Amanda and Aunt Eva sat inside the parlor, their chatter subsiding when I sat down.
“Was that who I think it was?” Amanda folded her arms. “Your missing beau, Derek? Excuse me, ex-beau. Why’s he back in Galveston?”
“You won’t believe this. He played the villain in the vaudeville show we saw last night,” I stalled, not wanting to go into great detail.
“The villain? How fitting,” Eva added. “As I recall, he broke your heart.” Did she have to rub it in?
“Applesauce! Of course I was disappointed when he left town. Who wouldn’t be?”
“Disappointed?” Amanda snorted. “I’d say more like devastated. What did he want?”
“Good question.” I heaved a sigh. “I’ll let you know if I ever find out.”
Later that day, Burton showed up around five, giving us time to look around the Oasis before the regulars took their places. The air was getting cool, and I’d slipped on my gold and burgundy brocade coat with the black velvet collar, hoping to disarm him with my sparkly new outfit.
Burton let out a wolf-whistle when I came downstairs. “You look like the tiger’s stripes! What’s the occasion?”
I struck a vampy pose. “I wanted to get all gussied up for my fella. Do I need an excuse?”
“Sure you wouldn’t rather stop by the theatre first, show off for your old beau?”
I rolled my eyes at him, ignoring his jab. After we got into his Roadster, I asked, “Did you go by the police station? Any news on the victim?”
“No dead bodies so far, and he still hasn’t turned up at the hospital, dead or alive.”
“Did you say anything to the cops?”
“Not yet. I checked the police reports, and no sign of him so far.” Burton frowned. “How does a dying man sneak out of a hospital without a trace?”
“Someone who doesn’t want to be found.” I mulled over the few facts I knew. “I wonder what they were fighting about? Was the assailant trying to kill him or scare him to death?”
“Maybe both. Luckily the wound must be shallow if the victim managed to walk away.”
“If he did walk out on his own. He sure lost a lot of blood,” I sighed. “Let’s hope he’s still alive, for everyone’s sake.”
“Sorry to tell you, if there’s an investigation, Sammy may be forced to return to Galveston.”
“I bet he’d rather face the cops than Johnny Jack. Nounes isn’t one to forgive or forget.”
On Market Street, Burton parked behind the Oasis and helped me out, holding me up when my heel caught on his running board. In my glad rags, I wasn’t exactly dressed for snooping in an alley.
I stepped gingerly onto the uneven pavement, littered with broken bottles, wood crates, cardboard boxes and debris from the weekend’s revelry. The sun glowed a peachy-pink, still light enough to search the alley for any remnants of last night’s crime.
Burton stomped around in his cowboy boots, kicking away some bottles and cans. Even as a temporary Texan, he’d taken to wearing a new Stetson and boots all the time. Yet he retained the proper mannerisms of a civilized Yankee, difficult for him to blend in with the rough-and-tumble Texas crowd.
“Seems they washed off most of the blood.” I pointed to his boots. “Careful. You might destroy some evidence.”
Burton began looking along the building’s edges, moving a few boxes. As a Prohibition agent, Burton wasn’t used to scouring crime scenes—but then again, neither was I. “I’ll bet the men had a fight before the victim got stabbed. Maybe we’ll find some clues?”
“All I see is a bunch of garbage,” he complained. “No signs of a struggle. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
I walked further down the alley, checking the grounds, looking around the trash cans. I glanced behind a tin Coca-Cola sign, only to see a scrawny orange tabby cat cry and scamper away. Poor stray, searching for scraps, like Golliwog. Did Bernie, the cook, have any left-over catfish in the kitchen?
A sparkling object caught my eye, and I crouched down to examine it: a marcasite button, engraved and enameled in such fine detail that it had to be Victorian. Not your usual bum’s clothing.
“What do you make of this?” I showed Burton the glass button.
“Looks old, like it came off a gentleman’s coat.” Burton shrugged, unimpressed. “But that doesn’t mean anything. Could belong to anyone. May have been lost weeks ago.”
“But why is such a fancy button still here? Surely someone else would have picked it up. Say, why not ask Dino or Frank what the other man wore last night?”
Burton looked skeptical. “I doubt they pay any attention to men’s clothing.”
“It’s worth a try.”
Dino sat rooted in his usual spot by the door. “What’s the word?” His dark eyes darted back and forth, not too happy to see me or Agent Burton.
Was he joking? “She sells seashells by the seashore.” Thanks to Frank, I came prepared.
“You here to shut us down, Fed?”
“We’re trying to help.” Agent Burton bristled. “Whether you like it or not.”
Boy, everyone seemed testy tonight. “Break it up, you two lugs.” I put my arms out, trying to run interference like a boxing referee.
Inside the Oasis, I asked Dino, “Any news about last night? Did you find out anything?”
Dino shook his boxy head. “Nope, working too hard. Had to spill the beans to Sammy. He got mad, said he couldn’t trust us no more.” Glad I wasn’t the one to break the bad news. With his hot temper, I imagined Sammy was livid, ready to point fingers.
“How’s the poor sap? Is he OK?” Dino asked. “Frank said he didn’t stick around long at Big Red.”
Burton shrugged. “Who knows? The guy’s gone. Vanished.”
“He’s alive?” Dino sat up. “That’s a good sign.”
“Hope so. Hey, did you notice if his friend wore fancy clothes, a nice coat or jacket?” I held up the button. “I just found this out in the alley.”
“They looked like a couple of cake-eaters to me, not from around here.” He smirked. “I was too busy to notice their buttons.”
Burton gave me an I-told-you-so look. “What did you notice? Anything?”
“Ask Frank,” Dino said. “He was tending bar. I was up here, doing my job.”
“Mind if we talk to some people?” I asked, then headed downstairs, not waiting for an answer.
“Go ahead,” Dino barked. “Try not to scare off the customers.”
At the bar, it was still early, nice and quiet. Frank glanced at me and Burton nervously, and started wiping down the long oak counter, all but ignoring us. I motioned him over, trying a new approach.
“Say, does this button look familiar? Maybe the assailant lost it off his jacket? It’s made with real marcasites, not tin.” I held out the button in my palm.
“How would I know?” Frank examined the button and shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Did you notice how the friend was dressed?” I asked.
While Frank fidgeted, Burton and I exchanged glances. What was he trying to hide? “Just answer the lady.” Burton frowned. “She’s asking a simple question.”
“OK, the guy looked like a sissy, all decked out like a billboard.”
“I wonder if they’re dandies or perhaps performers?” Frowning, I recalled the outlandish outfits in the vaudeville show. “What time were they here?”
“Around six or so. They hung around half an hour before they started arguing.” Frank smoothed out his shirt. “Maybe they were waiting for someone.”
“Did they mention a gal named Viola?”
“I doubt they were fighting over a dame,” Frank snorted. “Maybe it was a lovers’ quarrel. You know, those fancy-pants boys.”
So who was Viola? “Any idea why they were fighting?”
“Who knows?” Frank shrugged. “Dino kicked them out around seven. We didn’t notice the body until later, say about ten or so. That’s when we called you.”
“Y
ou mean the victim had been lying out in the alley a few hours?” I grimaced.
“Who found him?” Burton asked.
“Buzz. He was taking out the trash and stumbled over the body. We told Buzz the rummy was sleeping off his liquor, and he didn’t ask any questions. Luckily it was too dark to see the blood.”
“Poor kid.” Again I wondered about the unhealthy environment Buzz was exposed to on a nightly basis. Who else could take in the orphan boy? I thought of Finn, the newsie, who spent most of his time on the streets, trying to help his mother and her brood of children. “Well, you did a good job cleaning up the alley. I don’t see a drop of...anything.”
“Gotta hand it to Buzz. He does as he’s told. A good kid. Sure misses Sammy.”
“Sammy misses him too.” I lowered my voice. “So you never found a weapon?”
Frank shook his head and shrugged. “Sorry, can’t help you.”
Burton pushed back from the bar. “Told you this was a waste of time,” he muttered.
“Don’t you want to question the customers?”
“Why bother? They won’t talk, especially in front of me. These guys can spot a lawman a mile away.”
“Well, let’s find out if Buzz saw anything.” I waved to the boy, sweeping up in the corner.
His toothy grin widened as we got near. “Hiya Jazz, hiya Burt. Can you butt me?”
“Burt?” Burton smiled at his new nickname. “Butt you? Where’d you hear that, son?”
“You’re too young to smoke, Buzz.” I shook my finger playfully in his freckled face. “Hey, I was impressed with your clean-up job outside. The alley looks nice and clear.”
“Thanks, Jazz. Bernie spilled a bunch of tomato sauce out back. Real sticky stuff.”
I shuddered, wondering if Buzz really believed their tomato sauce story or was playing along. “Say, sport, did you notice anything else unusual outside? Maybe a wallet, scarf, hat?”
Buzz crinkled his button nose, looked around, then pulled out a kitchen knife from his apron pocket, caked with a dried, rust-colored substance...like blood.
“Were you looking for this?”
******
CHAPTER EIGHT
I sucked in my breath. A kitchen knife? “Where’d you find that? Out in the alley?”
Buzz nodded, and jutted out his chin. “Finders keepers.”
“Let me see it, sport.” Burton wriggled his fingers.
“Wait. There may be prints on the knife handle,” I pointed out.
“You don’t wanna touch it. Feels sticky.” Buzz made a face and wiped his palms on his baggy jeans. “Am I in t-t-trouble?”
“Not at all. Is it OK if we borrow this, Buzz?” I asked. “Can you get us a clean cloth?”
Buzz nodded and scampered to the kitchen. Burton whispered, “You know what this means? The attacker could be anyone who was here that night, including Dino or Frank.”
I glanced at Frank with a pang of guilt. He frowned, probably wondering what we’d said to Buzz. “But why stab a total stranger? What’s their motive? Besides, why would Frank and Dino call me afterwards if they were guilty?”
“Who knows what really happened? So far we’ve only heard their version,” Burton said.
I had to admit, he had a point. “True, Dino has gone off half-cocked in a crisis. With Sammy away, they’re left to their own devices. If so, maybe it was just an accident?”
Burton looked doubtful. “Did you know half of most killings are accidents, not intentional murders—attempted murders perhaps. Crimes of passion.”
“Passion? Murder seems more like hate.”
“I’m no shrink, but they say love and hate are closely related.” He eyed me. “Don’t forget, I work with Homicide cops all day.”
Buzz returned with a clean towel and placed the knife on top. Burton gingerly wrapped up the knife, careful not to touch the blade, and slipped the bundle in his jacket.
“See you later, Buzz. Thanks, Frank.” I waved as we headed for the stairs.
“What was that all about?” He frowned, looking suspicious. “Try not to involve Buzz, OK? He’s just a kid, for Christ’s sakes.”
“Don’t worry, we were just shooting the breeze. Let me know if you hear from Sammy.”
In the car, I told Burton, “Close call. Frank wouldn’t be thrilled if he knew Buzz just handed over their bloody kitchen knife. Let’s skedaddle before he finds out we waltzed out with the weapon, right under his nose.”
“The alleged weapon,” Burton corrected me, starting his Roadster. “We need to match blood type to the victim’s wounds first. Kinda hard to do when there’s no body.”
“Can’t forensics test it for fingerprints?”
“Sure, if the prints are already on file. I have a feeling this case isn’t so simple.”
“Let’s hope the victim is on the mend, not lying in a ditch somewhere.”
“You said it.” Burton turned toward the Seawall, driving by the beach. “Hey, I’m getting hungry. Are you in the mood for some Italian food, say at Mario’s? You look too nice to call it a night.”
“Mario’s?” A nice Italian restaurant rumored to be frequented by the Downtown Gang. “Sounds good, but that bloody knife made me lose my appetite.”
“Maybe we can share a meal? Besides, we need to talk.”
Burton looked at me sideways as he drove along the Seawall. The November breeze felt crisp and cool, not humid for a change.
“We do?” My stomach clenched as I braced for our “talk.”
“How well do you know that vampire? I mean, fella?”
“Derek? Like I said, he’s an old friend.” I stammered, fingering my bead necklace.
“How long were you together? Don’t give me that old pals routine.”
I avoided his gaze. “We dated in high school off and on for two years, the usual song and dance.”
“Is that all? Was he trying to get fresh today?” Burton worked his jaw.
“He’s just being friendly.” Had Derek purposely tried to provoke Burton—or me?
“Too friendly. He was slobbering all over you.”
I blushed, wondering how much he saw. “You’re all wet.”
“So what’s the story with you two?”
“There’s not much to tell.” I tried to edit myself before I blurted everything out. “Derek was a senior, I was a junior at Ball High. After he graduated, he hung around Galveston for a while, working odd jobs, restless as hell. Then I moved to Austin to attend college at UT, and we sort of lost touch. Later he decided to try his luck in L.A. and left town. We were too young to get serious.”
I left out the tearful good-byes, the homesickness, the late-night phone calls. Sadly I had to drop out of college when my father died, so my dreams of being a journalist like Nellie Bly were dashed—until I got the job at the Gazette. Still, writing blurbs about weddings, debutantes, and society matrons wouldn’t win me any prizes.
Burton seemed skeptical. “Lots of people get married right out of high school.”
“That wasn’t in the cards for me.” I stared out at the pale beach contrasting with the dark waves, white foam like creamy icing. “I want to be a real reporter, like Nellie Bly.”
“That crazy female reporter who got committed to a New York insane asylum?”
“Bly only pretended to be crazy to expose their inhumane treatment. Turned out most of the women were perfectly sane. Several were foreigners who couldn’t speak English. Wish I was half as brave.” I sighed, knowing I could never pull off that stunt. Ten days of abuse and torture in a madhouse? No, thanks. “Still, I’m not cut out for domestic life. Not now, not yet.” Probably never.
“You and me both.” Finally he cracked a smile, patting my leg. “I like a gal with moxie.”
“Thanks.” Did that mean he was a confirmed bachelor? “What about you, James?”
He didn’t answer as he drove along the Seawall, then parked facing the beach. For a few moments he sat in the dark, staring at the waves crashing
on the shore, not talking. The night seemed still, peaceful, save for the seagulls squawking as they glided over the ocean, white wings furled like flags.
Now I was really curious. “Come on, James. I told you mine, now you tell me yours. Do you have a secret past?”
“Don’t we all?” He started the Roadster and headed for Broadway. “You might as well know...I was almost engaged once. A long time ago.”
******
CHAPTER NINE
“Engaged? You?” Why was I so surprised? Burton was a young, good-looking fella with a steady job—not the safest job in the world, but honorable, and I assumed the pay was decent. At 28, Burton was what Mrs. Harper called an “eligible bachelor, ripe for picking.” Still, I didn’t consider Prohibition agents family men—their jobs were too dangerous, too unpredictable.
“Why not me? I’ve been known to catch a few ladies’ eyes.” He sounded smug as he parked at Mario’s, off Broadway, and helped me out of the car.
“I’ll bet.” I wondered about the lucky lady who actually tried to pin down Burton—was she the one who got away? Or had he disentangled himself by choice?
“What happened?”
“Let’s just say it didn’t work out.” He avoided my eyes and opened the restaurant door, handing his Stetson and coat to the hat check gal. I kept my cloche and new coat on to stay warm—frankly, I’d splurged too much on this particular ensemble to let anything out of my sight.
The maitre d’ looked at us approvingly, probably since we were overdressed for a casual eatery, only a few notches above Sammy’s speakeasy. Guess they had no idea Burton was a Prohibition agent. “A table for two? Right this way.”
He seated us at a cozy table by the window and pulled out my chair. I pretended to peruse the menu, but I was dying of curiosity. “So why did you call it off?”
“Bad timing. Wrong place, wrong dame.” Burton pretended to mop his brow. “Luckily I escaped before we got handcuffed.”
Vamps, Villains and Vaudeville Page 4