“This is nice. Is it yours?” I asked her.
“No. That must have been left behind. You can have it, if you like.”
“I can?”
“Sure. Take it.”
It was heavy—too heavy for me to wrangle up the stairs.
“Do you mind if I come back for it with a helper?”
“Sure. Come whenever you like.”
“Minnie, what’s in here?” I asked, pointing to a walled-off section in the corner near the stairs.
“Nothing. It’s not a room or anything.”
“Something has to be back there. There’s no door?”
“Not that I know of.”
I shined the lantern on every inch of the two cement walls and found no door. The space was square-shaped, roughly ten feet on each side.
“Do you have access to the basement from outside?”
“No. Just the stairs we came down.”
“Well, that’s pretty odd then.”
“Maybe it was an old cistern that someone closed off when it was no longer needed.”
“What’s a cistern?”
“Houses used to have them to catch rainwater, before indoor plumbing.”
“Can we look outside at this corner of the house?”
“Seen enough down here then?”
“Yep.”
I followed Minnie up the stairs. We grabbed our coats and headed for the northwest corner of the house.
We saw no evidence of anything on the outside of the house that remotely resembled something that would have caught rainwater.
“Is this your bedroom?” I asked her, pointing to the corner of the house above the walled-off room.
“Yes.”
I was baffled.
When we went back inside, Minnie put on a pot of tea. Five minutes later, she joined me in the living room with the tea and a plate of chocolate chip cookies.
I took a bite of cookie. “Homemade?”
“You can’t tell?”
“Of course, I can.” What was I thinking? “Minnie, do you know any more about Anna’s death than what you’ve already told me? Even if it’s something small, it could help.”
“What I told you I heard from Henry. He had his nose in everybody’s business, so I figured he knew things.”
“Nothing more about the man who lived in the room above your bedroom, the one he seemed to think Anna was having an affair with?”
“Now that you mention it, I do remember one thing. He said something about the man’s wife...but I don’t remember what.”
“So this guy was married?”
“I think he gave me that impression, but it’s been so long...”
“I know. If you do remember, will you let me know right away?”
“Yes, of course.”
“One more thing, Minnie. Do you know anyone by the name of Esmeralda Noe on Warner Avenue?”
“No, I can’t say that I do. What block?”
“Same block as this.”
“You know which house?”
I gave her the address.
Minnie thought for several seconds. “That’s either Vineta Stone’s house or the Rigby place. No one by that name in either of those families. But let me give that some thought. I may be able to come up with something.”
We ended our visit with some idle chitchat, and as I was getting ready to leave, Minnie handed me a brown bag.
“Some cookies for the road.”
It took me two minutes to drive to the address on Warner where Esmeralda had once lived. I parked down the street a little and munched on a cookie while I observed the house. Five minutes into my quasi surveillance, there was a loud rap on my window. It was Minnie motioning me to let her in.
“Is something wrong?” I asked her as she seated herself next to me.
“You bet there’s something wrong. How dare you work behind my back to find out about this Esmeralda person?”
I just stared at her.
“I told you I’d handle this.”
“You did?”
“Don’t you listen when I talk? Am I just whistling in the wind when I talk to you?”
“I...”
“What do you want to know about her?”
“Who?”
“Esmeralda Noe. Who else would I be talking about?”
After I explained the possible connection with Anna, she opened the car door and proceeded to get out. Before closing the door, she grabbed the bag of cookies and waved me on.
“Go on home now. You leave this to me.”
And with that, she walked off...with the rest of the cookies.
ELEVEN
She’s No Misstep
I had just returned to the office from City Hall, having spent the entire day chasing down erroneous leads, and was tired—physically and emotionally.
“I’m thinking of hiring a Girl Friday,” Elmer said. I hadn’t heard that term in a long while. “She can answer your phone as well, but I’ll have to up your rent to cover the expense.”
Here it comes. “How much?”
“I think fifteen dollars would be fair.”
With minimum wage at $1.25 an hour, I quickly figured that would be worth ten or twelve hours a month, so maybe a half-hour of her time a day. If she was any good, maybe I could delegate some of my grunt work which often piled up.
“I’m good with that.”
And so now I was able to say I had an assistant. Well, sort of. A receptionist anyway and someone to answer the phone. I hoped she wasn’t too tall or too wide—my company name on the wall behind where she would sit was obscure enough as it was.
Business was good, and I should have been delighted with my ample workload and that I was able to support myself, but it took me away from my own case, and that was the reason I had gotten into this business in the first place. There was a term for that—some kind of irony—but I was too tired to think about it.
I spent an hour wrapping things up and headed for home.
I could hear my phone ringing from the bottom of the stairwell, so I pounded up the steps in an attempt to get to it before it stopped.
“Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for a half hour.”
There was no mistaking Minnie’s voice.
“I was in my office. Why?”
“Why are you working so late?”
“Is anything wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I just have that information for you.”
“What information?”
“What information? About Essie, of course.”
“Already?”
“Yes, already. What do you think, I’m some kind of deadbeat that I don’t come through with my promises?”
“No, not at all. I’m just—”
“Here’s what I have. Esmeralda Noe—or Essie, as she was called—and Anna were friends. Essie moved to Cicero soon after Anna died. Do you have a pencil?”
I scrambled for a pencil and a piece of paper. “Shoot.”
“1407 South Fiftieth Court. Her phone number is 555-4543, and she works for Baird & Warner.”
I was speechless.
“Don’t you have anything to say?”
“I love you?”
“Don’t get smart with me.”
“I wasn’t, Minnie. I meant it. You’re incredible.”
“Got any more?”
“Any more—”
“People you want to locate.”
“Only if I can pay you what a skip tracer would get.”
“I don’t know what the hell a skip tracer is or what one is worth, but I do like my Scotch.”
“Got a pencil?”
“Shoot.”
“Tymon Kossak.” I gave her his address. “Now that’s all the way on the Northwest Side, so—”
She cut me off. “Don’t worry about me.”
She hung up before I had a chance to tell her what I wanted to find out about him.
* * *
The next day, I was in the back ro
om scrutinizing documents when Elmer walked in with a pretty young blonde by his side.
“Miss Lindroth, this is Naomi Step. She’s accepted the Girl Friday position.”
She would have been tall even without the three-inch heels she was wearing—so much for my sign. Tall and slim with a big chest that she showcased in a tight red sweater.
We talked for a couple of minutes. Her silvery soft-spoken voice reminded me of Marilyn Monroe singing “Happy Birthday” to the late John F. Kennedy. I watched them leave and wondered if the smooth sashay of her hips from side to side in that snug skirt was any indication of her personality. I hoped she could at least take a phone message without messing it up. Nice choice, Elmer.
I retrieved the letter to Anna from Nacho. My memory had been right—there was mention of Veracruz, so I figured there may have been some tie-in of the letter to the business card for Ignacio Ramirez. I went back to my office and called the library to see if they had anything on Mexican genealogy, surnames, nicknames, and the like. The reference librarian told me they did not.
Two minutes later, in walked—I mean, in wiggled—Naomi.
“Yes, Miss Step.” Oh, dear. I couldn’t call her that.
“Please call me Naomi.”
Gladly.
“I couldn’t help but overhear your phone conversation. I think I can help you.”
“Really?” This ought to be good.
“I speak fluent Spanish.”
“Really?” I have to stop saying that.
“What nickname are you interested in?”
“Nacho.”
“It’s short for Ignacio.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. I lived in Boca del Rio for six years.”
I pointed to the last line of the letter. “Can you tell me what this means?”
She bent over my desk, providing me with an eyeful of cleavage. “I love you and miss you.”
It was a good thing nobody walked in at that precise moment.
“Well, I don’t know what to say...except thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she said and strutted out of my office. She picked up her purse and headed toward the front door. “See you two tomorrow.”
A minute later, Elmer poked his head in. “Never judge a book by its cover.” Then he left too.
Lesson learned.
I reread the letter.
April 18, 1939
My Dear Anna,
I hope this letter finds you safe and well. Do write me soon to the PO Box in Veracruz.
You left just in time. I relocated your aunt the following week. It was too dangerous for her to stay here. When things calm down, I will let you know our whereabouts. At least for now she is safe and away from this madness. I will leave too after I fulfill my commitment to Pemex. The good times have come to an end, but I am not sad about this, as we have sufficient resources to last us the rest of our lives.
I know you have made a connection with MT and are working on a plan of your own. You are in good hands.
Te amo y te extraño.
Nacho
The letter was dated seven months before Anna had bought the boardinghouse. The reference to Anna’s aunt made me think Nacho may have been Anna’s uncle. Nacho was likely Ignacio Ramirez, an advisor to the Mexican national oil company in Veracruz. I assumed the reference to MT was to Martin Torres, the San Diego attorney. Maybe I was filling in too many blanks, but everything did seem to fit.
* * *
The next day I was in my office, busy with piles of paperwork, silently grousing over the amount of work I had to do ahead of my own case, when Naomi came into my office. She sat down in one of the guest chairs.
“You’re very busy.”
I nodded.
“Could I help you with anything?”
“Maybe.”
“I’m a pretty quick learner. You’ll only have to tell me something once, and I don’t mind figuring things out for myself.”
“If you don’t mind phone work, you could help me out a lot with the bird-dogging that’s required for most of my cases. Have you talked to Elmer about this? Is he okay with you helping me more?”
She lowered her voice. “I did, and he’s okay with it as long as it doesn’t distract me from his work, but he did say you may have to pick up more of my salary.”
That was Elmer—always concerned about money.
“That would be okay with me, but don’t tell him that.”
“May I make a suggestion?”
“Sure.”
“If I’m going to do more phone work, can we get a regular office phone?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I have two extension phones on my desk, one for your line and one for Mr. Berghorn’s. And I have no line for myself. It would be much more efficient if I had one phone with both your lines, a third and fourth line for me, and a hold button. That way I can see when you’re on the phone without getting up from my desk, and I can put people on hold instead of having to place the phone down on the desk until you pick up. And the newer models have a built-in intercom so I could talk to you without coming into your office. It’ll save time.”
I was impressed. “I like the idea. Want to pitch it to Elmer?”
She winked at me. “Consider it bought.”
I liked her.
Danny would be there any minute to assist with serving two subpoenas in a couple of rough neighborhoods, one of which was home to several Chicago Outfit hangouts. Those thugs wouldn’t have much interest in me, but I didn’t want to take any chances. I had read a few years earlier about this one man who had been hanged on a meat hook by his fellow Outfit mobsters and tortured for days until he finally died of shock. Apparently, they believed he had become an FBI informant. You didn’t want to mess with these guys.
I glanced out my window and saw Danny approaching. He hadn’t been to our office since Naomi had started. I got up from my desk pretending to be busy putting on my coat so I could catch his reaction.
“May I help you?” Naomi asked him. She was wearing a tight low-cut pink sweater that revealed the exact shape of her ample breasts. Unfortunately, what Danny wasn’t able to see was the short pencil skirt she was wearing with a slit more than halfway up the back.
He stood in front of her with a gapped-mouth stare. His lips were moving but no words came out. It was all I could do to keep from laughing out loud.
“Sir, may I help you?” she asked a second time.
It would have been cruel of me not to rescue him.
“Danny, this is Naomi Step. Naomi, this is Danny Davis.” I turned to Danny. “Naomi is our new office staff member.” To Naomi I said, “And Danny is my number-one field technician.”
Danny was silent on the walk to my car. After we had driven a few minutes, I said, “So what do you think of Naomi?”
He didn’t respond immediately. “I refuse to answer that question on the grounds that it may incriminate me.”
We served the first subpoena without incident, a court appearance for a parole violation. The second subpoena, the one in Chicago Outfit territory, didn’t go as smoothly. A woman answered the door, and before I had even finished explaining my business, Danny nudged me with his elbow and mumbled, “Let’s go.”
I gave him a puzzled look.
Danny apologized to the woman for the bother and led me away from the house.
When we were out of earshot, I asked him just what he was doing.
“I’ll tell you in the car.”
I don’t get paid the whole fee if I don’t deliver the documents, so I was expecting a very good explanation.
When we were a block away, Danny said, “You couldn’t see from your vantage point, but I could see a man inside holding a gun.”
“Oh, dear! No, I didn’t see that.”
“So what do you do now?”
“I return the subpoena, tell them what happened, and they will probably get a sheriff or someone to serve it.”
What if Danny hadn’t been with me? I contemplated the incident on the drive back to my office. Even though I needed the money, I decided I didn’t want to be a process server any longer.
When I parked the car behind my office, Danny said goodbye and headed toward the bus stop.
“Wait, Danny. I want to pay you for today.”
“But you didn’t even get to deliver one of them.”
“I still get paid something. Just not as much.”
He waved and said, “Naomi was enough payment for me for today.”
I liked that boy.
Naomi handed me a message from Minnie. I was a little surprised as it had been just two days since she had taken on the task of finding Tymon Kossak. I called her back right away.
“Tymon was Anna’s handyman,” Minnie explained. “And he still lives on North Cleaver Street.”
“Minnie, you’re amazing.”
“Don’t you want to know what I found out from him?”
“You talked with him?”
“You think I went to all that trouble to find him and then not talk to him?”
I had never asked her to talk to him. She didn’t know what questions to ask, or how to ask them, or anything else about this business.
“Well—”
“We chatted. I asked a lot of questions, and he answered.”
“Who did you tell him you were? And how did you explain all the questions?”
“Do you want a lesson in the art of talking to someone without raising suspicion, or do you want to know what I found?”
“Sorry, please continue.”
“You know that walled-in room in my basement? Well, I found out from him you can access it from my bedroom.”
“Your bedroom? Where in your bedroom?”
“There’s a trapdoor in the floor, under the rug.”
“And you didn’t know it was there?”
“You’ll see when you come over—it’s barely noticeable, plus the rug’s been over it all these years.”
“When can I come over so we can go down there?”
“Are you telling me you think I uncovered a secret door under the rug in my bedroom and didn’t look down there?”
Regarding Anna Page 8