Ask Me No Questions

by Shelley Noble

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Wait. Leave the hamper.” Phil took it and watched Lily hurry toward Rico and the horse.

  “You’re not playing matchmaker, I hope,” Bev said.

  “Absolutely not, but she’s not inexperienced with horses. And she was concerned about racing her too soon.”

  “Redoubtable maid, your Lily.”

  “Indeed. I may have to make her my secretary.”

  “Freddy!” Bev called.

  Freddy turned and waved, his serious expression turning into a broad smile.

  “I had no idea you wanted to come out to the stables,” he said, taking both her hands and kissing her cheek. “I would have driven you out. Morning, Lady Dunbridge. I see that Bev didn’t manage to overturn you in her wild machinations.”

  “She was the spirit of driving acumen.”

  Bev gave him a saucy smile. “I drive more safely than you or Reggie ever do. Besides, we can’t all fit in your roadster, and Reggie would roll over in his grave if I let you drive the new Packard.”

  She laughed. “Dear old thing, even Marguerite drives better than you do.”

  Freddy chuckled. “Alas, it’s true.”

  A cloud passed over his face. “Reggie treated that car like that thoroughbred.” He smiled at Bev.

  Bev sniffed and patted his arm. “Besides, you don’t have to cater to me. I know the mayor needs you. I’m surprised he let you get away today.”

  Freddy chuckled. “The mayor is a member of the Turf and Field Club. I suspect he wanted me to make sure things are proceeding to schedule.” He watched Henry lead Devil’s Thunder across the yard. He was accompanied by one of the jockeys Phil had seen yesterday.

  He was a beauty, Phil thought. Well balanced with a deep chest, well-angled shoulders; he displayed a muscularity of near perfection just walking toward the exercise field.

  “Besides,” Freddy continued, “I told him I’d be back by ten o’clock. So we’d better get started if I’m to see any of the training.”

  “Well,” Phil exclaimed, “I can’t wait to see him in action.”

  Everyone, including the other jockeys and stable boys, collected at the rail to watch.

  “Who are they planning to mount with Eddie gone?” Bev asked.

  “It looks like Pete,” Freddy said.

  But when Henry hoisted the jockey into the saddle, Devil’s Thunder reared; the jockey barely held his seat as Thunder pranced and tossed his head. It was inevitable—Thunder bucked. Pete fell off the side and scrambled away.

  Henry looked around. “Coco!”

  A jockey sitting at the end of the rail slid to the ground and walked reluctantly toward the horse. Thunder whinnied, danced away. Finally Henry and another stable boy held the horse long enough for Coco to mount. He lasted only a few seconds. Devil’s Thunder tossed his head, twisted his body, one way and then the other. Coco fell off and landed hard.

  He barely managed to roll away as hooves came down near his head.

  Phil looked at Bev. Bev shrugged back.

  Henry looked along the rail to the other jockeys. Phil could feel several of them shrink.

  “Sid!”

  Sid looked at the others, jumped from the rail. Thunder turned in a circle while they tried to hold him steady for Sid to mount.

  “I told them he wouldn’t accept another rider,” a new voice said behind them.

  Phil turned to see Bobby Mullins drop his cigar to the ground, grind it out with his heel, and open the gate to the track.

  “Bobby, stay out of it,” Freddy called after him.

  Bobby didn’t even slow down as he stomped toward the agitated horse and rider.

  “Damn fool, doesn’t know a damn thing about horses, but he insists on butting in. I don’t know why Reggie kept him around. I’d better go referee.”

  Freddy strode over to the gate.

  “Do you think I should intercede?” Bev asked Phil.

  “No time like the present. But what are you going to say?”

  “I have no idea.” Bev hurried after Freddy. Phil followed and joined Lily and Rico by the gate to the track.

  Bev was talking to the men, but their concentration seemed more on the horse than what she was saying. Well, no one said taking over what until today had been a man’s business was going to be easy.

  “He wants Eddie,” said Rico.

  Phil nodded. Sid had managed to mount Thunder, and for a second, the horse seemed to accept him. Sid turned him toward the starting line. He took several measured steps, then he reared on his hind legs. Sid toppled off and landed on the ground on his back.

  Phil winced.

  Sid scrambled to his feet and backed away from the horse, who calmly watched until Sid retreated to the other side of the rail.

  Henry, Freddy, and Bobby huddled together, clearly arguing.

  Being ignored by the others, Bev strode over to where Phil was standing. “Well, this is going nowhere. Bobby’s insisting they’ll ruin Thunder if they keep trying different jockeys. Henry says he’ll adjust to a new jockey in time for the race. Freddy’s worried about the repercussions if they have to scratch the most talked-about horse of the season.”

  “What repercussions?”

  “I have no idea. I guess I’ll need to bone up on breeding and betting if I mean to make a start.” She sighed, and they turned to watch the three men.

  It was a very animated discussion, which ended with Bobby throwing up his hands and walking away.

  “Rico!” Henry called.

  Rico jumped.

  “Get over here.”

  Rico looked toward heaven and quickly crossed himself.

  “Be careful,” Lily said.

  “Yes,” Phil said. “Do be careful.”

  Rico walked reluctantly onto the track. Stopped to stroke the horse and talk to him.

  “What’s he saying?”

  “He’s telling him he understands, and he respects him, and please not to throw him.”

  “Ah.”

  Henry hoisted Rico into the saddle. Thunder danced and tossed his head but eventually calmed down, and Henry led horse and rider to a white starting line chalked out on the dirt surface.

  “I can never get used to this,” Bev said, looking from left to right.

  “What?” asked Phil.

  “Running clockwise, all the rest of the tracks here run counter.”

  “Odd,” Phil said, and leaned forward to watch.

  Freddy came to stand beside them, but Bobby had taken a place as far away as possible.

  “What was that all about?” Phil asked.

  “Just Bobby muscling his way in over his head. Thought we should wait for Eddie to return to run Devil’s Thunder. But if Eddie returns, he’ll be arrested for murder. Sorry, Bev, but that’s what is going to happen. We need to get another rider on Thunder as soon as possible. Any delay could be disastrous.”

  To the horse or to those who had already placed bets on the winner? Phil wondered.

  Thunder was fast, no doubt about that. And Rico held his seat, but there was something slapdash, not quite synchronous between horse and rider. He isn’t Eddie, Phil thought.

  Henry stopped his watch and took a look. Shook his head.

  Rico walked Devil’s Thunder around waiting for the verdict.

  “We’ll try him again later,” Henry called. Rico continued to walk the horse, then led him back to the paddock. Henry walked over to them. Sighed. “Not close to his time at Jamaica. Of course it’s a new rider and no competition. I’ll run him again this afternoon with Boy-o and Dander, see if he does better. You want me to keep Rico on him?”

  Freddy shrugged. “Try him.”

  Henry nodded, started to go.

  “I mean, if it’s okay with Mrs. Reynolds,” Freddy added.

  Henry turned, not quite wiping the smile off his face before he asked, “Is that okay with you, Mrs. Reynolds?”

  “Certainly, let’s see how it goes,” said Bev.

  Fr
eddy glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to get back to town. No rest for the wicked, you know. Will you ladies be okay on your own?”

  “Yes, you dear fussbudget, we’ll manage to bumble along somehow.” Bev kissed his cheek. “Do you have time for breakfast before you go?”

  “I wish, but no. I have to be downtown by ten. I’ll just make it if I leave now.”

  “And speed like the very devil,” Bev said. “Do be careful, Freddy.”

  “I will, and don’t worry about any of the paperwork in the office, if you even looked at it. I’ll go through everything next time I’m out.”

  “Well,” Bev said as she watched Freddy crank up his roadster and leave for town. “What do you say we scramble up some eggs and have a real country breakfast before we go back to town?”

  “Fine,” Phil said, distracted. The others had returned to their duties, but Bobby stood leaning against the rail dropping the ash of a newly lit cigar onto the track. He was scowling. Still angry at being voted down about who would jockey Devil’s Thunder?

  It seemed to Phil that the turf war being played here was not among the horses but by the men in charge.

  15

  Now that the initial running of Devil’s Thunder was over and their stomachs were full, they loaded the hamper and returned the luggage to the Packard.

  They would go straight back to Manhattan and stop by the Liberty Safe Deposit Company, and probably find another empty safe. Then they would spend another quiet evening at home. These mourning customs were just not fair.

  Phil didn’t envy Bev. Mourning was hard enough, but when your husband had been murdered and you had been a suspect no matter for how short a time, it was going to be difficult to reinsert yourself into society.

  They all donned their dusters and goggles, just as a black van pulled out of the backyard and rumbled down the drive.

  “Oh, damn,” Bev said. “That’s probably Henry going to the feed store. I should have flagged him down to give us a crank.”

  Phil gave her a patient look. “Get in.” She lifted the crank out of its mounting and walked around to the front of the car. One crank and the engine caught.

  She climbed into the front seat. “Drive,” she ordered.

  Bev pulled out the throttle. “You’re amazing, Phil. Where did you learn how to do that?”

  Phil smiled. “A delightfully wicked Parisian auto racer. I’ll tell you the story one day.”

  Bev made a wide sweep, honked the horn, and tore down the dirt path toward home. It was a beautiful day and Phil leaned back to enjoy the passing scenery.

  They’d gone less than a mile when Phil heard another motor behind them. She turned and saw a black van barreling toward them.

  Lily turned, too. “It is the police!” she cried.

  “No, not a Black Maria, a delivery truck of some sort.”

  Bev watched. “What are they doing?”

  Before Phil could yell an answer, they were hit from behind. Phil was thrown to the floor.

  “Hold on,” Bev yelled, and the touring auto shot forward.

  Phil scrambled back onto her seat. The van had dropped behind, but only far enough to swerve to the left to overtake them.

  Bev looked over her shoulder, then swerved out of his way. The tires rumbled along the grassy verge, and Phil waited for the inevitable blowout and loss of control.

  But Bev managed to gain the pavement, and the auto shot ahead.

  “We’re gaining on them,” Phil yelled, and slumped back in her seat, just in time to see a farm tractor bouncing out between rows of corn.

  “Bev, watch out!”

  The tractor was crossing the road in front of them. The driver didn’t even seem to notice the auto speeding toward him.

  Phil squeezed her eyes shut, expecting a crash. Felt Bev swerve. Then they were going faster than before.

  “Wahoo!” yelled Bev.

  Indeed, thought Phil, adjusting her hat. She looked back to make sure Lily was okay. Lily was clutching the hamper with white knuckles. But she was safe.

  The van was stuck behind the farmer, and two men were standing in the middle of the road shaking fists at each other.

  Phil sat back and didn’t bother to complain as they sped back to the city. That had not been an impatient roadster behind them. Someone had tried to run them off the road. And she thought she knew who.

  “Was that Henry driving that truck?” she yelled out to Bev.

  Bev’s head snapped toward her. “Don’t be ridiculous. All these farms have vans.”

  Phil wasn’t so sure. The timing was very coincidental. Too coincidental. But why?

  * * *

  They managed to make it back across the bridge and to Forty-Second Street without further mishap, and Bev stopped the Packard safely in front of the Lincoln Safe Deposit Company and began pulling off her goggles and gloves.

  “Where is my purse?” Phil said, checking the seat beside her.

  “You didn’t leave it at the farm?”

  “No. It must have fallen to the floor during la chasse.” Phil opened the door, then dropped to her hands and knees to search the floorboards, trying to ignore the memory of the last time she’d crawled into this very auto … looking for a purse.

  “I see it.” She pulled it toward her, but the strap had become wedged between the floor box and the steering column.

  She pulled gently at the delicate ribbon, but it didn’t budge, wiggled it and stretched it until it finally popped free.

  “Success!” She clutched it in her hand and began inching her way back. But she had dislodged something more than her purse string.

  She picked up a small, square piece of paper. A candy wrapper had suffered the same fate as her purse string.

  She crawled back and stretched her feet to the pavement. When she stood up, Bev and Lily were watching her with indescribably comic expressions.

  “Here it is,” Phil said blithely, and stuffed purse and candy wrapper in her duster pocket. “Shall we go inside?”

  The building was very much like any other financial institution, with marble columns and a heavy front door, guarded by an uniformed attendant. They checked in at the reception desk and were led across the marble floor to a wall of bars that reached to the ceiling. A second attendant unlocked a door in the bars, waited for them to pass through, then locked the door behind them. Phil could feel Lily pressing closer to her.

  He opened another heavy vault door and they entered a large room completely lined with locked boxes ranging from the size of a shoe box to ones almost as large as a full room and several small tables and chairs for viewing the contents of the boxes.

  The guard led them to Bev’s box and waited while she fished the key from her purse and unlocked the vault, before returning to his place by the door.

  Bev pulled the box out and placed it on one of the tables. For a few seconds the three of them just stared at it. Then Bev stuck out a tentative hand. Moved the latch over, opened the lid a few inches, and slammed the lid closed.

  Please no cut-off ears or any other body parts that the villains in dime novels seemed to be enamored of, Phil prayed.

  Bev motioned for Phil and Lily to come closer.

  “Don’t act surprised,” she whispered.

  She slowly opened the top. Inside were stacks of bills.

  “This is where the money went,” Phil whispered. “How much do you think is there?”

  “Must be thousands,” Bev whispered back.

  And far more than Daniel Sloane would have paid Reggie for the diary.

  “Why didn’t he take it with him?” Bev asked, breaking into Phil’s train of thought. “Do you think whoever killed him was after this?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Well, we’re not leaving it here.”

  “No,” Phil agreed.

  “Lily, you mustn’t say anything about this,” Phil said.

  Lily shook her head, her eye’s wide. “On my mother’s grave.”

  So she was an or
phan, thought Phil and returned her thoughts to the current problem.

  Bev opened her purse and started putting the packets of bills inside.

  “Not there,” Phil said, looking at the flimsy strap. “We’ll have to wear it out.”

  “Oh, Phil, you’re brilliant, just like when we stole the brace of birds from the larder.”

  “But hopefully not as greasy.” Phil turned her back to the guard.

  Among the three of them, they managed to hide all of the bundles inside their shirtwaists.

  Bev reset the lock and returned the box to the shelf. She slipped the key down her décolleté. “We’re ready now.”

  The attendant unlocked the vault door and the three of them followed him back the way they had come.

  They had just reached the street when an urchin raced past them. He tore the purse from Bev’s wrist and ran off down the street before any of them could react.

  Lily started off in pursuit, but Phil stopped her by the expediency of grabbing her skirt. “Let him go.”

  “Can we please just get out of here?” Bev asked

  “Yes,” Phil agreed. “Before the police can be summoned. Get into the auto.” She grabbed the crank and started the car. She jumped inside just as a policeman ran around the corner.

  “Whew,” Bev said as they made their way up Park Avenue. “What the heck is going on?”

  “I don’t know.” But she’d have to figure it out soon. The curious incidents were beginning to mount up. Surely there was worse to come.

  They returned to the brownstone and walked into bedlam.

  “What happened?” cried Bev as Tuttle rushed toward her, dodging scullery maids, parlor maids, and footmen. He’d seemed to forget he was holding a dustpan filled with shards of broken glass.

  “The police, madam,” Tuttle said, and quickly put the cleaning utensils on a nearby table. “They arrived this morning with a warrant to search the premises. They’ve made a mess of things. No respect or care. We were trying to right it before you returned, but it’s taken rather longer than we wished.”

  Bev pushed him aside and marched into the parlor. Pillows were on the floor, a vase had broken and jagged pieces covered the carpet. Pictures hung askew on the walls.

  Phil had barely caught up to her when Bev spun around and left the room.