The Tycoon Murderer

by Maureen Driscoll

  “I have to look my best. You never know who you’ll run into.”

  “You’re wasting your time with Kurt Franklin,” said Dora, touching up her lipstick at the mirror over the fireplace. “Hollywood Confidential says he has any number of women throwing themselves at him.” She adjusted one of her curls.

  “So, you figured one more throwing herself at him couldn’t hurt?”

  “Well, I do have exceptionally good aim,” she said, as she surveyed the items Lawrence had just laid out on the tallboy dresser. “What happened to your ivory-handled brush?”

  “I had to sell it. You’re not the only one forced to live a life of economy.”

  “Lawrence, I’m sorry – I had no idea. I never would have let you pay my way out here if I’d known.”

  “No need to worry on that account. The tickets were free.”

  Dora looked her surprise. “How’d you swing that? Those were first class accommodations, which means we were still on a train, but the other passengers lifted their pinkie fingers as they sipped their flasks.”

  Lawrence tucked a box into the back of a drawer. “The train tickets came with the invitation. Who was I to argue?”

  “Your Wall Street friend sure is generous.”

  “He is at that. I’d suggest aiming in that direction except...” He shrugged his shoulders.

  “Except what?”

  “I like David Remington, though I don’t know him all that well. He’s extraordinarily decent, especially for someone that rich, but there’s something about him that’s sad. There always has been. He’d never admit it, but I think something is missing from his life. Something or someone, and I’m not sure if he’ll ever find it. Or her. Oh, dear, I sound like a lovelorn columnist, which is why we need to get to the bar post-haste. Find a lumberjack and throw me under his falling tree – I’d hate to turn into someone who cares about another person’s love life. We’re here now and I suggest we do our best to enjoy our time in the country. There’ll be plenty of opportunities to be poor in New York when we go home. Who knows? Maybe I’ll be heading to Los Angeles with the Hollywood Hick. I could be his dialect coach. Did you hear that accent? It’s what makes fingernails on a chalkboard cry out in pain.”

  “It is truly atrocious. But handsome men don’t need to speak.”

  “It’s often better when they don’t. Are we dressing for dinner?”

  “That’s what Miss Andrews said. If it’s always this formal I’m afraid my limited wardrobe will be all the more evident. There goes my invitation to Newport for the season. Whatever shall I do?” Dora placed a hand to her forehead in her best melodramatic pose. “Miss Andrews looked pretty chummy with Remington when we arrived. Do you think she’ll make your friend happy?”

  “I think she thinks she will,” said Lawrence, as he closed the empty suitcase and pushed it under the bed. “But women like her have been wrong before.”

  “Maybe you and I should both find lumberjacks.”

  “From your lips to God’s ear,” said Lawrence, as he gave Dora’s hand a fond squeeze. “Now let’s go get a drink.”

  * * *

  Another wagon drew up to the house, and two more guests disembarked. The man was in his mid-forties, with salt and pepper hair and the stance of someone who expected his commands to be obeyed. Almost as an afterthought, he helped his wife out of the carriage. She was a beautiful woman, at least a decade younger than he. Her brown hair was cut in a fashionable bob just below her chin, and her slender form was highlighted in linen pants and a silk shirt, both perfectly pressed despite the long journey they’d just completed.

  “You there,” Senator Matt Farnsworth said to a passing maid. “Have the butler get our things and tell Remington that Senator and Mrs. Farnsworth have arrived.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the maid, before scurrying away.

  “Must you frighten every servant you encounter?” asked Farnsworth’s wife, Lydia.

  “They’re used to it. Or they should be. Take my word for it – the moment you let others forget their place, the sooner the world collapses around our ears. Why do you think Remington came all the way out here when he could have hosted his party at the Hamptons house?”

  “It’s a good deal cooler here,” said Lydia. “And David has never felt comfortable in crowds. He can’t throw a party in New York without hundreds of people expecting to be on the guest list.”

  “Bah! How do you think he got all those millionaires to invest with him if he didn’t meet them at parties and get them girls?”

  “I don’t think he’s like that,” said Lydia.

  “Of course he is! They all are. Some are just better at hiding it than others.”

  “Tell me, dear, did you ever let someone get you girls on those expeditions of yours?” Her husband was one of the most renown explorers of the day, having gone to South America several times and making a fortune from doing so.

  Farnsworth studied the house in front of them. “You have nothing to worry about. You’re still the prettiest Senator’s wife there is. Now, I wonder where his phone is. There are a few business calls I need to make.”

  Lydia sighed. “Do you think that’s wise? That Senate committee made it very clear that they’d be reviewing all of your transactions. You barely escaped without a censure the last time. Perhaps it’s time to let go of your business ventures.”

  “Let me worry about the committee. With the way you spend money, we need every penny we can get.” At the sound of another carriage pulling up, he turned around, then stiffened. “Will you look at what the cat dragged in? I wouldn’t be caught in that cheap suit in the middle of the jungle. And he looks like he slept in it for a week.”

  Lydia turned to see Grant Barker get out of the carriage, looking just as disheveled as her husband said.

  Barker grimly headed their way, carrying his beaten-up valise. He was tall, with the build of a linebacker and the gruff manner of the federal agent he was. He nodded to them. “Senator, Mrs. Farnsworth.” Then he continued on toward the house.

  “He never has forgiven me for stealing you away, has he?” said Farnsworth with a laugh.

  “No,” said Lydia quietly. “I don’t believe he has.”

  “Good. Now I need to find that phone.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Constance put her arm through David’s as they strolled across the back lawn for the house party’s first cocktail hour. It was seven p.m. and the golden light of summer gave them almost another two hours until dusk. There was a bar on the edge of the lawn, and servants carried trays with glasses of champagne and plates of hors d’oeuvres. A dozen Adirondack chairs had been placed around the lawn in groups of twos and threes, and there were two rocking chairs on the wrap-around porch, as well as a swing. The faint strains of a phonograph played “I Can’t Give You Anything But Love,” from near the French doors to the ballroom.

  “You did a swell job organizing the party,” said David.

  Constance adjusted the bowtie of David’s tuxedo. “Thank you. If I haven’t mentioned it recently, you clean up exceedingly well.”

  David pulled at his collar a bit. “I’ve enjoyed not wearing a tuxedo these past few months, but you’ve worked so hard preparing for the party, I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

  “Like you could ever do that,” she said, as she kissed his cheek. “See here!” she called out to a passing maid holding a tray. “The salmon canapes are to be served with bits of dill.” She turned back to David. “Duty calls. But I’ll catch up with you later.”

  David looked out at the lawn as his guests began to congregate. He was surprised to realize this was the first time in three months that he’d entertained. He didn’t particularly enjoy parties, but it had been expected of him back east and they’d been a necessary means of conducting business. It had been a long time since he’d invited people just because he wanted to see them. As he looked out at his guests, he found it difficult to believe that any could be involved in blackmailing Mikey. The perso
n behind the scheme had to be staying in town. He would ask around to find out. That was the good thing about living in a small town – people tended to notice strangers.

  He wasn’t looking forward to his return to New York in three weeks, but he’d already been away from his office too long, leaving his accounts to his more senior executives. He dutifully took the twice daily long-distance calls, but found he was less and less interested in Wall Street, despite the fact he was making more money than ever before.

  “Nice little party you have going here,” said Grant Barker. “Where’s the booze?”

  David shook his old friend’s hand. “You’re drinking? I thought you were supposed to enforce Prohibition.”

  “I work for the Bureau, not Treasury, as you well know. And God almighty himself would drink if his ex-girlfriend was here.”

  “I’m sorry about that and it wasn’t my idea. Farnsworth called at the last minute, demanding an invitation.”

  “And you couldn’t have said no?”

  David looked out over the lawn to where Farnsworth was throwing back a martini with Lydia by his side. “He can be a tough man to say no to.”

  “Ask me to do it next time. I could tell him no easily – that and a whole lot more.”

  “Well, if his ethics problems continue in Congress, maybe you’ll get the chance to arrest him.”

  That made Grant smile, briefly. “Maybe. But somebody like him has a long line of crooked lawyers just waiting to get him off.”

  “Maybe you can get him on one of those old grave-robbing charges from his adventurer days. He pilfered riches from three South American countries that I know of, probably more.” Now Farnsworth was snapping his fingers at the bartender, asking for another drink.

  “What does she see in him?” asked Barker, his eyes on Lydia, who was clearly embarrassed by her husband’s actions.

  David didn’t know what to say to his longtime friend, who was still in love with his childhood sweetheart. Everyone had assumed they’d marry one day. It had come as a shock to everyone when she’d married Farnsworth, instead. “We’ve all done things we didn’t want to just to survive. You know how Lydia’s mother was. There was never enough money to make her feel secure.”

  Grant nodded. “And I wasn’t there to sweep Lydia off her feet. Not that she would’ve said yes, mind you. The girl never could go against her family.”

  David didn’t have the words to console his friend. “You need a drink.”

  Grant nodded. “I need to get good and splifficated.”

  “Before you get too splifficated, we need to sit down and talk to Mikey.”

  “Corrigan? What’s that two-bit gin hustler into now?”

  “He’s not two-bit anymore, which I think is part of the problem.”

  “I can’t have that conversation without at least one drink in me.” Barker looked at Lydia again. “I’ll make it a double.”

  “The bar is over there,” said David, who watched as Grant went in search of it. From the way he was approaching it, David wouldn’t be surprised if his friend tackled it to the ground.

  “So, this is what the country looks like,” said Lawrence Henry, introducing Dora as he shook hands with David. “Too many bugs and too few people to mock, though I’ll try my hardest on the latter. Is that really Matt Farnsworth, United States Senator and grave robber?”

  “Who are you talking about?” asked Dora.

  “Senator ‘Wild Matt’ Farnsworth,” said Lawrence. “Spent the first decade after getting kicked out of Yale exploring the world on his father’s dime. Claims to have discovered most of the pyramids of Mexico, despite the many Mexicans and Indians already living in the area. I guess they weren’t white enough to matter to him or the historians.”

  “I can’t wait to meet the gasbag,” said Dora. “Mr. Remington, this is a swell place you have here.”

  “Thank you,” said David. “It comes with a great deal of peace and quiet.”

  Dora nodded. “I know. It gives me the creeps.”

  “Thanks again for the invitation, David,” said Lawrence. “We especially appreciated the two train tickets.”

  “Yes, thank you for that,” said Dora. “And First Class to boot. I felt like a regular Rockefeller, but not as inclined to break unions and drive up the price of oil.”

  “You’re very welcome,” said David. “But most of the credit goes to Miss Andrews, who planned the party. I was simply told when to show up.”

  “Well, you do that as well as any man alive,” said Lawrence. “It’s a shame we’re not romantically compatible.”

  “Hey,” said Dora with a grin. “You said that to me, too.”

  “There can be more than one shame in the world, love,” said Lawrence. “Now let’s drink more of Remington’s gin.”

  “Enjoy yourselves,” said David. “And let me know if there’s anything you need.”

  After they left, Constance returned to his side, handing him a salmon canape. “The food is divine, though the staff could use a bit more training.”

  “Did you send Lawrence Henry two First Class train tickets?” asked David.

  “No. Was I supposed to?”

  “No, though I would have done so if I’d thought of it. But he just thanked me for the tickets.”

  “I’ve been working with Miss Melrose at your office in New York. Do you think she might have done it?”

  David nodded slowly. “Perhaps.”

  “I can ring her in the morning and find out.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad Lawrence and Miss Barnes were well taken care of.”

  “Oh dear!” said Constance, looking toward the bar. “We’re running out of ice.”

  “We can’t have an emergency like that,” said David. “I’ll make a call to order some more.”

  “Excellent.” Constance kissed him, then wiped away her lipstick from his cheek.

  David entered the house, then passed through the foyer when something caught his eye at the top of the stairs, as if a person had just walked by. “Hello?” he called out. No one answered. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen something like that. For most of the summer, he’d had similar sightings, like someone was there, when it turned out he was all alone. He knew it was probably the shadows of an old house playing tricks on his mind, but he’d never noticed it on previous visits, just this one. It was most noticeable in the attics. Shortly after his arrival, he’d spent an afternoon going through the trunks, reading the journals of an inspired madman, when he’d been certain there was someone else there. Not just someone. A woman. Now he was thinking like a madman.

  Perhaps he needed better quality gin.

  Or less of it.

  He continued through the house until he reached the alcove with the phone. As he waited for the operator to answer, he still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, but he didn’t know what.

  * * *

  A late dinner was served that night in the dining room, with the sconces casting soft light on the guests who’d all gathered at the long table. It was a lively group, helped along by generously poured drinks.

  Farnsworth had seated himself at the head of the table, with his wife to his side. For her part, Lydia spoke little and drank a fair amount. “Quite a house you have here, Remington,” said Farnsworth. “Who owns the timber rights to the land?”

  “I suppose I do,” said David, as he sat back and studied his unwanted guest. There was a reason Farnsworth had come to the party and it had nothing to do with relaxing in the country. Whatever it was, it was probably going to be unpleasant.

  “You could make a fortune by leasing the timber rights.”

  “But I’ve grown rather fond of the trees.”

  Farnsworth shrugged. “A tree’s a tree. You don’t have to cut all of them down.”

  “I don’t want to cut any of them down.”

  Farnsworth snorted, as he took another sip of his martini. “Your luck on Wall Street might not always hold out, y
ou know. You should look into multiple sources of income.”

  “Is that what you do, Senator?” asked Lawrence. “Don’t they pay you in Washington? Or are you, too, looking for another source of income?”

  Farnsworth lit a cigar and took a large puff, blowing the smoke in Lawrence’s direction. “I’ve done well in life. There’s no denying that.”

  “You mean your family did well,” said a half-drunk Grant, as he sipped his own martini.

  “My family worked hard and earned their fortunes, which is exactly what I’ve done.”

  “Though you do seem to have had a bit of a head start on the rest of us,” said Dora.

  “I’ll not apologize for my success or my wealth. At least I earned my money the honest way,” said Farnsworth, flicking his ash onto a plate and staring at Mikey Corrigan as he did so.

  “I’m not sure we’d agree on the meaning of honest,” said Mikey. “But at least when I steal from people they generally deserve it.”

  “So you admit you steal, Corrigan?” asked Barker, who was showing no signs of slowing his drinking.

  “I’ll admit to jawing about it. You can’t convict a man in court for something he said half-in-the-bag at a party.”

  “You’d be surprised by what J. Edgar Hoover considers evidence,” said Barker.

  “I’m not sure anything Hoover did would surprise me,” said Lawrence. “He’s a man of many secrets and few vices. Or is it the other way around?”

  “You’d do well not to malign the character of a great man like Hoover around a United States Senator,” said Farnsworth. “Especially a degenerate like yourself.”

  There were gasps of shock around the table.

  “If you weren’t a U.S. Senator with a federal agent to protect you, I’d slug you for that,” said Dora.

  “Don’t let me stop you,” muttered Barker.

  David was angry. “Farnsworth, you’ll keep a civil tongue or you’ll leave this house.”

  Farnsworth took another puff on his cigar, this time blowing the smoke in David’s direction, but didn’t say a word.