Murder at the Million Dollar Pier

by Gwen Mayo

  Finally, the professor ascended the sidewalk from the marina and turned in the direction of the Vinoy. Evelyn watched as he re-entered the hotel, and she made haste to the curb. She caught a trolley south; she didn’t have much time left.

  The secretary was busy putting things into desk drawers when she entered the Yacht Club office. Her shift must be almost over. The woman straightened, though, and smiled in greeting.

  “May I help you?”

  “I’m sorry to disturb you so late in the day, but it’s urgent that I speak to Mr. Lafferty before he leaves.”

  The Room Service staff were becoming increasingly familiar with the Pettijohn family. The gentleman who brought dinner inquired after the wellbeing of their absent companion. Cornelia crossed her arms while Uncle Percival assured him that Teddy was doing fine and tipped him for his trouble.

  Once the attendant had left, she said, “They’re all talking about her. She would be mortified.”

  “I think she wouldn’t mind someone asking how she is. Let’s pool our information and see what we have.”

  Cornelia described her encounter with Lucy. “I’m not that encouraged by the information I got. I learned that all the children work in the Stevens office, and Florence has an active social life.”

  “Actually, that is something of value,” Uncle Percival said. “It means that they all had time to themselves, during which they would have the opportunity to arrange the poisoning.”

  “Including Florence, if they were all out of the room. Any of them could have done it, which brings us no closer to discovering which one of them is responsible.”

  “We need to combine your information with hard data. I hope to acquire some this evening,” he replied, and told her what he had learned at the marina. His description of himself as an insurance appraiser brought a smile to her face, as he’d hoped it would.

  “The evening man comes on duty at seven. We’ll give him a little while to settle in, then see if we can acquire a first-hand description of our gift giver. In the meantime, would you pass me the coffee?”

  They donned jackets before they left the hotel, since they would be walking near the water. The dark waters lapped gently at the seawall. On a different occasion, she would have enjoyed listening to it. Uncle Percival was making that difficult.

  “Remember that you’re my niece, but also my assistant. So, look officious. I’m sure the Army trained you to do that.”

  “Among other things. I’m still surprised that the watchman bought that line about your being in insurance. If he talks to the people in the Club, he’s going to know he’s been bamboozled.”

  “I said officious, not pessimistic.”

  They climbed onto the walkway of the basin. Cornelia took her torch out of her purse in case it was needed. She’d brought her service revolver for the same reason. The professor had his cane and, one assumed, his rapier wit.

  A few electric lights illuminated the slips where the yachts were moored, but once they left the orb of the street lamps, the torch proved useful. Wearing jackets had also been a wise move. The breeze coming off the water was much cooler than the night air.

  Most of the yachts had been abandoned for the evening, but a few still had people aboard them. Cornelia wondered if some owners lived on their boats like Harry, or if the marina permitted that.

  Uncle Percival patted her arm and pointed to a lone figure walking along the dock area that jutted into the water. “I believe that may be the man we need to interview.” He trod across the boards at a healthy clip, and Cornelia feared that he would stumble over one and fall into the water. “Slow down. He’s not trying to get away.”

  “No, but briskness keeps the blood moving when your limbs are cold.”

  “You have a point.” She increased her pace.

  The man stopped walking and waited for them to approach.

  “Good evening,” the professor said, not—quite—puffing. “Gene Cross?”

  “That’s me,” the young man replied. “Were you looking for me?”

  “Yes,” Pettijohn said. “Your daytime counterpart, Mr. Murray, referred me to you.”

  From behind them, a voice spoke. “We meet again, sir. Is this your niece?”

  They turned to see two men in raincoats.

  “Mr. Latterly,” the professor said. “How pleasant to see you again.”

  Latterly didn’t look like he felt the same way. “You lied to me, Mr. Pettijohn. Or should I say, Professor Percival Pettijohn?”

  Uncle Percival tugged at his collar. “I wouldn’t say it was a lie. More an omission.”

  “There was definitely an omission,” Lafferty said. “The gentleman with me is Tate Fowler, one of the managers of the marina.”

  Fowler tipped his trilby in greeting; the professor nodded in return.

  “You omitted the part about being the fiancé of a murderess,” Lafferty said. “Dragging me all over the grounds, sneaking in questions about marina security, hoping to find a loophole—”

  “Come, come,” Pettijohn said. “I was not looking for a loophole. I wanted to get more information than the newspapers provided, which, to be frank, made it sound like anyone could stroll in here and leave tainted garments for unsuspecting yachtsmen.”

  Cornelia bit her lip to keep from laughing; the watchman suppressed a chuckle.

  “That’s not so,” Fowler said. “And, as you’ve learned, you can’t lie your way into privileged information.”

  “I beg your pardon; the woman in question was in public view and this is a municipal waterfront. All I want is a firsthand eyewitness account. If you maintain that this is information the defense is not entitled to, I shall have Morgan Cosgrove request a deposition from the witness through the court system.”

  Gene Cross didn’t look particularly happy about this notion. Neither did the other two men.

  “Very well,” Fowler said. “Although I think the Evening Independent was prepared to describe the woman down to her”—he glanced at Cornelia—“perfume. Our staff noticed the woman climbing onto the vessel. They approached to ensure that she was not a thief or some form of adventuress. When she descended promptly from the vessel sans her package, Cross investigated. He went on board to check the item and saw that it was a captain’s cap, an item quite common around here. We saw no reason to investigate further.”

  “Since the item was left with a card from the Yacht Club?

  That struck a sore spot with Lafferty. “No!” he snapped, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Any nincompoop could have written our name on a card! Honestly, if we had sent him a gift, I would have simply walked to the dock and delivered it by hand to save time and money.”

  “Of course you would have,” the professor said soothingly. “Perhaps, then, Mr. Cross could tell us more about the woman who delivered the cap.”

  “Everything I know, I told the police,” the watchman said.

  “Mr. Cosgrove will collect those reports, but perhaps I have different questions,” Pettijohn said. “What time did she arrive?”

  “Around two-thirty or so.”

  “Around two-thirty. Could you be more exact?”

  Cross sighed. “No sir, I was working at the time, not checking my watch.”

  “She was described as having pale hair. Was it blonde, white, or silver?”

  “I told the police I couldn’t see her hair at all,” Cross said, “just the cap. The reporters kept pushing me to guess, and a female one asked if she had light or dark eyebrows. I said they weren’t dark. That’s all I said, sir.”

  “In other words, they made a deduction.”

  “More like a guess, in my opinion,” the watchman said.

  “Now, if that’s all …” Fowler said.

  Cornelia edged closer. “Was she carrying a cane?”

  The local men looked at her as if she’d sprouted another head.

  “Oh yes,” her uncle said. “The descriptions from the press disagree. Did she carry a cane?”

  “She was twi
rling it,” Cross replied. “Like it was a toy.”

  “So, it was decorative.”

  “Not like yours, sir. It had the usual hook handle.”

  “There you go, questions answered,” Fowler said. “Cross, please ensure that Mr. Pettijohn and his niece get off the property safely. He has no vessel moored here.”

  “And I will thank you not to return to the Yacht Club, sir,” Lafferty added.

  “Come along, Cornelia,” the professor said. “Clearly, we will be joining the Power Boat Association instead.”

  Once they were back in their suite, Cornelia grumbled, “Well, that was embarrassing.”

  Pettijohn was also unamused. “At least we confirmed that she had a cane,” he said, rubbing one of his knees.

  “It won’t free Teddy.” Cornelia debated parking the car on the street again, then decided on the valet service to spare her uncle’s legs. They were both exhausted. She nosed the Dodge into the entrance of the Vinoy.

  “It makes it more evident that Theodora is being framed,” the professor said. “The woman went to the trouble of being noticed with a cane. She’s made a few errors, though; Theodora doesn’t have a cane with a hook handle, and she always draws her eyebrows on before going out into public.”

  That doesn’t help much, Cornelia thought. We need to prove she was somewhere else entirely.

  Chapter seventeen

  Teddy paced along the side of the cell facing the corridor. Her second night in captivity, with more to come. Tomorrow was Friday, and unless something miraculous happened, she would be stuck here over the weekend. Lord, she could use a drink. Her head was killing her. Worse, her cough had returned. The sea air was delightful when the sun shone, but at night it was cold and clammy.

  “Hey, Curly, how about you sit down?” one of her cellmates said. “You remind me of a baboon at the zoo.”

  Teddy stopped and hugged herself, rubbing her arms. They felt shaky. She felt shaky. She also wished she were still alone, but the accommodations for female prisoners were limited. An hour earlier, the police had deposited two suspected prostitutes in the cell with her. Just like men, to take the lion’s share of the cells and expect the murderesses and pro skirts to share quarters.

  “If you think it’s cold here,” the woman said, “be glad ya weren’t out with us. That wind gets cold at dusk.”

  “I’m not cold,” Teddy said, “Merely a little nervous.”

  “Sit down, you’re giving me the heebie-jeebies,” the woman said again. “What’s your name?”

  “Teddy.”

  “I’m Minnie.” Minnie was a skinny woman with a frizzy bob in the no-man’s-land between brown and blonde.

  Teddy plopped down beside her and sighed. Her stomach hurt.

  “So,” the woman said, “Haven’t seen you before. You’re pretty dolled up. Where are you working?”

  “Oh, I don’t work any longer,” Teddy said. “I’m a pensioner.”

  “You have a pension? Who did you work for?” Minnie asked.

  “The Army,” Teddy replied, then realized what Minnie was talking about and burst into laughter. “Oh, how dreadful that sounds.”

  “So do we,” the second woman, shorter and rounder, said. “The Army, the Navy, the Pipefitter’s Union…”

  “I was a nurse,” Teddy said. “But I’m sure your service is appreciated.”

  The women guffawed, but it wasn’t ill-natured. Not entirely, at least.

  “So, whatcha doing in here? A raid at the tea room?”

  “No. I’m afraid I’m in for murder.”

  The women’s eyes widened.

  “Murder? Who’d ya kill?”

  Teddy shook her head. “I didn’t. All I did was slap him. And kick him once.”

  “Who was he?”

  “I used to be engaged to him.”

  “Oh.” Minnie jabbed Teddy with her elbow. “Served him right, I bet.”

  The night wore on, and Teddy felt like she was getting worn down with it. Her stomach was in knots, and she was unable to eat what the matron called ‘dinner’. Her cellmates, who had grown to three, were snoozing in their seats, which allowed Teddy to pace to her heart’s discontent.

  The cough was worsening. She was surprised that the other women could sleep through the noise. Teddy remembered lying in a hospital bed after the gas attack, the nurse gasping for air alongside her patients. The gasping and choking echoed in the ward, which only ended when death brought peace.

  Down the corridor, a door opened and closed. Men’s voices murmured, and she was jolted out of the gruesome reverie. She knew one of those voices.

  “Chago!” she whispered, rushing to the bars. “Chago!”

  Santiago Aldama, as dapper as she remembered, turned at the hiss. His smile was brilliant, then confused. “Miss Teddy?”

  He turned back to the matron. “The ladies over there. May I speak to them?”

  She nodded, and the gangster approached the cell. He clasped Teddy’s hand in his. “Miss Teddy, how did you get here? Did they catch you in a raid?”

  “No,” she said, “I’ve stayed sharp. There’s been a horrible misunderstanding, though. And I feel so awful.”

  He looked at her intently, then released her hand. He moved to block the view of the matron and produced a flask from his vest.

  “Oh, Chago, you’re so sweet,” Teddy murmured before taking a long swig. Rum, bracing and fiery, rushed down her throat and into her body, filling it with heat that went down to the toes. Her stomach clenched one more time, then released, sending her blood back to her brain.

  “Where is your friend?” he asked, taking the flask back. He shook it briefly; it was empty. He put it away. “And her uncle?”

  “They’re off trying to help me,” she said, standing a little taller. “They know I’m innocent. All I did was slap him. Well, I kicked him too, but that was later.”

  Chago briefly glanced back at the matron. “Is she the one who checked you in?”

  “No, that one went home before they served the gruel and water.”

  He turned to the uniformed woman, who was watching them with a mildly interested expression. “Ma’am,” Chago said. “All the ladies in this cell, they are employees of Mr. Wall.”

  “You mean those are his professional skirts.”

  “No, ma’am, these are the showgirls from his casino. Minnie, Juanita, wake up,” he said. “I’m paying bail for all of them.”

  The woman pointed at Teddy. “Isn’t she a little long in the tooth for a showgirl?”

  “Oh no, ma’am, she’s their dance instructor.”

  “I could show you my can-can,” Teddy offered.

  “I’d rather not see,” the woman grumbled.

  Teddy looked hurt. “I do a charming can-can.”

  The matron rolled her eyes and walked away.

  Chago escorted the women to a black Oldsmobile Six. He offered the front passenger seat to Teddy. “Which hotel am I taking you to, senorita?”

  Teddy ached to be back with Cornelia, snug in the bed, but that wouldn’t do. If Knaggs had any brains—and she was sure he did—he would head for the Vinoy as soon as the matron discovered her mistake and alerted the authorities. With a thrill, she realized that she was on the lam. “No hotel. I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  “Can she make up her mind in the car?” Minnie said. “I’m freezing on the hoof.”

  Teddy, abashed, quickly got in. She’d forgotten how much less her cellmates were wearing. “I’m so sorry, ladies. Let’s get warm.”

  The women got themselves situated, while Chago started the car and turned on the floor heater. “Okay, no more complaining. Where am I taking you, Miss Teddy?”

  “Well, is there a club near here?”

  The Cuban laughed. “You don’t know where they all are by now?”

  “We’ve only been here a short time,” Teddy said. “The only club I’ve seen was the Gangplank.”

  “Ah,” He put the car in gear, no longer
smiling.

  Clearly, this wasn’t one of his boss’ clubs. She had made a faux pas. They drove silently out of the lights and turned down a darker street. Teddy decided that she needed to get back into Chago’s good graces. He had, after all, ransomed her out of prison and provided her with the elixir of life.

  “You know,” she said in an offhanded tone, “the clubs here are set up so cleverly. They’ve planned in advance for police raids.”

  “You don’t say.” Chago’s eyes were still on the road. He turned from Fourth Street North and headed into an unfamiliar neighborhood, giving a wide berth to a pair of zozzled young men.

  “I love the secret exit at the Gangplank,” she added. “It reminds me of a pirate story.”

  Chago finally looked her way. “How did you find this secret exit?” he asked in an equally casual tone.

  “Oh, there was a raid. They had the flashing lights, of course, but then I saw the barkeep running towards the chimney with a ledger. I figured he knew what he was doing, so I followed him. When we got there, he ducked into a tunnel, and I kept on his heels.”

  The Cuban finally laughed again. “Miss Teddy, you really are an adventuress. You could have gotten stuck, or worse, he could have become angry with you.”

  “He wasn’t pleased, that was for sure. But there was no time for him to chastise me, what with the police nearby. So, he ran for his boat instead.”

  “You were near the water, then?”

  She had him hooked. “Yes, it was in the trees near the dock. It was a clever escape route, and I daresay it would be a useful way to bring goods into the club, too.”

  “That’s a real smart setup, then,” Chago said. “Maybe I should check it out for myself sometime.”