Murder at the Million Dollar Pier

by Gwen Mayo

  Arthur and Evelyn were another pair she couldn’t separate mentally. They hadn’t stirred up her suspicions until they showed up at Oldsmar, pointing their fingers at Teddy. Their collusion with that reporter was as underhanded as the Harding administration. Was Arthur conniving enough to hatch a plot to get rid of his father-in-law and have Teddy take the blame? Plotting to get control of a family business through marriage wasn’t anything new. It was a big step from fiancé to murderer, but he wouldn’t be the first ambitious man to make the leap—especially if Evelyn were equally ambitious.

  Ansel’s wife, Florence, and his girlfriend couldn’t be eliminated either. She wasn’t sure ‘girlfriend’ was the right word for Shirley’s relationship with Ansel. But Teddy had spilled the beans that he had a wife and children. She didn’t like thinking of Shirley as a murderer. For that matter, she didn’t want to think of her as seeking a ‘sugar daddy’, as Teddy would say. But either or both could be true. Discovering that you were the ‘other woman’ in a love triangle could lead to murder. The fact that Ansel was a man of means made it more probable. A suite at the Vinoy was a long way from a car tent in a Tin Can Tourist camp.

  As for Florence, the knowledge that her spouse was a philanderer wasn’t nearly as powerful a motive as the possibility that one of her children might have killed their father. Whatever her relationship with her husband, Florence was devoted to her children. She and Mac supported Violet’s choice of Harry as a husband. Florence was afraid of Ansel, but even the most timid mother could become fierce in the protection of her offspring.

  “Cornelia!”

  Her uncle’s voice startled her. A trace of red crept into her cheeks. “Sorry, I was lost in thought.”

  He patted her on the shoulder. “Theodora is going to be fine. She might even be awake by now. Why don’t you go check on her?”

  A rueful smile spread across her face. She could remember a time when neither of them would have been asleep at this hour. Cornelia considered sleeping past six to be a luxury. Even on leave, she was too wide awake to lay in bed longer.

  “Are you ready to leave?” she asked.

  “Mac will give me a ride back to the hotel later. We’re going up in his plane to get a better look at the new developments around the bay.” His blue eyes twinkled. “He’s also invited us to go out, to test out the new boat … when things settle down, of course. That should be a great help in my house hunt.”

  Trekking through the lobby amid stares and awkward silence was not going to be easy, but it was that or slinking in the back door of the hotel. She’d lived too long to let a few gossips make her cower.

  Cornelia put on a brave, albeit sweaty face, and handed her automobile over to the valet. Chin high, she strolled past the doorman and headed toward the lift. She gritted her teeth at the whispers intended to be overheard. There was a temptation to gaze back and match a face with the words. She focused on the brass doors instead, and kept putting one foot in front of the other.

  Despite the gossip, Cornelia was relieved to be back at the hotel. After years in Colorado, she had become unaccustomed to Florida’s humidity. It seemed odd to be sweating in the middle of winter, but it had been a while since she was in a climate where February temperatures could reach eighty degrees. Carrying her uncle’s camera around didn’t help. Next time he wanted to film Florida, she was going to let him tote his own equipment.

  She let herself believe that lie for the few seconds it took to lug the tripod to her uncle’s room. As she stowed the camera in the wardrobe, she was greeted by the faint aroma of bay rum mingled with leather polish and machine oil. The scent took her back to her childhood.

  Cornelia turned to leave, but lingered in the doorway to glance around the room at his clocks, his leather luggage arranged by size, and engineering journals stacked on the bedside table with their spines in perfect alignment. During the week they had spent in Saint Petersburg, he had managed to make the room his own. The old dear with his gadgets, obsessions, and sheer brilliance was going to have her wrapped around his finger as long as he lived.

  Her own room lacked any sort of order. She didn’t see Teddy anywhere, although there were plenty of signs of the condition she was in the previous evening. The wardrobe door hung open. One of Teddy’s shoes and several articles of clothing lay crumpled in the floor. Her covers were in a twisted lump in the middle of the bed. She frowned at the sight of the Ball jar Teddy had opened. It sat empty on her nightstand. Last night, Cornelia had taken a single drink, and the jar had been almost half full when she dozed off on one of the Vinoy’s comfortable beds.

  Cornelia sighed. She hoped that Teddy hadn’t had more after they left the hotel. There was already too much gossip. Then, she regretted her assumption. Teddy and Shirley were probably out shopping, or perhaps only Teddy. Shirley had a job, after all. Cornelia unpinned her hat, placed it on a shelf, and set about putting the room to rights. At least the maids wouldn’t have reason to join the rumor mill.

  In half an hour she was freshly bathed, dressed in one of the cotton frocks Teddy had bought for her, and headed to the veranda with her book. She found a rocker with a nice view of the yacht basin, ordered a glass of sweet tea, and settled in for a much-deserved respite from the chaos.

  Three chapters later, she was pulled out of the story by a commotion. She tried to ignore the disagreement until she heard a voice that made her plant her face in her hands. “Not again,” she groaned.

  Chapter fourteen

  Teddy didn’t leave the room until noon. The first time she woke up, it was Cornelia telling her it was time for breakfast. Teddy’s response had been a rush to the bathroom. No, there was no way she would make it downstairs, much less sit through a meal in the dining room. Her head rang like an out-of-tune xylophone, and her stomach felt like the percussion section had shifted to the bass drum. After her first bout of illness, she begged Cornelia to give her regrets to Uncle Percival.

  “Oh, Teddy, you know he asked you not to drink,” Cornelia said.

  “I know; I’m sorry. Let him go eat whatever he—” The picture of the Eggs Benedict swam behind her eyelids, and she was ill again.

  Then, she was alone in the bathroom with the cool, cool porcelain. After the worst of the nausea had passed, Teddy crept back to bed. She was wracked with guilt over breaking her promise, but she hadn’t realized how awful the day would be when she’d made it. She pulled the bedclothes over her head to block the light and succumbed to the soothing darkness.

  The second time she woke up, she returned to the bathroom and mixed a dose of BC Powder. There wasn’t much of it left; a visit to the pharmacist was in order … once the sun wasn’t as bright. Back under the covers, although she didn’t sleep this time.

  Once she felt well enough, she rose, bathed, and dressed. Instead of face powder, Teddy applied Magnolia Balm to her sunburned cheeks. No rouge was needed today. Cornelia and her uncle still weren’t back, so they had probably gone off to explore after breakfast. She could either be sad that she wasn’t with them, or find something else to do.

  Teddy settled on working with her needlepoint. It was quiet, didn’t require going outside to do, and was something she’d planned to work on anyway. She remembered how beautiful the ocean had been on the afternoon in the park. How much blue floss did she have, and in how many hues?

  Eventually, she decided that she did need to have more light to create the small stitches that would lend a proper subtlety to the hues. It would also be nice to see the ocean while she worked on her creation—and get some fresh air. She’d been stuck inside long enough.

  Evelyn had convinced her mother to leave her room. They stared out at the water, saying nothing. Sunshine and fresh air were supposed to help with grief, but pain and anger still throbbed deep inside the younger woman. Father had been murdered, taken from her. He had given her everything: her first pony, her education, and more control of the business than anyone else, even Mac. She had been his favorite, immune from his darker moo
ds, his lashings out. Although there had been a spat about her hair, it would have blown over quickly.

  A movement in the corner of her eye drew her attention. It was her. Theodora Lawless had crawled out from under her rock to warm herself like the reptile she was. She glanced at her mother, who was still gazing at the ocean, then inched herself closer to the Lawless woman. Closer … closer …

  As usual, the veranda was crowded, but she discovered an empty seat at the far end and pounced on it. Out came the floss, and the project began anew. She interwove blue with aqua, ultramarine with navy. The light playing on the water should be gold—no, white. Maybe silver. Did she have silver in her basket? Teddy opened it to search inside, and jabbed someone with her elbow.

  “Excuse me,” she said, and discovered Evelyn Stevens standing over her. “You again?” Teddy snapped. “I wish you would leave me alone. Why are you following me?”

  “Following you?” Evelyn turned to her mother, who wore a dismayed expression. “I would say rather that you were putting yourself in my way. Oldsmar yesterday, and now here.”

  “I’m staying at this hotel, just like you,” Teddy said. “Of course you’re going to run into me at the hotel.”

  Florence, who had come over, was staring at Evelyn. “You went to Oldsmar yesterday? I thought you were out making arrangements.”

  The young woman waved a dismissive hand. “I did, but Arthur needed to do some things at home, and I had to get away for a while.”

  “We went to Oldsmar to get away from you,” Teddy said. “And to look at properties. Why did you show up at the Gold Rush?”

  “It looked like fun, and I wanted to think of something else besides—” she covered her face with her handkerchief.

  Florence put an arm around her offspring. “Must you be so churlish to my daughter? She’s done you no harm.”

  “No harm?” Teddy exclaimed, loud enough to draw looks. “You mean, besides following me—with a reporter—and publicly accusing me …” Other hotel guests were staring now, and she shut her mouth.

  “You did, though, didn’t you?” Evelyn cried. “Daddy was rich, and he caught on to your ways in time. Now you’re leading that little old man down the garden path.”

  “I generally follow him down garden paths,” Teddy retorted. “No one leads him anywhere.”

  “Men aren’t as bright as they think,” Evelyn sneered. “You knew my father was going to blow the whistle on you, let him know that you were a fallen woman.”

  Teddy jumped up, dumping her basket in the process. “That isn’t true! Your father lied about me to protect his own reputation, and he didn’t care how badly he hurt my family in the process.”

  Florence released Evelyn and rounded on Teddy. “My family has nothing to hide! Ansel was a man of sterling reputation,” she proclaimed.

  Teddy was sheet white, rouged cheeks making her face a clownish comedy again. “He was charming as long as he got his own way. When he didn’t, he had a cruel temper.”

  The other woman winced briefly, then spat: “I’m sure you brought it out of him, you hag!”

  This brought jeers from the gathered spectators. Teddy took a step towards Florence, but Cornelia had her arm. “Come with me.”

  “My needlepoint,” she protested, and Cornelia let her go long enough for her to snatch it up.

  “Killjoy!” a member of the assemblage hurled at Cornelia’s back as they left the veranda.

  Teddy clutched her basket to her chest once they were in the elevator. “Oh, that was horrid.”

  “We need to talk.” Cornelia prayed that her uncle wasn’t back from the airfield yet.

  For once, her prayers were answered. There was no sign of the professor. She steered Teddy into their section of the suite and closed the door. She dropped her book on the bed and removed her hat. “Set your basket down over there. Come sit with me.”

  Teddy did as she was told. Cornelia put her arms around her, and Teddy sobbed. “I’m such a fool, I really am.”

  “You’re not a fool. This has been a trying time.”

  “I am a fool,” Teddy said. “It was crowded, and I bumped Evelyn by accident, and then I accused her of following me around.”

  Cornelia fetched the box of Kleenex Teddy kept with her makeup. “Well, they have been following us around. I’m fairly certain that little stunt she pulled with the reporter was planned.”

  Teddy dabbed a tear away with a tissue. “Why would she do that?”

  “It’s possible that she really thinks you killed her father. You did assault him twice.”

  Her companion took exception. “Only once she knows about.”

  “She can read. The papers have reported the second time, too,” Cornelia countered. “I’m more concerned about the effect this has had on you. You’ve been moody—”

  “—and churlish,” Teddy said. “Let’s not forget churlish.”

  “You’ve had some provocation with the Stevens family. What I’m worried about is the amount of alcohol you’re consuming.”

  “I have a lot of sorrows to drown.”

  “I think you’re trying to pickle them, and you’re preserving them instead. You’ve been sick almost every morning since we came to the hotel. You drank nearly an entire jar of moonshine by yourself last night. That’s a pint of whiskey. I’m just grateful you chose the smaller jar size for the trip.”

  “I was afraid if one broke, I would lose more hooch.”

  Cornelia placed her hands on the sides of Teddy’s face and looked into her eyes. “Your liver is what you’ll lose if you keep this up.” Her voice was fierce. “It’s making you sick, it’s making you sadder, and it’s making you churlish. You promised Uncle Percival that you wouldn’t overdo it. Now, I’m asking you. You have the therapeutic dose you’re supposed to take. Limit yourself to that. Will you promise?”

  Teddy’s eyes shimmered with tears. “I promise.”

  “Good. After dinner, I’ll talk to Uncle Percival about changing hotels. He’s had his fun, but we need to get away from here.”

  Uncle Percival returned from the airfield shortly thereafter. By then, the ladies had freshened up. He regaled them with the story of his exciting flight around the bay, then excused himself to bathe and change for dinner.

  “He should have done that first,” Teddy said. “He stinks of castor oil.”

  “They use it to lubricate the engines,” Cornelia replied. “Flying aces need to have strong stomachs.”

  Once the professor was clean and smelling better, the trio left their suite for the dining room. As they entered the lobby, though, two young men sprang up from a pair of overstuffed chairs and intercepted them.

  “I beg your pardon,” the professor said, “do we know you?”

  No. A bad, bad feeling seized Cornelia by the stomach. She instinctively reached out to clutch Teddy’s hand. The fingers were cold.

  One of the men addressed her companion. “Are you Miss Theodora Lawless, latest of Fisher’s Mill, Kentucky?”

  Teddy, already straightened up to her full height, lifted her chin higher. “I am.”

  “Come with us,” the officer said, showing her his badge. “I think you would rather do this outside than here.” He indicated the now-silent lobby, filled with hotel patrons.

  “How considerate of you,” Teddy said, sweeping past him.

  Explosions of magnesium and the click of cameras began as the officers pushed open the double doors. Bobby Hornbuckle was there with a camera crew. Mitch was nearby with his own crew, but had the grace to look sheepish.

  Cornelia shoved a businessman aside at the valet station and demanded that they bring her car immediately. “This is an emergency.” The hapless young man who delivered her car gaped when she asked for directions to the jail, but made no comment. She rewarded him with a five-dollar bill.

  She barreled up Fifth Avenue, hands in a death grip on the steering wheel. “This should not be happening.”

  The professor kept an equally firm grip
on his seat and the roof of the car. “Slow down, Corny. We know where she’s going to be.”

  “Don’t call me Corny!” she roared. “This is monstrous! We need to stop this.”

  “My apologies,” her uncle replied, continuing to clutch his handholds as they made a sharp turn. “We’re going to get her out, Cornelia.”

  “How? We’re miles from home and she doesn’t have a lawyer.”

  “Actually, I began researching attorneys again after the police visited the second time. Watch out for that cart! I contacted two promising candidates while you were dressing for Oldsmar.”

  “You were already convinced this was going to happen, and didn’t warn me?”

  He shot her a glance. “Did you really have no notion that the family would push for her arrest?”

  She glared at him and nearly passed the entrance to the jail. She corrected at the last moment, and the Dodge’s wheels squealed in response. “They have no reason to arrest her.”

  “They have a reason,” Uncle Percival said. “The question is, what evidence do they have?”

  “None,” she retorted, “because she had nothing to do with it.”

  “Then they have something they think is evidence.”

  Knaggs awaited his chief suspect in a side room within the women’s section of the jail. The room usually served as a waiting area for disappointed parents and the husbands of errant women but was usually empty on weeknights. He wondered what a woman of her social set thought of the institutional grey paint over concrete block. Then Knaggs remembered that she’d spent years in the army. The jail was pure luxury compared to the camps he remembered.

  He’d set up a table and two chairs for the interview. The interview room was short of comforts but afforded a little privacy for questioning. When the patrolmen brought the spinster in, he stood and indicated the empty chair. “Please sit here, Miss Lawless.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and did so, arranging her limbs with regal grace.