The Tycoon Murderer

by Maureen Driscoll

  “I still don’t understand how this will bring us any closer to learning who the blackmailer is.”

  “But what if it does?”

  Constance stopped. “Suffice it to say it was a long time ago, but I could get into a great deal of trouble if it were known now.”

  “But that’s what makes it even more valuable. Half the people who are being blackmailed are famous. It’s not that hard to find dirt on celebrities. But you’re not. That means you’re the key to all of this.”

  “I don’t see how that can be true.”

  “Think about it. There must be plenty of stories about Kurt Franklin or Senator Farnsworth. Lawrence Henry is famous – or, at least, he will be. God knows there are any number of scandals you could probably pin on Mikey Corrigan or Lucy. But you’re different. If your secret was closely hidden, very few people would be privy to it. Please tell me what it is, Constance. I promise not to tell anyone.”

  Constance looked away for a moment. “Fine! I was in an accident and a little girl in the other car went through the windshield. She survived but suffered some disfiguring injuries. I feel awful about it, of course, and I paid for her medical treatment as well as a little money so the family would keep quiet. Apparently. they didn’t keep their word.”

  “Why are you paying the blackmailer? I can’t imagine there’d be that much scandal if someone learned about this.”

  “I was drinking,” said Constance with some irritation. “And I didn’t just pay off the family. I paid the police, as well.”

  “But I still don’t understand how you’d be in trouble if people knew. The police would be for taking a bribe. Why is someone targeting you?” Something didn’t add up.

  Constance sighed. “Fine. Someone else was involved. I’m not the person who paid off the family or the police. I was at a party and the host paid them.”

  Josie considered it. “How can you be sure he really paid them? I mean, maybe he said he was going to pay them, but didn’t.”

  “Trust me when I say this man would pay.”

  “They still could’ve wanted more.”

  “Then he would have paid them more.”

  Josie studied the woman in front of her. “How rich is this guy?”

  “Very.” The word was clipped and Constance Andrews had clearly tired of answering questions.

  Then something occurred to Josie and it made her stomach roil. “Was it David Remington?”

  Constance rolled her eyes. “No! It was someone a lot wealthier than that.”

  “Isn’t David Remington pretty wealthy? I mean, there’s a reason they call him the Tycoon Murd...never mind.”

  “The Tycoon what?”

  “Nothing. Who paid them off?”

  “William Randolph Hearst. Is that rich enough for you? As for no one knowing, everyone at the party knew and there were 500 people there. Any one of them could have told someone. Hell, Hearst himself could have done it. He thought it was a lark. But I’m no longer that party girl. I started a new life in Portland and I’ll be damned if I let some blackmailer ruin it.” She looked at Josie hard. “I suppose you’re going to tell David.”

  “No, I won’t. It’s no more relevant to finding out who the blackmailer is than anyone else’s story.”

  Constance was unconvinced. “Aren’t you going to tell him to make him turn against me?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because I haven’t always been very kind to you. And I don’t believe for a moment that you’re his cousin. Who are you, anyway?”

  Josie considered trying to tell her the truth, but now was not the time. “Suffice it to say I’m no threat to you. If you’d like some advice...”

  “No, thank you.”

  “You’re getting it, anyway. In any relationship it’s better to be honest than not. This blackmailer could spill the beans and it’s probably better if you tell David than if he finds out from someone else.”

  “I don’t need advice on personal matters from someone who’s divorced.”

  For someone who was so concerned about Josie keeping her secret, Constance Andrews was certainly a bitch.

  Constance checked her map. “We’re approaching the drop point. I was supposed to come alone, so you need to stay here, out of sight. I’ll deliver this then we can get back to the house.”

  Josie looked for the best place to conceal herself. “You can make the drop and leave, but I’m going to wait to see who picks up your money.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” said Constance. “And could even be dangerous. We all saw what happened when Mikey Corrigan did that very thing.”

  “I’ll stay hidden, but this guy killed someone and took a shot at Mr. Corrigan. I want to be able to identify him to the police.”

  Constance considered it. “How do I know you’re not the blackmailer waiting to pick up the money?”

  “How much are you being blackmailed for?”

  “Five hundred dollars.”

  “Mr. Corrigan was supposed to drop off $10,000. I’d have to be a very stupid blackmailer to wait for your money when I could get much more by following someone else. But if it makes you feel better, you can wait with me.”

  Constance was shocked by the very notion. “I’m not going to wait for some murderer to pick up the money. If you want to do that, you’re on your own.”

  “Fine. I’ll let you know what happens.”

  “How will you get back to town if I take the car?”

  “You could send someone to check on me in a few hours.”

  Constance hesitated, looking around. The streets were still deserted and the fog was even heavier. “How do you know he’ll pick it up any time soon?”

  “He has to pick it up before it gets too light, otherwise someone in town could find it and take it. If I have to, I’ll stay all night. Go home and get some sleep.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Please. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  Constance sighed. “If you insist on staying out here, I suppose there’s not much I can do to dissuade you. I’ll have a car back here in two hours or so.”

  Josie had a feeling the “or so” probably meant a much longer wait than two hours. As Constance departed, Josie settled in on the steps of the courthouse across the square. There was a vantage point behind a column at the top of the stairs which would keep her hidden but provide an unobstructed view of the drop-off point. She pulled the wool coat she’d borrowed from David Remington around her, then settled in for a long wait.

  Josie had been so caught up in the murder and blackmail that she’d lost track of what she should be focused on – getting back to her own time. As she looked out at the town square, both familiar and yet foreign, she wondered what would happen if she never made it back to her own time. She had to admit to a certain irritation that her ex-husband wouldn’t have to pay for her share of their house and she was sad that she’d never see her family or friends again. There was also the matter of having to live in an era where there were all sort of diseases which didn’t have cures yet.

  How could she sit back and watch World War II approach, along with its horrors? She was, technically, homeless in this time period, though her beloved house was just a few miles down the road. She didn’t have a cent to her name, which would be hard enough at any point, but the Great Depression was set to begin in two months with the stock market crash in October. Things were going to get much worse for a great many people, just as the Roaring Twenties were about to end.

  Maybe she should sneak a few bucks out of Constance’s blackmail bag. But even as she thought it, she knew she’d never do it. Josie was just too honest, though Constance was exceedingly irritating. Of course, Josie had to admit one of the reasons she found her irritating was because she was David Remington’s girlfriend. It had been a while since Josie had thought of him as the Tycoon Murderer. There was something about him which made him seem familiar and comfortable. He was like her house in some ways – a new beginning
.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  David Remington tucked $25,000 into a small case. He had no idea how the murderer had learned his secret. David hadn’t wanted the others at the party to know he was being blackmailed because he couldn’t risk anyone else learning he had something to hide. He’d prefer not to pay it but had no choice. It pained him to give in to blackmail, but he’d pay now and find a way to catch the man later. He was extremely unsettled about the possibility of the blackmailer being one of his guests, though the evidence was pointing to it more with each passing day.

  The blackmailer’s note had told him to deposit the money in the bell on the town square. It was an ingenious place to hide it since there was nowhere he could wait where he wouldn’t be seen. And during the day, so many people passed through the square that it’d be difficult to determine who was the culprit.

  David let the others go to town without him, then drove a back road to get there himself. He slipped the packet inside the bell just before midnight, then looked around. There was no one there, yet he had the feeling he was being watched.

  He walked briskly toward the alley by Hammond’s, hoping to find a place to lie in wait which wouldn’t be too conspicuous.

  He’d been there only about five minutes when Constance walked across the green. She must have come from her own drop-off point. There was an elegance about her which couldn’t be denied, even in the process of dropping off cash for a blackmailer. David wondered what she’d done to be a victim in this. He hoped she’d confide in him, though he couldn’t hold it against her if she didn’t, since he had no plans to reveal his own secret.

  Suddenly, there was a scream from somewhere out in the fog. David ran out of the alley, startling Constance. “Where’d that scream come from?” he asked, as they both looked around.

  From the far corner of the square, Lydia Farnsworth stumbled toward them holding her hand, which was covered in blood. They both ran to her and were soon joined by Josie Matthews. “What happened?” asked David, as he pulled out a handkerchief to press against the wound on Lydia’s hand.

  “I was putting my envelope in my drop-off point, which was a hole in a hedge. I cut my hand on something in there.”

  “May I see?” asked Josie as she carefully took Lydia’s hand, then looked it over. “You may need stitches.”

  Constance swayed at the sight of Lydia’s injured hand, but David caught her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But I can’t stand the sight of blood.”

  “Lydia, you need to get to a hospital,” said Josie, then turned to David. “Does Holy Cross exist yet?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Holy Cross hospital, over on FDR drive.”

  “FDR?”

  “Yes!” said Josie, losing patience. “Franklin Delano Roosevelt.”

  “Why would there be a street in Oregon named for a New York politician?” asked David, confused.

  “Never mind! Where’s the nearest hospital?”

  “It’s on the other side of town.”

  “I’ll drive her,” said Constance, before getting a glimpse of the cut and almost being sick.

  “Josie and I will take her,” said David. “Constance, you should go home and wait.”

  “I hate leaving you all,” said Constance, before seeing the blood and swaying again. “Go! Don’t delay on my account. I’ll be fine.”

  * * *

  The hospital turned out to be a small infirmary next to the doctor’s house. They had to pound on the door to wake Dr. Jack Lentz, who seemed none too happy for the disturbance. As the white-haired doctor cleaned Lydia’s wound, Josie looked around the room, which looked nothing like the doctor’s offices she was used to. This one looked more like a parlor than a medical facility. Instead of the boxes of latex gloves and plastic boxes to collect needles, this one had a towel and an ashtray with cigarette butts in it.

  “You’re gonna need stitches,” said Dr. Lentz, as he reached for peroxide to cleanse the wound.

  Josie took that as a promising sign until he lit a cigarette.

  “That’s not very sanitary,” said Josie.

  “What isn’t?” asked the doctor, frowning.

  “Smoking while you stitch up a wound. Smoking in a medical office isn’t very healthy in general. Actually, smoking is just plain terrible for you anywhere.”

  “What are you talking about? Smoking exercises the lungs.”

  “No, it doesn’t!” said Josie. “It gives people cancer and all sorts of respiratory illnesses.”

  “See here, young lady...”

  David Remington stepped in. “Dr. Lentz, please excuse my cousin. It has been a long and trying night. Please do what you can to help my friend.”

  Josie noticed he’d refrained from using Lydia’s name. That was probably wise since it could raise questions the Senator’s wife would probably prefer not to answer.

  The frowning Dr. Lentz said, “Keep your cousin in line, Remington. Women should know their place.”

  Josie was about to express her displeasure at that statement, when a look from Remington made her hold her tongue. Right now, tending to Lydia’s wound was the most important thing. The room looked clean enough – other than the full ashtray and the cigarette dangling from the doctor’s lips – but as he stitched up Lydia without gloves after barely washing his hands, Josie prayed the Senator’s wife would be all right.

  “There,” said Dr. Lentz, examining his handiwork. He turned to David. “Have her keep the wound clean and change the dressing every couple days. If any redness develops, come back and see me during business hours. Do you want me to give her something for hysteria?”

  Before Remington could reply, Josie spoke up. “Why are you telling him this?”

  “He’s the man,” said Dr. Lentz, as if the answer were obvious.

  “But he’s not the one who’s injured.”

  “But he’s the man,” he said even slower, as if to make Josie understand.

  Josie knew this was a losing battle, but she wasn’t done yet. “Aren’t you going to give her a tetanus shot or penicillin?” Then when she realized everyone was staring at her, she added, “if those are things yet.”

  “Miss, I’m the doctor here and I’ve done everything I can do.” Then he turned to David again. “I can give them both something for hysteria.”

  Josie wasn’t about to give up now. “Stop it with the hysteria and answer this question. Have you ever heard of a tetanus shot or haven’t you?”

  Dr. Lentz looked like she was speaking a foreign language, but David said, “I read about an experiment to treat lockjaw, but I don’t know about any ‘shot’ of it. I also read about experiments in Scotland with something called penicillin, performed by a Dr. Fleming, I believe. But we don’t have those things here.”

  “Oh,” said Josie, wishing once again that she could Google just what had and hadn’t been invented by 1929. But at least she hadn’t been too far off in her calculations, if David Remington had heard of them.

  By that time Dr. Lentz had lost what little patience he’d had. After David paid for Lydia’s treatment, they were shown the door. “You’d be well-advised to get these women under control. Especially that one,” he said, pointing to Josie.

  Before Josie could say a word, Remington had escorted her to the car and settled Lydia, who looked a bit woozy, into the back seat.

  “I don’t know why you thought it’d help to antagonize the doctor,” Remington said to Josie.

  “He was smoking!”

  “What do you have against smoking?”

  “Everything! It’s horrid and disgusting!”

  Remington pulled onto the country road which would take them home. “Why do you think it causes cancer?”

  “Because it does.”

  “But how do you know that? And how do you know about penicillin and treatments for tetanus?”

  Those were very good questions Josie couldn’t answer. “You know about penicillin and tetanus.”

  “B
ut most people don’t.”

  Josie shrugged.

  “Lydia,” said David quietly. “You didn’t tell us you were also being blackmailed. I thought it was just your husband.”

  “I didn’t tell him, either,” she said. “Just Grant. I’d rather Matt didn’t know now, if you two could please keep this a secret.”

  “Of course,” said Josie.

  “I will, as well,” said Remington. “But do you know how this person could have learned your secret?”

  “I haven’t a clue,” she said. “Though I’ll certainly give it a great deal of thought now. What shall I tell Matt about my hand?”

  “Tell him you cut it wandering about the grounds looking for the blackmailer,” said Remington. “I’ll square it with Constance when we see her.”

  “Thank you,” she said, yawning. “You’ve both been very kind. I think the doctor gave me something to relax me. I feel very tired.”

  As Lydia closed her eyes in the back, Josie turned to Remington. “What were you doing in the square tonight? You said you didn’t get a blackmail letter.”

  He looked at her for a moment, perhaps weighing whether to tell her the truth. There was little moonlight, so it was hard to see his expression, but finally he gave a half smile. “I was enjoying a summer night in the Oregon country, Miss Matthews. I highly recommend it.”

  When it became apparent he wouldn’t tell her anything else, Josie sat back for a silent ride home. When they arrived at the house, Remington motioned for the butler to help him escort Lydia to her room, effectively ending any chance at discussion. “Good night, Miss Matthews. Sleep well,” he called out as he helped a tired Lydia up the stairs, leaving Josie to wonder if the man was a murderer or another man’s victim.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Josie went down to breakfast the next morning to find everyone already at the table. David Remington caught her eye, but Constance then put her hand on his and asked him something in a quiet voice.

  “I still don’t know how you could have hurt your hand,” Farnsworth said to Lydia as he refilled his plate at the sideboard.

  “I...” began Lydia, whose explanation then faltered. “I was walking...”