by Gwen Mayo
“Not tonight, please,” Minnie said from the back. “I need to go home and put my feet in Epsom salts.”
The poor woman; jail was hardly a place where she could put her feet up. “Is there a club close to here, Chago?” Teddy asked. “I need more sustenance.”
“The Candlelight Club is a fine place, and not far from here,” Chago said. “Or I could take you back to Tampa with me.”
She was genuinely touched. “I am flattered you would ask,” she said. “But I’m so hot you could get in trouble for helping me as much as you have.”
“Since I found you in jail, you’re probably right,” he replied. “What did they get you on, anyway?”
She opened her mouth, but Minnie replied for her. “Murder.”
“Murder?” Her rescuer turned to her, and Teddy nodded. “I can’t imagine you hurting someone on purpose.”
“Oh, I could murder someone if I had to. But I didn’t do it, even though I had good reason to strangle the rat.”
They were traveling through the jungle north of the urban center now, where they could only see as far as the car’s headlights, which lit up the fronds of cabbage palms and the ghostly drapes of Spanish beards from the trees.
The Candlelight Club was located near the shore. Across the bay, Teddy could see the lights of Tampa.
“Are you sure this is where you want me to leave you?” Chago inquired. “Not back at your hotel with your friends?”
“Yes,” Teddy said. “I’m so grateful to you, Chago. I’ll repay you for the bail when I can walk into a Western Union again.”
“De nada,” he replied. “Here’s a couple more bucks for the cover charge. You watch after yourself.”
The bouncer at the door looked a little surprised to see a silver-haired woman among the shebas clutching their pearls, but her money was equally green.
Teddy headed directly for the bar. The cocktail special for the night was the Bees’ Knees. It was sweet, cool, and brought peace in its wake, even if it bore the tang of bathtub gin mixed with the real thing. It was also gone too quickly.
She stood at the counter, shuffling through the change that Chago had left her. “Could I get one leg of a Bee’s Knees?” she asked.
The barkeep snickered. “Sorry, lady, it’s either a regular cocktail or no cocktail. Maybe someone will spot you a couple of nickels.”
Teddy looked at the piano, currently empty. Behind it and several instruments, she saw that the musicians were smoking. “What if I played some songs?”
“We already have musicians,” he sneered.
“They’re on break. Could I play a little, and see if I get some tips?”
“You’re going to have to ask them, not me.”
She approached the three men, who stood and straightened their jackets. “Excuse me, but could I play a song on the piano? I could really use some change for giggle water.”
They looked at one another. “Yeah,” one said. “We got another fifteen before we go on again. This bunch don’t like choir music, though.”
“Drat, and I meant to lead them in a singalong of “Ave Maria.””
This left them laughing. She climbed the steps of the stage, wiped the moisture out of her glass with a napkin, and set it on the piano.
Teddy looked around at the crowd, then struck up “Everybody Stomp”. The young people immediately started to dance, while the older ones tapped their toes. She put real flair into her playing, doing flourishes and glissandos.
When she finished, there was clapping. She raised her glass and announced, “Will someone give me a few coins for a drink?”
A young man tossed a few pennies in, and she laughed. “Thank you, kind sir. What would you like to hear?”
“Can you do ‘Charley, My Boy’?” the lad asked.
Years spent in speakeasies had made Teddy familiar with a great number of popular songs, so she started right up.
Afterward, more coins landed in her glass. She noticed some older listeners, and launched into “Goodbye Broadway, Hello France”, a song from the Great War. This netted her a couple of bills. She played “Over There” while they sang, then realized that her fifteen minutes had passed long ago.
She took some bills from her boodle and handed them to the musicians. “Thank you for the piano rental,” she said.
A gentleman from a crowded table waved to her as she waited for her next drink at the bar—another Bees’ Knees, which she had decided was delicious. “Come sit with us, ma’am.”
Horns announced the beginning of “Bugle Call Blues”. Teddy strolled to the table, where a chair had already been stolen for her. The men and women at this table were older than most of the patrons in the club. Her host, the gentleman who had issued the invitation, had hair almost as silver as hers.
“It was a real pleasure to hear you play, Mrs.…?”
“Miss. Miss …” She shouldn’t give her full name. “Call me Teddy.”
“Okay, Teddy, I’m Ralph Shires. This is Miss Smith, this is Mrs. Akers, that’s Mike Hill … oh, why don’t the rest of you introduce yourselves?”
The rest of the people at the table gave their names, sometimes adding compliments on the music. Teddy accepted them gratefully. From the way Ralph spoke for the group, and from the more conservative clothing they wore, she decided that they probably had come directly from a place of work.
“Are you all from the same office?” she asked.
“Yes,” Ralph said. “We’re having a celebration of sorts tonight.”
“A profitable week?”
“Well, yes, but—you may think this is rotten of us, but the owner of our building was the fellow who died in that yacht race, the one in the papers. He was going to sell it, and we were looking for a new place we could afford. Office space downtown costs a king’s ransom to rent or buy. Anyway, the son told us today that the sale is off. It’s good for us, but bad the way it happened.”
Teddy nodded. “They call that serendipity.”
“Then let’s celebrate the serendipity,” Mike Hill said, and raised his glass.
There were more drinks after that, and the company was congenial. It was a shame Cornelia wasn’t here with her. She would’ve enjoyed the war songs. Teddy couldn’t go back to the hotel, though. Why was that? Her head was fuzzy.
Her reverie was interrupted by flashing lights and a scramble of customers for the exit.
Alas, there was no secret tunnel in this bar—at least not one she knew of. As the police approached, she tossed down the last of her beverage and held out her hands.
Chapter Eighteen
The jail was packed. The surprise raid on the club had come off unusually well, which meant that at least one police employee on Charlie Wall’s dole was going to feel his wrath. The patrons had been crammed into the cells with little regard for their personal comfort; the only divisions had been by race and gender.
By the time Joe Knaggs showed up to question his murder suspect, the angry voices of outraged elite and the weeping of first-timers had subsided. The grumbles of cramped prisoners and groans from the hung over had replaced them. He ignored the noises; he’d heard worse from soldiers who had a real reason to complain.
The matron for the women’s cells resembled her charges: hair and clothing mussed and grumbling between yawns. Her kohl-rimmed eyes reminded him of the raccoons he’d hunted as a boy. He suspected that the woman slept at her post when the officers weren’t around.
“Mrs. Reed,” he said sharply, and was rewarded with increased alertness on her part. “I’m here to speak to Miss Theodora Lawless.” She would probably be more tractable this morning, after spending a second night in jail. He might even get a confession.
“Miss Lawless, Miss Lawless,” The matron ran a finger down the rows of the intake book. There were a great number of new entries since the bust at the club. “Prostitution or public drunkenness?”
“Neither. Murder.”
“Oh. She must have come in on Elsie’s shift. I’d
remember murder.”
“I certainly hope so.”
The matron clearly remembered something; she suddenly seemed guarded. “It says here that Miss Lawless was released last night.”
Knaggs’ face became one huge scowl. “What do you mean, she was released? Who released her?”
Mrs. Reed flushed and flipped the book pages back and forth, barely bothering to glance at them. “She was one of Charlie Wall’s working women. A guy came to bail them out.”
“And you made an assumption that every female was in for one of two things?”
“No,” she said. “He told me she was one of the women. A dance instructor for the showgirls.”
His eyes narrowed. “One of Wall’s men told you that?”
“Yeah, a Cuban guy. He paid for her bail.”
“I want to see the sheet,” Knaggs said. “I want his name, who else left with her, the whole shebang.”
“I’m looking. Things got hot after midnight in here,” she said.
“Dingbat,” Knaggs muttered. He paced as he waited. This case had been a headache from the beginning. Each time he had things in order, one of them moved. Mostly that Lawless woman; she seemed to be a bundle of contradictions.
When his path took him past the cells stuffed with the no longer ossified female patrons of the Candlelight Club, a familiar voice called out.
“Good morning, Detective Knaggs! Are you here to grill me again?”
He stopped in his tracks and stared. “There you are!” How had he missed her in that crowd? She was the only woman in the cell with silver hair, and, more importantly, the only one who was smiling. If anything, she looked more cheerful than when he had put her in.
“Stop looking,” he shouted to the matron. “She’s in with the drunks.”
“Oh, oh, yes!” the matron replied quickly. “It must have been a different lady the guy bailed out. The officers put the newcomers in her cell because we ran out of room. I must have gotten my paperwork confused. But there she is.”
There she is, Knaggs thought. Now, what to do with her?
Percival awoke early Friday morning. He shut off all three of his alarm clocks, which were set for eight a.m. Much as he wished Saint Petersburg had provided a true vacation, it really hadn’t. Yesterday’s disappointing finds made today’s that much more important.
During the night, the solution had come to him in a dream, like so many mechanical solutions had. Go to Sarasota and find the Rena woman. Convince her to come back with him to testify on Teddy’s behalf, and set Teddy free. Cornelia would be so pleased with this, that she would surely forgive him for stealing her car.
He collected the newspaper articles he had saved concerning Teddy, and tucked a picture of Teddy and Cornelia in his pocket. These would be necessary for persuasion, since he didn’t expect her to take an unknown man, however charming, at his word.
Now for the note to his niece. Whatever he wrote would infuriate her, that he knew. But how happy she would be if he returned with a witness to Teddy’s innocence! Perhaps he should awaken Cornelia and invite her to come along, but she really needed to work on accruing information and evidence here, especially if he was unable to find the woman from the hat shop. No sense in wasting both their days.
Dearest Cornelia:
Please accept my apologies in advance for borrowing your car. I have left for Sarasota to search for Rena, our best witness for Teddy’s time apart from us last Saturday. I’m leaving you some money
He stopped, checked his wallet, and set some bills on the table beside the couch in the sitting room.
I’m leaving you some money for the trolley, and for expenses you may incur during your investigation today. I recommend that you work backward from the incident on the yacht and focus on the captain’s cap. Where did our Mystery Woman acquire it? I suggest beginning with specialty shops and men’s stores. If necessary, visit the Yacht Club. Technically, I was banned, not you.
Proving our Theodora innocent is only half of the equation, of course. If you have time, look further into motives for the Stevens family members. I presume it is one of the women; neither Mac nor Mr. Downs are of proper proportion to wear such a disguise.
This note was running a little longer than he had planned, but it would provide her with multiple avenues of action.
He left it on the table next to the money and slipped out the door.
Once he was downstairs, he went to the dining room and persuaded the hostess to provide him with a cup of coffee and an egg sandwich. He dealt with the meal quickly, watching the entrances for signs of an irate Cornelia. Afterwards, he went to the valet station and requested that they bring “the family’s” Dodge Touring Sedan.
His first stop was the hat shop. The Berber’s sign still hung above the store, but there was a placard in the front window announcing, “Under New Management”. It wasn’t open yet, but he could see movement inside. A woman was putting things in order for the new day. He tapped on the window, which brought no response. He tried knocking on the door next, and then rapping on the jamb with his cane.
The woman inside realized that the man outside, who resembled Santa Claus, was not going to leave, so she came to the door and indicated the ‘Closed’ card.
“My dear lady, it is most urgent that I speak to someone here.”
The young woman gave him a dimpled smile. “We’re not open for another hour. Please come then.”
His response was to take a ten-dollar bill and press it against the glass.
Her eyes widened. “Are you going to a wedding this morning or something?”
“No, but I desperately need your assistance.”
She relented and opened the door.
He entered and pressed the bill into her hand. “Thank you. I’m afraid that a member of my club passed away last night, and I need to contact his niece. His name was Donnelly, but hers wasn’t. I don’t know what it is, but I believe she works here. She’s called Rena. I don’t know if that’s for Irene or Renata.”
“I’m afraid that Rena doesn’t work here any longer, sir. My father took over the store last week from the previous owner.” She rubbed the bill with her thumb. “I’m not sure I can help you. Do you want your money back?”
“If you, or your father, could help me contact the owner, you would still be of great assistance to me.”
After acquiring the phone number and address for Francis Berber, previous owner of Berber’s Hats, he headed there post haste. It was not necessary to crassly offer money to the newly-retired shopkeeper; the man was glad to help. The woman’s name was Rena Orlov, and she had left Saint Petersburg. He didn’t know exactly where she had moved to, but a shop in Sarasota had contacted him about her references. Pettijohn collected the information Berber provided, and thanked him effusively for his assistance.
Lafferty had mentioned a ferry to Bradenton. He discovered that the Fred B. Doty had an accommodating schedule and purchased passage for himself and the automobile on the paddlewheel steamer. Watching the flatbed barge make the crossing reminded him of younger days. It was much like the one the Army used to transport their surveillance balloon up and down the Potomac during the War Between the States.
He pushed those thoughts aside. This was no time to be drifting down a river of memories. There was a lady in need of rescue. He had to focus on Miss Teddy, who was now his fiancée, and the task at hand. During the wait for the launch, he was able to get directions to Sarasota from Piney Point, the landing dock on the other end of the trip.
The ferry ride granted a sweeping view of the bay. The waters near the shore were a rich turquoise and beryl, deepening to a sparkling cobalt when they passed the tip of Pinellas County. Pettijohn used his niece’s field glasses to study what remained of Fort DeSoto in the distance. Small sailboats floated nearby, carrying fishermen and pleasure seekers alike. The breeze coming off the water was cool, but the sunshine countered it nicely. Once the mess with the deceased Mr. Stevens was straightened out, this would be a
pleasant place to spend the rest of the winter.
Cornelia awoke much later than she had planned. She did her ablutions in the bathroom, got dressed, and entered the shared sitting room, ready for action. Uncle Percival wasn’t there; he had probably gone to breakfast without her. How considerate of him to let her sleep a little later!
After reading the letter, she revised her opinion. Sneaky little—he’d left her to do the hard work while he took a pleasant drive in the country. And when he arrived in Sarasota, he’d have the circus to play with, too. Meanwhile, he’d left her with a chore she could do, as if she were his assistant instead of his niece. And using the term ‘our’ Theodora! Fuming, Cornelia went downstairs to get smaller bills than the ones her uncle had left. Then, she went to breakfast. She wasn’t hungry, but she had a lot of walking ahead of her.
Evelyn circled the block, waiting for Cornelia Pettijohn to leave the hotel. The elderly uncle hadn’t been with her in the dining room this morning—perhaps he was tired from yesterday’s adventures, especially when they didn’t end well. Lafferty had been all apologies when Evelyn showed him the photo of the arrest with the Pettijohns in the background. No, he would never have assisted the professor if he’d known he was helping her father’s killer. He would definitely have words with the scheming old man that evening.
Today, she was better prepared for trailing those who would obstruct justice. Evelyn had ordered her father’s car from the valet, and she’d borrowed her mother’s opera glasses—was it still borrowing if she hadn’t bothered to ask, but knew her mother wasn’t going to be using them? She also had two pimiento cheese sandwiches in a bag in case she needed sustenance during her monitoring of the Pettijohn family.
Even better, she had a companion to pass the time. Arthur had his business to run, but Bobby Hornbuckle had nothing better to do than follow people around and gather information. Their goals weren’t the same, but she was more than happy to let Bobby have the scoop in exchange for help. She had to prevent those nosy Pettijohns from muddying the waters. The Lawless woman killed her father. Evelyn was going to make sure she paid dearly for her crime.