Murder at the Million Dollar Pier

by Gwen Mayo

  More and more people from the hotel crowded the veranda. Filming was impossible.

  Cornelia removed the camera from its tripod seconds before a clumsy guest stumbled into her while vying for a spot near the front of the mob.

  She managed to right herself and hold onto her uncle’s camera. Then she noticed that his chair was empty. Professor Pettijohn was leaning over the railing, transfixed by the scene on the pier. Goliath couldn’t have pried her field glasses from his hands.

  The crowd on the veranda didn’t disperse until the ambulance screamed its way out of the one clustered at the pier. Whatever had happened aboard the Nittany Nob, there was at least one survivor.

  Chapter eight

  Shirley went home. The trio returned to their hotel suite. They sat in silence for a long while, each struggled to digest what they’d watched. Cornelia waited for a cue from Teddy, who had known and detested the man. There was none forthcoming. Her companion stared out the window, pale and quiet, legs tucked underneath her on the sofa.

  Uncle Percival, never one to sit idle for long, pulled his watch from his vest and checked it against the clock on the side table, one of three he’d brought with him on the trip. He picked the clock up and adjusted it. After several more uncomfortable moments, the professor produced a small tool kit from a pocket and began removing the back of the timepiece.

  A knock at the door interrupted the unpleasant silence. Cornelia didn’t know whether to be annoyed or grateful, but she rose from her seat to see who it was.

  She was surprised to see someone she knew—a man with curly dark hair and the beginnings of a five-o'-clock shadow on his face. Mitchell Grant, the reporter from the St. Petersburg Times.

  “Mitch?”

  “Hello, Miss Cornelia. May I come in?”

  “Why, certainly.” She let him inside and closed the door. Mitch was a welcome sight, but why had he come?

  Teddy was on her feet, even smiling. “It’s good to see you. How have you been?”

  “Oh, I’ve been fine,” the young man replied. His eyes scanned the room. “Never been in one of the rooms here. It’s the Ritz. I’d be afraid to touch anything in a room like this; I might leave fingerprints.”

  “It’s very nice to see you, Mitch, but it’s been a …” Cornelia searched for a good word, but could only find bad ones. “… a difficult day. What brings you here?”

  “Business, I’m sorry to say. Did you ladies watch the race today?”

  “Race? I presume you mean the disaster at the Pier,” the professor said. “Bad business, that. Yes, we watched it from the veranda.”

  “You saw the sockdollager at the end, then.”

  “We could hardly have missed it.”

  “I guess not.” Mitch rubbed his brow before continuing. “Look, what I’m getting at is that I’ve heard Miss Teddy knew Mr. Stevens, the guy who cracked his boat up.”

  “You heard it?” Teddy exclaimed. “From whom?”

  “From Mrs. Stevens. More like overheard it. She was talking to the police.”

  Cornelia frowned. “The police? What did she say, and where did you overhear this?”

  Mitch winked. “The walls at Mound Park Hospital have a good echo. Besides, the lady wasn’t quiet about it.”

  “Well,” Teddy said, “I knew him when I was young, but that was some years ago. Is it relevant for some reason?”

  “It became relevant when Mr. Stevens died,” Mitch blurted.

  Teddy gasped—a real gasp, not one of her affectations—and sat down in the nearest chair. “Ansel’s dead?”

  Cornelia went to Teddy’s side and took her hand. She didn’t know whether to offer condolences or say good riddance. When in doubt, keep your mouth shut.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Teddy, I didn’t realize you hadn’t heard.” Mitch said. “I hoped you would be able to tell me more about him for my article. I can hardly ask his wife.”

  “Oh—of course you can’t,” Teddy sighed. “Let’s see, what do I know? Ansel was originally from Erie, Pennsylvania. His family has been in construction for a long time—oh, and he was named for his grandfather Ansel. Ansel Senior was in partnership with his brother Conrad, but bought him out, I believe.”

  Mitch took notes, although Cornelia thought he didn’t seem particularly interested. Writing an obituary was probably not the sort of work a newspaper’s crime writer would enjoy.

  “Young Ansel was studying business at Behrend College when I knew him, but I—I left for nursing school in New York before he finished his education. I don’t know if he pursued a graduate degree or not.”

  “I appreciate the information,” the young man said. “Perhaps you have a personal story about him you’d like to share? Bring the article to life.”

  Cornelia knew that Teddy’s personal story about Ansel was one she would not want to share. Mitch waited patiently while his interviewee gathered her words.

  Another knock from outside interrupted the conversation. Cornelia was relieved, but the feeling was short-lived.

  A young woman in a crisp navy suit stood at the door. Her cloche hat and curls did little to soften the sharp hazel eyes under them. “I’m Roberta Hornbuckle, society writer for the Evening Independent. Is a Miss Theodora Lawless here?”

  Mitch turned and scowled. “Bobby! Get out of here. This isn’t one of your galas or fetes.”

  ‘Bobby’ strode into the room. “The Stevens are a prominent family in St. Petersburg, which makes it my business.”

  “And what led you here?”

  “You did, Mitch. When the widow began squawking about Miss Lawless, you lit out like a dog with cans tied to his tail. I just followed the racket.”

  Teddy stood again. “Squawking about me? Exactly what did you overhear, Mitch?”

  The professor, who had continued to quietly work on his clock, set it down. “Is there a reason to believe that Mr. Stevens’ death was not the result of his crash?”

  “It might not be,” Mitch said. “The docs at the hospital said there was something odd about it. Like maybe something else caused the accident in the first place.”

  A bad feeling crept into Cornelia’s belly. “That has nothing to do with us,” she snapped. “I think both of you should leave.”

  “But it does involve her,” Bobby said, pointing at a pale-faced Teddy. “This woman, Theodora Lawless, has publicly assaulted Ansel Stevens on at least two different occasions—and now he’s suffered a violent death.”

  “Which we watched from the veranda,” Cornelia said. “There are at least two dozen witnesses. Before that, we were having breakfast downstairs in a room full of people.” She seized the woman’s arm, turned her around, and frog-marched her towards the door.

  “Miss Lawless, call me!” Bobby shouted as she was shoved into the hallway. “The Evening Independent wants your side of the story.”

  “You don’t want to talk to her,” Mitch said to Teddy. “She’s little more than a gossip columnist.”

  “And you’re a crime writer,” Teddy said. “Maybe you should tell us why you are here, Mitch.”

  “The guy is dead, and it doesn’t look natural,” the reporter replied. “When the police asked Mrs. Stevens about enemies, your name was the first thing out of her mouth.”

  “And you thought you’d talk to the murderess first?” Teddy retorted. “You lied when you said you needed more background information. You were hoping for a hot story.”

  “Oh, Miss Teddy, don’t you know me better than that?”

  “No,” Teddy said, crossing her arms. “I don’t.”

  “Out you go,” Cornelia said, reaching for his arm.

  Mitch ducked her grasp and headed for the exit on his own. “I’m on your side, ladies. Let me know when you’re ready to talk.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” Cornelia said, locking the door behind him. She leaned against it for a moment.

  “The police will be next,” Uncle Percival said.

  Cornelia sighed. “I know.”


  Teddy rifled through the wardrobe. “What does one wear when being questioned by the police?”

  “You’ve been questioned by the police before.” Cornelia snatched the half-empty Ball jar from the woman’s free hand.

  “That was in France; I wore my uniform. This is a civilian interview.” She stretched out her hand. “Give it back.”

  “No. Drunkenness is its own offense.”

  “At least it would be true,” Teddy said. “When that cad was alive, I was blamed for things I didn’t do, and now that he’s gone, I’m still being blamed for things I didn’t do. It isn’t fair.”

  “There’s not a lot of fairness in this world, but you should keep it on your side,” Cornelia said, stowing the resealed jar away in its suitcase. “What about wearing your pink frock?”

  “That’s a good idea,” Teddy replied. “Pink is sweet and harmless. Let’s do that.”

  “Yes, let’s.”

  When they returned to the sitting room, the professor was examining the newspaper. He straightened and removed his bifocals.

  “Ah, there you two are. I’ve been looking for legal representation in the area.”

  “Surely we won’t need it,” Cornelia said. “Teddy was in public view the entire time.”

  “Mmm, perhaps,” her uncle said. “It’s still best to be prepared.”

  The knock, when it came, was heavy and seemed to echo in the room. Cornelia steeled herself and approached the door.

  “If you’re from the press, we’re not giving interviews,” she said, fingers resting on the handle.

  “We’re not the press. This is the police.”

  Teddy and the professor both stood and smoothed their clothing at the same time.

  When Cornelia opened the door, two officers entered. The one in plain clothes was short and wiry; the uniformed officer was stocky. The pair removed their caps.

  “We’re sorry to bother you sir, ladies. I’m Detective Joe Knaggs, and this is Sergeant Duncan. We’ve come to speak to a Miss Theodora Lawless,” the wiry one said.

  “That would be me.” Teddy sounded surprised, little actress that she was.

  The professor moved in front of Cornelia and extended his hand. “Professor Pettijohn, resident of Midway, Kentucky. These are my nieces, who are also my nurses. How may we help you gentlemen?”

  “We’re investigating the accident that happened earlier today at the Pier,” the stocky one said.

  Cornelia forced her face into a grimace that resembled a smile. “Come in, please. I’m Cornelia Pettijohn.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Knaggs said. His hair was cut military-style, with a little Brilliantine to keep it under control. “Sorry to interrupt your afternoon, but with the calamity earlier today—”

  “With the yacht. Yes, it was horrible,” Teddy said.

  “We’ve been informed, Miss Lawless, that you knew Ansel Stevens, the man involved.”

  “Yes, I knew him long ago. We grew up in the same area.”

  Knaggs took out a notebook. “So, you knew him well?”

  “He managed to surprise me a few times,” Teddy replied.

  The men waited. Teddy did not elaborate.

  “We understand,” Duncan said, “that you weren’t on good terms with Mr. Stevens.”

  Teddy leaned forward, peering at the uniformed sergeant’s badge. “Pelican.”

  The stocky man was startled. “What?”

  “On your badge. A pelican.” She gave him an innocent smile. “How delightful.”

  Duncan shifted from one foot to the other. “Er, yes.”

  “A nice touch,” the professor added.

  “Thank you,” Knaggs answered in Duncan’s stead. “Now, Miss Lawless, could you tell us about your relationship with Mr. Stevens?”

  Teddy’s smile never wavered. “We were engaged to be married when we were young. Our parents considered it an advantageous match. I did not.”

  The officers were quiet.

  Teddy, Cornelia, and Uncle Percival were quiet.

  Knaggs stared at Teddy.

  Cornelia stared at Teddy.

  The professor stared at Teddy.

  Teddy stared at the badge and kept smiling.

  Finally, Sergeant Duncan harrumphed. Without his cap, he looked like his mother had spit-shined his bald head. “Could you tell us more, ma’am?”

  Teddy raised her gaze leisurely. “I decided I wasn’t ready for marriage. The reason was rather our business, not anyone else’s. I considered it a private matter when I was seventeen, and still do.”

  “We have also been informed,” Duncan replied, “that you assaulted the deceased in public recently.”

  She sighed. “I slapped him. If there is a fine to pay, I will pay it. He was brutish over the breakup. Encountering him again was a surprise, and I was unprepared to be polite.”

  Duncan muttered something under his breath, and Knaggs took over. “Where were you when the accident happened?”

  “She was on the veranda downstairs,” Cornelia said. “In public sight.”

  Knaggs continued to watch Teddy. “Were you on the veranda?”

  “Yes,” Teddy replied.

  “And before that?”

  “Here, dressing for the yacht race. A light jacket over a tea dress. Oh, and the professor gave us those lovely flowers.” She gestured to the nearby table.

  “I see,” he said, not bothering to look. “What did you do yesterday?”

  “I shopped for a hat suitable for afternoon events. I chose a lovely one with silk jacaranda flowers.”

  Knaggs wrote something down. “Well, you could hardly be expected to attend a yacht race without a new hat.”

  Teddy brightened. “Exactly! I’m glad you agree.”

  “Where did you do your shopping?”

  “Downtown. I purchased the hat at Berber’s, plus two other hats. Do you need to see them?”

  The officers looked at one another.

  “No, ma’am, we’ll take your word for it,” Detective Knaggs said. “And before you shopped?”

  “Before that, I ate breakfast in the restaurant downstairs. And before that, I took a soak in the tub. I was asleep before the bath, so I can’t make an account for myself during that time.”

  Knaggs half-laughed, half-snorted. “Quite a thorough description. Miss Pettijohn, did you shop yesterday with your sister?”

  It wasn’t the first time they’d been mistaken for sisters, which Cornelia had never understood. Teddy was thin as a whippet, while she’d often thought one of her ancestors was a fireplug.

  “No, I went golfing with Uncle Percival. Before that, we had breakfast downstairs. After the game, we had a snack.”

  Knaggs made more notes before shifting his attention to the professor. “And you, sir?”

  “The account for my day is largely a duplicate of Corny’s. Except no one bought a new hat for me.”

  “Don’t call me Corny,” Cornelia muttered, and the officers smiled.

  “I’m so sorry, Professor,” Teddy said. “I’ll get you a new hat, too.”

  “You should, after stealing my fedora in Homosassa.”

  “I gave it back.”

  “It is unwearable. I’ve been letting it air out, but the scent of your perfume lingers.”

  Detective Knaggs closed his notebook. “I think this is all we need for the moment. How long will you three be staying in Saint Petersburg?”

  “I plan to stay here for the next month or two, though I may make some excursions elsewhere. Cornelia must return to Fitzsimons General Hospital in a couple of weeks, but Teddy will be staying in Florida with me.”

  Knaggs tilted his head. “Fitzsimons, ma’am? Are you Army?”

  “Yes, I am,” Cornelia said. “I’m the chief surgical nurse at Army Hospital Number 21. Teddy and I both served through the Great War.”

  “Where were you stationed?”

  “Verdun,” Cornelia said.

  Knaggs half-smiled. “Lorraine. Me and Morty
both. We were lucky; a lot of guys didn’t come back.”

  Teddy was almost amongst them. “I wish both of you a pleasant evening,” Cornelia said.

  The officers made their farewells and departed.

  Teddy hugged the professor. “You poor man. I’ll get you a new hat, I promise. I’m so glad that’s over.”

  Cornelia wasn’t as sure.

  Chapter nine

  Cornelia closed the door behind the officers. Her hand toyed with the chain latch for a moment, but she didn’t use it. “Between the police and the press, we aren’t going to have any peace here. We should get away from the hotel for a while.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better to stay in?” Teddy asked. “Out there we’ll have to deal with the entire mob. I would rather deal with them individually.”

  Cornelia came over, put her arms around Teddy, and enveloped her in a protective hug. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this at all.”

  Teddy wept on her shoulder for several minutes.

  “I need a drink,” she muttered, between sniffles.

  “No,” Professor Pettijohn said. “Cornelia’s right. You need to get away from the hotel and not to the sort of places you’ve been visiting. You’d run into the same crowd there that you would in the hotel.”

  “Do you have something in mind?” Cornelia asked.

  The glint in her uncle’s eyes and the sly half smile that peeked through his snowy whiskers told her he had a ready answer.

  He picked up the newspaper from the side table. “I think this might fit the bill.” He pointed to a small advertisement near the bottom of the page.

  Cornelia’s eyes widened. “No, No Nanette? What is that?”

  “A live performance, by a local theatre troupe that performs in the high school’s gymnasium.” The professor’s smile broadened as he spoke. “The crowd here is more accustomed to Broadway. It is doubtful that a cast without a professional venue would attract the hotel guests.”

  “It is reported to be an engaging production, delightfully funny, with dancing and a number of popular songs.” Cornelia said. “What do you think Teddy? Are you up to seeing a sentimental comedy?”