by Gwen Mayo
Professor Pettijohn stopped to get gasoline at a service station near Sarasota, where bold signs informed him that he was buying Krimsun Gas, colored red for easy identification. While the attendant was busy with the Dodge, he purchased a Squeeze soda and asked the man inside if he had a map of the city for sale.
“I’m sorry that we don’t, sir. Are you needing directions to a place in particular? I have a map you can look at. Are you here to see the circus?”
“Not on this visit, I’m sorry to say. But I would be most obliged if you would let me see your map.”
“I should warn you,” the man said, “that there’s new places that aren’t on here. They keep building.” The man produced a well-worn map and spread it out for Pettijohn to see. The professor studied the map, memorizing it for future use. He was searching for a woman he’d never met in a city he’d never seen and needed all the information he could get.
“It’s still more than I had, young man. Thank you for your assistance.”
The drive into Sarasota took him past herds of cattle and sprouting farm fields. Strawberry fields and broccoli seedlings reminded him in some ways of Kentucky, but swamp land, sand pines, and cabbage palms prevented the illusion from being complete. Brackish backwater from the mouth of the Manatee River formed a birding paradise. He felt a twinge of guilt for taking both Cornelia’s automobile and her field glasses. His poor niece had envisioned their Florida trip as days of birdwatching and peaceful walks on the waterfront. Her leave was near its end, and she hadn’t had peace or rest.
Once he was past the river, he started seeing more farms. Before long, he began passing houses and shops, indicating his nearness to a population center. He began cross-referencing the street signs with the names from the map and found his way into downtown Sarasota.
La Mode, located on Main Street, was the milliner’s shop that had checked Rena’s references. With luck, she would be working there.
He was without luck. The manager told him that they had hired a different applicant. The professor considered this unfair, given the trouble he’d gone to so far.
He gave the manager the same story he’d given to Berber, about the death in Rena’s family and his need to locate her.
The woman relented and located Rena Orlov’s application. “She was staying with a friend at the Frances-Carlton Apartments. It’s not hard to find them—head west on Main Street and turn right on Palm. You might be able to make inquiries there.”
Pettijohn, who could read upside down, already had the street address and apartment number. Sadly, there was no telephone information. He offered his thanks and left.
This is a fool’s errand, Cornelia thought, and I’m just the fool to do it. She’d visited store after store during Teddy’s expedition, but now she was looking for one blade of grass in a field of feminine wheat. She started with the concierge station, where she had to plead her case to a day man that was well acquainted with the notoriety Teddy had heaped on the hotel. She explained that her uncle had tasked her with finding a captain’s cap while he conducted business in Sarasota. It was close enough to the truth.
The gentleman looked skeptical, but provided her with a few suggestions, including the Yacht Club. She requested additional information about local men’s stores and haberdasheries, leading to the displeasure of waiting guests who had come to the Vinoy for simple tourism. Cornelia ignored them and dutifully recorded the names and locations, giving the concierge a hefty tip afterward for his consideration.
Cornelia exited the hotel and crossed to the trolley stop. She boarded and took a seat, placing her purse in her lap. She did not hear the car start nearby and pull away from the curb. Nor did she see the Roadster that crept out of its hiding place under the trees of Vinoy Park, trailing behind her intrepid trackers.
The Frances-Carlton Apartments were built in the Mediterranean style with a Spanish flair, like most of the newer buildings he’d seen since arriving in Florida. The stucco was darker than most, though, trimmed in white. He crossed the lawn and explored until he’d figured out the numbering system. Bringing his cane had been a wise decision—he’d done a good deal of walking and standing the last few days.
He located the right apartment and knocked on the door. He waited.
No answer, but he could hear some sort of noise from inside.
Pettijohn pulled his hearing device out of his pocket and held it against the wood. A Victrola played strains of “Nobody’s Sweetheart Now.” The tinny recording accompanied by an off-key version of the tune emanated from the apartment. He knocked again.
Still no answer. Perhaps the gusto of the singer muffled the sound of his knock. If he could hear the music over her rendition of the song, the volume was likely set as high as the Victrola would go.
He pocketed the device and walked around the bushes to one of the arched windows. It gave him a view of a pleasant sitting room with chairs and a pink sofa. No people, though. The professor tapped the glass, but he saw no movement in response.
The next window, around the corner of the building, was less broad and possibly belonged to a kitchen. He didn’t see anyone, so he continued along the wall.
The curtains were drawn together at the next window, and the music had become louder. He might have to rap rather loudly to draw attention to himself. Then, something crunchy hit him in the back.
“I knew it!” the woman said when he turned around. She was nearly as tall as him, slightly gawky, and armed with a broom. “What are you doing peeping into my window, you degenerate lout?”
“I was not peeping!” the professor protested. “I was looking for the person who resides here!”
“And you found her, didn’t you?” She swung the broom, and he blocked it with his cane. “You should be ashamed of yourself, spying on defenseless women!”
“You seem far from defenseless, madam!” the elderly professor retorted as he blocked another blow and considered making a break for it. Unfortunately, she was much younger than he was. Worse, she was driving him into a recess between the buildings.
“Please, Miss Orlov, I implore you”—he ducked—“to listen to me! I came to see you on a matter of great importance!”
She stepped back and rested the broom on her shoulder. “Miss Orlov? You came here for Rena?”
“Yes,” he said, puffing. He realized that this was not the woman he was looking for and surmised she must be the friend Rena was staying with. “We desperately need her help.”
“Shouldn’t you know what she looks like, if you need her help?”
“It would have helped,” he replied, “but I wasn’t shopping for hats that day. Is she here?”
“She’s working at Cecelia’s on Main Street.”
“My apologies, then.” He bent and picked up his fedora, which had gone flying after the first blow. “Please let me leave in peace, and I shall try not to trouble you again.”
She let him pass but shouted at his retreating backside. “Tell Rena that I expect a full explanation of why you came here—and I still think you were peeping!”
Chapter Nineteen
Cornelia had been assigned the wrong job. She drew stares whenever she entered a men’s store, even glares, as if she were a German soldier entering a Parisian shop. Most of the visits were mercifully short. The men’s stores downtown tended to leave the sale of captain’s caps to the Yacht Club, and she received that recommendation again and again.
Excitement stirred in her when she saw a shop window on Second Street that displayed captain’s caps. She strode in, ignoring the surprise she’d become accustomed to generating.
“I’m interested in a recent sale you may have had,” she said to one of the workers, indicating the window.
“Oh, the sale’s still on, ma’am,” the young man said. “Which hat do you think your husband would fancy?”
Cornelia tried to turn her grimace into a smile. “My niece gave my husband a captain’s cap for his birthday, but it isn’t in his size. I’m trying t
o find out where she purchased it, so we can make an exchange.”
“She didn’t tell you where she got it?”
“No, I’m afraid not. And she left on the train to Kentucky this morning. After she departed, my husband decided that it was too tight. We don’t want to hurt her feelings by letting her know we had to exchange it.”
“Oh, I see. How long ago?”
“Probably last week. I really wish she’d asked me his hat size.” The lies were coming more easily now; visiting Florida was eroding her moral standards. Either that, or it was the company she was keeping these days.
“Yes, that would have been best. I don’t think I’ve sold anything to a woman recently, but I can ask the manager. Could you describe your niece?”
No, I need you to describe her, she thought. “She’s tall,” Cornelia said, remembering the news accounts. “Fair-haired. She got a new bob last week, so I can’t tell you how long it was.”
The young man toddled off to speak to his superior; when he returned, the manager was with him.
“The police were in earlier this week asking about a woman who purchased a captain’s hat,” he said. “Their description was similar. Why are you asking?”
A word from the barracks flitted through her mind, but she didn’t say it. “I’m asking on my own behalf. I would be happy to compensate you for your trouble.”
“Out,” he said. “Out of my shop. We have seen no such woman.”
Cornelia left, cheeks reddened with humiliation.
The Pettijohn woman scrambled away from the men’s store. Her face was red; something had embarrassed her. Maybe she’d learned something uncomplimentary about her aunt-to-be. Evelyn slid her remaining sandwich back into its bag.
“Those Pettijohns are a dogged pair, I have to grant them that.”
“I feel sorry for the niece,” Bobby said. “I learned that she served with Theodora Lawless for a long time. They must have been great friends before the engagement; otherwise, I doubt she would go to so much trouble now.”
“Sweet little Teddy is using both her and the old coot to weasel out of this. She knew Daddy would set that professor straight. He’s been in his ivory tower so long that anything in a dress would turn his head.”
“I beg to differ,” Bobby replied. “I also did a little research on Professor Pettijohn, and he’s been in jail a number of times.”
Evelyn lifted one carefully shaped eyebrow. “Really? Whatever for? Boring someone to death?”
“Usually for disturbing the peace. He’s an inventor of sorts.” Bobby leaned closer. “But he was recently released from the jail in Inverness. A land agent was killed, and he was the main suspect.”
“He was suspected of murder?”
“Ab-so-lute-ly. They arrested someone else, but she was a chum of the family. Miss Cornelia even organized a letter writing effort to persuade the governor to grant clemency.”
Evelyn raised the glasses to inspect their prey again. “I didn’t think he had it in him. Maybe he and his fiancée kill people for fun. What about the niece?”
“She’s been in the Army all this time. Awarded all sorts of medals.”
“Maybe she’s the white sheep,” Evelyn said.
Both women giggled, hands covering their mouths.
The next shopkeeper had the impertinence to ask Cornelia why she hadn’t tried the Yacht Club first, and she retorted that they didn’t have all sizes in stock. He made the most useful suggestion then: why not check with the yacht dealers? A captain’s cap would be a nice additional sale.
She thanked him with real gratitude and walked out.
The niece was on the street again and checking a trolley schedule. Evelyn lowered the opera glasses and restarted the car.
“Maybe she’s giving up for the day; an old lady like her must be exhausted after all that walking.”
“She’s wearing the right shoes for it,” Bobby said. “Although those Oxfords are a few years out of date.”
“They go with that bag,” Evelyn sneered. “It’s almost big enough to be a vanity case, not that I’ve ever seen her made up. Her pal Teddy is the face stretcher.”
Bobby took the opera glasses and peered through them. “Heavy leather; looks sturdy. I think it might be Army issue.”
“She marched through Paris with that and no one said anything?”
Both women covered their mouths to muffle their laughs. A trolley rolled to the nearby stop and Cornelia Pettijohn got on. When it began moving again, Evelyn prodded the sedan into motion. The women were too intent on their surveillance of Cornelia to notice that when they passed the Manhattan Market, the Roadster fell in behind them again.
Cornelia’s trolley turned north, but she got off at the corner and walked across the street to wait for a southbound one. Evelyn turned onto a side street to keep from being spotted. The two women circled the block and found a parking spot with a clear view of the trolley stop.
“That was close,” Bobby said as she fished around in the floor of the sedan to find the opera glasses. “Wonder where she’s headed this time?”
Evelyn shook her head. “No men’s stores this way. Maybe she’s headed back to the yacht club. They’ll have her ears burning if she goes there again.”
They didn’t have much time to speculate. Cornelia caught the next car and was headed down Bayshore.
Mitch hung back and gave his rival reporter time to trail Cornelia before pulling from the alley he’d ducked into. He still didn’t know why Bobby was dogging Cornelia. He liked the strong-jawed woman, but couldn’t think of anyone less interesting for the society pages. Still, if that poodle Bobby wanted to pretend to be a bloodhound, he’d better keep an eye on her.
Cornelia got off in the area near the new port. There were half a dozen businesses selling boats of one sort or another. The light had begun to slant over the waves, but she wouldn’t stop until she found someone who could identify the mystery woman. Teddy’s life might depend on it, even if Uncle Percival did find the woman from Berber’s. She pushed open the door of the nearest dealer, took a deep breath, and walked in.
She was repeating her gift story for what seemed like the umpteenth time when she heard:
“As I live and breathe, it’s the Iron Petticoat!”
Cornelia turned to see a man limping towards her. Something about him was familiar, but he was heavy-set and too gray-haired for her to place him immediately. Then, she saw the scar on his temple, and it fell into place.
She smiled for what felt like the first time in a year. “Corporal Farrell? It’s been such a long time.”
He grinned. “Sergeant Farrell by the time I retired. It’s been a long time since I was under your care in Cuba.”
“Yes, it has. You seem to have picked up a new injury when I wasn’t watching.”
Farrell’s mouth pursed in confusion, then relaxed. “Oh, yes. I was part of the Railway Regiment at Cambrai, and we were called to the front. Got trench foot first thing and was mustered out. Are you still serving?”
“Yes, it is Captain Pettijohn these days. Now that Congress has decided to grant nurses pensions based on years of service though, I’ve decided to retire. I’ll be mustering out myself in a few months.”
“And your friend, Nurse Teddy? Did she marry that captain that was chasing her, or is she still serving, too?”
“She served through most the Great War. She was gassed at Verdun and had to retire on a disability pension.”
“I’m terribly sorry. She was such a nice woman, and such gusto. Being around her cheered everybody up. How is she doing now?”
He’d given her the perfect opening. “She’s here, but she’s in a lot of trouble, Sergeant Farrell. I could use your help.”
“She’s been in there for some time,” Evelyn said. “It’s almost dark. Do you think there’s another exit? Maybe she’s tumbled onto us.”
“I think one of us would have spotted her leaving,” Bobby replied. “She’s hard to miss. Maybe she’s tumbled
onto something else.”
Cornelia sat in the office of the dealership while Corporal—no, Sergeant—Farrell made phone calls. She warmed her hands with a mug of coffee. It was awful enough for Army fare, which was strangely comforting.
“Hello, Tommy? This is Elmer over at Farrell Brothers’ Yachts. I’m looking for a lady who bought a captain’s cap maybe ten days ago. Oh, well, that woman is here. I know her, and she’s jake. She’s an Army nurse. Anyone you didn’t mention? Thanks, I’ll let you get back to it.”
Wars were strange; they separated some people but drew others together. Farrell’s life had been in their hands decades ago, but he hadn’t forgotten. She remembered his young face, not so different from the doughboys she’d tended in the Great War, and the good heart he’d clearly never lost.
The sergeant was gesturing to her now. “When was she in? Friday before last? Wait, I want to have Captain Pettijohn speak to you.”
The old nurse was at his side in seconds. He gave her the earpiece, and she leaned in to speak. “Hello, this is Cornelia Pettijohn.”
“This is Ralph Mercer from Westshore Yachts. I had a woman buy a captain’s cap Friday before last. She said it was a birthday gift. Knew the size and everything.”
“Did it have the burgee of the Yacht Club on it?”
“Yes. We sew them on to a few of the caps we sell. Sort of a little something extra to sweeten the deal for members.”
Cornelia swallowed before asking her next question. “Could you describe this woman?”
“Let’s see. She was around thirty, bleached hair, dressed nice. Pretty tall.”
“Anything else?”
“There was a little gap between her front teeth, but not bad. Made her look a little saucy, which she probably was going for.”