“The second thing is this," the treasurer went on. "Mr. Brewster has what I consider a somewhat elaborate plan for paying the person who does the sorting. I won't bother you with the details. My suggestion is we decide how much work this job will entail, how many hours it will take, and what would be a fair amount of financial reimbursement for whoever does the work. In return, I'd recommend that a very small percentage of the cost to the customers to rent the boxes, and for the lottery tickets to acquire a box, be reimbursed at five percent up front, but only for long enough to cover our initial investment, then the annual cost of the box should be set by us, and the sorter pay us the same percent as a town tax on the property.”
Again, the group agreed and voted. This time Arnold Wood voted with the rest of them.
“One more question, Mr. Brewster," the treasurer asked. "Who's going to do this?”
Robert smiled and said, "Chief Walker suggested that I do it, because I started this, but I don't need the job right now—”
Arnold Wood butted in. "Chief Walker! The man's an incompetent. Why, he doesn't even know yet who killed that man McBride. We need a new chief of police. He's always slow on the job.”
Robert couldn't resist this jab. "That's probably because he always waits until he has proof of who committed the crime instead of just accusing someone."
“Sure, you'd say that. He lives in luxury, I hear, at your mansion. Great pal of yours. Do you know who he suspects?"
“We don't discuss his job over the dinner table, sir," Robert snapped. "He's a boarder just like the milliner and the principal of the grade school and we don't question them about their jobs. It's none of our business, or yours, for that matter." Robert turned to the treasurer and said, "To get back to the subject at hand, I thought about asking Mrs. Susan Gasset if she'd like to take the job. She's the cashier now at the movie theater, and it's a long hard day for which she's probably paid a pittance, and her children seldom see her. Her sister takes care of them. This would be a day job while the children are in school. I haven't approached her yet, and would prefer to get her opinion before we decide."
“A girl doing a job that should go to a man?" Arnold Wood shouted.
Robert said, "Mr. Wood, do you have any idea how many men have run off and left their wives to cook and take care of the kids? How many women have done that? None that I know of."
“Arnold, shut up," the treasurer said, standing up, red in the face. "Mr. Brewster is right. In my experience women are smarter and harder working than men anyway. Furthermore, none of them here in town have run out on their families like so many men in town have done. You are the rudest man I've ever known. I'll accept your resignation, if you'd care to submit it. Meeting adjourned until Mr. Brewster talks to Mrs. Gasset.”
Everyone fled the meeting as quickly as they could, leaving Arnold behind.
“Bastards. All of you," Arnold shouted.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ROBERT'S NEXT STOP after the meeting concluded was the train station. "Mr. Buchanan, could you tell me how many mail trains come in on any given day?"
“Three. One at seven-thirty in the morning. That's the biggest since most of the mail comes from New York City overnight. Normally three bags. Then the noon one is usually two bags. The last one of the day is at four and it's almost always one bag. But there is no delivery on Sunday at all. So each Monday morning is commonly four bags."
“That's interesting. I wouldn't have guessed. How big are these bags?”
Mr. Buchanan brought one out of his office to show Robert.
“I thought they'd be huge. But they're not. Thanks for the information.”
When he returned to Grace and Favor, Robert called Susan Gasset's house, introduced himself again because they'd talked the day before when she signed the petition, and asked if she'd be interested in a new job.
“Am I ever!" she exclaimed.
“Could I spin by your house and have a talk with you this afternoon?"
“Come to the theater. There's a matinee today. I have to be there at one. By one forty-five I'm free, but have to be back in the booth at quarter of four for the four o'clock people, and then for the eight o'clock showing."
“You have to just hang out there the whole time between movies?"
“I have to total up the tickets and match it to the money. It takes me a half hour at least and more if it's a big crowd."
“Do you go home between?"
“Sometimes I do. When one of the kids is sick and out of school. I don't want to put my sister to more trouble than I have to."
“We'll talk about this on one of your free times today. Okay?"
“That's fine. Nobody's sick today," she said with a laugh. "How about two in the afternoon?”
While Robert waited around to meet with Mrs. Gasset, he stopped by the jail.
Howard said, "What now?"
“Do you know there's a nasty man on the town council who wants you fired?"
“Yep, I've heard that. Old Arnold Wood. He used to have a very profitable bakery up Route 9 a little way. When the drought hit the Midwest he couldn't get enough flour at a good price to keep it up and had to shut it down. Had to give up his big house and move to a little one. He and his wife have a son living with them. A complete lout. A big fat boy who hates dogs. He goes around kicking them whenever he gets a chance. He's killed a few of them. A few of the bigger, cannier ones have snuck up on him later and bit him in the back of the calf or thigh. The last time I heard, three of them had sent him to the hospital to get stitched back up and have rabies shots."
“Why does that make Arnold Wood want you fired?"
“Because he wants to get the kid out of his house, and to take over my job."
“Fat chance!"
“I know. But he will never give up on it. He's desperate to get the obnoxious kid a job."
“The treasurer of the council got so mad at him for being rude to me and criticizing you that he asked him to resign."
“He was rude to you as well?"
“Because he called me 'the boy' who drives around in the Duesie, and he didn't like it that you live at Grace and Favor. And what's more, you haven't found somebody to blame McBride's death on yet.”
Howard put his head in his hands. "I'll bet that fat son of his could have found someone to blame—without any reason—by now. He knows nothing about police work and is universally hated. Especially by people who had the little dogs he killed. There would be a full-fledged revolution in Voorburg if he got the job. Still, it's damned annoying of Arnold to keep harping on me."
“I guess you couldn't get his fingerprints with the coffee cup technique?" Robert said with a laugh.
“I couldn't. I'd need a warrant and you can't get one just because someone is obnoxious and rude."
“But, Howard, he and his son are the types of men who would be perfectly willing to have killed McBride just to put you in a bad spot."
“Not really. Arnold's all bluster. He wouldn't do that. The son might. If he can kill dogs, what's to stop him from killing a person he didn't like. Frankly, I don't think he'd have the courage. He usually picks on little dogs.”
Robert looked at his watch, and said, "I've got a date with Mrs. Gasset on her break."
“A date?"
“More of an appointment. I want her to take over the mail sorting if it comes about, as I hope it does.”
Mrs. Gasset was sitting on a bench across from the theater. She didn't notice him at first, and Robert studied her for a moment. A pretty woman a year or two older than he. But sadly, she had three children and a rather terrifying sister, Bernadette, who raised rabbits and sold the fur and meat. Robert crossed the road, sat down next to her, and said, "This is very nervy of me, but I have to ask. What do you make taking tickets and sorting out how many were sold?"
“A dollar and a half a day," she admitted.
“I think I could get you a job that's just as boring but that would earn you more money. And you could go home a
nd spend the evenings with your family and children.”
Her eyes went wide. "What kind of job?"
“Sorting mail into boxes at the train station. But not just yet. However, I really think the town council is going to approve it. What's more, you'd get a percentage of what the boxes cost. A big percentage, in fact."
“Why don't you do it yourself?" she asked. "I've signed your petition. You ought to be the one making the money."
“My sister and I make enough money to get by. We taught at the grade school for a while. We take in boarders who pay to live at Grace and Favor. Three of them so far. And room for more if everybody who currently lives there likes them. If even one disagrees, they don't qualify.”
He didn't and wouldn't ever mention the cash in the fake books to anyone but Lily and Mr. Prinney, who already knew.
“I'd be honored to take the job, if it works out. Meanwhile, I'll go on taking tickets. The owner of the theater won't want to lose me, but I would like to be at home in time for dinner and have the evening free every night. I always drag myself home around nine in the evening and the kids are already in bed.”
She smiled and said, "My sister would like it, too. She says it's the hardest part of taking care of kids.”
No wonder, Robert thought. Bernadette probably puts them to bed the way she puts the rabbits to bed. Just shove them in bed (or a cage) and walk away.
Robert went back to Grace and Favor and called Peter Winchel, the town treasurer. "I've spoken to both Mr. Buchanan and Mrs. Gasset since the meeting. Mrs. Gasset is very anxious to take the job. Could you consider paying her two and a half or three dollars a day?"
“That's up to the whole council to decide. I'm fairly sure they'd agree to two and a half, though."
“How about this—Mr. Buchanan says the heaviest day is Monday because there is no delivery on Sunday. Could you persuade them to pay three dollars for Monday and two and a half for the other days?"
“Sounds good to me," Mr. Winchel said in his deep voice that indicated his authority.
Howard heard early Friday morning from the fingerprint expert from Yonkers. "This is Joseph Cline."
“Nice to hear from you."
“I've been a bit tardy. My wife just had our first baby. But I do know about the prints on this cup. Having his full name helped a lot. I've just looked him up. Clever of you, Chief Walker, using that smooth cup. Do you want it back?"
“No, thanks. What do you know about Mario Peck?"
“First, that Peck isn't his real name. His real name is an Italian name with lots of vowels. He's a petty crook. A long list of scams. Did a little time for one that destroyed the finances of an elderly lady. Most recently . . ." Mr. Cline seemed to be trying to stifle a laugh. He went on, "Mario hit a parking meter in a borrowed car. Claimed he'd driven a long way and fell asleep at the wheel."
“Was it really borrowed or stolen? Let me guess. Stolen, right?"
“Of course stolen. But there's more to the story. He was wearing protective glasses, heavy headgear, and thick leather gloves. Behind the parking meter was an Italian restaurant where a bunch of Mafia guys were having dinner at a table at the front window."
“He was aiming for them," Howard said. It wasn't a question.
“Apparently the protective glasses foiled him. He missed his target because he couldn't see the parking meter. No real harm was done to anyone. It wasn't followed up, just entered in his record. Except for the damage to the stolen car. He did have to pay for that in trade for jail time. Shortly after that, he took that dreadful office. Laying low, apparently."
“When I went to his office and did the coffee cup trick, I noticed that his name wasn't on the door of his office. Just that it was Room 3B. Is he a known member of the Mafia?"
“It's probably part of some really low-ranking group trying to get their feet in the door with some other big guys. If Mario had done what he intended to do, he'd have done time. But come out golden. A good attorney would have been paid for by his cronies and he would have had the grateful thanks of some other big-time mobsters."
“Interesting," Howard said with a laugh, but then turned serious. "But not much good for the case I'm investigating.”
Mr. Cline asked what the case was about, and Howard explained.
“That's really sad. A poor veteran down on his luck and murdered so viciously. If you do find even a remote connection to Mario, please let me know. I'd like to help, and if I can do anything for you, I'd certainly be willing to."
“Thanks. I'll keep in touch if I need to. Boy or girl? Your new baby?"
“A ten-and-a-half-pound girl. We're thinking maybe she'll turn into a good football player someday if they ever let girls play."
“What's the baby's name?" Howard asked.
“Ellen Marie."
“A lovely name," Howard said. "I'll send her a 'girl' toy.
“No need to. My wife has three older sisters who only have boys and have bought all the girly dresses and toys. Our baby's room is full of them."
“I'll send one more anyway," Howard said.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Saturday, May 6, to Monday, May 8
AS WALKER HAD PROMISED, Parker's brown suit looked almost new by the time Mimi was done with it. She'd patched a fraying spot on an elbow with part of the hem of a trouser and pressed the suit to perfection.
Howard had alerted the telephone exchange that both he and his deputy would be gone for several hours that afternoon and if anything needed attention desperately to call the police in Fishkill or Cold Spring to fill in.
As they drove to Yonkers, Parker asked, "Why is this funeral so delayed? Didn't the victim die quite a long time ago?"
“Yes, but his mother had recently moved and had lost track of which box the deeds to the two lots were stored in. Poor Edwin has been on ice at a funeral home."
“Poor guy. Why are both of us going?"
“Because I need to be supportive of his mother and you need to eavesdrop at the grave site and later at Mrs. McBride's house to listen to what his friends are saying.”
The funeral was well attended by his old friends. Dennis, the closest to Edwin, brought along his oldest son. The only one missing was Mario, which wasn't a surprise.
Howard wondered why, since Edwin had served in the Great War, there wasn't a military presence. He should have had at least six men in Army uniforms in attendance, even if they couldn't fire a final salute as the coffin was lowered. He supposed Mrs. McBride hadn't known she could have sent him off that way.
Mrs. McBride managed to hold herself together well with only a few tears when she threw a handful of dirt on the coffin. Howard filled the back of his car with the flowers to take back to the house.
Mrs. McBride had already made friends with her new neighbors and two women were there with casseroles, bread and butter, salads, and desserts. They left as the funeral party crammed into the small house. In spite of being in suits instead of uniforms, Walker and Parker still looked like The Law. While Walker set out the flowers on tables and the fireplace mantel, Parker moved around the room introducing himself. After dessert was finished and Dennis's wife was helping Mrs. McBride put away the leftovers, Walker and Parker made their farewells to Mrs. McBride.
When they were back in the car, Walker asked Parker if he'd heard anything interesting.
“I don't know if it's relevant, but that tall Swede Dennis was telling one of the others that he'd gone to Voorburg to visit McBride some months earlier. McBride had written to him, asking him to visit him at the train station."
“Well, well. He didn't say anything to me about that," Howard replied. "But I hadn't thought to ask when they last met in person."
“Dennis was saying how bad he felt for Edwin. Wearing old clothes, aging so much. He took Edwin to lunch at Mabel's and bought him a good meal and paid for it. He even forced a couple of dollars on him to buy some new shirts. Edwin seemed happy to be in Voorburg and had made some good friends.”
; Howard thought about this for a while. "I wonder if Edwin also mentioned an enemy? He probably didn't even know he had one and wouldn't have mentioned it anyway.”
Deputy Parker said, "I was a little surprised to hear about Dennis visiting. But I think it just means that Dennis was a loyal friend."
“I think you're right," Howard said.
After a weekend of soliciting more signatures for the mail project, Robert dropped in at the jail Monday with his petition and asked the chief of police, "Want to sign this?"
“I sure do." He wrote his name clearly so it would be legible.
“Arnold Wood is every bit as nasty as you said," Robert declared. "When I suggested Susan Gasset as the postmaster—or postmistress—he went haywire. So many men are out of work, he said, that the job should go to a man.
“I stomped on him by saying it's the men who have all run off to greener fields, not the women, who stay home, cook, and take care of the children. Winchel backed me up and told Wood he could easily be replaced on the town council because of his rudeness. Wood blundered out saying what bastards we all are."
“That doesn't surprise me in the least. Poor Serafina.”
“Who is Serafina?"
“Arnold's downtrodden wife. Portuguese, I think. At least she's from Massachusetts and there are a lot of Portuguese there. In spite of the fact that wheat and corn flour ran short because of drought in the Midwest, she found a source in South Carolina for rice flour and barley flour, wherever that's grown. While Arnold and his fat kid are sprawled out listening to the radio, she's in the kitchen making rolls that she takes to Mr. Bradley, the greengrocer. Though why he's called 'green' I have no idea. He sells all sorts of things, from bread to toothpaste and postage stamps. He can only sell her rolls if he puts a bit of icing on them, they're so bland. Or so he says. Serafina must have been a beauty in her day. She's heavy now, but she has the most elegant small hands I've ever seen. How did I wander so far from the subject?" Howard asked with a laugh.
“What about the guy you fooled with the coffee cup? Were his fIngerprints on file in Yonkers?"
“Sure were. He's a small-time thief, who got in trouble for running into a parking meter in a stolen car."
Who's Sorry Now? Page 10