shutter all the way and led Kitty inside with exaggerated gallantry. “This way please, miss.”
The garage was outfitted with rows of burners on stone counters, mazes of interlocking glass tubes, and a profusion of tongs and flasks and water baths. A fan at the rear rattled feebly as it blew away some of the noxious odors.
Soames turned to Kitty. “Would you like to explain?”
Kitty showed Monroe the vial. “I think,” she said, “but I’m not sure, that this might contain some sort of virus or bacteria—the one that causes glanders, perhaps?” She suddenly felt foolish speculating in the presence of a professional. “Is it even possible to bottle a disease?”
“Gland
ers.” Monroe tilted his head. “I’m afraid I can’t help you. I’m a chemist, and what you need is a pathology lab.”
“Oh dear.” Kitty tried to control her disappointment.
Monroe returned the tube. “But I can tell you that the vial is top quality. I’ll bet you five dollars that it’s made by the Krauts.”
“How can you tell?” Soames asked.
“They have the best scientists, the best equipment, and the best labs. If you speak to any chemist worth his salt, you’ll find that he studied in Deutschland or trained under someone who has.”
“Do you know any pathologists, Mr. Monroe?” Kitty looked around at all the scientific paraphernalia. Surely all he needed to do was examine the liquid under a microscope or something like that.
The shutter opened with a rumble.
“Bloody furnace out there.” One of Monroe’s associates entered, wiping his forehead with a rag. “Beg your pardon, ma’am. I didn’t know we had ladies about.”
“That’s all right, Tuttle,” Monroe told him. “I’m sure Miss Weeks has heard worse—she’s a reporter.”
“Doing a chemistry story? I could tell you about the time that Mr. Monroe spilled sulfuric acid on me and nearly melted my shoes off—say, what’s this?” He picked up the vial from the stone-slab counter and turned to his boss. “Have the post office inspectors been back?”
“Post office inspectors?” Soames perked up.
“They brought in two tubes exactly like this a month ago.”
Soames turned to Monroe. “And you didn’t think to tell us?”
“I didn’t know myself, Soamsie.”
Soames seemed rattled. “How are we supposed to get anything done if one hand doesn’t talk to the other? You know you’re supposed to keep me informed about any inquiries that come your way—I don’t care whether they’re from the post office, the Bureau, or even Naval Intelligence. Whatever it is, we need to know immediately. Those are Treasury Secretary McAdoo’s orders.”
“It won’t happen again.” Monroe shot his employee a baleful glance.
“Damned right it won’t, or you won’t see any more of our business.”
“Pardon me,” Kitty interrupted, turning to Tuttle. “Did you happen to find out what was in the post office inspector’s vials?”
Tuttle beamed with pride. “It took a few days, but I did, at last.”
“And you didn’t say anything?” His boss looked furious. “Did you even write it in the ledger?”
“I may have forgotten,” he admitted. “We were busy, and I didn’t think we were interested in bacteria.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
“Are you sure you will be able to recognize Mrs. Cole?” Soames asked as the Bearcat sped toward the Bronx.
Kitty kept her hands firmly on the wheel. “And here I was thinking you wanted me along for my excellent investigative abilities, or even my chauffeuring skills.”
“This is no time for humor, Miss Weeks.”
Kitty looked over at him. “I can see that.”
The Secret Service man had telephoned his headquarters and spoken to Booth. They had left Kitty’s sample for Tuttle to examine and gone to look for Mrs. Cole, who, they hoped, would know about the missing vials.
“Van Cortlandt Park is huge, you know,” Kitty said to Soames. “Maybe it would be better to wait until she comes home.”
“By then it might be too late.”
“Too late for what?”
Soames stared at the road ahead. “I’d just rather not take any chances.”
“And one question still troubles me,” Kitty went on. “If it is glanders, why would Mr. Cole or Dr. Albert want to spread the disease at a country club?”
“There’s a time for questions and a time for answers,” Soames replied. “But this isn’t the time for either one.”
“I should drop you off on the street,” Kitty said. She was tired and hungry and hadn’t even eaten lunch. “You go find Mrs. Cole and tell me all about it.”
“I’m sorry.” He cracked his knuckles. “I really can’t talk.”
They drove along in silence.
Kitty crossed Mosholu Parkway. Van Cortlandt Park stretched out into the distance, acres of green against a cloudless blue sky. She brought the car to a halt and brushed off her sense of foreboding. “Where do we begin?”
“Let’s walk and see.” Soames stepped out of the car and offered his arm, but Kitty felt too shy to accept and pretended she hadn’t noticed.
On one side of the path, boys played football; on the other, families picnicked on the grass. A couple of children ran along, their kites soaring in the air.
“Are you watching for Mrs. Cole?” Soames said.
“I’m doing my best.” Kitty thought she saw Aimee everywhere: in the woman strolling arm in arm with her companion, walking her dog, riding her bicycle, or pushing her baby along in a baby carriage.
“She’s here with a friend,” Soames reminded Kitty.
“As if I could forget,” she replied with a touch of annoyance. Some of the ladies had their parasols open to shield their faces from the sun, while others took refuge under broad-brimmed hats. What if Aimee Cole was wearing one of her many wigs—how would Kitty recognize her then?
“You should be looking too,” Kitty told Soames and tried to describe the widow. “She’s about my height. Not too fat, not too thin. Medium-brown hair and medium-brown eyes.”
“Middle of the road?” he said.
“Exactly. Then again, there’s something about her.” Kitty pictured Aimee in the brilliant red wig. “She can change. When she wants, she looks terribly attractive. I suppose that’s what one should expect from an actress.”
The sun beat down on them, and Soames bought Kitty a bottle of Coca-Cola to cool her off. She drank it quickly and returned the empty bottle to the vendor.
“We’re never going to find her,” she said.
“Never is a strong word.”
“How can you be so confident?” Kitty heard the tinny sound of fairground music in the distance. The music grew louder as they walked on. Children bobbed up and down, spinning around and around, faster and faster on a carousel of gaily painted horses.
A couple trotted by on horseback. Kitty sidestepped a pile of manure. The children shrieked with joy as they clung to their wooden mounts.
Horses. It always came back to horses.
She stopped in her tracks. Why was Mrs. Cole here? Why had she come to a park in the Bronx, of all places, on her last day in New York?
What was here? A golf course, a parade ground, the former Van Cortlandt residence.
She stopped a passing stranger. “Excuse me, sir. Would you know whether there are stables or riding facilities nearby?”
“I don’t know about stables, miss. Are you looking for a ride?”
“I’m looking for horses,” Kitty said. “Any place here that might have horses.”
“Ah.” He threw Soames a sympathetic glance, as if to say one never could tell with the ladies, and pointed to a corner of the park. “There’s a herd corralled in the meadows back there. If it’s horses that you want, there must be at least two hundred.”
Kitty quickened her pace. Soames followed. She picked up her skirts and broke into a run. The horses wouldn’t disappear, but if Mrs. Cole wasn’t with the animals, then Kitty would tell Soames that she had no idea where to find her, that they may as well sit in one spot and hope Aimee strolled by or wait until this evening and try to catch her at her apartment.
A good two hundred animals milled behind the pen. “Excuse me.” Kitty approached a wiry lad hefting two buckets of water. “Why are all these horses here?”
“They’re resting for a couple of days before they’re shipped off,” he replied.
Soames and Kitty exchanged a glance.
�
��Don’t you know?” He put down his pails. “Our breeders send horses by the dozen to Europe. They come by rail from out west, then we put them on boats for the long journey. These beauties will be charging into battle next month.”
“On whose side?” Kitty said.
“Oh.” He grinned. “They’re going to fight the Huns.”
• • •
“It’s absurd,” Mr. Weeks responded when Kitty returned home and told him what she had discovered. “Desperate though they may be, I cannot believe that the German government has a plan to inject glanders into horses bound for France.”
“Don’t you see?” Kitty said. “It follows the same principle as what they’re doing with the phenol. They can’t get it for themselves, so they want to make sure that the enemy can’t have it.”
“But spreading disease among horses?” His face screwed up with distaste. “That’s fiendish.”
“It’s brilliant,” Kitty said. “It kills the animals and spreads the sickness to the troops at the same time.”
“I won’t hear any more of this.” Julian Weeks stood behind his desk. “And I will not allow you to spend the night with two men in Van Cortlandt Park.”
“They’re Secret Service agents,” Kitty said. “And I won’t be sleeping there.”
“Oh yes.” His tone was acerbic. “You will be hiding, waiting for this Aimee Cole woman. And what will you do when she arrives?”
“I won’t do anything, Papa. The agents will handle it. I’ll just be watching.”
“And these are the same agents who, until this morning, were investigating my business affairs?” He came out from behind his desk and sat in his armchair. “You know, I think I’ve given you too much freedom.”
Kitty couldn’t take it. She had thought asking his permission would be a formality. “So it’s fine for me to go out on my own for your sake but not for mine?”
“Have you lost your marbles, Capability?” her father said. “When you met them today, it was daytime, and you were gone for twenty minutes a block away from our home.”
“And now I’m meeting them farther away and for longer.”
“That’s exactly what bothers me. I may be lax, Capability, but I’m not stupid. I know how to take care of my own child.”