“The club does have such a ruling. Miss Barnett slipped up on that point. Naturally, the police were suspicious. They checked on her story. Not a solitary waiter at the Black Cat could recall having seen Miss Barnett there on the evening she claimed to have visited the nightclub.”
“Then the police believe that she lied?”
“Yes, I’m telling you this in strict confidence, Jane. So far, Miss Barnett does not suspect that her story has been questioned.”
“What will be the outcome?”
“Well, if the police are able to prove that the young woman deliberately disposed of the necklace to collect insurance money, she may be arrested for fraud.”
“Miss Barnett hasn’t shown herself to be very truthful,” I said, “but I can’t believe she would try to cheat the insurance company. For one thing, the necklace wasn’t insured for its full value.”
“Perhaps it was,” Dad pointed out. “You and I have no way of knowing its true worth. However, I am inclined to agree with you that Miss Barnett doesn’t appear the type who would attempt a trick like that. And there is another angle which developed today.”
“What is that, Dad?”
“I received an anonymous note. As a rule, I immediately throw such letters in the scrap basket, but this one caught my attention.”
My father took a folded brown paper from his vest pocket and gave it to me.
I read the note aloud. “Editor, Greenville Examiner: If you want a straight tip on what became of Miss Helene Barnett’s diamond necklace ask Leo Silva.”
“I checked on the name,” Dad said. “It seems this Leo Silva is a medium. Probably, the tip means absolutely nothing. It may have been written by a misguided person who is under the impression this man Silva can read the stars and tell the name of the culprit.”
“Dad, there is something decidedly familiar about this handwriting,” I said. “I’d say it had been written by the same person who sent Miss Barnett a warning about the witch doll’s evil spell.”
“Clara Jenson?”
“No, Dad. This isn’t Clara’s writing.”
Dad took the note back out of my hand. “Well, in any case, I guess there is nothing to the clue. I’ll burn this up.”
“Dad, I’d keep that letter. I believe there may be something in it.”
“Meaning?”
“I know for a fact that Miss Barnett has visited Silva’s séance parlor,” I said. “I’d be very much surprised if that man doesn’t know something about those missing jewels!”
CHAPTER 15
I managed to keep Mrs. Timms’ name out of it, but I told Dad everything else that had happened that day at Leo Silva’s establishment.
“You never should have gone to such a place,” my father said when I had finished. “But since you did, I’m glad you used your eyes. Jane, your information may be valuable to the police.”
“I suppose they’re welcome to it, Dad, only I hate to get Miss Barnett into trouble. Leo Silva is rather bogged down in misery right now, too.”
“One’s sympathies should never be permitted to interfere with justice.” Dad stood up and started looking for his hat.
“Are you on your way to the police station now?”
“Yes, I’ll turn this note over to them. Then they may do as they please about Silva.”
After Dad left, I was alone in the house. Mrs. Timms had gone to the neighbors’. It was early and the streets not yet dark. I decided to walk over to the Radcliffs’, but when I got there, no one was home.
After that, I wandered aimlessly toward the outskirts of Greenville. It was a pleasant spring evening, and I walked so long that I came to the Jenson Doll Shop. A light was burning in the rear windows.
This did not surprise me. Clara lived in the shop. She cooked her meals on the old range in the workroom and slept on a cot in the corner. I would have dropped in on her if she hadn’t been so unfriendly the last time we’d met.
I walked on half a block further before repenting of my decision. Clara hadn’t meant to be rude, I convinced myself. She must have a reason for acting so strangely. Impulsively, I retraced my steps and knocked on the door of the shop. I waited several minutes, but there was no answer. Just as I turned to leave, I heard footsteps inside. The door opened.
“Well, what do you want here at this hour?” Mrs. Fitz demanded.
“I came to see Clara.”
The door opened wider.
“It’s you again! Clara isn’t here, as you very well know. You were responsible for getting her to run away!”
“I don’t know what you mean!” I said. “Clara isn’t working for you, anymore?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know about it. You came here and talked her into leaving me.”
“Pardon me for contradicting you, Mrs. Fitz. I did not influence Clara in any way.”
“She skipped out late yesterday without even taking all her things. Told me she was on her way to do an errand. The little snip never came back, but when I lay hands on her—”
“After all, Clara had a perfect right to leave your employment, didn’t she?” I said. “I fear you failed to make her work attractive.”
“I’ll get her back—and when I do—” Mrs. Fitz scowled.
“Slavery went out of vogue directly after the Civil War,” I said. “I don’t blame Clara for leaving you. I’d do the same myself.”
“Oh, you would?” Mrs. Fitz rasped. “Let me tell you something, young lady. Don’t ever come around here again!”
Then she slammed the screen door so that it caught my hand. I’m sure she did it on purpose.
I wish I hadn’t given her the satisfaction of crying out in pain, but I did, and then she laughed. I could still hear her laughing after she’d slammed the interior door and retreated into the shop.
I nursed my injured fingers. What a vicious old cat. I wanted to heave a rock right through her window. I didn’t do it, of course, but that may only have been because it would have hurt too much to pick up a rock with my right hand, and I’m not a very good aim with my left.
But after my anger at having my hand smashed in the door dissipated, I was fearful for Clara. If she’d truly left without telling Mrs. Fitz where she was going, she must have been terrified. I wondered if she had gotten any of her money out of Mrs. Fitz.
The next day, I telephoned Flo to tell her about my unpleasant encounter with Mrs. Fitz.
“I never heard of such a mean thing to do!” Florence said. “I shall tell all my friends never to buy another doll at the shop!”
“Speaking of dolls, Flo, have you seen Jeanie lately?”
“No, I was hoping you might like to run out there today.
We could take a picnic lunch with us and make an outing of it.”
“Sounds interesting,” I said, “only how will we get there? Bouncing Betsy’s gas tank doesn’t have enough to get us that far. The last time I siphoned some out of Dad’s car he was fit to be tied!”
“Jane, you haven’t spent all of Mr. Pittman’s check again already? And I thought your Dad was paying you for writing up that story about Miss Barnett’s missing diamonds?”
“What with this and that, and Silva taking a whole dollar away from me, my coffers contain a mere twenty-eight cents.”
“Maybe I could borrow my parent’s car,” Flo said. “I’ll ask Dad. He’s tied up all day writing this Sunday’s sermon, and Mom is in bed again with another one of her head aches. You might start making sandwiches.”
Flo telephoned to say that her father had agreed we might use the Radcliff auto for our picnic. I packed a hamper with good things to eat. Mrs. Timms insisted upon adding a pot of potato curry for the Smith family. I wondered what the Smith family would make of Mrs. Timms’ curry. I’m fond of a good potato curry—and I imagine Mrs. Timms’ must be one of the best—but the Smiths would probably take one bite, and then wisely reserve it for medicinal purposes.
Florence, laden with a heavy basket of her own, drove up to the doo
r shortly after eleven o’clock.
“We have enough food to feed an army of elephants,” said Flo.
“We have enough food to satisfy a swarm of swans,” I said, not to be outdone.
“I didn’t know swans swarmed. I’d have thought they flocked or something.”
“What will we do with all this food? And what about this curry? What is the Radcliff family’s current stance on Indian food?”
“Can’t stand it.”
“Why not take Jeanie with us on the picnic?” I suggested. “She doesn’t have many outings.”
“Yes, she’d love it.”
We found the little girl playing in the yard at the Smith cottage. She ran for her mother, a haggard woman with unwashed hair, who came out to thank us for our gifts.
“We have had such a hard time,” she said, tears in her eyes. “However, I was saying only this morning, that since we met you two ladies, our luck seems to have changed. My husband is straightening up. He brings his money home now, instead of squandering it at Silva’s wretched place.”
“I am glad to hear that,” I said. “I do wonder what made him change his mind.”
Mrs. Smith said Jeanie could go with us, but she declined the invitation for herself, saying that she had a big washing to get out on the line.
“Do you know of a nice picnic spot, Jeanie?” Florence asked the little girl.
“Oh, yes, there’s a real pretty place down by the river.”
“Then you lead the way, Jeanie.”
We spread our luncheon cloth in a pleasant spot of grass along the river bank. The little girl had never eaten olives before, nor had she tasted sweet pickles. I offered her a taste of Mrs. Timms’ potato curry, but after a single tiny bite, she turned pink and begged for a drink of water.
After the dishes had been cleared away, we took Jeanie for a walk through the woods and helped her gather a bouquet of wild flowers to carry home. We came to a long, curling grapevine which hung from a tall tree. It was a perfect swinging vine. I caught a firm hold of it, and with a little run and a jump, floated out into space over the leafy forest floor.
“Like the man on the flying trapeze, I sail through the air with the greatest of ease,” I sang, making up the tune as I went along.
“Oh, let me try it!” Jeanie pleaded.
“All right,” I said, letting go. “Hold on tight, and I’ll give you a big push.”
I sent the child flying high into the air. Jeanie shrieked with pleasure.
“Now you swing with me, Mrs. Carter,” Jeanie said when she’d returned to earth.
“The grapevine might break with both of you,” Florence warned.
“Oh, it’s big and tough,” I said. “Anyway, even if it does break, we won’t have far to fall.”
I showed Jeanie where to take hold of the vine and had reached up to grasp it myself when I froze.
“What is the matter?” demanded Jeanie. “Don’t you want to swing anymore?”
I didn’t answer Jeanie’s question. Instead, I turned to Flo.
“Look over toward those bushes to the right,” I whispered. “Someone is spying on us!”
CHAPTER 16
There, in a dense clump of bushes only a short distance away, I could see the indistinct outline of a crouching body.
“Let’s get away from here quickly,” Flo whispered back, tugging Jeanie away from the vine and catching firm hold of her hand.
I had a better idea.
“Yes, Jeanie, I’ll swing again! Watch this!” I said loudly.
I grabbed hold of the grapevine and then ran as hard as I could. I swung myself straight toward that clump of bushes. Suddenly releasing my hold, I dropped down onto the man who had hidden himself there.
The man shouted as my right foot caught him in the jaw. As he scrambled out of the bushes, I got a better look. He was of medium height and a muscular build. He wore a black suit and a gray felt hat that was pulled down so low that I still failed to get a good look at his face.
He ran toward the river. I ran after him until I heard Flo calling frantically. I returned out of breath and covered in bits of leaves.
“My, that was funny!” I laughed and pulled a twig from my hair. “He ran like a scared rabbit. Did you get a good look at him, Florence?”
“No, he kept his hand over his face.”
“I didn’t really see him, either.”
“Why should anyone wish to spy upon us, Jane?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. Anyway, he’s gone now, and I doubt if he’ll come back in a hurry.”
“Suppose we get away from here ourselves,” Florence urged.
We gathered up the picnic hampers. I was puzzled. The man who had spied on us was too well-dressed to be a tramp. I was sorry I had failed to see his face clearly. He had kept his head low, even as he ran.
We walked back to the Smith cottage. When we told Mrs. Smith about the man in the bushes, she was concerned but could shed no light on who the man might have been or why he might have been loitering by the river. She’d seen no suspicious characters in the area.
When I arrived home, I was surprised to find Mrs. Timms waiting for me at the door.
“Miss Barnett telephoned while you were away,” she told me. “She wants you to visit her at the Pink Lotus just as soon as possible.”
“I’m not very anxious to go over, but I suppose I should. How long ago did she call?”
“About half an hour.”
I changed into a clean frock and then drove Bouncing Betsy over to the theater, hoping she’d make it there and back on the fuel she had left.
Pauline admitted me to Miss Barnett’s dressing room
“Good afternoon,” I said. “Mrs. Timms said you wished to see me.”
“Yes.” The dancer offered me a chair. “I simply have to talk with someone, or I shall go mad!”
“Has something else gone wrong?”
“Just about everything. The police are being so annoying. Then yesterday evening when I was dancing, the heel of my slipper flew off. It was a miracle I didn’t trip and fall. During the performance, someone deliberately hissed again!”
“You have had your troubles, Miss Barnett. Could it have been that same man who created a disturbance the night you introduced your witch dance?”
“It looked like the same person.” Miss Barnett turned to the maid. “Pauline, would you run over to the drugstore and get me some postage stamps?”
“Postage stamps?” Pauline looked as if she’d never heard of a postage stamp.
“Yes, that is what I said.”
Pauline took the coin Miss Barnett gave her and went out the door.
“I did that just to be rid of her.” The dancer sighed. “She gets on my nerves, frightfully.”
“Then why don’t you discharge her?”
“I dread breaking in a new maid. I shouldn’t mind Pauline, if only she didn’t keep me so stirred up about the witch doll. The horrid thing came back again today.”
“You mean you tried to dispose of it a second time?” I asked.
“Yes, I dropped it in a rubbish bin in the alley behind the theater, but less than an hour later, I found it in my dressing room again.”
“That’s almost unbelievable.”
“It’s true. I would give almost anything to be rid of that doll.”
“I think I know how your problem might be solved,” I said.
“How?”
Before I could reveal my plan, there was a knock on the door. Miss Barnett arose to admit the visitor. A large, square-shouldered man in dark blue stepped into the room.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Simmons,” said the dancer. She looked less than happy to see him. “I suppose you came to annoy me with questions again?”
“I hope not. We’re doing our best to trace the necklace for you.”
This must be the police detective, I thought.
“So far you’ve accomplished nothing. From the number of times I’ve been questioned, one might think tha
t I was the chief suspect in the case.”
Mr. Simmons sat down near me. I got up to leave.
“Please stay, Mrs. Carter,” Miss Barnett said. “I trust this interview will not take long.”
“That depends entirely upon you, Miss,” said the detective. “I’ll be frank. Your story does not satisfy us.”
“I don’t understand.”
“In checking up, we have learned that you never did visit the Black Cat on the night of the twenty-sixth, Miss Barnett. Shall I tell you where you were that evening after leaving the Pink Lotus?”
Miss Barnett did not speak. Her hands tightly gripped the chair. A bright flush spread over her cheeks.
“You went to see a man by the name of Leo Silva.”
“How ridiculous!”
“We have proof, Miss Barnett. Now, I may as well tell you that unless you reveal the truth, we’ll be forced to one conclusion—that you secretly disposed of the necklace so that you might collect the insurance money.”
“Oh, such a thought never entered my mind! Never!” Miss Barnett was fighting back tears. She looked over at me for help, but I didn’t know what I could do.
“Tell me the real story about the necklace,” the detective urged.
“It was stolen, just as I said.”
“But not at the Black Cat?”
“No,” Miss Barnett admitted reluctantly, “I lied about that part. I went to Leo Silva’s séance parlor, and the necklace disappeared while I was there.”
“Why didn’t you tell us this in the first place?”
“I—I didn’t wish to have it known where I had been. If the story appeared in a newspaper my public might consider me superstitious.”
“So, the necklace was stolen at Silva’s?” the detective said. “We’ve had our eye on that fellow for some time.”
“Oh, Leo Silva didn’t steal the necklace!” Miss Barnett said. “I will vouch for him.”
“Friend of yours?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then how can you be certain he had nothing to do with the theft?”
“Because I am sure he is an honest man.”
“His line of work scarcely bears that out,” Mr. Simmons said. “I’m afraid we’ll have to send out a warrant for Silva’s arrest.”
Peril at the Pink Lotus: A Jane Carter Historical Cozy (Book One) (Jane Carter Historical Cozy Mysteries 1) Page 9