Swing Town Mysteries Dorie Lennox Box Set

by Lise McClendon

  Chapter NINETEEN

  THE TRAIN BEGAN TO PICK up steam as it moved through the city toward the bridge, heading north. Dorie stood in the aisle, watching the buildings, stores, houses, apartments, and mansions go by in a flash of light and shadow. The night wasn’t as dark as it should be, not with streetlamps and car headlights and squares of windows where insomniacs drank warm milk and did the crossword.

  From here, the city looked like a picture: serene, calm, untroubled. A place to live a well-mannered, prosperous life, free of danger and hunger and poverty. Like when she was up in an airplane, watching the tiny cars crawl like ants along the threads of highway. But here it was closer, more real— but distant and manageable, too. They passed the cemetery, a moonlit sea of choppy waves of the dead. Then feed yards and acres of boxcars, then more small, silent houses.

  Then the city was gone. The river ran far below, a flickering ribbon reflecting the half-moon in the clear sky. Dots of man-made shine bounced and dipped, there, then gone.

  She held her breath, passing over the Missouri, as if the ghosts could feel her so close. As if her breath became their breath and they lived again. From somewhere, a prayer shimmered wordlessly through her mind. Then both the river and the prayer were gone.

  She stepped up to the compartment. The shade had been pulled lower. She tried to hear their conversation, but the rumble of the train drowned it out.

  She pulled out Talbot’s gift. The knife probably wasn’t really a gift for her, just a souvenir from his hasty trip to Chicago. She would give it back to him. Her fingers tightened around the handle, her thumb on the switch. She didn’t want to use it. She didn’t think she’d have to, not with Barnaby Wake. He didn’t look like the scrappy type. Thalia, however. You never knew.

  The thought of jail flitted through her mind like a shudder. She wouldn’t go back. No one would know she had a knife. No one but Talbot.

  The knife slipped back into her trouser pocket all too comfortably. Its presence would be just a good-luck piece, a new rabbit’s foot. That was all.

  She turned and faced the door. Squaring her shoulders, she raised her fist to knock. But the door slid away, scratching metal on a track. Barnaby Wake was chuckling as he straightened his tie. He looked up, startled.

  “What do you want?” he hissed. “Get out of here.”

  “I need to speak to Thalia.” Dorie tried to catch her eye, but Wake moved into her line of sight. “It’s important. Please.”

  “She has nothing to say to you.”

  Wake moved outside the door, sliding it shut behind him. He had taken his hat and overcoat off. His tailored suit fit him as well as Wendell Willkie’s did, snug on a muscular frame. Barnaby Wake was a proud man, and his clothes showed it.

  He smoothed his hair. “What are you doing on this train? I’ll have the conductor throw you off.” He seized her elbow, but she didn’t budge.

  He stared at her, anger in his eyes but a stoic expression on his face. Dorie braced her other hand against the window frame.

  “It’s a free country.” She smiled. “Wouldn’t you say, Herr Wake?”

  He dropped her arm and jumped a step back. A trembling hand went up to his mouth, rubbing sweat off his upper lip. He glanced at her, then at the corridor leading off into the shadows, as if he planned to bolt.

  “Go ahead. I’ll stay here with Thalia. I’m sure you have some business to attend to, rallies and such.”

  Wake grabbed her shoulders then, pushing her against the window. “You weasel-faced cunt. You stay away from me or I’ll ruin you.” He was spitting on her. It was fairly disgusting. “I have friends, powerful friends. They’ll make you wish you’d never met Barnaby Wake.”

  “But I wish that now.”

  He pushed her to the floor. “I’m getting the conductor. Get up.”

  Brushing off the seat of her trousers, she got to her feet. “Is one of your powerful friends Agnes Marchand? Or Wendy Hines? Or maybe the parents of Harriet Fox?”

  The door slid open. Thalia was wearing her powder blue suit. Her hair was pulled up into a French twist. She clasped her hands together, scowling.

  “What the hell is this?”

  Wake patted her arm. “I’m taking care of it, honey. Go back inside.”

  “I need to use the powder room,” Thalia said. She pushed past him and moved down the corridor, swaying on her high heels with the motion of the train.

  Wake took Dorie’s arm again, squeezing her bicep hard and dragging her in the direction Thalia was going. One knee gave out and she stumbled. “Come on,” he barked.

  They passed the ladies’ rest room as Thalia was closing the door. Her eyes caught Dorie’s for an instant, just long enough for Dorie to see the frightened girl in them. Well-disguised under the haughty exterior, but it was there, giving Dorie hope. Thalia was only a girl, after all, running away with a man twice her age, leaving behind a dying mother and a hefty inheritance. The money, at least, mattered to her. Somehow Dorie had to talk sense to her.

  But now, Barnaby Wake yanked the detective through the doors between the cars, where the noise of the train rattled her teeth and the deep cold of the coming winter hit them like an ice ball. A flash of prairie under starlight, then into another first-class car. Then cold and noise and prairie again, plus rolling hills. Then a car she knew: rows of cracked padded seats, passengers bobbing in the sway.

  He paused to change hands, grabbed her again, then moved on. Finally, in the next car, there was the conductor, chatting with a woman as he looked at her ticket. He wore a blue uniform with brass buttons, a smart cap. Wake pushed her forward, holding both arms down at her sides.

  “This woman is bothering me and my wife,” he declared loudly, waking a few surrounding passengers. Some moans, a baby started to cry. “I want her thrown off the train.”

  The conductor, a kindly-looking gent with wings of white hair under his cap and sagging eyes, looked Dorie over. He cocked his head, peering closer. “Is that so?”

  “I was minding my own business, sir,” she said. “This man is taking liberties with my person. If you could get him to let go of me, I’d be grateful.”

  “She barged into our compartment. She’s been following me for days,” Wake cried.

  The conductor rubbed his chin, almost laughing down at the lady he’d been talking to. She was gray-haired, watching the scene with bright eyes under her feathered hat. She looked up at the conductor, gloved hands clutched around the handle of a large umbrella, and raised her eyebrows.

  “Unhand this woman, sir,” the conductor said dramatically, half-winking at his lady friend. “Go back to your wife. I’ll take care of this one.”

  Wake held firm for a moment, then dropped his hands. The conductor dismissed him with a wave. Dorie rubbed her arms where he’d pressed his fingers into them, then turned to watch him retreat. He looked back at her from the doors, a black expression on his face.

  “If only,” she whispered to the conductor and his lady friend, “he wasn’t a fascist— and the lady was really his wife.”

  The old woman sucked in a breath, eyes bright with intrigue.

  “And what’s all this about, miss? Let’s see your ticket.”

  The conductor was done playing games. Dorie made a show of checking her pockets, hoping the switchblade didn’t show as she did.

  “I left it in my pocketbook. Where is my pocketbook?” She’d had it when she gotten on, hadn’t she?

  “Did you drop it when he grabbed you?” the old woman suggested.

  “I should go back and look for it.”

  “Is that safe?” The old woman peered up at the conductor.

  He sighed. “I’ll go with you and take tickets on the way back.”

  The conductor followed her into the next car, then tapped her on the arm. “Have you been following him for days?”

  “Never saw him before in my life.”

  “Right. Sure,” the conductor said. “And I got a bridge you can buy. Okeydokey, whate
ver you say. Get going.”

  In the corridor of the next car, she turned back to the conductor. “All right, I have been following him. He’s running away with a girl, and the mother wants her back.”

  “You’re a cop?”

  “Sort of.”

  She turned to continue down the darkened corridor. She hoped she’d been honest enough that he would give her a break. He seemed nice, but then, he didn’t know she hadn’t bought a ticket yet. How was she going to get Thalia alone?

  They crossed the last gap into Wake’s car. Dorie made a pretense of having trouble with the door, biding her time, checking the corridor ahead. Deserted. Where was her handbag? She couldn’t see it down the hallway.

  As she pushed open the last door, the door to the ladies’ rest room opened to her left. Thalia stood framed in the yellow light. She stepped out, looking up sharply at the two of them. Dorie took the call. With a quick jab, she pushed Thalia back into the small rest room. Ignoring the cry of the conductor, she reached back for the door and locked it.

  Thalia bounced off the toilet, bumping her head on the light fixture as her knees gave out. She howled. Dorie caught her before she hit the floor, pushing her sideways onto the closed toilet lid. Outside, the conductor was beating on the door.

  “Thalia, listen to me.” Dorie knelt in front of her. “I’m sorry I had to do this. But listen to me.”

  “Get away from me! You’re a savage.” She struggled to get her feet under her. Dorie held her knees. “Let me out of here!”

  The conductor rattled the knob. His muffled words came through the door. Thalia opened her mouth to cry out, and Dorie put her hand over the girl’s mouth.

  “Just be calm for a minute and let me say something.”

  Thalia’s eyes were round with anger and shock. She tried to speak, to pull off the hand, but Dorie grabbed one of her hands and sat square on the girl’s lap. “Just listen.” Thalia slapped her on the head and shoulder with her free hand. “Stop that, will you? Just listen to me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Thalia quieted for a moment.

  “We don’t have much time. First, your mother. Since the Willkie people were there she hasn’t woken up. Mother Ruth thinks she’s going to die any day. Her last request was that you be with her at the end. You have to come back. It won’t be for long, but you have to be there. She’s your mother.”

  Thalia stopped struggling. Dorie rushed on, hoping the spell would last a minute more.

  “Then there’s Barnaby. You must have read the paper; you know he had a romance with Agnes Marchand and broke up her marriage. What you may not know is that he also dallied with Harriet Fox and got her pregnant. Yes, it’s true. Her parents kicked her out of the house. I talked to her myself.”

  Thalia closed her eyes, shaking her head.

  “I know you don’t believe it, but it’s true. Harriet says he’s the one. And there’s the Nazi thing. No small potatoes. He loves Hitler, Thalia, and he wants this country to be a fascist colony of good old Adolf’s. Tommy Briggs was a Nazi, too. Your old boyfriend. That’s why they killed him. It was Barnaby’s boys. Tommy saw Barnaby at the Nazi meeting the night they killed Wendy. Tommy could have told everyone. There’s been a lot of killing to keep Barnaby’s dirty secrets.”

  Dorie got up off her lap and took away her hand. Thalia spat into the sink and rubbed her cheeks. She looked up, disgusted.

  “You make me sick. Let me out of here.”

  “So you can be a Nazi hausfrau? Is that what you want, Thalia?”

  “Why not? Hitler has some really good ideas. I believe in him.”

  “You’re not that stupid, Thalia.”

  She looked indignant. “Roosevelt is a Red. Everybody says so.”

  Dorie stared at the girl. “Oh. So you’re running away with old Barney because he’s such an upstanding fascist gigolo murderer?”

  “You don’t have any right to tell me what to believe.” Thalia stood up and tugged on her jacket. “This is a free country. I can believe in anyone or anything I want.”

  Dorie stepped right up to her face.

  “You’re right, Thalia. This is a free country. But there’s one thing that isn’t free. That’s what you owe your mother. She loves you, Thalia. She cares what happens to you. Why do you think Barnaby Wake is running away with you? Because you’re a good singer and you love Adolf? You’re going to inherit a fortune. How you spend it is up to you. You can give it to Adolf, for all I care. But do your mother the final courtesy of being at her side when she goes to meet her Maker.”

  “He loves me,” Thalia whined.

  “Just like he loves Harriet and Agnes and his wife. So much he couldn’t let Wendy or Tommy tell you who he really is.”

  “And who is that?”

  “A cousin of Fritz Kuhn by marriage. A Nazi.”

  Thalia rolled her eyes. “He told me that. I don’t care. He loves me. He’ll take care of me.”

  “With your mother’s money, sure he will. And his wife and children. And his fascist friends.”

  Thalia sucked in her lips, her eyes watering.

  “Go back and see her, Thalia. One last time.”

  “We’re going to Chicago,” the girl said, summoning up her defenses. “We’ll cable her.”

  Dorie reached into her pocket. “Don’t make me force you. You know the right thing. I know you loved her, once.”

  “What do you know?” Thalia looked away, but the mirror reflected them standing toe-to-toe.

  “I know there is something there between you and your mother. A bond, despite her harsh words, and yours. Something that you need to honor, one last time. Give her that courtesy. She loves you and she’s dying.”

  “She’s been dying for so long.”

  Thalia drooped, her face in her hands. She sat down on the toilet lid and began to cry.

  They stayed in the rest room until St. Joe. Wake pounded on the door; the conductor left and returned, pounding more before leaving again. When the train stopped Dorie unlocked the door, Thalia’s hand clasped tightly in hers.

  The brakes were still squealing. Somewhere, a car or two down, a conductor was calling out: “St. Joe, St. Joseph!” Wake’s door slid open.

  “Come on, girl.” She pulled Thalia out of the rest room.

  “Thalia!” Wake’s voice boomed. The girl tugged against Dorie’s hand.

  “Don’t look at him. Your mother will be gone soon. You have your whole life ahead of you. Without her looking over your shoulder.”

  “I should …” Thalia’s voice trailed off. She should go home. She’d promised she would.

  “Don’t do it, Thalia. Don’t make the mistake of not saying goodbye.”

  Wake kept calling her name. Dorie pulled Thalia out through the doors. Behind them, Wake was charging like a bull. She pushed Thalia down the corridor to the end of the next car, then down the steps to the dark platform. The girl caught the handrail, stumbled, and cursed under her breath.

  “What the hell are you doing? Thalia, get back on this train!” Wake barked, grabbing Dorie’s arm.

  “We’re going back to Kansas City,” Dorie said. “Wanna come? Maybe not the friendliest place for you right now, but it’s where Thalia has to be.”

  Wake had his eye on the girl. She stood with one hand on her hip, looking away.

  “Come on, baby,” he called. “Get back on the train. We’ve got things to do.”

  “You can do them later,” Dorie said, trying to twist out of his grasp. Wake gave her a shove then to get to the stairs. But she anticipated it, tripped him, and ducked under his shoulder to block the way.

  “I don’t want to do it this way, Herr Wake.”

  Her new blade twinkled in her hand. New, sparkly, and sharp. It was beautiful, and deadly. Sweet but low-down.

  She glanced at the switchblade, made sure he saw it. She was not going to stick him by accident.

  “Mrs. Hines is dying and Thalia needs to be there. Where you go is your own business.”
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  She backed down a stair toward the platform. Wake stood frozen, dark eyes jumping from Thalia to the knife. Dorie backed all the way down, checking quickly for cops or others with uniforms. The only one was a porter halfway inside the station, pushing a cart of luggage into the terminal. She waited a beat, then held out her blade, spinning it in the glare of the platform lamps.

  A lovely thing. She would have to thank Talbot.

  Wake was on the bottom step. She straightened, frowning. “Stay where you are, Wake. Go to Chicago. Have a nice life.”

  All right, the train can leave now, she thought.

  “Thalia, baby. Come back up here. We’ll have champagne and forget all about this. You don’t believe that about your mother,” Wake said. “This is a scam to get you away from me. Your mother doesn’t like me.”

  Thalia stepped up beside Dorie.

  “Oh, baby,” Thalia said, her smooth self back, “sure she does. She just doesn’t know you like I do.”

  Dorie tipped a hip toward the girl to keep the blade between them. Wake reached out for Thalia.

  “You think so, honey?”

  “Wendy liked you, too, didn’t she, Barnaby?” Dorie said. “You remember Thalia’s sister-in-law, don’t you? You met Wendy at a Silver Shirts meeting.”

  “Wendy?” Thalia pulled away her hand.

  A shadow crossed Wake’s face. “Don’t listen to her.”

  “Tell her how you and your Nazi friends killed Wendy. Was it an accident, just meant to scare her? Tell her, Barnaby, how Wendy threatened to tell everybody you were a fascist. Especially Eveline Hines.”

  Wake’s expression hardened, skin crinkling around cold eyes.

  “Barnaby?” Thalia squeaked.

  The head of a conductor popped out of the next car, calling, “All aboard!”

  Dorie put her free arm across Thalia’s waist. Wake hung out over the steps.

  “Don’t do it, Wake.”

  “There’s still time, honey,” he crooned, desperation creeping into his voice. “Hop on, baby. Come on!”

  With a blast of the whistle, the train began to roll. Still gripping the blade, Dorie dropped that hand behind her leg as the car with the conductor neared them.