“How’s your mother?” he asked, casting about for a more amicable topic.
“Quite well. Kids,” she said, pointing out a pair of boys engaged in a friendly wrestling match on a patch of grass on the other side of the boardwalk. “Some of Jack’s friends, I think. Maybe we shouldn’t take Jack with us when we leave. He needs more of that and less of us.”
He joined her at the window. “What, leave him in a town where someone’s butchering women and boys? Where is that coming from? Your mother said something?”
She shrugged. “It’s just me. Everybody at the diner treated me like I was Medusa. I don’t fit in here anymore. I feel like an outsider. And I’m not making any headway in Washington either.”
“Listen, doll. Nobody in Washington wants Medusa to make any headway.”
A single tear rolled down her cheek and disappeared around the curve of her jawline. Why did he have to be such a wise-ass? He reached for her and this time she let him pull her close. “I’m sorry. It’ll be okay. By the time we wrap things up here, I’m sure you’ll have a better understanding of where you should be. Okay?”
She nodded and brushed across her cheek with the back of her hand.
He gave her a squeeze and let her go. “Good, because I don’t want you to go all girly on me right now. I have something important for you to do.”
“Girly?” She bristled.
He raised his hands, palms out. “I’m sorry. Bad word choice. I’m trying, okay? Do you want to search the Evening Star morgue for past murders? I’d do it, but I have to run a lead on some of the businesses downtown.”
“Yes.”
“Great. Tell ’em I sent you. And avoid Jenkins. He’s a bit of a letch.”
“Pfft,” she said. “I can handle it.”
“I’m sure you can,” he said. And with a bit of relish, he thought. “Look for me outside the building when you’re done.”
Chapter Eight
Running Scared
Jack Byrne had mixed feelings about being home. D.C. was okay—plenty to explore, but the turf was unfamiliar and hustle in short supply for someone without the appropriate affiliations. Not to mention that a turn around the wrong corner could be his last trip anywhere. He once swore that if he ever escaped this backwater, he would never come back. That oath had lasted less than a year.
At the main pier he fell in amongst the laborers and merchants and rode the bustling flow of human traffic past the old Millman glassworks and other businesses into the seedier section. These were mainly flophouses and dens of iniquity. He had never been in any of them, but he’d heard a good tale or two. As he approached a break in the buildings, he found the culvert that channeled the Little Poni Creek out into the bay. When he thought no one was watching, he scrambled down the bank of dirt and oyster shells and swung himself into the tunnel by the top rim of the pipe. He landed with a splash in slow-moving, ankle-deep water. It was numbingly cold. His sudden entrance startled the three boys lounging on a makeshift platform made of scrap wood.
“Ho, there,” the tallest among them challenged.
“Ho, there, yourself, Dermott,” Jack shot back. He splashed out of the water to the higher, dryer side of the tunnel. The place had a fishy smell like bad oysters. “It’s me, Jack.”
“Byrne? Well, I’ll be,” Dermott said, edging his way down the mound of shells the fort sat on. “We thought you’d escaped for good.”
“Not here long,” Jack said, meeting him halfway. He nodded to the rest of the gang. “Chester, Spence. Thought I’d catch up while I was in town.” He motioned for Chester’s cigarette.
Chester forked it over. “You first. Washington, what’s it like?”
“Yeah, what’s D.C. like?” Spence said, pushing his flat cap back on his head. Jack could see his eyes now.
“Big,” Jack said. He sat down with his back against the tunnel wall and they gathered round like disciples at his feet. He smoked the rest of the cigarette and regaled them with the twists and turns of every Shoe case he could remember, throwing himself into the mix wherever it was convenient.
“So enough about me,” he said, flicking the butt down toward the water. “What happened down at the wharf? Anybody I know?”
The others were silent for a moment. Spence began sorting oyster shells at his feet and Chester pulled his knees tighter into his chest. It was Dermott who finally spoke, his voice low and intense. “Bad, Jack. One minute the guy’s here and the next he’s chopped up like Mr. Nick’s butcher special. Real bad.”
“They don’t make ’em like him anymore,” Spence offered. Chester murmured agreement.
“Who was it?” Jack whispered.
The other boys exchanged glances.
Dermot finally spoke. “They haven’t said.”
“But you got a good guess,” Jack said, eyeing each of them in turn. When no one offered anything else, he stood up. If he had an idea, Dermott wasn’t giving it up easily. “I’m gone six months and you don’t you trust me anymore? Guess I’ll see ya ’round.”
“It was one of the Koenigs.”
Jack tried not to react, but it was like a punch in the gut. Everybody liked Charlie. His brother, Butch, was a close friend. “Funeral?”
Dermott shrugged. “Nobody knows nothing. They won’t even talk about it.”
Chester took a shell and launched it like a dart into the flowing water below. “Yeah, well, wherever they got ’em, it must smell something awful.”
Dermott elbowed him in the side, eliciting an oof and a retaliatory swipe that missed. “Charlie’s our educated guess. But you didn’t hear it from us, all right? You can hang down near the jail and get bits and pieces. We tried to get down to where he took his final breaths, rest his soul, but the cops wasn’t having none of it.”
“What do you think he was doing with the lady who died?” Jack asked.
Dermott shrugged. “One body was on the wharf just before you hit the dives, and t’other a few feet away on the path leading back to the amusement park. They found a bicycle and a Western Union cap.”
“Sure proud of that cap,” Spence said, staring up at the pipe ceiling.
Dermott nodded. “Yeah, that’s all you heard from Charlie and Butch . . . how important they were running messages, and how much money they made.”
Yeah, like Dermott never laid it on thick or spun a tail, Jack thought. “Anybody seen Butch?”
“That’s the weird part. It’s like he vanished into thin air.”
“Dead too?”
“Don’t think so. I knocked on his door, but his mother said he was staying with relatives in Solomons. Right away I called BS on that one—not directly, Mrs. Koenig is a nice lady. But Butch never mentioned nobody in Solomons.”
“Guess we’ll never know what happened.”
“Guess not,” Jack said. He looked toward the water where oyster boats had dropped anchor just offshore. He’d never noticed before how beautiful they were, bobbing out there on that glistening water. Not a dredger in sight. To avoid turf wars, the town awarded permits that rotated among the local fishing interests. The older oystermen said the dredgers tore up too much of the bottom. Why would anybody want to destroy a good thing?
He shifted his focus back to Dermott. “Any changes down at the precinct house?”
“Same place, same faces. Only Chief McCall is making life miserable-worse than usual. Ya can’t do this, ya can’t stand—”
“Bet they keep the evidence in there somewhere,” Jack said. “I’ll bet we could—”
Spencer stood up. “Count me out.” He jumped off the platform. Hugging the narrow, dry ledge that ran the length of the tube, he worked his way out of the culvert on the land side.
When he had disappeared from sight, Dermott sighed and said, “Jack, it’s bad. Everybody’s scared. You should stay in Washington where it’s safe.”
Jack pictured the assemblage of shady characters he had to work his way through just to get to Shoe’s office. “It ain’t no end of t
he rainbow, Dermie. And it wouldn’t be right for me to go back without getting some answers. How many times did Charlie sit here, just like this, shooting the breeze? We owe him.”
“Maybe. And if you come up with something good, we’re probably in. But it’d have to be in the middle of the day, because there ain’t nobody insane enough to be sneaking around at night no more. Everybody’s quit Western Union. They’re pleading for bicycle messengers.”
Jack bounced a particularly large oyster shell off the opposite wall and listened to the sound echo down the pipe. “That so? I need a job.”
“Pick a job you can grow in,” Dermott said. “That one’s a dead end.” He got up and headed after Spencer. “If you’re here a while, give us a shout,” he called over his shoulder.
Chester got up as well. “Good to see you again, Jack.” He dusted off his britches and took off after his friends.
Jack watched them go, his insides bubbling up with feelings he couldn’t put into words. He hadn’t been gone that long and already he’d lost his friends—friends he’d known forever. And Charlie, gone less than a week and already forgotten. Didn’t seem right. Didn’t seem fair. Not in Jack’s world. He’d give a hoot, all right. As soon as he got himself a bicycle and figured out how the police barracks operated. He clambered down the mound of shells and headed for Main Street.
Chapter Nine
Penny Candy, Dollar Bribes
Shoe took a seat on the sidewalk bench outside Mac’s Pharmacy. He skin wasn’t prickling, nor had he noticed anyone dogging him, but his father hadn’t raised a fool. He checked his surroundings. Sooner or later, one of his liquor friends was going to catch wind of him being in town and make his life difficult.
He studied two nearby gentlemen engaged in animated conversation. They seemed indifferent to him. And likewise, the man kneeling curbside was legitimately poking around at a Lizzie’s front tire. Satisfied he was still anonymous, he crossed the street to Wockenfuss Confectionary.
The intoxicating scent of sweet, rich milk chocolate rolled over him as soon as he pushed open the door. The proprietor was preoccupied with a young woman at the counter, which gave Shoe a chance to inventory the shelves and glide along the showcase. Yellow boxes of Whitman Samplers and other prepackaged chocolates were artfully arranged along the upper shelf behind the cash register, while enormous jars of fruit bonbons in every color of the spectrum occupied the lower. On the counter near the register stood jars of striped candy sticks and rock candy, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, Jujyfruits, and Goo Goo Clusters. And before it all, at waist height—or more accurately, at a youngster’s reach— stood floor-stand baskets heaped to overflowing with Beemans gum and penny candy. The penny candy looked like an afterthought to compete with the inexpensive selections at Mac’s Pharmacy and Tanner’s Mercantile.
The confections in the showcase were certainly finer than anything to be found at any of the local competitors. They were divided into sections by variety: fudge in varying shades of brown and cream at the near end, mounds of chocolate-covered nuts and such at the other end, and hand-dipped chocolates—light and dark— in the middle. At least, he thought they were chocolates. Did chocolate come in greens and pinks? He perused them before settling in the center of the case. All the delicate morsels were nestled in little paper nests —he should have asked Fannie what they were called—but none as fancy as the blue paper he was looking to match.
The customer left and he moved forward to take her place. “Good afternoon. I’d like four of those,” he said, pointing directly before him to the milk chocolates adorned with pink flowers. He watched the confectioner limp over, place them in a little box with white tissue paper, and tie it off with a ribbon.
“I’m in a bit of a quandary,” Shoe said, taking the box. “I’m trying to impress a certain lady and I secreted this away when she wasn’t looking.” He passed the blue floral paper over the counter. “Can you tell me what sort of candy might be wrapped in this? I thought it was purchased here, but I don’t see anything like it in the case. You don’t carry it anymore?”
The confectioner shook his head and handed it right back. “Special order.”
“Oh! So you can order it for me? And what, pray tell, would I be ordering and where would you have to go to find it?”
“Swiss chocolate. Mr. Sass in Baltimore. Expensive. You want to order?” He picked up a short, fat pencil and a receipt pad. “How many?”
“Well, actually, maybe I shouldn’t trouble you with that. I’ll be up that way soon. Is Mr. Sass located in Lexington Market?”
Wockenfuss nodded.
“I’m not trying to stick my nose in where it doesn’t belong, but perhaps I could bring back extra for your other customer?”
“Not a regular. Don’t know his name. He paid. I don’t need to know more.”
“Yes. I’ve overstepped. My apologies.” Shoe leaned over the counter far enough to read the amount on his receipt. He doubled the amount, added a bonus, and pushed the adjusted amount across the counter. “Was this recently? Just so I know they’re still making them,” he quickly added. “You know, who wants to waste a trip?”
Mr. Wockenfuss studied the money. “Last week. Young established fellow, but he didn’t give a name. He wasn’t from around here.”
“New York?”
“Pfft. Balmer if I ever heard one.” He put the money in his cash register drawer and pushed it closed with a bang. “Anything else?”
That fiver bonus evidently had bought everything he knew. “No, sir. Have a good day.”
Halfway to the door, Shoe turned. “This gentleman from Baltimore, he was alone?”
Wockenfuss swiped a hand across the counter next to the cash register and began to rearrange the penny candy.
Shoe sighed wearily and walked back over. “I think I may have underpaid you.” He placed two one-dollar pieces down next to the candy straws.
“Alone. When the chocolates arrived, he instructed me to have them delivered to the Bayside Hotel. Gave his name as Lewis Ware.”
“Delivered to whom?”
“Miss Della.” He pointed to his arm, just under his cuff. “Tattoo. That’s all I know. Now if you pardon me, little elves don’t make the bonbons.”
Shoe took his chocolates and left.
Lewis Ware? The name itself brought no one to mind. But he was someone who had fallen hard enough to have his heart’s desire permanently inked on his person. That didn’t smack of a gentleman at all. And he had enough money to buy expensive chocolates. And that didn’t sound like someone who frequented the New York City slums. His guess was an older acquaintance from somewhere other than the Bowery. Newport perhaps, where the Weathersby family of Baltimore summered. Mr. Emerson might be able to shed some light on that, but it was a notion Shoe quickly rejected. Giving up too much information too soon was ill-advised. He had no guarantee the information wouldn’t be shared with Rudy or other potential rivals. No use making himself obsolete.
Chapter Ten
No Dumb Dora
When Shoe got back to the Evening Star, there was still no sign of Fannie. He spent a jitney on a fat red apple at Trott’s produce stand and settled on a nearby bench to wait. It shouldn’t take too long for Fannie to search the past issues and reporter notes for any major crime cases in the last few years. He could have done it in short order, but he wanted to dodge any work Riley Tanner might consider throwing his way.
He didn’t wait long, had barely thrown the apple core in a trash can, when she walked out. With her hat pulled down low, Shoe couldn’t get a good take on the eyes, but the body language was all there for Fannie having a good day. The shoulders, hips, and flashy new red shoes were all working in a graceful rhythm that would have made Theda Bara proud. She had either hit pay dirt in the archives or just stuck him with another pricey bill for haute couture. What had happened to the sweet ingenue who would once have settled for a boring life as a merchant’s wife?
She sat next to him and flipped ope
n a stenographer’s pad.
“Before we get into that, I wanted you to know I was thinking of you,” he said, producing the box of chocolates. “These are for you.”
She eyed the box suspiciously before giving it a sniff. “Wockenfuss? Oh, you clever boy!” She nibbled a pink flower off one of them. “You do realize these are chocolate creams and the paper smelled like chocolate-covered cherries, don’t you?”
“Of course,” he lied. “If you’d like to wait for the cherries, I can finish these up myself.” He tried to take the box but she pulled it free and slid it into her handbag.
“Very thoughtful to bring them,” she said. “Did you get a name?”
“They were bought by a man named Lewis Ware from Baltimore. And the cherries were a special order from Baltimore. Wockenfuss’ s instructions were to deliver them to a Miss Della at the Bayside. Mena, I presume.”
“And maybe his name wasn’t Lewis? If he’s from Baltimore, why didn’t he bring them with him?”
“Maybe he didn’t realize he would need to flatter her until after he got here. Either he wasn’t expecting her to be in Nevis, or they had a row and he had to make amends. Thoughts?”
He watched her as she sucked the last morsel of chocolate from a fingertip.
“No need to woo her or apologize. Those were I love you chocolates. They’re already in a committed relationship.”
“Such conviction, Fannie. How did you get that out of that?”
“Too expensive to waste on an insecure relationship.” She leaned over and bussed him on the cheek. “Thanks for the chocolates.”
He wanted to tell her they were less expensive than a pair of Hahn’s best, but that would leave him on the hook to make up the difference. “Okay, that’s what I accomplished. “Now let’s see what you got. Anybody give you any lip?”
“No, just some lunch offers and a little innuendo,” she said, matter-of-factly. “I don’t think they’re used to rubbing elbows with women at work.”
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