Murder at the Million Dollar Pier

by Gwen Mayo

  He plopped down in his own seat and took out his notepad. “Now—”

  “Where is my attorney?” she asked.

  I should have known she would be difficult. “This isn’t a formal interrogation. We’re just talking.”

  “It certainly seems like an interrogation. I’ve been charged with murder, so I’m not a witness. We’re in a private room now, and you have a pen and paper ready to go.”

  Knaggs slapped the pad down. “Okay, then, let me advise you of a few things, Miss Lawless. Does that suit you?”

  She leaned forward and clasped her hands together. “Please proceed, Officer.”

  “You were engaged to Ansel Stevens. He broke it off, and since then, you’ve had a personal vendetta against him.”

  “Wrong! He didn’t break it off, I did. As for a having a vendetta, I didn’t even know he was here till I arrived at the hotel.”

  “You behaved like you did. You assaulted him in public at least twice.”

  “That wasn’t a vendetta, that was simple enmity. We did not part as friends.”

  He made a note. “Simple enmity; I like that.”

  “I’m glad I amuse you.”

  “It’s no pleasure to me. Where were—” he said, then stopped himself. “No questions; this isn’t an interrogation. So, here’s another item: you can’t account for your whereabouts for approximately two hours the day before the race. That would have been Saturday.”

  “Yes, I can,” she retorted. “I was searching for a hat.”

  “No one saw you searching for one.” The woman opened her mouth, and he raised his hand to stop her. “You say you purchased the hat at Berber’s, but there are no witnesses to be found. Not even the woman who sold it to you.”

  “My dear fellow, I have a receipt.”

  “That only proves you were there at some point during the day. You had plenty of time to get to the marina and back.”

  “I spoke to the clerk there at length. She was a pleasant woman.”

  “That’s what you tell me, but if I took people at their word, I’d be a poor policeman.”

  Theodora Lawless huffed and raised her chin. “A good policeman would check my alibi. You should be searching for that woman. Her name is Rena, and she was going to find a new job in Sarasota.”

  “Do you have a last name for this woman?”

  “No, but her former employer should.”

  “Do you know the name of the friend she was staying with?”

  “We didn’t become that familiar,” Miss Lawless admitted. “But dislike and a lack of witnesses are hardly enough to muster a charge of murder. After my attorney makes inquiries in Sarasota and finds that woman, you’ll have egg on your face.”

  The moment had arrived. Knaggs reached into his pocket and pulled out the envelope with the hair comb. He shook it out onto the table, a smidgen beyond the woman’s reach. It shimmered in the morning light. “Is this yours, ma’am?”

  He was surprised by her smile. “Why, yes! I wore it to dinner the first night we were here, but I lost it somehow. Maybe it came off when I walloped Ansel. Where did you find it?”

  He grinned despite himself. “We found it in the Nittany Nob, Mr. Stevens’ yacht.”

  Finally, he had the pleasure of seeing Miss Lawless shut up.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Pettijohns were not permitted to see Teddy that evening; she was being interviewed by the police. There was also no bail to be paid, since she wouldn’t be arraigned until the morning. The matron advised them to return then with some personal items for their friend; she would probably want to dress differently for court.

  “Will you at least be providing dinner?” Cornelia asked, almost babbling. “She—she didn’t have a chance to eat.”

  “We’ll give her something,” the matron said. “It won’t be Vinoy-level cuisine, though.”

  Cornelia spent a sleepless night turning from one side to the other, lying on her back, and even her stomach. She’d slept through wailing sirens and dropped bombs, but the empty bed next to hers spoke loudest of all. Finally, she climbed into Teddy’s spot, which smelled of her perfume and, faintly, of moonshine. Only then could she drift off.

  In the morning, Teddy was escorted to a private room and introduced to her attorney, Morgan Cosgrove. Cosgrove was a slender man who appeared to be in his forties. His suit was well-tailored, and his reddish-brown curls had been tamed with Brilliantine.

  “Miss Lawless,” he said, “A shame we must meet under these circumstances.”

  “Yes, a shame.” Teddy was dressed in the simple blue suit Cornelia had selected—dark, conservative in cut, with a skirt that covered the knees.

  They both sat. The attorney produced a pencil and paper. “Before we head to court, I’d like to be prepared. Could you give me a short description of what happened between the deceased and yourself?”

  “We were engaged when I was young and foolish. I broke off the engagement, and he spread lies about me that hurt my family. Last week was the first time I’d seen him in … well, many years.”

  “So, you didn’t know he was staying at the same hotel before you arrived?”

  “No, the professor chose the hotel. He wanted to watch the construction of the pier.”

  Cosgrove nodded. “The professor. That would be your fiancé?”

  Teddy fluttered her eyelashes. “Yes.”

  The attorney raised a brow. “He just wanted to see the construction?”

  “He’s a retired professor of engineering. Percival is an inventor and has many patents. I am a lucky woman to have found someone so intelligent,” she gushed.

  “I’m happy for you both. You struck the deceased in the dining room of the Vinoy last Wednesday.”

  “No, I struck him in the face. I was overcome with rage; I’ve often pictured what I would do if I saw the rotter, not what I wouldn’t do. So I did it.”

  “Er, yes. You assaulted him again later that evening. You were still unprepared?”

  “He was dancing with a young innocent girl at the Coliseum, and I knew he was married. I got angry again and kicked him in the Achilles’ heel. I’d say that was spite. I probably should have stopped at alerting the girl.”

  “Well, you’re not up on charges for spite. So, tell me, did you poison Ansel Stevens?”

  “Of course not. If I had, I wouldn’t have chosen nicotine. Strychnine is much more painful.”

  Cosgrove pressed his fingers to his temple. “Please don’t say that in court.”

  “What if they ask me?”

  “They won’t ask which poison you preferred, Miss Lawless. Just whether you poisoned him or not. Don’t volunteer information, especially not that sort.”

  “Well, I didn’t poison him at all.”

  “You did not purchase a captain’s cap and coat the interior with nicotine?”

  “No, that would hardly be practical. If I were going to use nicotine, I would have added it to his abominable little cigarettes. The poison in the hat might not have absorbed into the skin in sufficient quantity to kill him, especially if it didn’t get damp enough. Inhaling it would be much more effective.”

  Now Cosgrove winced. “Please don’t say that in court, either.”

  “Am I volunteering information again?”

  “In the worst way. Stick to yes and no answers whenever possible.”

  Teddy cocked her head, puzzled. “If you say so, but how will I get them to like me?”

  Cornelia and the professor watched the arraignment from one of the rear benches. Closer to the front, a smug Evelyn Stevens sat with her mother. Several reporters lingered at the corners of the room. Bobby Hornbuckle and Mitch Grant were among the pack. Each pointedly ignored the other.

  Teddy was, again, advised of the charges against her. She pled not guilty and her attorney, Mr. Cosgrove, requested that she be released until trial or be offered bail. Both were denied. The attorney seemed relieved when Teddy was quietly taken away, which Cornelia considered odd.
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  The pair were permitted to see her briefly before she returned to her cell. Much as she hated her uncle’s pretense of engagement to Teddy, it did open doors for them. Cornelia had packed Teddy’s tin of Oreos in her purse and slipped her a few when the matron wasn’t looking. “Did they ever give you dinner?” she asked.

  “They did. It was a simple sandwich, but there were times in the field I would have been happy to have such fare. I didn’t know nursing would prepare me for prison.”

  Cornelia shuddered. “Don’t say that. I still can’t believe they charged you over gossip.”

  “They had more than that.” Teddy leaned closer. “Remember that first night in the dining room, when my hair comb disappeared? It reappeared in Ansel’s yacht. Someone is framing me.”

  The Pettijohns met briefly with Morgan Cosgrove after Teddy was taken away.

  “Miss Lawless seems to know a good deal about poisons,” the attorney said. “How did she come to have this knowledge?”

  “She was a nurse during the Great War,” Cornelia said, “and spent a good amount of time in the dispensary. Chemistry was one of the subjects she excelled in at Bellevue.”

  “That is not favorable for our side,” Cosgrove said, “especially if she tries explaining to the judge which poison is the most painful or how she would have administered it.”

  Pure Teddy. “Oh dear.”

  “Exactly. I have tried to dissuade her from saying such things on the stand, but it would help if every moment of her time could be accounted for from your arrival in Saint Petersburg to the time of the victim’s death.”

  The ride back to the hotel was not a silent one. “People are so willing to think the worst of unmarried women. Why must they always think the worst?”

  Her uncle sighed. “It’s their job to think the worst, Corny. A murder has happened, and of course people are feigning innocence and grief.”

  “Don’t call me Corny. His family certainly isn’t doing a good job of feigning grief. Outside of making funeral arrangements, I haven’t seen tears from anyone but Evelyn, and those were for dramatic effect. I daresay none of them liked him, except maybe her, and some had more reason to hate him than others.” Especially his wife, if he’d pushed her around like he did Teddy.

  “Teddy also had good reason to hate him. He ruined not only her reputation with his words, but her father’s. Your dear one has been estranged from her kinfolk for decades, and no one would blame her for being bitter and vengeful. She also has a superior knowledge of drugs and poisons, even for a nurse.”

  He really had been eavesdropping that first night. In a way, it was a relief. She didn’t have to explain things to him now. “They don’t know Teddy like we do. She’s the most caring—”

  “We all think we know people, dear, but anyone can be pushed to murder given the right reason … or deep, festering emotions.”

  “Are you saying that you think she really killed him?”

  Her uncle patted one of her hands, currently engaged in a death grip on the steering wheel. “You and I know better than that. But the police regularly deal with people who have been pushed beyond their limits in some form. They have to look for the worst.”

  “It doesn’t help that she assaulted him publicly,” Cornelia mused.

  “That’s why I’m certain she didn’t poison him,” the professor said. “People who use poison usually do so to conceal their actions. Our Teddy has been out in the open and ready to slug the man.”

  Cornelia drew a ragged breath. “Oh, Uncle, what are we going to do to get her out of this?”

  He drew himself up in the seat. “We’re going to find the killer.”

  They took a late lunch in their suite and shared the information they already had. Did Teddy really lose the hair comb in the dining room? Yes, Cornelia had seen it bounce on the floor and then slide under the Stevens’ table. She’d tried to retrieve it, but the head waiter appeared with his protests at that moment. Anyone in the family could have recovered and kept it. Why would perfect strangers do that?

  “Perhaps she was already planning murder,” the professor said, “and she saw it as an opportunity to point police attention elsewhere. Since we know at least one of the killers was female.”

  “So, it was Florence, Violet, or Evelyn. We need to learn more about the family, and where they were on the day—or perhaps days—before the race.”

  A plan was made. Cornelia would try to learn more about the family members, including where they were during the time between Brockman’s challenge and the race, while Uncle Percival would visit the Yacht Club and marina to learn more about where the Nittany Nob was kept and who might have visited it. They would compare notes during dinner.

  Cornelia found that she was genuinely hungry, despite a stomach that had clenched like a fist all morning. Now that they were taking action, she felt a world better.

  Evelyn sat in the lobby, waiting for the Pettijohns to finish lunch. The old coot had hired an expensive attorney for the Lawless woman; she wanted to see what he would do next. In his shoes, she would be looking for someone, anyone, else to pin the crime on. It was troubling that he’d visited Mac yesterday, even before the arrest.

  When the pair left the dining room, she trailed behind and watched from the door. They stopped at the valet station, and Evelyn scanned the nearby street for a taxi. There was usually one loitering out there for businessmen and tourists who wanted to travel beyond downtown.

  The old man and his niece talked while their car was retrieved—then, to Evelyn’s surprise, they split up. The niece got into the car, while the old man headed for the trolley stop. Evelyn waited until the car left, then exited the hotel herself. She got the taxi driver’s attention, and he pulled into the Vinoy drive to pick her up.

  Nearby, the trolley was gliding to a stop for its prospective passenger.

  “Do a short loop,” she instructed the driver, handing him a couple of bills, “and then come back around to follow that trolley.”

  Learning about the Stevens family was going to be a challenge. Teddy made friends easily and loved going to places with other people; Cornelia preferred quieter, more solitary pastimes. They hadn’t tried to get to know the other patrons of the hotel after the first disastrous evening, since it increased the risk of running into Ansel and his family.

  Still, there were things she could learn, if she had the proper help. Shirley and her mother seemed to be the best prospects. The young hairdresser certainly had not known enough about Ansel, but his daughters were both well-kept and fashionable. Women often shared their personal lives with their stylists, which would be useful. There was a chance the Wheelers would know who did their hair.

  The concierge helped her find the location of Anna Wheeler’s salon, staring at her doubtfully the entire time. He was probably trying to picture her with a bob, or worse, that Eton crop. Teddy would probably look delightful with slicked-down hair and kiss curls, but with her square jaw and build, Cornelia was more likely to be arrested as a man wearing women’s clothing.

  She had the valet fetch her car, and she took off for Third Street North. Uncle Percival had been interested in using the car himself, but the places he needed to go were within walking or trolley distance. Who knew where she would wind up?

  Anna Wheeler’s salon was located next to a barber shop. There were as many young women occupying chairs in the barber shop as men, and as she approached, Cornelia saw freshly-bobbed girls leave both establishments.

  Inside the salon, the walls were plastered with pictures of different hairstyles and advertisements for beauty products. She saw an ad for Lifebuoy Health Soap, the best soap to shampoo bobs, Colgate’s Brilliantine “For giving gloss and softness to the hair,” and a poster of Claudette Colbert advertising Player’s Cigarettes.

  Both Wheelers and a third stylist were busy with clients, while a young woman at the front counter spoke to the newest arrival. There was a separate area with a table containing nail buffers, sticks, and pol
ish. Army regulations would probably forbid most of the styling offered here, but a manicure would be more subtle and likely to fade before her return to Colorado.

  Shirley spotted her. “Miss Cornelia! How are you doing today?”

  “Badly. Have you heard the news?”

  “Oh, yes!” Anna Wheeler said. She was busy taming a customer’s wild curls. “It’s horrible. Are you looking to drown your sorrows in a new coif?”

  “No, I think the Army would disapprove of anything adventuresome,” Cornelia said, “but Teddy always said—says that a manicure is therapeutic. Do either of you have time?”

  “I’m nearly finished here, if you don’t mind waiting a few minutes,” Shirley said. “Mrs. Babcock’s hair is always a treat to work with. So well-behaved.”

  Mrs. Babcock appeared surprised. “It never behaves well for me.”

  “You need to let it do what it wants to do,” Shirley cooed. “We’re never satisfied with our own hair. I would love to have your natural waves.”

  Cornelia sat and let Shirley finish her blandishments of Mrs. Babcock. She studied the array of Cutex products as she waited. Powders, nail pastes, and polishes. Teddy would be familiar with all of these. To her, they were a mystery.

  The young redhead plopped into the chair opposite her. “You must tell me what’s happened. Why on earth would they arrest poor Teddy?”

  “The family appears bent on it—at least the female portion.” She mustn’t lump poor Mac in with the rest of his family. He’d said he didn’t believe Teddy was a murderess, and the lad had been truthful in other areas.

  “I assume one of them is his wife.” Shirley wrinkled her nose. “I asked around about her after I learned the truth from your friend. She’s a bit of a Mrs. Grundy.”

  “I’ve had that term applied to me a few times, too,” Cornelia said.

  “You’re not all that bad. You’re serious, but you mind your own potatoes.” She finished cleaning Cornelia’s nails and began to apply solution to the cuticles.