The Tycoon Murderer

by Maureen Driscoll

  Madame Racine bristled. “I see you are a non-believer, but I assure you that my visions have foretold many a tragedy. This man was shot, was he not? Death is never that far away from me.”

  “But I didn’t die,” said Mikey.

  “Not yet, at least,” said Farnsworth, from where he was observing them from the second floor landing. “There’s always a chance infection will set in. I’ve seen many a good man in the jungle succumb to illness and disease. You could be getting lead poisoning at this very moment.”

  “Matthew,” said Lydia quietly, by his side. “That isn’t helping.”

  “I’ve been shot a lot worse than this and didn’t die,” said Mikey. “I don’t plan on letting this do me in.”

  “What can we do for you, Madame Racine?” asked David.

  “The question is what I can do for you?”

  When she didn’t supply an answer to her own question, David asked, “What can you do for us?”

  “I can help you understand the mysteries unfolding before you. I can search my visions.”

  “Don’t you have to be on a train for that?” asked Barker, with the full dose of sarcasm allowed by law.

  “You mock me, but I am undeterred. The closer I am to the scene, the more vivid my visions become. If I were to stay here for a few days, I am certain I could learn just who is intent on doing evil.”

  “What if you were to stay at a hotel in town, instead?” asked Constance.

  “The further I am from the scene, the murkier the vision.” The glare Madame gave Constance was one readily discerned by even those without a second sight.

  “I see,” said David, a bit amused. “Well, I suppose one or two days wouldn’t matter.”

  “Then there is the matter of my fee,” said Madame. “My usual rate is $20 per day.”

  “That’s a lot of dough for a bunch of malarkey,” said Lucy, who was examining Mikey’s arm.

  “You don’t think his life is worth that?” Madame asked her.

  “Of course, I do,” said Lucy.

  David looked more and more amused. “So, you’re going to charge me for staying at my house.”

  “I am not charging you for staying at your house. I am charging you for my services. What price is a life? And in this case, two. For in addition to Mr. Corrigan, I feel someone else is at risk. Someone here. Someone...” She slowly turned in a circle, examining all of the guests one-by-one. Then she stopped in front of Kurt Franklin. “Someone like you! You are the second man in danger. You are the one whose life might end this very night!”

  Miss Matthews approached the woman, looking like she’d seen a ghost. “Why do you think Mr. Franklin is in danger?”

  “I don’t think it. I know it.”

  David was tiring of the theatrics, when Miss Matthews turned to him. “Madame Racine should stay. I’d like to hear more of what she has to say.”

  “Finally!” said Madame. “Someone respects my second sight. And twenty-five dollars a day is a small price to pay for saving two lives.”

  “I thought it was twenty dollars a day,” said David.

  “I will save two lives, Mr. Remington and solve the mystery of who wants them dead. Is that not worth a greater price?”

  From the look on Miss Matthews’s face, it was apparent she thought so. David sighed. “Very well. Constance, can you find a place for Madame to stay?”

  “I believe we have something suitable in the servants’ quarters,” said Constance.

  “I believe the spirits would be much more forthcoming were I to stay closer to the guests,” said Madame.

  “Of course they would,” said Constance, before snapping her fingers at one of the maids. “Have Madame Racine’s things taken upstairs. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll tell the cook to add a plate for dinner.”

  “Are you from this area, Madame?” asked Miss Matthews.

  “I was only passing through, but interrupted my own travels because of the great need here.”

  “Then I’m curious. You said you had the vision on the train. How did you know where the attack took place?”

  “That’s a very good question,” said David.

  Madame was silent for a moment, but only one. “That is how great my gift is. It led me here. But now I feel a terrible headache coming on. I hope someone can show me to my room and perhaps send up some refreshments.”

  “I’ll send up a sandwich and a pitcher of cold water,” said David.

  “Something from the bar would be better,” said Madame.

  “You’re saying spirits are good for the spirits?” asked Lawrence.

  Madame Racine nodded. “You are a man of great understanding.”

  “I believe your spirits have awakened my muse,” said Lawrence. “Dora, we’ll need to confer about this.”

  “Perhaps we can write something together, since Miss Matthews seems to think it’s such a great idea.”

  “It is a great idea,” said Miss Matthews. “You’ll see.”

  David studied Miss Matthews, who said the most curious things. Once Madame Racine departed he said, “That was smart of you to ask how she knew to come here.”

  “You don’t believe her story about a vision, do you?”

  “Not in the least. But something brought her here and I figured it might be a good idea to keep an eye on her.”

  “What is it about you that attracts dizzy broads?” Barker asked him.

  “I think Constance is quite nice,” said Miss Matthews.

  Barker snorted. “I was talking about you and Madame Con Artist. Where the hell did you come from?”

  Before she could answer, David stepped in. “That’s a good question, but one for a different occasion. We have a crime scene to investigate. Mikey, will you join us or do you need to rest?”

  “I’m not resting until we find out who did this,” said Mikey.

  David hesitated. “Whoever shot you could still be out there.”

  “That’s why I’m coming. If he’s out there, I want to meet with him up close and personal.”

  “I’m coming, too,” said Miss Matthews.

  “But you’re one of my main suspects,” said Barker.

  “How could I have done it? I was with people when Mr. Corrigan was shot.”

  Barker grunted again. “I suppose you can come. But if we find out it’s you, there’s a hell of a big ‘I told you so,’ coming your way.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Despite the bright sunny day, the woods were dark as Josie walked through them with David Remington, Mikey Corrigan and Agent Barker, looking for the scene of the shooting. She tried not to think about how foolhardy it was to be in such an isolated location with the Tycoon Murderer, though she doubted he’d be so bold as to make a move with his two friends there.

  After a few minutes, they reached the site, which was in a small clearing with trees on all sides of them. From the sounds of it, they were near the road. Corrigan searched the base of a gnarled tree.

  “My case is gone.”

  “What case?” asked Josie.

  The three men looked at each other, as if wondering what to tell her. Finally, David answered. “Mr. Corrigan is being blackmailed.”

  “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” Mikey asked her.

  “Of course not.” There had been no mention of blackmail in the news articles. What was going on?

  “Did you actually pay him?” David asked Mikey.

  “Of course not. But I had to make it look like I was paying him.”

  “Is that why you were out here?” asked Josie.

  Corrigan turned to Remington. “Are you sure we can trust her?”

  “No. But she does have an alibi for when you were shot and she seems quite interested in solving the case.”

  “Why are you talking about me like I’m not here?” asked Josie.

  “You ask a lot of questions for a dame who appeared out of nowhere,” said Corrigan.

  “True. Now, can I please get some answers
?”

  Corrigan grunted. “I don’t want everyone knowing about this, but I started getting blackmail letters when I was in Chicago and was told to bring the money to this party.”

  Josie turned to Remington. “What an interesting turn of events.”

  His only response was a raised brow.

  Corrigan continued. “Then last night, right about the time you arrived – which I still think is suspicious – I found a letter in my room, telling me to drop the money here at 5.” He then told her about lying in wait and getting shot.

  “Where were you when you were shot?” asked Barker.

  Mikey walked over to a point where several trees were grouped together on the other side of the clearing. “I was here with a clean line of sight to the drop point. Then I heard a shot and before I knew it, I’d been hit.”

  “What’d you do after you were shot?” asked Barker.

  “I cursed to high heaven and tried to get my gun. But, unfortunately, I’m right handed, which is the arm I got shot in. It slowed me down.”

  “Then what did you do?” asked Barker.

  “Since I couldn’t shoot straight, I got the hell out of there.”

  “Where did you run?” asked David.

  “Through the clearing and into the woods.”

  They studied the clearing which was a good twenty yards wide.

  “I have to wonder why he didn’t shoot you again,” said Josie.

  “Thanks a lot, Miss Matthews,” said Corrigan.

  “No offense. I only meant that he shot you while you were in a dense forest, surrounded by cover, but didn’t shoot when you were running through an open field. Why didn’t he finish the job?”

  “What are you saying?” asked David.

  “I think someone was trying to wound Mr. Corrigan, not kill him.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Amateur,” said Barker.

  “I never claimed to be Miss Marple,” said Josie.

  “Who?” asked Barker.

  “Nancy Drew?”

  That drew blank looks from all three men.

  “I’m trying to say I’m not a professional detective,” said Josie, wishing she could Google her references.

  “I think we should get back to the subject at hand,” said David. “Miss Matthews’s theory is a good one. Perhaps the guy who shot Mikey wasn’t trying to kill him. But why shoot him at all?”

  “You got me,” said Corrigan, rubbing his neck. “But if you don’t mind, I’d just as soon get back to the house. My neck is itching out here and that’s never a good sign.”

  “There’s also something else to consider,” said Barker. “If he shot you even though you made the drop, just how angry will he be when he learns there was no money in that bag?”

  * * *

  “Who would think a trip to Oregon would be so eventful?” asked Dora, as she entered Lawrence’s room where he was reading a note, which he quickly set aside. “What’s that? A mash note?”

  “Yes,” said Lawrence, tucking the note into a book on his bedside table. “David Remington has declared his undying affection and has begged me to move into his cottage in the Hamptons.”

  “Seriously, Lawrence, what are you hiding?”

  Lawrence hesitated before answering. “I’m being blackmailed.”

  “You, too?” she asked.

  “You can’t be serious. You’re being blackmailed, as well?”

  Dora nodded. “I’ve been getting letters for weeks now, telling me how much he wanted and that I’d get instructions for where to drop the money once we reached Oregon, with the threat that if I told anyone my rate would double. For half a minute, I thought it might be your friend David Remington until I saw this place. He certainly doesn’t need the money.”

  “Trust me, love, Remington would never get involved in something like this. Why didn’t you tell me? You know your secret would have been safe with me.”

  Dora took her friend’s hand. “I guess I was embarrassed that I had something in my past to hide.”

  Lawrence kissed her hand. “It’s one of the reasons we’re such dear friends. I’m not sure I could ever like someone who didn’t have at least something to hide. By any chance, did you have a note in your room last night about a drop?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. The same thing happened to you?”

  “The exact same thing. What are you going to do?”

  “Pay him, of course. The only problem is I don’t have all the money he’s asking for and I haven’t had a chance to ask if he takes layaway. Of course, it’d be just my luck that he would. I’m giving as much as I can and hoping that’ll be enough. What about you?”

  “My secret isn’t much of a secret,” Lawrence said, smiling sadly. “I’m not sure anyone who’s met me would be surprised to learn I’m not the marrying kind. Other than my mother, of course, who’d still be trying to set me up with her friends’ daughters if she were alive. But here’s the deal, Dora, I have half a mind not to pay.”

  “Then don’t,” said Dora, sitting beside him on the bed. “You shouldn’t be ashamed of who you are. We’ll just make sure you don’t get arrested.”

  “How exactly would we do that? Living my life is a crime.”

  “We’ll avoid the police.”

  “That’ll be a tad difficult since the bars and restaurants I prefer tend to attract police.”

  “If you ask me, I think some of those police officers are homosexual, too.”

  “Trust me, they are. But the problem is that the homosexual police officers are some of the most brutal. They’ll do anything to hide their secret from the men they work with. I also have to face the reality that even if I could write another play good enough for Broadway, not many producers would risk the wrath of theater goers by producing a play by a known homosexual.”

  “If the public stopped patronizing the works of homosexuals, Broadway would shut down.”

  “True, but it helps when we’re well hidden. If I might ask, what are they blackmailing you for? Don’t tell me you’re a Sister of Sappho. I thought one of the best things we have in common is a love of men.”

  “Nothing nearly as interesting as that.” She sat quietly for a moment, studying her hands. “Do you remember my...incident...in Atlantic City?”

  “When you were brutalized, love?” asked Lawrence quietly.

  She nodded. “A few months later I learned I was pregnant. I agonized about what to do, but in the end, I went to a doctor. Well, not really a doctor. But he was clean and discreet. I find it difficult to believe he told anyone, given how much trouble he’d be in if the authorities learned what he’d done. But how else would someone know about this? I didn’t tell anyone.”

  “I’m sorry you went through that.” He squeezed her hand. “So this person knows both your secret and mine, which means it’s someone in our social circle. But who?”

  “You really don’t think David Remington’s behind this? Who else knew we’d even be here? Though it doesn’t make sense for him to pay for our tickets, if he’s the one blackmailing us.”

  “I don’t think it’s him, but I’m determined to find out who it is, especially since this probably isn’t his last demand,” said Lawrence. “Blackmailers are the ultimate bad pennies. They keep turning up when you least wish to see them.”

  * * *

  Farnsworth stood at the window and looked out at the vast expanse of lawn, as Lydia sat at the vanity and brushed her hair. “I wonder what Remington paid for this place,” he mused.

  “Why do you want to know?” asked Lydia. “You’re not thinking of buying a summer home in Oregon, are you?”

  Farnsworth shrugged. “I like knowing things about people. Has he ever told you how much he’s worth?”

  “I’ve never asked.”

  “Why don’t you? I’m dying to know.”

  “No, Matt, I don’t think it’s appropriate to ask one of my oldest friends how much money he has.”

  “But
isn’t that what old friends are for?” Farnsworth picked up a vase to check the brand underneath.

  “We rarely speak to each other. Frankly, I was surprised we were invited to the party.”

  “We weren’t,” said her husband.

  Lydia turned to look at him. “We didn’t crash the party, did we?”

  “It’s only crashing when you’re not welcome. Everyone wants me at their party.”

  “Considering the death threats you get, I’m not sure that’s entirely true.”

  “That’s nothing but hot air from losers. But even they want me around. It gives them a chance to revel in playing the victim. Why do you think Barker is here?”

  Lydia resumed fixing her hair. “He, David and Mikey have remained close through the years. I’m sure Agent Barker was invited.”

  “Who do you think shot Corrigan?”

  “I don’t know. I imagine the man has enemies. I’m just glad he wasn’t seriously injured.”

  Farnsworth drew back the curtains to look out onto the lawn. “It doesn’t add up. You don’t get to control a major portion of Chicago without making a lot of enemies, but why would any of them follow him out here?” When Lydia didn’t answer, he continued. “How much do you think he’s worth?”

  “I don’t know and I certainly won’t ask him.”

  “Maybe I’ll ask that moll of his. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind cozying up to me.” He gave that a moment’s thought. “Not that anything would happen, of course.”

  “Of course,” said Lydia, not sounding too worried about it. “Matt, where were you when Mikey was shot?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Call it curiosity.”

  “It doesn’t matter where I was. It only matters what you tell them if you’re asked. As for that, you’ll tell them I was with you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna get some more of Remington’s gin. It’s first-rate and must have cost a fortune.”

  He left Lydia to finish brushing her hair. Once she was sure he was gone, she pulled a note out of her pocket and read it once again.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  After returning from the site where Corrigan had been shot, Josie had only an hour to dress for cocktails. As she looked through the dresses which had been left for her earlier, she vaguely wondered if one woman had left all these dresses behind, or if several had left one or two. Since they were all about the same size, it was clear that David Remington had a body type he preferred. And as Josie put on a beautiful purple silk dress which fit perfectly, she realized she might be his type.