“Certainly, Detective.”
He hung up the phone feeling like…going home. Going home and crawling into bed. Just the way he’d felt the weeks after Mary’s doctor had talked to him, really talked to him, about what was in store. Just a moment was all it took to pull him under. Sometimes he thought he still saw her in a crowd. He’d not noticed before how many women had the same shade of red-blond hair.
Get on your feet, Sean. One in front of the other. That’s what got him through before.
He needed to ask Mrs. Wilcox some more questions but decided to forgo a call and do it in person. Getting out would help him shake the blues.
***
“No, she didn’t say she’d be late,” Adelaide Wilcox said to Julia, standing in the doorway of the girls’ office. She’d stopped by to let them both know that there was no news from Bethesda, nor from the detectives on opening up Dr. Lowenstein’s lab. Julia had burst out with the question about Susan, immediately regretting it. Now if Susan came in and had wanted them to cover for her tardiness, Julia would be the one who’d tattled.
But the girl might just be moping at home for the day, denying Julia the opportunity to make things better between them.
“I tried calling her a little while ago,” Linda volunteered. Yes, right after Dr. Morton had stopped in after his meeting to comment on the stale donuts Linda had purchased in the cafeteria.
“Well, I suppose if she’s ill she might not be answering,” Mrs. Wilcox mused, not convincing herself or them. “I’ll try her myself. Let me know if she shows up.”
She left the room.
***
“They had an argument. I…I heard them.” Earl Dagley shifted his weight from his cane to his good foot as Sean listened. The detective had run into the little man on his way in to see Mrs. Wilcox and decided to ask him a few questions about the lab. Dagley knew little of the goings-on outside his monkey rooms, but he had been upstairs—to ask for time off around Easter—when Susan Schlager and Julia Dell had quarreled in Dr. Lowenstein’s lab. Reluctantly, he’d spilled what he knew.
“She seemed real mad at Dr. Mike,” Earl said of Julia, “seeing as how he didn’t do anything with the polio stuff. And the other one got all hot under the collar about that.”
Sean frowned. Julia had found the body, was the first person on the scene. Did she harbor enough resentment to harm a man just because he wasn’t using his skill to find something that would fix her problem? There was something simmering beneath the surface with her.
“What about you—did it bother you that ‘Dr. Mike’ wasn’t working on the polio?” Sean peered at Earl who grinned and looked down.
“I didn’t have no idea what any of ’em was working on. I figured he was working on it too, until I heard otherwise.”
Sean asked him a few more questions about his own whereabouts the morning of the death—Earl had been delayed because of a late bus that day—and went off to find Wilcox, figuring he’d stop back in the secretaries’ office on his way out.
Mrs. Wilcox confirmed Earl’s alibi but seemed oddly distracted. The Schlager girl hadn’t shown up that day. It put Sean on edge, but he continued his questions about Dr. Lowenstein, probing the woman about the victim’s summer house.
“I had to contact him once when he was on vacation—to tell him he need not return early.” Adelaide Wilcox looked at Sean over the tops of her glasses. Her hands were folded on her desk in front of her, the portrait of a prim, knowledgeable librarian. “You see, when he went on his summer holiday three years ago, he was working on an experiment with Dr. Rollins about the effect of repeated electric shocks on muscle reaction times. Dr. Rollins was computing the data but wasn’t finished when Dr. Lowenstein left. Dr. Lowenstein even thought of delaying his departure.”
“It was that important?” Sean asked.
Her lips lifted in a faint smile. “It was to them. Dr. Rollins was eager to publish the results and Dr. Lowenstein wanted to be here to help prepare the paper.” She opened a desk drawer and pulled out a thick address book. “Although heaven knows why—Dr. Lowenstein always let his coworkers take the credit. He rarely—if ever—agreed to have his name put on a paper. Always said it was important to give the younger doctors a chance at fame.”
Didn’t want his name out there, Sean thought. People who knew the real Lowenstein might contact him.
Mrs. Wilcox flipped through pages and stopped. “Here it is—the rental agent for the cabin he always took in upstate New York.” She wrote the name and number on a small piece of scrap paper, a neat pile of which she kept by her desk lamp. “I had to call him to tell him Dr. Rollins wouldn’t be ready with the data until he returned so there was no need to rush back.” She handed Sean the paper. “There’s no phone in the cabin, apparently. I had to leave a message for him.”
He thanked her for the information and asked where Dr. Rollins’s office might be. When she gave him that, he then asked for Susan Schlager’s home address and she gave that to him, too, somewhat eagerly.
“I hope she’s all right,” she said to him as he left.
Chapter Ten
VALERIE LOOKED AROUND the quiet restaurant and sighed. Even when she was doing something she liked, she always gave the impression of yearning for something more, and now Brigitta imagined Valerie was thinking how she wished she could eat here more often if not for—well, there were infinite possibilities. If not for Valerie’s miserly husband who insisted they sock away every penny for their children (whenever they came along). If not for the less-than-expected pay Valerie was making at Patelson and Moore. If not for Valerie’s busy schedule at said employer.
She was a petite woman with jet black hair styled into a limp pageboy with sausage curl bangs. Her wide eyes and tiny mouth made her look mouselike, and she added to that image by dressing in muted colors and plain skirts—things that you forgot as soon as she’d walked out of the room. Today she wore a gray wool skirt that looked at least five years out of date with a pale blue blouse and gray cardigan.
Maybe, thought Brigitta, that was part of Valerie’s problem. After years of looking like a timid creature, she’d become one. She’d only taken the job at Patelson and Moore at her husband’s urging. He himself was a clerk at Baltimore Gas and Electric. Saving money—first for a house, now for children—seemed an obsession with him, according to Valerie’s tales.
A black-uniformed waitress came over and took their orders. Chef’s salads for both of them and hot tea. Brigitta opened a cigarette case and offered Valerie one. After a quick look around—her husband didn’t like her smoking—she accepted, and they both lit up from Brigitta’s lighter.
“So what is it that’s so important?” Brigitta asked. Comfortably resting her elbow on the table, she smiled at Valerie, expecting to hear juicy stories of a secretary changing jobs or getting pregnant or married (or both) or even news of the lawyers themselves, their personal troubles or legal missteps. Valerie knew it all.
“Diane Rivers’s job,” Valerie said, blowing smoke away from the table. “Oh honey, you’re not going to get it.”
This was not what Brigitta had expected to hear at all. Her smile dropped, and she sat up straight.
“Did Diane tell you? She doesn’t really know who is going to get the job, you know. It’s not up to her ultimately.”
Valerie held up her hand to stop Brigitta’s speculation. She leaned into the table. “It’s not Diane.”
Cool relief settled Brigitta’s stomach. She’d hate to think Diane had betrayed her in some way.
“Diane really likes you,” Valerie continued, “and apparently had a big argument with the partners over the whole thing. Burst out crying and all.”
Brigitta did recall a day last week when Diane had looked sullen, her face red and her eyes watery. She’d chalked it up to pregnancy.
Her throat dry, Brigitta asked, “Then why—and who told you anyway?”
Looking to and fro first, Valerie continued. “Well, you know Schuyler Moor
e’s secretary, Betty Matthewson? She goes to church at St. Brigit’s and she just joined the Sodality there. Diane Rivers’s mother is the head of the Sodality. Betty said this weekend she was talking to Mrs. Mulescovich—that’s Diane’s mother—and she—Mrs. Mulescovich, that is—was worried because Diane had been so upset that weekend. She—Diane’s mother, that is—was afraid it was bad for the baby. Who knows what’s bad for a baby? My sister hardly ate a thing her first five months and you couldn’t even tell she was expecting until she had a healthy eight pound baby boy!”
God, Valerie exasperated her with her tales of Sodality meetings and mothers. Just say it and be done with it. Brigitta pasted a smile on her face. “Why was Diane so upset?”
Valerie took another puff on her cigarette and coughed. The waitress came by at that moment with their tea, and they both waited until she left before continuing.
“Well, honey,” Valerie said, stirring sugar into her cup, “Diane likes you. Respects you. Everyone respects you.” She gave Brigitta the kind of smile one flashes to a terminal patient to keep them hoping for a cure. “You’re the smartest legal secretary in all of Baltimore, if you ask me. Ask anyone! You probably could be a lawyer yourself the way you’ve helped your boss research past rulings and the like. Which is why I’m sure you’ll be fine when this is all over and done with. Someone will snatch you up in an instant!” Valerie tried to snap her other fingers to emphasize her point but the result was an impotent brush of flesh on flesh.
Brigitta put her cigarette out so Valerie couldn’t see her hand shaking. Someone would snatch her up in an instant? That couldn’t mean—no, no, Valerie probably just assumed she’d leave Smathers’s office if she didn’t get the promotion. After all, she couldn’t stay there knowing they’d pass her over. They’d assume she was a weakling, willing to take whatever crumbs they dished out. Yes, that was it. Even Valerie had figured that one out.
“You know Gavin’s wife is Charles Ryan’s daughter,” Valerie said.
“Yes.” Charles Ryan’s daughter and Stanford Dennis’s goddaughter. Ryan, Dennis and Smathers was one big happy family. Brigitta swallowed.
“She heard some rumors, I guess.” Valerie didn’t look at Brigitta. “You know how people talk, how they read into things. Things like how Mr. Smathers gave you that diamond bracelet for Christmas. How he asked you to go on that business trip to Philadelphia with him.” Now Valerie looked up at her. “Some people just have dirty minds, Brigitta. Really dirty minds.”
So Merle Smathers knew about the affair. So what? Surely it wasn’t Gavin’s first. Why, Brigitta had heard similar gossip about his previous secretary. That had been the reason she’d left, Brigitta had heard.
And then the enormity of her stupidity hit her as if she had dumped the entire teapot on her lap. She became enflamed with anger—not at Gavin, not at Valerie, but at herself. Of course. The previous secretary had had an affair with Gavin. And she’d gone—not of her own volition as Brigitta had been told, but because she’d been asked to leave.
What had the story been? Oh yes, she remembered now—Rosa had decided to go to night school, and she’d wanted a job that required less of her. Rosa. She’d been Italian like Brigitta. Probably dark-haired and voluptuous. My god. Gavin had a “type,” and she’d stepped neatly into the space left by the previous occupant.
Valerie continued to talk, but Brigitta barely heard. Instead, she catalogued the mistakes she’d made with Gavin. She’d been too cocky when she took this job, that was it. She’d been so proud of herself, taking the business classes, excelling, landing a job with Carroll Shipping and then having the nerve—even against her family’s wishes (they were always so cautious)—to apply for another, better position. In Brigitta’s family, you found something and held onto it like a dog with a bone. You held onto it before someone tried to take it away from you.
She realized now that she’d grown so used to discounting her family’s cautions that she had ceased to listen to them even when they had value. Her mother had told her not to go to Philadelphia with Gavin. She’d tsk-tsked, shaken her head and then her finger at Brigitta as they’d washed dishes after a Sunday supper.
“What will they say of you, all the workers in the office? What will his wife say?”
A good and sensible question. But by then Brigitta had been convinced she was the one setting the boundaries of her affair with Gavin and she was careful and discreet. No one would know. Her mother was always telling her the sky was falling.
“…and so Gavin’s father-in-law told him he had to let you go by the end of the week. Plain and simple….”
Had to let her go? She wondered when Gavin was going to drop the axe. Maybe that’s why he’d been churlish this morning. He’d known he had an unpleasant task to perform and he’d been dreading it. Perhaps he’d been prepared to go from crushing her dreams of owning a home to crushing her livelihood, but then the phone had rung, taking her to her desk. He’d had a meeting with a client after that, and she’d taken off for lunch when that meeting was through.
“….but I heard Mr. Smathers kicked up a fuss. Said it wasn’t fair…”
Where did Valerie get all these details? Brigitta let her smile drop. Valerie didn’t have the details. She probably added those herself, creating the drama that was missing from her own life.
Their lunches arrived, but Brigitta now had no appetite whatsoever. She made a valiant effort, however, placing food in mouth, chewing, swallowing. It tasted like paper to her and had the same texture. She felt utterly humiliated, done in by her own hard-won self-confidence. But she would feel even worse if Valerie suspected anything. Then Brigitta would feel…like Valerie herself, small, inconsequential, incapable of making bold moves without messing up.
So she pretended instead that she’d heard the rumors, too, and that’s precisely why she had been intending to hand in her notice.
Valerie’s face went froglike in surprise, her eyes bulging and her mouth open. Oh yes, Brigitta told her, nodding seriously. I was typing up my resignation this morning when you called. I’ve just been struggling with how to break it to Mr. Smathers.
“But you don’t have another job, do you?” Valerie asked, awestruck at Brigitta’s daring.
“I have some savings.” She drank the last of her tea and pushed her half-eaten plate to the side. “Would you be able to stay under the circumstances?”
Valerie said nothing. Brigitta knew the answer. Valerie would lap up any humiliation as long as it paid and her husband said it was okay.
As a display of her supreme confidence in the future, Brigitta insisted on paying the bill.
Outside the big department store building a few moments later, both women blinked in the sunshine. “Oh, Brigitta, I’m so glad you’re not getting fired. Let me know how it goes when you tell that dirty-minded boss of yours you’re quitting.”
“Sure thing, Val.”
“Oh—and one other thing. If Diane Rivers is looking for other names to, you know, put in for her job—would you mind mentioning I wouldn’t mind coming back to Ryan, Dennis and Smathers?”
Brigitta forced a grim smile. “Of course not, Val. I’ll tell her before I leave.”
They parted ways, and when Brigitta arrived back at her office, she didn’t even take off her gloves before marching into Gavin Smathers’s office and announcing in icy tones that she had found a better job and was leaving the law firm.
Weeks ago, she said, when he asked when she’d secured her new position.
Then why did you wait to tell me?
I was afraid you’d be disappointed and I knew you were involved in some important cases. I didn’t want to throw you.
She’d smiled, daring him to challenge her unselfishness.
When will you be leaving?
I’d like to go as soon as possible. This afternoon, in fact…
Where will you be working?
Oh, you don’t know them. It’s a small firm north of the city in the county seat. I really c
ouldn’t turn it down. They’re offering me better pay, a larger office—in the countryside, a lovely building—and have even hinted at helping me with legal studies should I decide to pursue the law. Maybe we’ll meet again in a courtroom….He’d smiled at that.
“You’d make a damned good lawyer, Bridgie,” he said with no rancor.
She packed up her desk, left a note for Diane—mentioning Valerie’s interest in the position as well as her gratitude for her friendship—and went home where she cried for an hour before drinking a half bottle of wine by herself.
***
Susan Schlager lived in a small brick row house in a new development just east of the city near the county line. Sean approached the house carefully, looking for shadows passing windows, but it was as still and dark as an office after hours. He could smell lunches cooking and children laughing in nearby homes, but the Schlager place was locked tight, curtains drawn against the day’s sun. He’d come here after leaving Hopkins—he’d not been able to find that Dr. Rollins Adelaide Wilcox had mentioned. He’d try him later.
He went to the door and just listened. Was that a phonograph playing? He leaned forward, straining to hear. Then he knocked. No answer.
“Can I help you?” A woman in a floral housedress, with hair in curlers under a fine net, opened the door one house up.
“I’m looking for Sue,” Sean said with his most charming smile. “She’s my cousin. Thought I’d surprise her.”
The woman didn’t lose her frown but didn’t retreat. “They keep to themselves,” she told Sean. “Couldn’t say where they were.”
“Probably at work,” Sean said, pushing his hands in his coat pocket. “Should’ve called them last night, I guess.”
She huffed out a long breath. “Probably wouldn’t have heard the phone anyway. They had one heck of a…well…discussion last night. Went on for some time.” She looked as if she had better things to do but wanted to say more. A little girl, about the same age as Danny and Robby, came up to her, tugging at her dress. She asked her mother for some more of something, and the woman patted her head.
LOST TO THE WORLD Page 11