Ask Me No Questions

by Shelley Noble

  Lily returned, trying not to sound out of breath, and handed Phil her purse. Instead of withdrawing, the girl positioned herself behind Phil’s chair as a petite but somewhat fierce centurion.

  Phil reached into her purse and brought out a handful of bills. Counted them out. Exactly two hundred dollars as she’d requested, which she could ill afford, but she had no choice. “It’s all I have at my disposal. It should get you home to wherever.”

  Mimi reached for the bills.

  “First the diary.”

  Mimi reluctantly handed it over. Phil flipped through it until she ascertained that it might indeed be valuable. She gave Mimi the bills; Mimi shoved them into the tapestry bag and stood up.

  “I hope they don’t come after you, your ladyship. You’ve saved my life.” She backed away, then turned and ran for the door.

  Phil stayed where she was until she heard the front door open and close.

  “You know, Lily, if we ever find ourselves in dire straits, which I doubt, but if we do, I might make a career on the stage.”

  18

  Tuttle came back into the room, and Phil slipped the book to her lap. “Thank you, Tuttle. You did the right thing bringing her here. We needn’t bother informing Mrs. Reynolds of her visit.”

  Tuttle merely dipped his chin, but Phil knew he was brimming with curiosity and perhaps had been listening at keyholes.

  “She wanted money. I gave her a little something. I don’t think she’ll be bothering us again.”

  “Very good, my lady. Would you care for more coffee?”

  “No, Tuttle, that will be all.”

  “Now,” Phil said to Lily as soon as the door closed behind him, “take this upstairs and keep it out of sight until I can get up to read it. And don’t let Bev know what has occurred.”

  Lily curtseyed. Phil handed her the book and she slipped it beneath her apron. “And don’t peek.”

  “No, madam.”

  Phil finished her coffee, trying to appear normal when she really wanted to lift her skirts and race up the stairs to find out if Mildred had indeed written something that would have inspired someone to kill Reggie and then go after her.

  It might come to nothing, along the lines of Mr. A.P. was seen leaving the premises of Mrs. C. in the wee hours before dawn by an observant a lamplighter, et cetera. Hardly motive for murder, unless perhaps you were Mrs. C.’s husband. And even then it seemed far-fetched.

  Most likely Mildred had been receiving emotional but empty threats by members of Reggie’s loyal admirers, and Phil had wasted two hundred dollars she didn’t have to spare.

  She finished her breakfast, and since Bev had still not made an appearance, she climbed the stairs to her own bedroom.

  Lily was waiting for her. The diary, however, was nowhere in sight.

  “Where—?” Phil began.

  Lily lifted the side of her skirt and pulled the book from her garter. “I was afraid to put it down.”

  “Who knew garters could be so useful,” Phil said, trying not to smile. “Well, let’s take a look and see if it’s as volatile as Mildred Potts believes.”

  They spent an hour reading Mildred’s thoughts on the other actresses. Connie has to use bust lifters to fill out her dress. I bet the managers didn’t know that when they hired her. Can you imagine watching her undress? Quelle surprise for some unsuspecting gentleman …

  Her derision of the upper class. Mrs. Adela Freeland got rip-snorting drunk the other nights at H.T.’s and fell over the ottoman. By the time the boys hauled her up, everyone had seen that she wasn’t wearing …

  Reflections on Bev Reynolds. I wanted to go to the races but Beverly was going with him. She’s such a bitch. And I bet she’s frigid. I’d love to see them at night, I bet she won’t do half the things …

  Phil skimmed a few more entries. She didn’t think any of what they’d read was relevant to “Who Killed Reggie and the Library Stranger?” Mimi had said that Reggie had made entries, and she was tempted just to look ahead for those, but she didn’t want to be accused (not that there was anyone to accuse her) of not being thorough.

  Poor Pansy Grantley has been sent to the country. Not knocked up at her age but something worse. Drugs. The family found her in a stupor last night on the front doorstep of their Fifth Avenue mansion and shipped her off in the middle of the night. All over town by today. Bye-bye place in society …

  Dandy Rollins …—The Mrs. Rollins at Hilda’s dinner party? Too delicious—was complaining about how her servants were being paid to spy on her. She didn’t say who’s paying them. Probably one of those pornography magazines. Everybody knows her ladies’ suffrage get-togethers are—let’s just say they’re not about suffering. No men allowed??? Eww. Give me a man any day. I wonder what else her servants know …

  Lily lost interest and wandered to the window, but since it only looked out to the roof of the brownstone next door, she was soon back again. “This is a waste of time. Who cares what old randy Dandy Rollins does at her meetings?”

  “No one, but here’s something.” Phil perused the bottom third of the page that Mimi had written hurriedly. A closer look showed that it was as much in anger as in haste.

  “What?”

  “It’s about Bev.”

  Lily came to read over her shoulder.

  Well, of all the nerve. Beverly shows up at the Haymarket with Otto Klein. Of course she sees Reggie and me. At first she ignores me, but then Reggie wants to leave, like he’s embarrassed to be seen with me. Then what does that bitch do but takes Otto upstairs like a common whore. Reggie sees red and goes after them. I see redder and go after Reggie. And there they are going at it up against the wall of one of the best private rooms of the best after-hours clubs in Manhattan. No class. Don’t see what Reggie, or Otto, for that matter, sees in her …

  “Doesn’t take much to know what they see in her,” Lily said.

  “However, I doubt if Bev or her father would want this spread about.”

  Phil closed the book. Maybe she shouldn’t keep reading. At least not in front of Lily.

  Lily fisted her hands on her hips. “Afraid to see what else she says … my lady?”

  “I was trying not to shock your delicate sensibilities.”

  “I won’t be shocked,” Lily said.

  “Very well.” Phil reopened the book and turned to the next page. “What’s this?” Reggie is so angry. He’s angry all the time now. It’s that damn horse. Reggie says he’s the best there is, but ever since he was entered at Belmont, Reggie’s been on a tear. Bobby and Freddy are at odds over the training and Reggie’s threatening to get rid of one of them or the other if they can’t get along. I hope it’s Freddy. No gumption, that one.

  Phil skimmed over the next entry. Nearly a whole page of Mildred’s ramblings about the inconveniences of taking the trolley to the theater and about some actress who got her hat mixed up with Mildred’s.

  And then another about Reggie. She read aloud. “‘Down at the Haymarket tonight. I just wanted to dance, but Reggie keeps at Bobby for not “taking care” of the boy who’s some kind of runner for that policeman. I told Reggie not to get involved with him. A bully and he’ll bleed us dry.’”

  Policeman? Not Atkins, surely; it must be Becker.

  Then he grabbed the kid by his collar and told him to let em know that he knows what they’re up to and they wouldn’t get away with it. Reggie’s got guards on Devil’s Thunder. I guess so nobody tampers with him. They drugged McMaster’s Easy Money last year and it did more than slow him down. Died on his way back to Virginia. I don’t want the same to happen to D’s Thunder, but I’m getting sick to death of the damn beast. He’s all they talk about. He gets more attention than I do.

  Join Bev’s club, thought Phil. The two of them could commiserate over Reggie’s lack of attention.

  “I don’t blame him,” Lily said. “All that actress does is gripe, gripe, gripe.”

  Could the two murders possibly have been over a horse? Is t
hat why Freddy fired Bobby?

  Or was this just a diary of a grasping, demanding mistress? A tell-all, maybe, but not scandalous enough for blackmail, unless Phil had missed something. Why did Reggie tell Mimi this book would be their insurance policy?

  Two pages later, Mimi’s entry made her think twice about her first impression. Reggie came tonight all pissed off. I thought at first it was something his wife did, cause he got real rough with me. I like it a bit rough sometimes, but he nearly gave me a black eye. And they’d fine me for sure if I showed up at the theater with a shiner. Anyway, afterward, we had a couple of drinks and he said he didn’t want to go out anywhere, cause he felt like committing murder.

  Wasn’t sure I wanted to stay in because I didn’t want to be that handy if he acted on that whim. But after a while I calmed him down. I know how to work magic on a man, Reggie’s like putty when I get to going. “Fools,” he says. “I’m gonna make them pay, baby, oh yeah, I’m gonna make em pay,” he says.

  Leastways he didn’t make me pay and hopefully things’ll look better once this big race is over.

  It continued on in this vein until Phil came upon blank pages. She thumbed through a few more. Nothing. Nothing about leaving for South America or any plans for their future. She leafed through the remaining pages, just to make sure she didn’t miss anything. All of them were empty until she got to the last page. It appeared to be stuck to the flyleaf, but the top corner was bent down. Carefully, Phil tugged at the paper, and the page opened to reveal two more pages. And …

  Lists. Column after column. Written in a neat hand grouped together in several batches with an enumeration of ten to twelve sets of initials and accompanying numbers. Each was headed by a capitalized letter and a date from the last twelve months. Or more to the point, four groups from last fall and two from the past month and a half. And if Phil was not mistaken, they coincided with the racing season.

  There was no title head or explanation. But even at a glance she could see that some of the initials appeared in more than one group.

  “The initials must stand for people’s names,” she said to Lily. “The numbers could be—”

  “Money,” Lily said confidently.

  “I agree. People who owed Reggie money, or gambling debts Reggie owed to them. He called them fools. Because he was planning to abscond and never repay them?”

  Phil huffed out a sigh. “I have no idea who these people might be. Though one or two do seem familiar. T-J appeared numerous times. I wouldn’t have suspected Mr. Tappington-Jones of underhanded dealings. Because these must be underhanded.”

  “Why?” Lily asked.

  “Because respected people use qualified bookmakers.”

  “Oh.”

  “We’ll have to enlist Bev to help us with the rest of these initials. Though I think we will withhold some of the nastier parts about her and Reggie.”

  “Yes, madam. I don’t like this Mildred person. She is … maligno.”

  “Malicious, yes, quite. So we’ll keep these things to ourselves. As for the rest…” Phil looked at Lily and knew they were thinking the same thing. Those little tidbits of knowledge might come in handy as leverage in her future life. Not that she’d ever resort to out-and-out blackmail.

  “Actually, fetch me pen and paper. I’ll copy down the lists and tell Bev we found them stuck in a magazine. A little subterfuge will keep from hurting her feelings and protect her father from certain things he really doesn’t need to know. Being able to share the lists will prevent us from having to figure this out on our own.”

  Phil copied all the lists with accompanying marks and scrawls from Reggie.

  In total, the lists contained twenty-four different set of initials, at least seven of which were repeated, some four or five times, all with various amounts written next to them. They hid the diary in Phil’s jewelry case and Phil slipped the key down her chemise, before folding the list into her pocket and going downstairs.

  Hoping any condolence callers had condoled and left, she entered the parlor to find Mrs. Tappington-Jones taking her leave.

  “Oh, there you are, Lady Dunbridge. I just dropped by with a message from Mrs. Alice Langham requesting your presence at her ball tonight. She would have come herself, but she just returned from London and is up to her ears in preparation. But learning that you were here, she insisted that I deliver her invitation.”

  Bev stirred. “Just sealed the deal to marry her daughter off to Lord Abington and is holding a victory dance.”

  “Oh, Bev, you’re so droll,” said Mrs. Tappington-Jones. “And I just hate that you won’t be able to attend. But it will pass before you know it, and you’ll once more be out in society.”

  Bev groaned and clutched a throw pillow to her stomach.

  “Here is the invitation.” Mrs. Tappington-Jones handed Phil a pristine white envelope. “Mr. Tappington-Jones and I will be honored to take you in our carriage.”

  “I appreciate the invitation and the offer, but I feel I can’t leave Bev.”

  “Nonsense. Mrs. Langham particularly requested your presence. It seems the Austrian cultural attaché specifically asked if you’d be there.”

  “You must go, Phil,” Bev said. “And tell me every juicy morsel of gossip when you return. Or else I really will die of boredom.”

  “In that case, I’d be delighted to attend. I’ll send my RSVP immediately.”

  She wrote out a quick reply and Mrs. Tappington-Jones was soon on her way.

  Phil sat down. “I know you think I’m languishing here with you Bev, but it isn’t true. Society will wait.”

  “I know. I just don’t want you to miss out on any of the important events. The Langhams are industrialists. Nouveau, not old money, but you don’t mind, do you?”

  “Good heavens no, I’ve had enough of lineage to last several lifetimes.” She moved closer to Bev. “But there is something I want to ask you about … I found some initials and numbers and I thought you might be able to tell me who these people are.”

  She took out the paper and opened it.

  “What is this? This isn’t Reggie’s writing.”

  “No, unfortunately I had a little accident, which made it illegible. Fortunately, I was able to quickly copy it. I think it’s lists of people’s initials.”

  “I see. Well. G.G. could be George Gould. We don’t really run in his circles; Father does. It could be Gerald Girard. I’m not sure what he does. Something with shoes, I believe.

  “P.B.… the first thing that comes to mind is Paddy Boyle, but what would he be doing on a list with Gould or even Girard? He’s a real character and incredibly entertaining. He’s some kind of liaison, I think, for something not quite legal, a real lowlife type. Or it could be Paul Barnes, he works with Freddy in the mayor’s office and is on the board of directors at some insurance company. He’s more likely to be part of a group that includes either G.G.”

  It went on this way until several rows from the end. “T-J, that’s an easy one.”

  “Tappington-Jones. I noticed that, but twenty K. Would Reggie borrow from him?”

  “He might try, but Arthur is as closed-fisted as he is ham-fisted. Why do you think his wife looks elsewhere for her affection?” Bev frowned over the sheet. “You found this list in the library?”

  “Hmm,” Phil said, deflecting to a passable observation. “Could it be some kind of register. Maybe of taking bets?”

  “God knows they’re all into racing. Find me a man who isn’t into racing, and I’d marry him … if I weren’t in mourning. Devil’s Thunder does attract big money. We built our own training track at Holly Farm and acquired several colts from winnings.”

  “T-J shows up several times, and if you add up the amounts, that’s a lot of money to win or lose or even loan.”

  “Bets?” Bev asked.

  “I’m thinking so. Could that be the money in the safety-deposit bank? They gave money to Reggie to bet for them?”

  “No. They have bookmakers for that.
I know Reggie did a few things on the side, but no, that doesn’t make sense. Especially not this early in the game.” Bev sighed, tapped her chin. “Besides, I think Mr. Barnes is on the Turf Commission And come to think of it, so is Arthur.”

  “Which leaves us nowhere,” Phil said. “If we only knew who the rest of these people are, and if the money in the safety-deposit box is theirs or Reggie’s.”

  “Well, you might be able to find out at the Langham ball tonight. There’s a T.L. on the list. It might be Thomas Langham. He’s your host and there will be others among the guests there.”

  But of course. Just like London society, Manhattan society was small and elite. Loans or bets or blackmail, she wondered how she would slip, “Are you involved in something illegal?” into the small talk of the evening.

  “In that case, I’d better ring for Lily and prepare for the ball. And don’t look so glum. I’m attending merely to find answers, not to enjoy myself.”

  But between the list and what she might find out tonight, she might have a brilliant idea in the morning.

  19

  Phil was sitting in her boudoir reading Mildred’s diary when the maid announced the arrival of the Tappington-Joneses. She quickly slipped the diary under her pillow—a safe enough place for the next few hours—and hurried downstairs.

  She’d dressed in an exquisitely expensive ball gown, silver stitched with swirls of silver sequins, and an overdress of pink chiffon, caught up in a metallic belt above the waist. Its short sleeves, finished by two pink-and-sliver tassels, gave just a hint of playfulness to the ensemble.

  It was designed not to bowl over the other guests but to reassure them. Impeccably tasteful, elegant, and—for Lady Dunbridge, anyway—quite demure.

  She might not be the object of male ogling tonight, but the ladies would approve. And as any intelligent woman knew, the door to society was opened and closed by the wives of important men.

  Not exactly in keeping with her guest-of-a-house-in-mourning status, but she had no intention of playing that game again. And if anyone commented negatively on that fact, there would be another lady who would be sympathetic toward her situation. After all, she’d just finished her own period of mourning.