Ollie’s heart began to hammer in his chest. He’d let the floozy distract him and now Deacon Trumbull was going to get his hands on the best information they’d come across yet.
He wouldn’t let Jess down. He had to stop them before the paper disappeared in the wrong hands.
The morgue librarian drew his heavy pistol from its hiding place, its aged steel still unfamiliar to his hand even after all these years.
Ollie held the gun up to the dim bulb and wished he’d taken care to clean it more often. He spun the revolving cylinder shut and slapped it once for luck. It was still loaded.
Already in motion, Ollie hollered to Birdie to stop, then stepped out of his office brandishing his gun. He felt tall. He felt brave. He felt ready to ride with the Cavalry.
And he never felt the bullet that killed him instantly.
Chapter Fourteen
Jess and Addie paused at the front steps of Chase National Bank and made arrangements to meet at the end of the day. All around them, businessmen hurried past, bumping and jostling for space on the sidewalk, as though it were just another ordinary day. Boys on each street corner waved the morning edition in the faces of the foolish who attempted to pass without buying a copy.
Addie stood in a pool of sunlight and shivered. The rays warmed her shoulders, but it was the water that dripped from the axle of the ice wagon at the curb that mirrored the puddle of doubt in Addie’s own stomach. She turned slowly, resigned to the prospect of getting through the workday before she could meet with her father to try and unravel the catastrophe that had landed him behind bars.
“Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Samaritan attacker arrested after hiding out fer twenty years. Getcher copy here!”
“Jess, I don’t know if I can do this—” Her pale face lost the small bloom of color that had risen in her cheeks during their brief walk from the Grayburn Arms.
“Look, Addie, when you tell them it’s all a misunderstanding they’ll believe you. Don’t worry, now.” Jess watched her face and hoped his own concerns weren’t plastered all over his.
Addie cast a nervous glance toward the massive doors. She pinched bits of skirt between her gloved fingers and turned to mount the steps.
Jess watched her square her shoulders with a long, worried sigh, and he bounded up the two steps to join her. His hand on her elbow was the best he could do to send her courage.
“It’ll be just like any other day, Addie. If anyone looks at you cross-eyed, just pretend they’re worried you caught them taking a nip in the board room.”
Addie made a small huffing sound, as if she’d tried to laugh.
“We’re going to go in the door like you always do and then where do you go?” Jess worked to get her past the moment and into the future.
“I go to the women’s closet and leave my hat and get my cuffs.”
They were on the top step now.
“And then what?”
Jess pushed the heavy door open and stepped aside for Addie to enter.
“Then I get my cash tray from the vault and—”
“Not this morning, Miss Magee.”
Jess and Addie stopped abruptly as Hamilton Jensen and his secretary stepped in front of them.
“What—why Hamilton. G-good morning.” Addie looked from the bank officer to his secretary and back again. She’d been so worried about her father she’d completely forgotten about the embarrassing incident in the alley the day before. Of course Hamilton would still be angry, but she’d never expected him to meet her at the door.
“Not for you, Miss Magee. You’re late.”
Addie looked at the giant clock that hung over the arch beneath the curved staircase. Nine-o-three.
“I’ll make up the three minutes, Hamilton, you needn’t worry. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
Addie side-stepped to pass the stiff couple, but Hamilton moved in front of her again. She flicked her eyes toward the teller line, hoping they were busy with customers, and caught half a dozen coworkers ducking their heads rather than make eye contact with her.
“I need to get to work, Hamilton. Please excuse me.” She leveled a look at him intended to cause him to step out of the way.
“You no longer work here, Miss Magee.” His voice was cold and malicious. It carried none of the simpering charm she’d heard from him in recent weeks.
“I’m so sorry, Addie.” His homely secretary handed her an envelope with a little shake of her head that expressed profound regret. But when Hamilton glared at the woman, she dropped her hands and fled.
“Look here, Jensen, if you want to be angry with someone, take it out on me.” Jess drew Hamilton’s eyes off Addie. “What happened in the alley was entirely my fault.”
Jensen flared red, his nostrils billowing angrily at the mention of the incident. He cocked his head twice, and with great effort he spoke.
“This has nothing to do with Miss Magee’s...indiscretion.” He dragged his focus back to Addie and sneered. “Chase National has a longstanding policy against employing individuals who consort with criminals. Bank security, you understand.”
Jess dropped Addie’s elbow and stepped forward, his fists clenching. “Why you little—”
But Addie stopped him with a hand on his arm, and eyes that pleaded with him not to make a scene.
“You’ll find your earnings through today in the envelope. Minus the fee we’ll have to pay for the advertisement for your replacement. And a deduction for the daily newspaper you’ve pilfered from the board room for a month.”
Hamilton reacted to her gasp with a smug expression.
“Hamilton Jensen! You know very well I only pull the previous day’s paper out of the dust bin! You can’t charge me for taking what you’ve already thrown away!”
Addie was aghast, and people turned to see why she was raising such a commotion.
“Oh, but I can. And I have. Good day, Miss Magee.”
With a dismissing click of his heels Jensen turned and strutted toward the staircase. Addie stood gasping in the great hall, looking back and forth between the envelope in her hand and Jensen’s receding back.
“We’re going, Addie.”
Jess took her elbow to turn her toward the door and had to give it a little shake before she became unrooted from the marble tile.
He hurried her through the door and across the street, out of sight of anyone watching from the windows.
“Just like any other day?” Addie muttered through gritted teeth. “You seem to be wrong about a lot of things lately, Jess Pepper.”
“All right, I underestimated a couple of times—”
“Underestimated? Underestimated, you say?” Addie walked faster than he’d ever known her to, her heels clicking madly on the stone walk. “My father would be out of jail by breakfast, you said, but instead he’s there indefinitely. I’d go to work and it would turn out like any other day, you said. But instead I was fired. Well, excuse me for living, Mr. Pepper, but I’ll think twice before I listen to you again.”
She hurried along in silence, her mouth pursed in irritation. Jess gathered it was her way of holding back the tears, and he kept quiet all the way to her building. Just inside the door she slowed and bowed her head, then turned to Jess, apology in her eyes.
“Jess, forgive me, I don’t know what—”
“Addie, don’t apologize. It was just too much to take, all at once like that.” He should say he had it coming. He should say he deserved it. But his tongue wouldn’t form the words. He stood on the step below the door jamb and held both her hands in his. “You try to rest, and I’ll meet you like we planned for dinner.” He squeezed her hands and leaned in to kiss her cheek.
At the last moment she stepped back and he found himself straightening awkwardly from her rebuff.
“Well, then. Until dinner.” He touched the brim of his Stetson and backed the two steps to the street and turned toward the Times. She’d feel better after she had some time to rest and think things through. At least he hope
d she would.
Most of all, he hoped she’d show up for dinner.
. . .
Addie headed for the elevator. The events of the previous evening and the disastrous morning whirled in her head like a carousel gone berserk. The noise was so real that she didn’t hear the resident manager calling to her until he was almost in her face.
“I’m so sorry, Miss Magee, so sorry. There was nothing I could do.” The manager put down a cracked pitcher he’d been using to water the lobby plants that were barely surviving the long, hot summer and wrung his hands. He shook his head in what Addie thought crazily was a figure eight, and had a great deal of trouble controlling his rapid blink.
“Whatever for, Mr. Singleterry?” Addie hardly had the emotional energy to be civil and listen. Perhaps he was apologizing for letting the police into her apartment the night before.
“If it were up to me you could certainly stay here until you get another job, but—”
“You knew?” Addie’s voice rang in the high-ceilinged vestibule and the manager fluttered his hands in front of her to quiet her down. “You knew I was being fired this morning?”
“Not until you’d already left with your gentleman friend, Miss Magee. It’s the truth!” He nearly stuttered as he hopped from foot to foot, uncomfortable in handling a crisis. “The bank owns our mortgage, so we had no choice. They say you can’t stay here.”
Addie stared at the man. She doubted very much that the “bank” had anything to do with it. But since Hamilton was the bank’s representative, she supposed his demand carried enough authority on its own.
She’d seen his wheedling nature often enough, as well as plenty of evidence that he was obsessed with power. But to throw a girl into the streets in a fit of jealousy was infinitely more than she’d ever suspected of him.
“I shall leave by the end of the week, then, or sooner if I find a suitable place.”
“I’m sorry, Miss, but—”
“All right, all right! Just let me pack my things and—” She made a move toward the elevator, but the manager stepped between her and the elevator cage. He glanced pointedly toward the corner of the hall and Addie followed his gaze. Her steamer trunks and portmanteau stood waiting between a rotting potted plant and the gaudy cupid statue from which she’d always tried to avert her eyes.
“Mr. Singleterry, don’t do this. I can pay you. I have some money still.” Addie knew she sounded desperate. But then, she was.
“I’ll be needing your key, Miss. All your things are there. My Missus packed them just like they were her own.” He stood with his hand out, waiting.
Addie stood blinking, and began to realize that she had no recourse. Hamilton Jensen had made certain her humiliation was complete.
“I’ve paid for the month, Mr. Singleterry. Might I at least—”
He shook his head. “The bank says there are some, shall we say, damages to the room that must be repaired, and that the remainder of the month’s rent should just about cover them.” He looked embarrassed. He knew it was a bald-faced lie.
Dazed, she pulled the key from her handbag and dropped it into Mr. Singleterry’s palm.
“Your things will be safe here ‘til you find lodging, Miss.”
Addie turned toward the pile. Trunks, traveling bag, hat box, music satchel, violin. It all seemed to be there. She squared her shoulders and stepped to the corner.
With all the dignity she could muster, she picked up the one precious thing she could not leave untended. Her violin. But instead of walking straight for the door, she stepped to the side of the hall and raise a gloved finger to the belly of the indecent cupid statue.
“I know how much ‘the bank’ dislikes obscenity, Mr. Singleterry, so please do inform ‘the bank’ that I have taken the liberty of removing this abomination in their behalf.”
She spread her palm against the gilded tummy and gave a slight push. The three-foot cupid fell to the floor with a satisfying crunch and sent a hundred chunks of cupid skittering across the dingy foyer.
Without so much as a ‘good day’, Addie turned her back on her astonished house manager and retraced her steps to the street. It didn’t matter which way she turned, Addie decided. As long as it took her away from here.
. . .
Hamilton Jensen sent his secretary on a task away from his office, then shut the outer door and sat down at her telephone console. He spun the crank in one clockwise rotation and waited for the operator.
“City Hall,” he barked, and when the telephone terminal at City Hall responded, he asked to be connected with the precinct chief.
“Trumbull, it’s done. She has no job, no home, her father is in jail, and her boyfriend put him there. She won’t be a problem to us any longer.”
“You seem awfully certain of that, Cash.”
Hamilton felt a nervous shudder, like a goose walking over his grave, at hearing his college nickname muttered right into his earpiece.
“Give her twenty-four hours, Deac. She’ll leave town. Go back to Chicago. I’m sure of it.”
Hamilton’s knee jiggled nervously when the silence on the other end of the line lasted a moment longer than necessary.
“See that she does, Cash. Because one way or another, I want that woman out of this town. She’ll only draw sympathy for Magee and that won’t do.”
. . .
Fool!
Ten blocks away, Jess had reached the Times Building, fuming the whole way. If Hamilton Jensen thought they believed him, he had another think coming. This was pure vengeance.
And that’s what made it even worse. Hamilton was punishing Addie for Jess’s own rash impulse.
A hot fist of anger rose to an explosive edge and began to throb behind his forehead. If his article had landed her father in jail and his whimsical kiss in the alley had cost Addie her job, then he himself was to blame for every ounce of misery he’d seen on her face minutes earlier.
No wonder when he attempted a second not-so-private kiss in less than two days she’d recoiled.
He took the front steps two at a time, determined to get his column out and get back to Addie. Any one of the several rejects he’d laid aside over the last few days would have to do. At least until he could pull together enough information to write a story that would clear Ford of suspicion.
But that was going to take time, and Jess didn’t want Addie alone all day.
He grabbed the door before it closed behind the person who’d entered a moment earlier and nearly trampled the man as he strode through it. In the cool, dark interior, he hadn’t seen the congestion just inside the door.
A half dozen women with baskets were handing black armbands to Times employees as they arrived for work.
“Ruth!” Jess stepped aside to get the attention of one of the few women he knew by name. She was just tugging an armband into place for a fellow whose bicep could really have accommodated a band twice the size of this one.
“Ruth, what’s going on?” As he asked the question, Jess looked across the wide foyer and saw that all the ‘regulars’ at the Times had a black band on their sleeve.
“Oh, Mr. Pepper, the saddest thing. It’s Mr. Twickenham.”
“Ollie?” An unfamiliar jangle of alarm coursed down his neck and sent warnings to the far reaches of his fingers. “What’s happened?”
Ruth leaned close and lowered her voice, as if what she were about to say wasn’t common knowledge. “Gus Calloway found him in the basement this morning. In the...in the morgue, God help us. Shot dead. By his own hand.” Her hand was a blur as she crossed herself, then slipped a band onto Jess’s sleeve.
He stood motionless, unbelieving, questioning the idea that there was anything remotely suicidal about his crusty friend.
“Suicide?” Jess asked and Ruth nodded. “That’s not possible.”
“Oh, but they found him with a gun!” she hissed.
Jess knew all about the gun Ollie kept for protection. He excused himself and hurried to find Gus. It didn
’t take long, since everyone knew by now that it was Gus who’d found Ollie, and he was still in the basement finishing up with the detectives.
If it weren’t for Gus, Jess would have been the morgue’s most frequent visitor. But Gus shared Jess’s penchant for research, and often hit the morgue to check out facts his reporters on the city desk tried to foist onto an unsuspecting public as news. So he had been on a mission for historical data when he discovered Ollie in the early morning hours.
The basement was quiet except for a bit of activity near the central kiosk. The sulfur smell of a spent flash pot lingered in the air, and Jess wondered for a moment if he’d have to look at photographs of his murdered friend one day soon.
He’d spent half his life studying crime pictures, but never those of someone he’d been so fond of.
Jess spotted Gus standing some distance away by himself. He approached from behind and Gus jumped at his quiet greeting. “I’m sorry, Gus. I just heard.”
Gus turned and raised an eyebrow at Jess. His cheeks were flushed, and his expression seemed more perplexed than sorrowful.
“They don’t believe me, Jess.”
Jess knitted his forehead and cocked his head, communicating an unspoken question.
Gus shoved one hand in his pocket and with the other steered Jess to a point out of earshot from the police detail. He rubbed a palm across his bald spot three times before he finally exhaled a long breath and began to explain.
“All I wanted to do was check out some old statutes, so I came down here first thing this morning. I whistled for Ollie like I always do, but he didn’t answer, so I was just going to go on and get my work done when I stepped in something. I turned to see what it was because it was...because I almost fell.”
Gus swallowed and looked at Jess, then looked away.
“It was blood, Jess. A river of it. And there was Ollie, lying there soaked in it.”
Jess put a hand on Gus’s shoulder. The man had gone white just recounting the tale.
The Devil's Dime (The Samaritan Files) Page 14