by Mary Miley
‘When you last heard from her, she was in San Francisco,’ he corrected me gently. ‘You said she was looking for work. Isn’t it possible she went to San Diego?’
‘No … I, well …’ I felt sick. Of course it was possible. I just didn’t want to consider it. Speechless, I clutched the receiver and listened as Carl continued.
‘I checked the hospitals in ’Frisco and the police there. No score. So I nosed around Los Angeles. Nothing. I checked with a couple other cities. When I reached San Diego, bingo. A woman’s body. Found five days ago. No purse. Dark hair, estimated age, thirty-five.’
He paused, and when I said nothing, went on. ‘Someone is going to have to go to San Diego and see if this is Rose Ann Riley. Definitely not Kit. And you don’t know her. So that leaves Helen. Or is there anyone else?’
Finding my voice, I replied, ‘Helen’s mother knows Rose Ann. I’ll talk to Helen when she gets home from work.’
‘I hope this isn’t Kit’s mother, Jessie, but it’s possible. We need to find out.’
‘I understand. I’ll talk with Helen.’
‘Someone needs to go with her.’
‘She has a beau … maybe he’ll go along.’
‘If he won’t, I will. The sooner, the better.’
The moment Helen got home from Robinson’s, I hurried her into my room, closed the door, and revealed what Carl had discovered. Visibly shaken, she straightened her shoulders and said, ‘Mother’s not well. Larry’s gone to Yosemite Park to see about a wilderness job. It’ll have to be me. Will you come with me, Jessie?’
NINETEEN
The three-hour train ride to San Diego seemed to take longer than my three-day trip to St. Louis. I sat in a window seat across from Helen, my face turned toward the sunny California landscape and my hands clasped tightly in my lap as I reviewed all the excellent reasons why this dead woman was not Rose Ann Riley. Helen’s head rested back against the seat, her eyes closed. I could tell by her clenched jaw that she was not asleep. Carl Delaney sat beside Helen, reading a newspaper. I’ll say this for the man, he knew when to fade into the background.
Traveling with a detective had benefits I did not suspect. A police car met us at the station and drove us directly to the morgue. Being with Carl meant we didn’t have to wait for the coroner to work us into his busy schedule; he was waiting for us as if he had nothing better to do that day. In a matter of minutes, we’d signed papers that admitted us to the building and descended into a cool basement that smelled like pickles, only worse. Helen took her handkerchief out of her purse and held it to her nose. A number of gurneys – empty – were lined against one wall. Someone had rolled one of them into the middle of the room. That one was not empty. There was a body on it, covered by a white sheet.
Carl moved close to Helen, positioning himself almost directly behind her.
‘Don’t worry, I’m not as fragile as I look,’ she said with a wry twist to her lips. ‘I’ve seen dead bodies before. My father, for one. I won’t swoon.’
The coroner stood beside the gurney, his hands poised over the sheet. There was a silent exchange as he lifted his eyebrows to ask Helen if she were ready. Helen pressed her lips tight and replied with a nod. He lifted the sheet to reveal the head of the unknown woman.
The dead woman’s face showed signs of a beating, with cuts on the lip and eyebrow and dark bruises on her jaw. There may have been similar marks or even wounds on other parts of her body, but identification didn’t require viewing the entire corpse.
Helen looked, closed her eyes against the sight, then looked again as if making sure. I could tell by her expression that it was Rose Ann.
‘To make it official, I have to ask if you know the identity of this woman,’ said the coroner.
‘I do. That is my mother’s cousin.’
‘And her name?’
‘Rose Ann Riley.’
‘Thank you. Now, if you’ll follow me, I have some more papers for you to sign.’ He covered the battered face that was once Rose Ann and led us up the stairs, back to his spartan office.
After Helen had made arrangements to claim the body and have an undertaker remove it to Los Angeles for a funeral, Carl began his quiet questions.
‘How was the body discovered?’
The coroner handed him a police report while answering, ‘She was found on the waterfront by some sailors. Naturally, at first we wondered if they were responsible, thinking she was a prostitute – begging your pardon, miss, no disrespect intended, but we have a lot of marines and military here, and this is a busy port. But there was no evidence of sexual assault, the sailors had just come off duty, and she’d been dead for several hours when they found her.’
‘No suspects, then?’
The coroner shook his head.
‘What was the cause of death?’ Carl continued.
‘The medical examiner first thought it was internal injuries from a severe beating, but he soon determined her wounds were relatively superficial. She’d been knocked around, yes, but not enough to kill her. So he did an autopsy and discovered she’d consumed a lethal quantity of methyl alcohol. Wood alcohol. The stuff’s deadly. One teaspoon is enough to kill a child or blind an adult. A quarter cup’ll kill a man. No telling how much she swallowed.’
Carl nodded his understanding. ‘How long does it take?’
‘Works different on different people. Usually you don’t know you’re poisoned for a coupla hours, then your vision gets blurry, then you go blind, then a coma, then death.’
‘How do you know it was methyl alcohol?’
The coroner sent a worried look in Helen’s direction.
‘It’s all right,’ she said gamely. I squeezed her hand. Helen may have been a wisp of a thing, but she was one tough wisp. ‘Well then, wood alcohol autopsies reveal damage in the eyes, the brain, and the lungs. Tissues are swollen and bloody. Spongy. If you know what you’re looking for, it’s pretty hard to miss.’
‘So what do you think happened?’ Carl asked.
‘There are a lot of gin joints around the docks. Could be she drank “smoke” at one of them, got roughed up afterwards, and collapsed when she tried to walk home. Or to wherever she was staying. Could be she got roughed up first, then drank the “smoke”.’
‘Did you see any other wood alcohol cases that night?’
‘Nope. Which is why I’m not too keen on those theories. If some speakeasy was ladling out “smoke”, we’d have had bodies piled high that night. And we didn’t. Trouble is, my only other theory is suicide.’ And he looked pointedly at Helen.
She shook her head. ‘Not Rose Ann. She had a daughter who needed her. She would never have killed herself. And she wasn’t down and out, or facing financial ruin, or anything like that.’
‘How well did you know her?’
‘Not very well,’ Helen admitted.
‘Was she pregnant?’ asked Carl. That was something I would not have considered.
‘No.’
‘Well, then, we won’t take up any more of your time,’ Carl said. Turning to Helen, he asked, ‘Do you have any other questions, Miss Reynolds?’ When she shook her head, he thanked the coroner and escorted Helen and me back out to the street where the automobile was waiting. The entire ordeal had taken less than an hour.
‘Would you ladies care to step into a hotel for tea or something to eat before we head back?’
I motioned for Helen to decide.
‘That’s very kind of you, Mr Delaney, but I’d like to get home as soon as I can. I have a difficult job ahead of me and putting it off only makes it harder.’
I didn’t envy Helen. Telling a child that her mother was dead must rank among the more difficult tasks the world has to offer, one made worse by the absence of a father, sister, or brother to share Kit’s grief. I was prepared for a silent ride back to Los Angeles, but with the identification of the body behind us and the worries ahead of us, Helen was inclined to talk. I mostly listened.
‘How’m I goi
ng to tell Kit her mother’s dead?’ she began, more thinking out loud than launching a discussion. ‘How do you tell someone they’re an orphan?’
With that question, I was twelve years old again, climbing the worn-carpet steps toward our hotel room, the cloying scent of mothballs seeping into my skin. Mrs Reimschneider, the matron who managed all us children in Kid Kabaret, met me in the hallway in front of the door to our room. The last act of Thursday night was done, and we kids were straggling back to the hotel to have our dinner and fall into our beds.
‘Don’t go in,’ she said, not unkindly. Her double chin and round cheeks with two large moles were as clear in my memory as if I had seen her yesterday. ‘Your dear mother has passed. It is very sad, but we’ve expected it now these few days, haven’t we?’
I had nothing to say.
‘The undertaker is taking care of her now. You’ll sleep in the girls’ room tonight. Go get something to eat. We’ll look after you from now on.’
Mrs Reimschneider’s motto was that a kid could do anything an adult could do, so there was no cosseting of children in Kid Kabaret. Perhaps she was right that staying busy distracted you from grief. Whatever her intention, I never missed a performance. The next day, Saturday, the undertaker buried my mother during our matinee show. Mrs Reimschneider took me to her grave early Sunday morning before the act jumped to the next city. We put a flower on the mound of dirt. I don’t know who paid for the funeral or whether there was ever a headstone. I never went back. My mother wasn’t there. I knew where she was. She had told me she would be watching me every day from heaven.
‘Kit has family,’ I told Helen. ‘She has you and your mother.’ Blood relatives were nothing to scoff at – decent ones fed you and gave you a place to sleep. It was more than I had had. ‘You’ll want to ask your mother what other relatives there are who might be able to help her. Financially, if they’re not able to take her in.’
‘I need financial help too. I just arranged for a funeral I can’t afford.’ She bit her cuticles. ‘I’ll ask Mother if she can spare a little. But she doesn’t have much either. Now that I think of it, she does have a brother in Baltimore. Maybe she can ask him to pitch in. Rose Ann was his cousin too. Jesus, how’m I going to tell Kit her mother’s dead? I guess I’ll have to write it out when I get home. Can I use the desk in your room?’
‘Of course.’
‘That’ll give me some privacy to think. What’ll I say? Someone beat up your mother and she drank poison? I can’t say that. I can’t say suicide. I’ll leave out the beating up part and say she got some bad hooch. An accident. That’s probably what it was, anyway, don’t you figure? An accident. How’s that sound?’
‘I think you’re on the right track.’
‘What about her things? Her clothes and her personal effects. I don’t even know where they lived. An apartment, a hotel, a boarding house? She might have had some money that Kit could use. Or I could use for her funeral. Or some things I could sell. Do you think I’m awful to worry about the money?’
‘Not at all. You’re being realistic. Kit will know where they lived.’
‘I don’t think she does. She isn’t very … she’s not normal.’
Privately, I thought Kit was a good deal more normal than she let on, but I didn’t feel this was the moment to voice my suspicions about lip reading. It would complicate everything at a time when everything was complicated enough. ‘You said Larry was out of town?’
She nodded. ‘He’s gone to Yosemite about a job. He’ll be back in a day or two. What’m I going to do about tomorrow? I’ve gotta go to work. I already lost today’s pay and my boss’ll be furious if I don’t show tomorrow. I could get fired. But I should stay home with Kit.’
‘I’ll be home tomorrow.’ I didn’t say: and every day until I can find work. ‘Kit won’t be alone.’
‘Thanks, Jessie.’ She leaned over and gave me an awkward hug. ‘You’re a brick. Thanks for coming with me today. And you too, Mr Delaney. I don’t think I could have done it alone.’
In the end, Helen did it alone, breaking the news to Kit as gently as she could. As soon as we got home, she disappeared into my room where she spent half an hour composing her letter for Kit to read. Then I saw her take Kit into their bedroom and hand her the paper. She closed the door. I heard nothing more from them until Helen came downstairs the next morning.
TWENTY
I ought to have been looking for a new job, and I meant to start that very day, but Mike Allenby’s unexpected, mid-morning visit drove the subject clean out of my head. None of the girls had mentioned seeing the newspapers that said I’d left Hollywood for parts unknown, which was fine with me – their sympathy would only make me feel worse. But Mr Allenby read the newspapers. He must have seen the studio’s press release because he knew he would find me at home.
‘I’ve brought you a letter from David Carr,’ he said, tendering an envelope. Someone had already opened it.
‘What’s the latest?’ I asked, inviting him into the kitchen for coffee. The house was empty but for me and Kit, who had not yet come downstairs. The others had gone to work. I poured him a cup and refreshed my own. ‘When can I visit the prison?’
‘You can’t.’ He sighed and held up his hands as if to ward off a blow. ‘C’mon, lady, don’t shoot the messenger!’
His attention shifted to a spot behind me, and I turned to see Kit enter the kitchen on silent bare feet. ‘Good morning, Kit,’ I said, knowing she would help herself to bread and jam if she were hungry. Did her eyes seem a little red? I might be imagining it. She gave no other outward appearance of grief.
There was room at the kitchen table, but she settled instead on a stool by the icebox, near the back door. A vantage point, I noted, that gave her a clear shot of both our lips without having to turn her head from one to the other. I pulled David’s letter out of the envelope and started to read.
Very dear Jessie,
Allenby is confident I’ll be out soon but appeals take a long time, months probably. I don’t want you to worry about me.
I’m finding the food lousy but the company is swell. Meanwhile you could really help me and earn my everlasting gratitude if you would move into the house and take care of things there til I get back.
All day long I think of you and at night you’re in my dreams.
Several times a day I think how lucky I am to have you for my girl.
David
‘Oh my,’ was all I could say. I met Allenby’s eyes.
‘He wants me to persuade you to move into his house. Says it’s half yours. That’s why I’m here.’
‘But …’ I let the sentence hang, unfinished, while I puzzled out David’s motives. ‘Does he expect to be released soon?’ It would be just like David to play on my sympathies for his current predicament to get me to move into the house right before he was released.
The lawyer heaved a great sigh. ‘Nothing is happening on that front. Nothing. It’s like there’s a logjam in the river holding back the flood, but I can’t break it. I’ve done everything and then some. I can usually find a cooperative judge to consider my appeals. I submitted two dozen – and two or three were even legitimate. All denied. Never happened before. I’ve even put feelers out to the governor’s office, but I can’t get anyone to return my telephone calls.’
‘What are you saying? That you’re finished? That there’s nothing else to be done?’ The panic welled up inside my throat.
‘Hell, no. Mike Allenby never gives up the fight. I’m thinking about laying low for a while and letting this die down, then trying again next year—’
‘Next year?’
‘Early next year. Hell, this is November! It’s almost next year now! And next year’s an election year. Everyone’s more receptive in an election year.’
‘I can’t believe this, after you said—’
‘Look, I know what I said, and I was right when I said it. I don’t know what’s gone wrong. But things aren’t as bad as all
that. Worst case is, he gets out early for good behavior.’
‘How early?’
He shrugged. ‘No telling. Two years maybe—’
I gaped. Two years? How was I to get along without seeing David for two years? And what if he didn’t get out for good behavior? What if he had to serve the entire three-and-a-half-year sentence?
‘Listen, Miss Beckett, there isn’t much you can do to help him at this point. Hell, there isn’t much I can do to help him, and I’m the best. But this is something. It meant a lot to him that I bring you this letter and urge you to move into the house without delay. Take care of his things. An empty house goes downhill fast. No one’s watching out for it – it could get broken into. And think of it, you’d not have to pay rent since he owns it free and clear. No mortgage, right? And you without a job – yeah, I read it in the paper. Sorry, hon. All you’d need is a couple bucks a month for electricity and a few more for property taxes. Whatever the expenses are, they’re less than you’re paying to live in this … ah … place. And his house is damn nice, or so I’m told.’
It was at that. I must have looked like I was weakening.
‘Here’s the key,’ he said, handing me three keys tied together with a leather thong. ‘I don’t know which one is for the house but you’ll figure it out. Look, anyone with a grain of sense would jump at this offer. All I’m asking is that you sleep on it a few days. Don’t make me go back to that prison cell and disappoint the guy. This is something he really wants. Something you can do to help.’
He paused long enough to drain his cup and refuse my offer for seconds. ‘No thanks. That’s all I got to say. Let me know what you decide.’ And he took his leave. I poured myself the last of the coffee.
Kit hadn’t moved from her stool. She sat, drinking a glass of milk and eating her usual bread and jam, watching me with big eyes. Yes, David and I had troubles. But she had worse. I made a snap decision.
‘Good morning, Kit,’ I began, looking directly into her face and enunciating my words clearly. ‘There are no words to tell you how sorry I was to learn that your mother is dead. I know how you are feeling: sad and frightened and empty and angry – yes, angry, because your mother left you all alone, even though you know very well she didn’t want to. I know this because I lost my mother when I was about your age. Like you, I had no father and no sisters or brothers. But you have something I never had. You have family. You have Helen and her mother, and maybe others. I know what you’re thinking: where will I go? Who will take care of me? They will step up. That’s what family does.’