The Chocolate Kiss-Off (The Persephone Cole Vintage Mysteries Book 3)

by Heather Haven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  In the three plus hours she had been inside the Ninetieth Precinct, a heavy snow steadily fell and continued. She crossed the street, the crunch of her boots in the snow being the only sound she could hear. She loved the fact that soft, falling snow had a way of deadening sounds in an urban setting.

  If she closed her eyes, she could feel as if she was in the country again, the two-weeks in the winter of ‘33 she’d spent on her honeymoon. Snowbound in the Catskills. It had been lovely.

  Percy was surprised at her train of thought. She hadn’t reflected on her time with Leo the Louse in years. Whatever feelings she’d had about that time, her love for him, she’d learned to squelch years before.

  With annoyance, Percy pulled herself together and passed the freestanding telephone booth, even though she was sure it was working. Being directly across from a police station made the odds in her favor. But three-hours was a long time to be away from the job, so she trudged the six-blocks back to the chocolate factory.

  On the way she contemplated the site. Now the building was totally hers, but what would it be like on Monday? Would sharing it with the employees going about the business of chocolate making impede her investigation?

  When she arrived, she looked more like a giant snowman than a woman. Percy shook the snow from her body, stamped her boots, and reached for the door.

  Climbing the stairs to the office, she studied the seemingly peaceful scene below her, where two people had died in less than forty-eight hours. After the fiasco with the lock, she was worried she’d overlooked something else.

  For now, searching Bogdanovitch and Carlotta’s desks for the employee files and reading them was paramount. She should have a lot of peace and quiet, what with both users dead. But first, some phone calls.

  After two short rings, her mother answered the phone. “Cole Brothers Detective Agency, Mrs. Cole speaking.”

  Not said in the most professional tone, Percy thought, but certainly better than she’d come to expect. Mother tended to stammer and stutter, uncomfortable with using the ‘new fangled’ telephone most of the time.

  “It’s me, Mother. How’s everything there? How’s Oliver doing?”

  “Oh, Persephone! I’m so glad you called. Oliver is just fine, playing in the backyard with Freddie and the dog. But the phone has been ringing off the hook for you. Now where did I put that list? Just a minute.”

  Before Percy could reply, she heard the clunk of the phone hitting the desk and shuffling of paper. She waited patiently. Finally, Mother returned.

  “Are you still there, dear?”

  “I’m here, Mother.”

  “All right. Let me marshal my thoughts. First of all, a man named Mr. Sheppard called twice. The first time he just left his phone number. Then the second time he called, he said to tell you, and I’m reading this from my notes, dear...”

  Mother broke off and cleared her throat before reading.

  “All is well. Pablo and friends are back on wall, and a check is in the mail with an extra fifty to show appreciation.”

  Mother went on. “Now just who is this Pablo? The name sounds Spanish. I hope it means something to you, Persephone. It doesn’t to me. I don’t know any Spanish people unless you count the cook at the corner restaurant, who puts too many hot peppers in the red sauce.”

  “Sheppard is indicating he’s happy with the job we did. Instead of two hundred for the job, we’re getting two-fifty. I’ll call him later today with my thanks and a reminder he owes his butler a nickel-note.”

  “He owes his butler five dollars! What a generous man Mr. Sheppard is.”

  “He doesn’t have much to say about it,” Percy said with a laugh. “What else?”

  “That nice Mr. Rendell, you know, Freddie’s father, called. He said he was just checking in, and on his way to the hotel.”

  “When?”

  “When what, dear?”

  “How long ago did he call?”

  “About a half an hour ago. I remember, because I was just opening a can of pineapples when the phone rang. Such a lovely shade of yellow, Persephone. So bright! And all the way from Hawaii. Although I don’t know how they keep it fresh in the can for such a long trip. Sailing over all that water.”

  “It’s a heating and storing process, Mother, similar to you putting up your marmalade jam.”

  “I haven’t done that for years, dear. We can never get enough oranges now.” She clucked her tongue. “This war, this war,” she lamented.

  “Yeah, it’s tough. Go on.”

  “Your beau called.”

  “Mother, if you mean Hutchers, he is not my beau. What did he want?”

  “He said to call him as soon as possible. He says it’s urgent. He even gave me a number for you to call right away.”

  “Why didn’t you say so?”

  “Well, I just did, Persephone.”

  “I mean, why didn’t you start with...never mind. What’s the number?”

  “Oh, dear. I ran out of room on this paper. I must have written it down somewhere else. Just a minute, dear. I’ll find it.”

  The sound of more shuffling could be heard on the other end of the line. Percy tried to stay calm.

  “Here it is, dear. GRamercy 3-6711 or is it 6911? Oh, dear. I can’t make it out. Well, it’s one or the other.”

  “Got both of them, Mother. Thanks. Is that it?”

  “Yes, other than Goldbergs’ wanting to know how things are going. They say they don’t want to bother you, but hope Howard will be home soon. How is that going, dear?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “You can’t be more specific, Persephone dear?”

  “Not really.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “I’ll drop by the Goldbergs’ place when I get home and talk to them, if it’s not too late. Best I can do, Mother. I have to go now, make a few calls.”

  “All right, dear. Pineapple cabbage for dinner tonight. Just want to whet your appetite.”

  “Can’t wait.” Percy smiled into the phone despite herself. “By the way, when Rendell calls back, give him this number, Mother. NIghtingale 9-3939. Write that down, okay?”

  “NIghtingale 9-3939.” Mother’s voice was obliging, if not slow.

  “That would be NI. Why don’t you read it back to me?”

  “NI 9-3939. It’s in Brooklyn. Right, dear?”

  “It is. Thanks, Mother.” Percy disconnected and tried the first number of the two given to her for Hutchers. He answered right away.

  “Detective Hutchers, here.”

  “It’s Percy.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Hold on.” He shouted to someone nearby. “Phil, I’m going to take this call in the back room. Hang this up for me when I get there.”

  Percy waited until she heard an extension pick up, the murmur of voices, and another disconnect. Any feelings of fatigue or cold Percy had moments before were now gone in her anxiety over what urgent information Hutchers wanted to share.

  “There, now we got no prying ears to worry about,” Hutchers said.

  “What’s up?”

  “I’ve been looking into this accident that killed your ex-husband, Perce.”

  “Call him Oliver’s father.”

  “Sure, sure. Anyway, the more I been digging, the fishier the whole thing looks.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like how much do you know about the accident?”

  “Nothing. Heard about it yesterday.”

  “Okay, so September seventeenth, 1939, Leonard Donovan wraps himself around a tree. The car bursts into flames and he’s burned to a crisp. Supposedly.”

  “Why supposedly?”

  “You hear about dental records?”

  “Sure. Used mostly in Europe and recently by the Army.”

  “They’re starting to use them more and more in police cases here. Especially, where there’s no identification they can find. It was Donovan’s car. It was a man about his age and build.
But when they tried to do a dental match, it didn’t.”

  “Go on.”

  “Then his mother said he was in a skiing accident a year before, had some oral surgery done, and it wasn’t going to match. But she couldn’t remember the name of the dentist or where he was. He was on vacation, she said.”

  “They think she was lying?”

  “Could be. That’s what the attending officer’s notes say.”

  “Was Leo in some kind of trouble?”

  “Not that they know of, but he could have been a draft dodger. He’d been contacted three times to appear at a draft station and never did. I didn’t tell you the most damning part yet.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Two weeks later, somebody used his driver’s license to rent a car turned in over the Canadian border. You have to admit, that looks suspicious.”

  “Did they reopen the case?”

  “Naw. They didn’t find any of this out; I did. I just put it together today. This whole thing is another casualty of the war effort. We’ve got fifty-three percent of our men fighting overseas. I’d be there myself if it wasn’t for my asthma. We can’t do all the cross-checking we’d like to.”

  “His wallet could have been thrown from the car, found by somebody else who used his driver’s license to rent a car to get to Canada.”

  “True enough. Or Donovan could have killed someone, put the body in the car, and staged the whole thing to get out of serving. Men have been known to do that.”

  “Hutchers, Leo the Louse was just that, but the man I knew would never kill somebody and put them in a burning car.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “You need to resurrect this, Hutchers?”

  “Might have to. Murder is murder.”

  “Fair enough. Give me a couple of days before you do anything. Then it’s up to you.”

  “Fair enough. It waited this long. It can wait two more days.”

  Percy hung up the phone and put her head down on the cold, hard wood of the desk. Oliver’s father a murderer. She did not want it go that way.

  Rising, she crossed to the one window in the office with a view overlooking the parking lot. The other side of the icy glass showed an almost idyllic scene, not at all what was out there in reality.

  The falling snow had blanketed the city’s streets, sidewalks, trash cans, fireplugs, and vehicles in a velvety white. Everything that normally had ready identification now looked like the hills and vales of a wintry wonderland. On a personal note, somewhere in those lumps was Ophelia, buried under drifts of snow.

  Sitting back down at the desk, Percy redialed her friend at the police station. He answered on the first ring. Without any preamble, she said,

  “Hutchers, check out dentists in the Catskills. It was one of his favorite places to go.”

  There was a pause. “Okay, will do.”

  “Thanks.” She hung up.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Dear Diary,

  I don’t trust this Percy Cole. She’s got brains, but I’ve set it up where she’ll never figure it out. Nonetheless, I’ll watch her. If necessary, I’ll do more than watch. She won’t stand in the way of what is rightfully mine.

  Chapter Thirty

  Spread out papers, manila envelopes, and account books littered the tops of both desks. Percy had learned some interesting things about Carlotta as a person and employer.

  Her weak spot was a good looking man. Occasionally, she bowed down to someone with a superior knowledge of chocolate, such as Howie. But other than that, she was pretty hard-nosed, with high, unforgiving standards, for which she paid her staff as little as possible.

  Consequently, there were constant turnovers for all but a few positions. Most that held on were recent immigrants, those who felt lucky to have any job at all, even one working for a tyrant.

  Regarding the employees, the two working the front desk were of interest. In particular, they made more money than the others. Not much, but more. Was it their English skills or something else?

  Regina Mason had no references or previous employers. In her file, Carlotta noted she didn’t like Regina, yet gave the girl a job, anyway. Also, the mention of Regina being adopted, the word underlined, struck Percy as an odd thing to add to an employee’s file.

  The other was the girl nicknamed Schatzi, who lived in the Bronx. A far piece to travel, especially for a job that paid better than the others, but only so-so. Was this the woman Bogdanovitch said Carlotta hired to keep close?

  I’ll get to her later.

  She dialed a phone number. Percy was about to hang up, when an out of breath, young female voice answered.

  “Hello?”

  “You got a Regina Mason there?”

  “Just a minute.” The voice bellowed, as if she were out at a ballpark screaming for a hotdog. “Ginny! Somebody wants to talk to you. And stop getting so many calls here. I’m not your answering service.”

  The sound of a receiver being dropped on its cord and thudding against a wall several times led Percy to believe she’d called a rooming house with one payphone in a hallway for boarders.

  A tremulous voice said, “Hello?”

  “Miss Mason, this is Persephone Cole, private investigator. I’ve been hired by Mr. Bogdanovitch to do some investigating into Carlotta Mendez’s death.”

  Percy heard a sharp intake of breath. She had no intention of mentioning Bogdanovitch’s recent demise. It wouldn’t be in the papers until the following day. And if the employees thought he was alive, Percy had more leverage.

  “Miss Mason, you still there?”

  “Yeah, yeah. What do you want?”

  “I’d like a few minutes of your time. Just a few questions. You live about three blocks from the factory, right?”

  “So what? It’s Saturday and it’s snowing.”

  “So we can do this either here in the office or down at headquarters. Your call.”

  It was a bluff, a big one, but they often panned out for Percy. She felt the woman’s hesitation on the other end of the line. She pushed.

  “Fifteen minutes of your time, Miss Mason, and then you’re free. The front door’s open. Just come on in.”

  “All right, all right. I was going out to buy some cigs, anyway. I can be there in about ten minutes.”

  Percy hung up and made two other fast calls, one right after the other. Then she rose and crossed the room to a two-burner hotplate, newish and rather spiffy. On one of the shelves above, she found some ground coffee, cups, and a coffee pot. She went to a small sink in the corner, ran some water, and put on a pot of coffee.

  The phone rang. She snatched at it, leaning over the desk.

  “Yes?”

  “Miss Cole, Fred Rendell here. I’m in the apartment.”

  “Have any trouble getting in?”

  “No ma’am. It cost me a fiver for the bellboy uniform, but it fits well enough. Took the master keys for this floor from one of the hooks in the laundry room.”

  “Find anything?”

  “No clothes hanging, nothing in the drawers. Place is clean as a whistle, except for a few dirty dishes in the sink, and a little trash in the can in the bathroom. I don’t think the maid’s been in yet.”

  “What’s been left, specifically? Go look and then describe every item to me. Don’t leave anything out.”

  “Yes ma’am.” He set the receiver down and was gone for the better part of a minute. “Okay, in the sink are two cups and saucers, looks like they were filled with tea. On the counter is a teapot and a bowl.”

  “Tea in the pot?”

  “Yes ma’am. Not much, though, and none too fresh. Getting a film on top.”

  “So it looks like Helena Wilson has been gone for a day or two.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “What was in the bowl?”

  “Nothing but a little water.”

  “Lipstick on one of the cups?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “What color?”

 
“Ah...red?”

  “You’re there, Rendell. You should know. Is it red lipstick on the cup?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “What shade of red?”

  “Shade? I thought red was red.”

  “This is no time to be a man, Rendell. Be a detective. Red comes in a lot of shades, orange, pink, purple. Which is it?”

  “Purple, I would say. A purplish red. And a lot of it, too.”

  “What about the trash can?” She heard sounds of movement and a hollow swishing sound.

  “Not much. Just some face tissues at the bottom. Two of them.”

  “Any lipstick on the tissue?”

  ”Yes ma’am. Purple red. And a few strands of long, blonde hair, almost white.”

  “Same color as Jean Harlow?”

  “The actress? Yes.”

  “Very good. Is there a desk?

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “There should be hotel stationary in one of the drawers. Find an envelope; put the strands of hair in it and one of the tissues with lipstick stains. Save them for me. Then you’d better high tail it out of there, Rendell. Go on home before the snow catches you. And put whatever you spent on this expedition on the tab.”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  “Hello? Anybody here?”

  Percy heard the woman’s voice call into the vacuum of the empty room below, echoing off the high ceiling. She stepped out of the office and onto the landing.

  “Up here Miss Mason.”

  Percy waved and went back into the office. She poured herself a cup of coffee, strong and hot, and took an appreciative sip. By that time, the door to the office opened. She turned to see a young woman in her early twenties, thick dark hair pulled back in a chignon. Attractive, almost foreign looking, the woman stared at her in open defiance.

  “Want some coffee?” Percy gestured with her own cup.

  “No. What do you want?”

  Percy shrugged. “Suit yourself. Pretty good beans, especially with what you can get these days. Sit down.”

  She gestured with the cup again to one of the empty chairs. Even though Percy had found most of the information she’d wanted in Carlotta’s desk, she was sitting at Bogdanovitch’s. Gave off the edge of power.