by Gwen Mayo
“Oh, my lord,” Mac said. “I forgot all about it after Dad died. What an idiot I was for not leaving it at the hotel desk in the first place!”
“Nonsense. The police are the idiots for not asking the entire family about what they’d found.”
“We need to tell them straightaway,” Mac said. “Let’s go back in and I’ll contact them now.”
“What happened last night with Lucy?” Shirley asked. “I thought you were going to see her the other day, not last night.”
“I did,” Cornelia said, “but I went back after I got a description of the woman who bought the captain’s cap. I meant to question her, but she decided to put up a fight instead.”
“She might have been involved with Ansel,” Shirley said. “I mentioned her once to him, since we were both in the same business, and he said something about her looking like a vixen but being a harpy in disguise.”
“Familiarity breeds contempt, where he’s concerned,” Teddy said. “Did you know he was going to sell the building out from under his tenants?”
Cornelia nearly dropped her cup, which she had been holding out for more milk. “He what?”
“When I went to The Candlelight Club, I met a group of people who were celebrating their continued residence in the Stevens Building,” Teddy said. “I don’t know the details, but Ansel was selling the building and told everyone they had to move.”
Shirley pursed her too-red lips. “Ooh! That would have put Lucy out on her ear, along with her staff.”
Cornelia was puzzled. “When did we visit The Candlelight Club, dear?”
“Oh, I found it on my own one afternoon when you were out,” her companion replied quickly. “The people I met said it was a real hardship to afford a new place downtown.”
“I can see why, with all the business in town,” Cornelia mused. “What would have happened to the Movie Star Gallery?”
“I have a good idea,” Anna Wheeler said. “I’ve wanted to move into downtown for quite a while, but we can’t afford it. Miss Rivers offers prices we couldn’t compete with for the cost of the location. She must have been a very special friend of Ansel Stevens to have a salon and staff that large.”
“How disappointing,” Teddy said.
“Disappointing?” Anna asked.
“That I went through all this because of money. So pedestrian.”
“You’re still going through it,” Cornelia reminded her. “Detective Knaggs says you have time you can’t account for.”
The other woman shifted, shuffling her feet. “I can account for it, but I don’t think Mr. Cosgrove would be pleased with how. Neither would young Violet nor Harry.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Tenants of the Vinoy nodded at Knaggs as he passed them in the lobby. He’d visited the hotel so many times in the past week, he should have booked a room there. The Stevens family wouldn’t be happy to see him again, but he needed all the information he could muster to find Miss Rivers. The single hairdresser he’d been able to find at home didn’t know much about her employer’s personal life. Her landlords might know more.
Evelyn Stevens’ fiancé answered the door. “Detective.”
“Mr. Downs,” Knaggs said. “May I come in?”
Downs looked behind him and, after a nod from Florence Stevens, let him into the suite.
“I apologize for troubling you again, ma’am,” the detective said, “but it is urgent that I locate a tenant of the Stevens Building.”
Florence glanced at her elder daughter, who said, “Lucy Rivers? We read about her in the paper this morning. Isn’t she in the hospital?”
“She was,” Knaggs said, “but she’s taken a powder. We were unable to question her last night, and we need to find her. I hoped you might have information in your files.”
“I don’t understand why you’re here,” Florence said. “Shouldn’t you have called my son? He’s at the airfield today.”
“I tried,” the detective confessed, “but no one is picking up the line.”
“She has an apartment near Mirror Lake,” Evelyn said. “I can get you the address from the office.”
The professor and Rena followed Mac’s car back to St. Petersburg in the sedan. It was a much faster trip when one was headed away from the beach.
Pettijohn’s blue eyes sparkled; he was all smiles. “Soon, we’ll have the ladies out, and we can put this terrible business behind us. I’m grateful that you came back with me, Miss Orlov; your testimony and Mac’s should be sufficient to end the matter.”
“I was glad to help,” she said. “So, when and where are you and Miss Teddy getting married?”
The car swerved. “Sorry, madam; a rabbit crossed our path. I’m afraid we haven’t set the date yet. We wanted to choose our home and, of course, find the right church to join.”
Rena slanted her eyes in his direction. “That makes sense,” she said. “I don’t remember seeing an engagement ring when I met her. Does she have one yet?”
“Do you know a good jeweler?”
When they arrived at the Stevens Building, Knaggs asked Evelyn and Arthur if Lucy’s car was among the ones parked in the lot or on the street.
“No, I don’t see it,” Evelyn said. “She usually parks somewhere along that wall, but her car isn’t here.”
“What sort of car does she drive?”
“A blue Oldsmobile,” she replied. “It’s rather new and smart-looking.”
“We’d better get that address,” the detective said.
Evelyn unlocked the side entrance of the building. The elevator was off, so they took the stairs to the second floor. After she located Lucy’s address, she and Arthur cooled their heels while Knaggs called the station with Lucy’s address and requested that officers be dispatched. “Call me back at—what is the number here, ma’am?”
A short time after, the phone rang. Knaggs answered, and frowned moments later. “Thank you. Tell Patrol they should start looking for a blue Oldsmobile with a young blonde woman at the wheel.”
He turned to the pair. “Miss Rivers isn’t at the apartment, but Sergeant Duncan believes someone was there and left in a hurry. The door was unlocked, and the closets were open. She needed fresh clothing, if nothing else. Oh, and”—he tugged his collar—“they found a can of Black Leaf 40 on the kitchen counter.”
“So, what happens now?” Evelyn asked.
Knaggs sighed. “Now, I take you back to the Vinoy.”
Evelyn relocked the office and they went back down to the car.
As they headed towards Beach Drive, Knaggs asked, “Do you have any idea where she might seek help, Miss Stevens? Friends, family?”
“I really didn’t know her that well,” Evelyn said. “I’ve only come down for a few months at a time for the past four or five years. Violet or Mac might know better, but he’s at the airfield, and Violet … she might be at home or somewhere at the marina.” She blushed.
“Lucy has no living relatives left,” Arthur said. “Her brother was killed in the Great War, and her mother died of the Spanish flu, like mine.”
Knaggs said, surprised, “You know Miss Rivers?”
“We both grew up in Oldsmar.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Knaggs snapped. “We could have saved a lot of time.”
“You wanted to know where she lived now,” Arthur said. “I didn’t know she lived here; I hadn’t seen her in years. I only met her again last week.”
“No father?”
“Died in a farm accident when I was a kid.”
“Is there somewhere in Oldsmar she might go? Did she have close friends there?”
“I don’t know her current friends,” Arthur said, brow wrinkling, “but she might have gone to the family farm. She sold it some years back, but there are several outbuildings we kids used to play in.”
Knaggs dropped Evelyn off at the Vinoy, over her protests. Arthur stayed in the vehicle, writing down directions to the farm.
“We’re going to the
station first,” the detective said after they left the hotel. Evelyn glared at their car from the curb. “I need to contact the sheriff’s office and request that deputies be sent to the farm before I head out. I’d like to take you along, Mr. Downs. Tell me about the farm.”
“The current owner, a Mr. Wilcox, rebuilt the main barn where the old one stood. There’s a smaller barn by the grain silos.” Arthur said. He paused for a moment and closed his eyes. “There’s a tool shed, the chicken coop, and a smokehouse. Oh, there are also a couple of cabins that the seasonal workers—and the occasional tramp—use. Those’re down by the tree line.”
They arrived at the station and found Knaggs’ office in an uproar. Mac Stevens, Professor Pettijohn, and the hat lady were there, all talking to Sergeant Duncan at the same time.
“Quiet, all of you!” Knaggs shouted. “Duncan, what’s going on?”
“Mr. Stevens came in to provide exonerating evidence in his father’s murder,” the slightly bewildered sergeant said. “Then, these other two came in and decided to help.”
The detective scowled at the older pair. “Well, stop helping! The man is old enough to speak for himself.”
“Yes, he is,” Rena said. “We’re sorry.”
“I’m not,” the professor grumbled.
Knaggs looked daggers at him.
The professor wasn’t at all repentant. “I’m not sorry,” he repeated. “Mac, tell this so-called detective what you told me.”
Mac repeated the story of how Nurse Teddy’s hair comb ended up on the boat for the third time.
Knaggs ordered them all out of his office. He picked up the phone and called the sheriff’s office to alert them about the fugitive. Next, he contacted the district attorney’s office. It was a short but loud conversation. Finally, Knaggs called the jail.
When he opened his office door, Professor Pettijohn’s piercing blue eyes met his. “Well?”
“The DA says there is nothing he can do until Monday.”
He didn’t give the professor time to voice yet another opinion. “If you’re ready, Mr. Downs …”
Detective Knaggs arrived in Oldsmar with Sergeant Duncan in the front seat and Arthur Downs in the back. His call to the sheriff’s office had been brief but effective. If luck was with them, the Rivers woman would already be in custody. If it weren’t, things would get ugly quickly. The idea of dragging a woman from her hiding place, even a murderess, made his skin prickle.
They rolled down State Street, passing broad cross streets lined with palms. When they arrived at the Wayside Inn, he leaned back to speak to his passenger. “Where do we go from here?”
“Keep going. Ahead is a left turn towards the racetrack they’re building. The road also goes by the farm.”
Out in the middle of nowhere. Knaggs hoped the sheriff’s department would already be on the scene. If not, they were likely to miss the farm entrance in the gathering dusk, even with Downs as a guide.
The streetlamps ended after the turnoff, and shortly thereafter the paving did, too. Oyster shells crunched under the car tires as they headed into the darkness. Wooden fences reflected the headlights in spots, forming welcome guiding lines for staying on the road. A handwritten sign for fresh strawberries, “Picked Today”, was briefly in view, then another one for tomatoes.
The landmarks became fewer, and Knaggs drove more slowly, eyes fixed on the path of shells in front of him. “Let me know when we’re getting close, Downs.”
The younger man had unrolled his window. “I’m looking, sir. It’s been a while.”
Calling ahead had been Knaggs’ smartest move; they saw the headlights of the deputies’ cars before finding the turnoff. The farmhouse’s lights were also on, but merely formed a small oval of light in the darkness. The flashlights of the deputies were bobbing brilliant points in the distance, like fireflies in summer.
Knaggs walked to the farmhouse, flashlight in hand. Duncan and Downs followed. A deputy was waiting there with the landowner. Swarms of gnats swirled around them.
“I’m Detective Knaggs of St. Petersburg. Any luck so far?” he asked.
The young officer nodded. “A little. I’m Deputy Rankey, sir. We found a car hidden in the underbrush near the trees. It was still light enough then to spot the color, and it’s her vehicle. No sign of the woman so far. We’ve checked the tool shed and the outbuildings, and now the men are going over the fields. If we don’t find her tonight, the sheriff said he would bring dogs in the morning.”
Downs broke in. “The cabins for the seasonal workers will be in the trees to the south. Near the corn field.”
“It’s not a corn field no more,” the landowner stated. “I planted oranges.”
“Where did you buy the saplings?” Downs asked, scowling. “It wasn’t from me. Who’d you use, that cheapskate Perkins?”
Knaggs broke in. “Thank you for letting us know, sir. Deputy Rankey, gather the other men and let’s concentrate on finding those cabins.”
“Don’t you be knocking those trees over!” the landowner shouted after them. “They haven’t been up that long!”
“Bad root development,” Downs snapped. “You get what you pay for!”
The detective dragged him away.
Picking their way over the fields had its challenges, especially with a quarter moon. Rocks, mounds of soil from pocket gophers, and the occasional pile of cattle droppings provided the three men with plenty of reasons to be cautious. When they reached the trees, darkness quickly robbed them of any distance vision. Knaggs scanned the undergrowth with the flashlight, looking for a way through the brush and vines.
Downs tapped his shoulder. “There’s a path. Let me have that, and I’ll see if I can find it.”
The exchange was made, and the nursery owner proceeded ahead of them. His memory served him well; they walked on a trail that, while overgrown, provided passage through the jungle. Wet fronds of palmettos slapped them as they passed.
When they came to a fork, Downs stopped and pointed. “The first cabin is that way, not far from here.”
“Thank you,” Knaggs said. “Give me the light. I suggest that you stay behind us for your own safety.”
What Downs referred to as a ‘cabin’ was little more than a shack of warped boards and tar paper. Knaggs motioned with the flash to Duncan, and the sergeant sidled up to the door and shoved it open. A moment later, he jumped back with a shout.
An opossum bolted from the opening and disappeared into the brush.
Both officers chuckled too heartily and peered into the structure. Duncan entered, but came back out quickly.
“No sign of anyone bunking here with the critter,” he said.
The second cabin was deeper in the trees but had a broader clearing around it. Knaggs suspected it had been built before the one they’d just seen; the path ended here, and the cabin was larger, with a little stoop at the door.
Duncan circled behind the building. Knaggs headed for the door, reached out for the latch, but was stopped by a cry behind them. He turned, leveling the flashlight at where they’d been.
Lucy Rivers stood behind Downs, pressing a small pistol to his head.
Knaggs took a deep breath before speaking. “Miss Rivers, please put that away. We don’t want to harm you.”
“I can see that,” the woman crooned. Her face and form were dark, but a shimmer of pale fabric in the beam of light revealed that she’d traded the soiled smock for a robe. “That’s why your guns are out. I think you should put those away.”
“We only want to talk right now,” Knaggs said. “Things will go better if you release Mr. Downs.”
“Talk? That’s hooey. You don’t have all those bulls tromping up and down the fields because you want a chat.” She tugged at Downs, pulling him backward, away from the officers. “C’mon, Artie, we’re going to the car.”
Knaggs gritted his teeth. If she took Downs with her, there was a good chance he’d wind up dead. Controlling him in the car would be too risky. Eith
er she would shoot him, or he would try doing something foolish. He made up his mind.
“Deputies! Deputies!” he bellowed. “She’s over here! Come here!”
“You’re a stupid man,” Rivers hissed, and the gun moved from Downs’ head. Knaggs and Duncan both dropped to the ground as she fired.
Downs jerked away and flung himself into the brush.
The Rivers woman fled into the darkness. Ears ringing, Knaggs scrambled to his feet and gave chase.
The trip back on the path was short, much shorter than it had seemed going in. Knaggs carried the only light they had, but the flutter of silk was easy to spot among the leaves and hanging moss. Lucy burst out of the forest, a white shape running across the silvered fields. She ran for her car, then stopped.
A deputy stationed at the car shouted a warning and pointed his gun. In the distance, Knaggs saw the sheriff’s vehicle rumbling over the grass in their direction, headlamps making it much easier to see the slender woman who had brought them all here.
Lucy Rivers turned around, now staring at the fields. The points of light that dotted them were moving in her direction, bouncing over the pasture and through the orchard.
She stood tall in the light, raising her gun to her head.
Knaggs believed he heard a sob before she fired, but he might have imagined it.
Bobby Hornbuckle’s account of the battle at the Stevens Building splashed across the front page of the Evening Independent, with a dramatic photo of Cornelia at Lucy Rivers’ mercy. When she arrived at the hospital, Mitch Grant was awake and surrounded by members of the press. For once, the crime reporter was the subject of the story.
“Glad to see you’re doing better, Mitch.” Bobby shoved a man from Citrus County aside and presented Grant with a vase of roses. Flashes went off as she did so, and then again when she handed him a copy of the Independent. “I thought you might appreciate flowers and some reading material. You know, so you won’t get bored.”
The following morning, the St. Petersburg Times featured the picture of Bobby offering Mitch the flowers under the headline “Rival Reporter Does Role Reversal”. Below it was another headline: “Salon Owner Dies; Believed to Be Murderer of Local Developer.” Nearby was the smallest, but most satisfying headline for Cornelia: “Case Collapses Against Pennsylvania Socialite.”