The Impersonator (Leah Randall/Jessie Carr Novels)

by Miley, Mary

  Our eyes met. There was no need for words. The undissolved white substance in my sherry had been ma huang in pill form, like Chen had said. It was Ross’s asthma medicine. Chen would not have known that Ross took medicine; he was never inside the house. Grandmother had been right. It was Ross who had tried to kill me, not Henry. His recent kindness had been a ploy to lull me into complacency. And it had worked, damn him.

  “What happens if you take too much of this?”

  Costello drew his finger down the page. “Let’s see … it says here, ‘Prolonged use of the drug, which is not recommended, can be the cause of nervousness and insomnia.’ No worries there, Miss Carr. Your cousin only takes them on occasion. ‘Other side effects include nausea, vomiting, fever, depression, seizures, and headaches. Excessive dose can cause cerebral hemorrhage, cardiac arrest, and death.’ Which is why I warn him not to take more than one at a time, and only when he’s experiencing severe difficulty breathing.”

  A man walked into the drugstore with three youngsters in tow. Costello handed me the envelope of Ross’s pills and noted the purchase in his ledger before turning to the next customer. I looked at the package with distaste. How many of these little pills had Ross put in my glass of sherry?

  “You’d better catch your train,” I said to David.

  “Forget the train, I’ll—”

  “No, you go on. I’ll be fine. I’ll be careful. Now that I know who was responsible.” We were outside now. I could see the train pulling into the station. I could see the indecision on David’s face as he struggled between conflicting obligations to be with his dying mother and to watch over his sister.

  “Gloreen is a real treasure, one in a million. She takes such good care of Ma … I don’t know how I’ll ever repay her, but—”

  “But she’s not family. Your mother needs her son with her now.”

  He brushed my cheek with his lips and my heart flipped over. “Take care of yourself. I don’t want to lose you too.” His long legs reached the train just as it pulled out of the station.

  41

  The telegram arrived while I was in the ballroom with the twins, hanging lights covered with colorful paper lanterns for my birthday party. For Jessie’s birthday party. I was half expecting Jessie to show up. In a perverse way, I was hoping she would.

  Of course she would look older now—I always thought of her as she looked in her last photograph, at thirteen—but I’d know her instantly. I’d give her a quick nod, slip out in the confusion, and life would go on the way it was meant to be. Not a bad ending, all in all.

  Still flush with success from their stage debut, the girls were putting their newfound skills to use, painting a canvas backdrop with a large Eiffel Tower and a Leaning Tower of Pisa. The words “Bon Voyage” and “Happy Birthday” arced in large letters across the top. Invitations had gone out yesterday, and I expected a near hundred percent turnout. The Carrs had lived in Dexter for ten years, and Aunt Victoria had become a pillar of the community, but I was sure acceptances would be driven more by curiosity over Jessie’s reappearance than anything else.

  I ripped open the telegram and gave a cry of dismay.

  “What is it, Jessie?” asked Caro.

  “David’s mother died yesterday. The funeral is tomorrow.”

  “Poor David! How sad.”

  “He regrets that under the circumstances he will not be able to attend the party.”

  “What a shame.”

  Later that day I made up my mind. I told Aunt Victoria and Grandmother, “I’m going to Portland to attend Mrs. Murray’s funeral. David doesn’t expect it, I know, but I think he will appreciate the sentiment.”

  “I think it’s very sweet of you, Jessie,” said my aunt. “A bit unconventional perhaps, but surely no one could criticize such a generous gesture on the part of his closest relation.”

  And so it was that I found myself on the train to Portland once again, a reluctant passenger this morning, trying to think of some words of consolation to lessen David’s pain when I knew from experience such words did not exist.

  Mount Hood towered in the distance as I made my way to the brick Methodist church a couple of blocks from the Murray home. It was a simple service. The church was full. Mrs. Murray had been a fixture in the working-class neighborhood for twenty-five years. She had given store credit when people hit hard times, kept an eye on neighborhood children, and even taken in an unwed mother whose family had thrown her out on the street. Loved by many, respected by all, Mrs. Murray would be missed.

  David’s eyes lit up when he saw me in the back, and nothing would do but that I would sit in the family pew with Gloreen and her father and brothers. I was glad I didn’t have to say much. Something about Gloreen rubbed me wrong, like petting a cat’s fur against the growth. She was far friendlier to me than I was to her, but she wasn’t good enough for David. He seemed to think otherwise.

  The sexton had found room in the crowded churchyard for one more grave, and Mrs. Murray’s mortal remains were laid to rest beside the low brick wall that circled the cemetery. The cloud cover brought a wintry chill to the late afternoon air, and I shivered in my new fall coat as the expensive-looking casket was laid in the ground. Whatever David’s meager finances, he would not skimp on his mother.

  David invited the mourners into the parish hall for refreshments. Little sandwiches and several pies and cakes had been laid on a long table, and Gloreen was busy ladling ginger ale punch into cut-glass cups like she owned the place.

  “Everything is delicious,” I said to David, who kept me close by his side.

  “Isn’t it? Gloreen is an amazing cook.” I felt the unintended criticism—I’d never cooked anything in my life more elaborate than a cheese sandwich. “You don’t know what it means to me to have you come to Ma’s funeral,” he said for the fourth time.

  “I’m glad I had the chance to meet her, if only that once.” I would always have that connection with David, knowing his mother.

  “She really took pleasure in seeing you that day. She spoke of it right up until the end.”

  It was only then that I noticed what he was wearing. “Oh, you have on her locket!”

  “It was her most prized possession. You don’t think I did wrong in not burying it with her?”

  “Of course not! I’m sure she wanted you to have it, and it will mean as much to you as it did to her. You can remember her that way, young and pretty and happy.” He nodded and slipped it inside his shirt against his skin.

  I wanted to ask what he intended to do. Sell the store, sure, but then what? It was not the time to talk of future plans. And to be honest, I didn’t want to hear anything about his marrying Gloreen. Wasn’t it just my miserable luck to find the ideal man, only to have him disqualified by my own lies?

  “With all the arrangements for Ma, I haven’t had time to run down my friend in the police department.”

  “Why, of course not. Don’t give it another thought.”

  “I’ve been giving it a lot of thought, and the more I think, the more I worry about you with Ross around. He put that poison in your glass, and he’s bound to try something again.”

  “Grandmother watches him like a hawk. She’s been suspicious of him since the day she arrived. And I’m being careful. I’ll be leaving in a few days.”

  “I’m sorry I won’t be able to come to your party.”

  “It isn’t important.”

  “But I want to see you before you go to Sacramento. Before you leave for Europe.”

  He sounded as if he really cared for me. Well, of course he does, I told myself harshly. He thinks you’re his half sister, for crying out loud. At that moment, one of the older couples, who was waiting for a break in our conversation to offer their condolences, stepped forward and held out their hands to David. I moved tactfully aside. Gloreen sailed by, busy as a hostess at a social gathering. Next she’d be cooking David his dinner every night. All right, I admit it, I was jealous!

  Sticking around
watching Gloreen play Lady of the Manor was giving me a headache. I curved my lips into my best stage smile and asked her to tell David I had left. I didn’t trust myself to carry off a fond farewell when I knew I’d never see him again. “If I say good-bye directly,” I told her, “he’ll insist on escorting me to the streetcar, and that isn’t necessary. I know where it stops, and besides, his place is here. Thank you so much for the spread. Everything was delicious.”

  “You’re welcome, Miss Carr. I’d do anything for David … David’s mother.”

  I wanted to slap her.

  Returning to the Benson, I paused at reception only long enough to order a bottle of champagne and a light supper sent to my room. Before it could arrive, I walked directly into the dark bathroom and stripped off my clothes, letting them fall to the floor in a heap, turned on the water taps and watched the tub fill around me. My body soaked up the steaming water like a sponge. I lay back, my head on a folded towel, closed my eyes, and tried to let go of my headache. I tried not to think about David. There was no point. He belonged to Gloreen. Instead I concentrated on my next move.

  The curtain would soon fall on She Stoops to Con. Closing night was so close I could almost smell the roses. The birthday party was two days away. The meeting in Sacramento came three days after that. With any luck Smith and Wade could book passage on an ocean liner out of San Francisco the next day. I had performed to perfection. Applause, applause. Where was the euphoria?

  I had to continue as planned. Sure, I wanted to solve Jessie’s disappearance and avenge her death, if she were truly dead. Sure, I’d like to finger Henry for bootlegging, and I would do it too, but I could see no way to make anyone believe me. Although he hadn’t been anywhere nearby when the cut-hair killings had taken place, I still wondered whether he or Ross had had something to do with Jessie’s disappearance. But wondering isn’t evidence.

  I toyed with the possibilities like final scenes of a play.

  I’d walk into the Dexter police station. “Hello, I’m not really Jessie Carr, I’m impersonating her to get her money. The real Jessie Carr was murdered seven years ago and I know who did it. Her cousin Henry.”

  “Is that so, miss? And what proof do you have? A body?”

  “A strong hunch. Henry had a lot to gain from her death, and he once considered pushing me over a cliff.”

  “Did he now, miss? Step into this cell here while we look into the matter. Mr. Carr, did you murder your cousin seven years ago?”

  “Certainly not, Officer, and I want this impostor locked up for the rest of her life.”

  Try again. I’d walk into Dexter police station. “Hello, my cousin Henry Carr is a notorious bootlegger.”

  “Is that so, miss? And what proof do you have?”

  “Our liquor boxes have green chalk on them and so do boxes in Portland speakeasies.”

  “Very interesting, miss.” Big yawn from the cop. “And how does he acquire his liquor?”

  “He probably loads his yacht in Canada, but I can’t figure out how he smuggles it in.”

  “Very well, miss, we’ll send a report to our captain, who is on the bootlegger’s payroll, and let him handle it.”

  One more try. I’d walk into the Dexter police station. “Officer, my cousin Ross tried to poison me with his asthma medicine.”

  “Very interesting, miss. You don’t look dead. What did the doctor say to all this?”

  “Bad oysters. But our Chinese gardener thinks it was poison.”

  “There, there, miss. Sit down and relax while we call Doc Milner to see if you’re off your rocker.”

  It was hopeless. Fact of the matter was, I was the only one who would suffer if I tried to rat on Henry or Ross.

  It was a Mexican standoff. If only I could talk to David, alone. Even if he didn’t know the truth about me, he was the one man in Oregon I could trust. If nothing else, he could fill me in on the distribution part of the smuggling story. If he would talk, that is, which I doubted given his strong sense of loyalty. In any case, I cared about him too much to drag him further into this mess. A bootlegging charge against Henry—if the authorities bothered to pursue it—would immediately expand to his cronies, sweeping up David with the rest of the crooks, and I didn’t want that.

  I would miss David.

  I shook my head firmly. There was no future there, not with my “brother.” He thought of me as his sister and was virtually engaged to Gloreen the Wonder Girl, who could cook, tend to the sick, and run a house with one hand tied behind her back. But I couldn’t stop thinking about how things might have been.

  Room service arrived. I pulled on a robe and let the boy in. Adding more hot water to the tub, I meditated on the hypocrisy of turning someone in for smuggling liquor while sipping bootleg champagne.

  Nothing I could do would bring Jessie back. I couldn’t bring any of those dead women back to life either, and I was hallucinating to think that Henry had anything to do with them. Talk about circumstantial evidence! Even if, through his smuggling, Henry had been generally involved in their deaths, it couldn’t have been direct. He had been far away at college when the Chinese girl and the girl in the warehouse were killed in Dexter. He was in town when Lizzette was killed, true, but that fact hardly mattered without the others. When I had shared my suspicions with David, he’d been dubious. The facts did not fall in my favor. When all was said and done, Henry had not pushed me over the cliff, the white substance in my glass could have been impurities, and Doc Milner had diagnosed oysters.

  And Jessie could well be alive and making her way to Sacramento at this very moment to lay claim to her inheritance before her twenty-first birthday—even though my sixth sense was shouting at me otherwise.

  There was nothing I could do without proof, and my time here was nearly up. The only choice was to stay the course. Play the charade to the end. Sign the papers and disappear for good into the European countryside.

  42

  “Oh, dear,” said Aunt Victoria as she flipped through Friday’s mail. It was nearly four o’clock and, after having finished the party decorations, I had joined the twins and Grandmother in the parlor for a few games of Give and Take. Grandmother turned out to be a sharp player—at least her taffy pile was always the biggest. But that could also have been because her false teeth prevented her from eating her winnings like the rest of us. I suspected that in her day she had gone home a few dollars ahead from more than one card game.

  Ross was poking up the fire, as men like to do. Ever since I had figured out that he had tried to poison me, I kept a close eye on the lad. Henry slumped in his overstuffed chair, lifting himself out of it only to pour another whiskey and snatch another handful of almonds before returning to his hiding place behind the newspaper. I wasn’t sure why he bothered to try to conceal the amount he drank; his mother always pretended not to notice, and none of the rest of us cared. He’d sailed into Dexter Bay a few hours earlier, just as a rare summer storm blew up, talking of rough seas and fussing over some damage to his rigging. I hoped he wouldn’t pay attention to our card game. He’d take great pleasure in tattling on us to his mother, although I frankly didn’t think she’d mind at this point.

  “Oh, dear,” Aunt Victoria said again, and we paid attention this second time. “The Reynolds have begged off. Seems Edith is ill. Such a shame. Here’s a letter for you, Ross. And you, Jessie.”

  I ripped open the envelope. “Uncle Oliver sends his regards to all,” I said, “and many thanks for the invitation. He will arrive tomorrow, in time for the party, and then return to California with Grandmother and me on Monday.” Only three more days. I was going to make it.

  “Well, how flattering. He’s a busy, busy man, and I hardly expected him to rearrange his schedule to come a day early. What is it, Ross, dear?”

  For Ross’s face was suddenly contorted with fury. “Damned idiots! Sorry, Mother, but this is insupportable. I have sent in all the correct paperwork for the master of arts degree and stated my intent to continue
with the doctor of philosophy in the next term, and here the school morons are saying I haven’t met the requirements because I’ve only attended Stanford for one year!”

  The crackle of newspaper drew my eyes to Henry, whose forehead appeared over the edge of the Portland daily. He gave Ross a sharp look, then saw me watching him and lifted the newspaper again. Something was up.

  “Oh, dear,” said Aunt Victoria. “Never mind, darling. It’s just a mix-up. They probably looked up another student’s record by mistake. No doubt there are other Carrs who attended Stanford; after all, it’s a big school and Carr is hardly an unusual name.”

  “Like Sacco or Vanzetti,” said Caro, proving that Mrs. Applewhite was having some success in teaching current events.

  “My thesis has yet to receive final approval, but my adviser suggested I start the paperwork. So I did. And now this!”

  “Just write them a letter, darling, and it will all straighten out.”

  In an act of pure clairvoyance, I knew Henry was going to speak before he opened his mouth, and I knew, more or less, what he was going to say.

  “As a matter of fact, I recall a fellow named Robert Carr a couple years older than me. I was glad when he left … caused any number of mix-ups.”

  The truth crashed over me with such force that I was amazed that no one else heard it. Henry was as deep into his own charade as I was into mine. If I was correct, he had not, after all, been far away in California when the girls with the cut hair had been murdered.

  Because it was Henry’s record the school had mixed up with Ross’s. Not some phony Robert Carr who never existed, but Henry Carr, who had only attended Stanford for one year. Henry Carr, who had left Stanford and told no one, not his mother, not the trustees who were paying the fare, no one. Henry Carr, who had pretended to continue at college for two more years while he ran rum from Canada into Oregon and pocketed the tuition money. And I’d wager my entire stash of saltwater taffy that he hadn’t left college of his own volition.