“There’s only one other puzzle piece, Rudy. Emerson said that the family knew Mena was in Nevis. Someone followed her onto the train. My guess would be, it’s the same gentleman who overheard us at the diner.”
Rudy’s attention had returned to the world outside the window. “Someone bird-dogged her all the time. If only I had gotten back sooner . . .”
Shoe tapped on the table. “Rudy, stay with me here! Emerson mentioned one other person she came into contact with, a man who assisted her down the steps at the depot: older, well-made dark suit—possibly Brooks Brothers—spotless oxfords. Emerson said he had a limp—”
Rudy looked at him with a crazy half-smile. “Me. I thought for sure the limp would have given me away by now,” he said, massaging his knee. “It goes out at the most inopportune moments.”
Shoe’s eyes narrowed into slits. “You were here, with her, in Nevis, and you’ve never said word one about it? Rudy, Rudy.” Shoe sighed and searched the ceiling for the patience he knew he wouldn’t find there.
“No. I didn’t actually stay with her. I saw her off, and then stepped aboard the train for my trip to Washington. That’s the God-honest truth,” he said, placing his hand over his heart. “Honest.”
Shoe had to acknowledge that his brother’s profession seemed on the level. “Okay. It would seem you and I are square now, information-wise. I’ll take him off my suspects list.” He took a drink of his coffee, which was now cold. “More,” he mouthed, motioning to the waiter. “That only leaves Darby and Mackall. I say we go hard at Darby tomorrow, scare him within an inch of his life, and get him to confess about Mackall and save himself. Pleading coercion by Mackall just might save the narcissist’s career.”
Rudy didn’t respond but instead developed a sudden fascination with the way the silverware was arranged before him.
“Rudy? Like I said—”
Rudy cleared his throat. “I haven’t exactly been forthcoming with you. There’s something else you should know.”
Shoe took a deep, centering breath. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”
“Ever been to Poughkeepsie?”
Shoe shook his head.
“Well, it seems I’m not the only one who is a prime suspect for Mena’s murder.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Emerson. He seems to think you’re good for it, and he hired me to prove it.”
Shoe choked on his java. “I-I-I never even met the woman.”
“Seems you may have stayed in the same hotel as Mena on a few occasions.”
“I’ve stayed in lots of places in New York. So what if Mena stayed there too?”
Rudy nodded vigorously. “Absolutely. I rejected the notion right away. See, the thing is, whenever we had a rendezvous, I needed an alias. It seems I signed your name a few times on hotel registries. You know, your byline in a dumpy place. It was funny at the time, a running joke with my buddies at the paper. The great Tatum Shoemaker covering stories everywhere.”
Shoe wasn’t laughing. He put his cup down, missing the saucer and sending black liquid rolling across the crisp white linen. “How many is a few?”
Rudy shifted in his chair and pushed back slightly from the table, looking as if he was ready to scram. “Well, maybe more than a few. Probably every time I was with Mena. We kept to the less popular places to stay a step ahead of her dad.”
Shoe popped out of his seat, nearly tipping his chair over as he rose. At this late hour, with the exception of the discreetly hovering server, they were alone in the conservatory. The penguin-dressed staffer started toward them to offer assistance, but Shoe motioned him away and turned on Rudy, who was up and gripping the back of his chair. He appeared ready to swing it. “Excuse us, please,” Shoe said to the waiter.
The waiter bowed slightly and left immediately, closing the double doors behind him.
“All this time,” Shoe growled, turning his fury on Rudy. “All this time, Emerson’s had me looking for this mystery man and it’s been me. He knew all along Mena was seeing someone named Shoemaker. Only it’s not me, it’s you! Are you out of your damn mind? You’ve framed me for murder, you son of a bitch!”
Rudy didn’t move. Maybe he thought the murderous mood would blow over. Maybe he couldn’t explain his dumb antics either. As usual, his judgment was poor. Shoe lunged for him and started shaking him by the lapels. “You’re going to come clean to Emerson. Right? I’m not going to fry for your stupid antics.”
Rudy wrapped him in a bear hug and began squeezing. They were of equal height, but Rudy had him by a good twenty pounds. Shoe couldn’t catch his breath and he couldn’t pry himself free.
“Causing a scene in here will only add to the situation,” Rudy whispered in his ear. “Please sit back down so we can discuss this discreetly like gentlemen.”
Shoe put his thumbs on Rudy’s Adam’s apple and began squeezing. As Rudy’s hands went to his throat, Shoe shoved him hard, propelling him backward into his seat.
“This . . . well . . . I’m not going down for you, Rudy. Not even for a full brother.” Shoe sat down hard, put a hand to his brow, and tried to compose himself.
There was a polite rapping on the door as the waiter peered through the glass, his other hand on the door handle as he prepared to rush to someone, anyone’s rescue.
Rudy gave the waiter a pleasant nod as if to say everything was peachy and sat too. “I’m not asking you to. Emerson thinks you’re good for the murder. I’ve been stringing him along while we find out who really did it. If I argue or quit on him, he’s going to hire someone else to nail you. An unscrupulous go-getter might even frame you just to collect the biggest payday of their life. You need me to keep his suspicions unsubstantiated.”
Shoe pictured Rudy sprawled on the floor, knocked out cold. It would solve little. He shifted his gaze from the floor to his brother’s face. His brown eyes were intense and his eyebrows knitted tightly over them with deep concern. Shoe had seen the same expression on his father’s face many times. Sincerity. But then his intuition was haranguing him with something much different. Don’t trust Rudy. Don’t trust Rudy. Don’t trust Rudy.
Who then could Shoe trust with this convoluted mess? He shook his head. No one. “Don’t quit Emerson,” he finally said. “Keep feeding him bits and pieces that don’t lead anywhere but keep him satisfied. Change his mind about the supposed evidence that implicates me. Because if you don’t and things getting messy, I will.”
“Deal,” Rudy said.
“And after we put all the pieces together, we’re done. Separate ways. Never the twain shall intersect again. Got it?”
Rudy nodded. “Yes. But I’ve changed. You’ll look back and see.”
Shoe signaled the waiter that they were through. “Come on, Rudy. Sleep here tonight. You can have the bed, and I’ll take the chair by the door. We’re out of here early tomorrow.”
“I can take the chair.”
Shoe dropped a sizeable tip on the table—one that would guarantee the waiter’s undivided loyalty and discretion. “Sorry, bud. I’m not falling for that again.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
A Dead-End
They were up at first light. After a minute or two of watching the elevator remain stationed on the fifth floor, Rudy’s patience evaporated. They took the stairs. The first change in business for Rudy was that he was done with waiting. There would be no more sitting around a conservatory sipping beverages and thinking. He didn’t need Shoe or his cautious approach to everything. God, how refreshing the thought! He hated to acknowledge it, but his brother was an insufferable control freak. Shoe thought their good fortune was soon to end, but he was wrong. Rudy still felt lucky. Or maybe it was Mena watching over him. Yeah, that had to be it. With her watching over him, he could do anything.
When he reached the first floor, Rudy put one foot in the lobby and promptly recoiled. The Clinton Boys stood dead ahead at the elevator, the UP button glowing ominously. He began backing up, driving
Shoe back toward the stairs. “Shh,” he hissed. “Clintons.”
Shoe tried to peer around him. “All three?”
Rudy held up a hand to wait. He wasn’t sure, and poking a head out in the open didn’t seem wise. And so they waited, and stressed, and waited. The elevator was definitely locked off on the top floor. They could be here all day. Or worse yet, the boys might decide to use the stairs.
Shoe must have been thinking the same. He plucked at Rudy’s sleeve and jerked his thumb upward.
Rudy shook his head. If they returned to the room, they might end up trapped there all day. There was a squeak of the metal elevator gate. Rudy peeked out and watched the three boys disappear into the elevator. He and Shoe waited several seconds after the door closed and then they fled.
Activity on the wharf was light and strictly day-laborers. The morning was crisp, the light low, the sky gray—not at all conducive to a leisurely stroll by any vacationers. Things would pick up when the steamboat came in some time after ten.
The brothers’ plan was simple: procure passage to the cliffs with the Captain, where they would put the squeeze on Darby, and then return for the necklace and hopefully enough information to make Emerson a happy, generous man. Rudy wasn’t keen on leaving the necklace until last, but Shoe argued that the more active the wharf, the safer the retrieval would be. Rudy begrudgingly acknowledged the wisdom in it.
Both the Captain’s and Mackall’s boats were still berthed, but Rudy didn’t see anyone on the pier. “And you think seeing both of us heading back to the dig isn’t going to arouse Mackall’s suspicions?” he asked.
“If you see another way to the cliffs, I’m game,” Shoe said. “I’m not sure it’s wise to spread our business all over the place. He’ll find out and it’ll make him even more suspicious. No, once Darby spills his guts, it won’t matter what Hanner Mackall thinks.”
The Captain emerged from the cabin of his vessel. His movements fore and aft were quick and methodical, as if he were preparing to shove off. They were out of luck if he had taken on another charter.
Shoe picked up his pace. “Now or never, Rudy. Come on.”
The Captain didn’t seem happy to see them, but then again, Rudy couldn’t imagine what happy would have looked like on the old salt’s face.
“Captain,” Shoe said, on the upbeat. “We need to get to the cliffs.”
The Captain continued stowing gear in one of the lockers in the aft. “For Mr. Tanner?”
“Right. A few more questions for Darby about the dig.”
“Who’s paying?”
Who had time for this nonsense? “I have payment,” Rudy said, coming aboard. He pulled a wad of cash out of his pocket and peeled off three twenties. An eyebrow went up. It was enough to put a crack in the old man’s stony visage. He took the cash and they promptly pushed off.
When the boat picked up speed, the crisp December air turned biting and a fine mist added to their discomfort. They pulled their coat collars up, kept their heads down, and plastered themselves against the outside wall of the boat cabin. Once they returned to Nevis, Rudy vowed to never set foot on a boat again. It would be the comfort of trains forevermore.
By the time Parker’s Bet reached Calvert Cliffs, the rain was pounding and driving hard from the west. There were no tourists at the cliffs, and likewise, Darby’s dig seemed deserted. Rudy pulled another bill from his pocket and asked the Captain to wait.
Upon closer inspection, Shoe saw men working, albeit under tents pitched against the base of the cliff, the wind rippling and whipping the canvas, the sand, and everything else not tacked down. Two men intercepted Rudy and Shoe as soon as they stepped off the dock.
“Shoemaker from the Evening Star. Mr. Becker, Nevis Gazette,” Shoe said, gesturing to Rudy. “We need to do a follow-up with Mr. Darby. Would you please point us in the correct direction?”
The first guard was seemingly unable to approve anything without strict prior instructions. He consulted the second, who raised his half-collapsed umbrella long enough to give them a quick once-over. There seemed to be some recognition when he and Shoe locked eyes. He nodded and pointed them toward a makeshift wooden building.
“Nevis Gazette?” Rudy asked, when they were out of earshot.
“It sounded better than your ‘T. Winks,’” Shoe said.
The cabin-like structure was set apart from the rest of the dig, to the south, and just on the opposite side of the ropes establishing the dig boundaries—Mackall’s land.
“A profitable lease arrangement?” Rudy asked.
Shoe threw his arms up in the air and kept moving. “Mackall’s boat is still in port, so no worries there.”
Their knocks on the door went unheeded. Maybe the guards had lost track of his whereabouts. Without any windows, there was no way to tell who was inside. Shoe jiggled the door latch, and he might have given it a slight twist. The door cracked open and he gave it an extra push.
The room was spartan—a bunk, a seaman’s chest on one side, and a simple wooden desk on the other. Darby sat at the desk, hunched over an open book. He made no move to rebuke them as they entered.
“Mr. Darby?”
The stillness in the room, the odd posture, the red on Darby’s hands.
As soon as Shoe touched him, he stirred and moaned. “Tanner,” he whispered, looking at Shoe with dull, confused eyes.
“Shoemaker,” Shoe said, correcting him. There was a large bloodstain covering Darby’s shirt front, a knife wound by the look of his shredded clothes. Shoe was surprised he was still alive. “Who? Who did this?” he asked in a rush.
“Hann—” Darby wheezed and choked. He shuddered. “Son . . . a bitc—" He closed his eyes; his breathing was jagged.
Rudy put his lips to Darby’s ear.
“Don’t touch anything, Rudy.”
Rudy fisted his hands and balanced himself against the desk with his hip. “Mackall’s stealing from the dig?” Rudy asked.
“Ye—”
“For who? Weathersby, you, himself?”
There was a groan that might have been a yes.
“Why?” Darby mumbled. “. . .plenty.” He made a gurgling sound and his breaths came in labored short bursts. “Bayside . . . Gi-gi-de—” He shuddered and went completely limp.
“Gid? Gideon? Come on, Darby!”
“Stop, Rudy. He’s gone.” Shoe eased his grip on the paleontologist’s shoulder and Darby sagged onto the desk face first. “And we need to be, too.”
“Are you crazy? Just leave him? What about the guards?”
“We certainly can’t help him now, and I don’t need a quick trip to police central, do you? We need to search his room before Mackall does.”
They left everything as they found it, waved acknowledgement to security as they boarded Parkers Bet, and returned to Nevis. They discussed nothing further, but by silent agreement they had just added a potential murder charge to their previous theft and breaking-and-entering infractions. If Darby’s Gideon bible didn’t contain something more damning than a chocolate wrapper, they were looking at life . . . if they were lucky.
Chapter Thirty-Three
One Big Party
As soon as the first loop of rope encircled the piling, Shoe jumped from boat to dock with Rudy close behind. Mackall’s boat was still berthed. If Mackall had attacked Darby—and there was no reason to doubt the words of a dying man—how had he managed to get there and back and so fast, without moving his boat? Shoe did a quick visual sweep of the surrounding wharf area. Who else was involved and where had they gone?
“Get your necklace, Rudy,” he said. “Low profile and be quick about it. I’ll make myself scarce around here.”
He peeled away toward a nearby booze house called the Scuttlebutt. Unlike most of the surrounding dives, the Scuttlebutt’s door was fastened on straight and the shutters were painted. Nevertheless, a hearty debate raged within him about the wisdom of standing outside. Right now, anywhere on the dock was too close to Mackall. Insi
de might be better, but bending elbows with a sweaty, swearing room full of fishermen and stevedores wasn’t appealing, and the notion of a keg-busting reporter sitting down for bootlegged whiskey in a waterside dive was absurd. Still, good gumshoes went where the story pushed them.
The appearance of Mackall in the company of two other men, approaching from the direction of town, suddenly changed all that. They were moving fast. Had they made him? Shoe pushed through the door and entered the Scuttlebutt.
The bar didn’t fit the dark, dirty, and crowded image he expected. It was worse. The moment he cleared the door sill, the overpowering smell of musk, vomit, and urine washed over and christened him as its own. He kept his gaze unfocused and shouldered his way through the small enclave of moral turpitude to the end of the bar, where he shouldered in and claimed twelve inches of space as his own.
The barkeep gave him an inquiring look—which was okay because it could have been an I don’t recognize you so get out look. By the looks of the crowd, ordering anything less than neat would be considered weakness. He ordered two fingers of whiskey. It didn’t matter. He was going to nurse it anyway.
The men on either side of him left almost immediately, but they were replaced just as quickly by two others. They were grungy and a sweaty smell wafted off both. Neither ordered and Shoe could feel their eyes on him.
“I’m pretty good with faces. Weren’t you in here the other day?” It was the brute on the right. He fixed Shoe with a stare that would have invited a quick dust-up with any of the liquor-fueled, hot-tempered brawlers lounging around the rest of the place.
“Never been here before,” Shoe replied. He took a pull on his drink. No fine liquor for this place; it was as awful as he had suspected.
The Dame on the Dock Page 20