Murder on St. Nicholas Avenue

by Victoria Thompson

  “And you answered it?” Maeve asked in amazement. Mrs. Malloy feared the telephone even more than she feared electric lights.

  She managed to look offended. “Of course I answered it. People don’t make telephone calls unless it’s important.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She asked if you and Gino could come back to her house after supper.”

  “Did she say why?”

  Mrs. Malloy frowned, a terrifying sight if she was frowning at something you’d done, but Maeve knew she wasn’t upset with her. “She got a note from that Una girl, asking for help.”

  * * *

  Felix was starting to agree with Gino about using his carriage. He could have walked to Paul Reed’s house faster than his carriage was taking him. One simply didn’t arrive at someone’s door on foot, however, at least if one wanted to make an impression.

  He’d never met Reed, but he thought he knew some members of the man’s family. The question was if Reed would see him, a total stranger. Felix was planning to mention Oscar Norwalk’s name if he needed to. That would probably get him in the door, but nothing would guarantee Reed would give him any information.

  The maid gave a start when she saw him, making him wonder what it was about him that had shocked her. Did her master receive so few visitors?

  He had to admit the house did have a neglected air to it. The wallpaper in the entry was dark but faded in spots, probably where the sun shone through the glass in the door. Elizabeth would never have let their front hall get into that condition, he realized. The chairs placed against the wall for visitors to sit in while they waited sagged a little in the seat and dust coated the umbrellas hanging from the coatrack.

  The maid returned after a few minutes, her eyes downcast this time, as if she were afraid to meet his gaze. “Mr. Reed will see you. Please follow me.”

  She led him up the stairs. This floor looked no better than the one below. The carpets were worn and the furniture unpolished. She took him to the rear parlor, which would be the room the family used, not the usual place visitors were received. She opened the door and announced him, then stepped out again and scurried off, still not looking up.

  Felix shrugged off the feeling that he should understand her odd behavior and schooled his expression to pleasant politeness to greet Paul Reed.

  Reed was a man of middle age, thin and a bit stooped, although he boasted a thick mane of gray hair. It looked like he’d been running his fingers through it instead of a comb, however, and he wore a dressing gown over his shirt and trousers. Not the normal attire for receiving visitors. Like his house, he had a neglected air. “Decker, to what do I owe this honor?”

  Plainly, he didn’t consider Felix’s visit an honor, but Felix ignored his tone and stretched out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Reed.”

  Left with no choice, Reed shook his hand and invited him to sit, but he still hadn’t smiled.

  “I’m also a friend of Oscar Norwalk’s,” Felix explained. “That’s why I’m here.”

  “If you’ve come to tell me about the Panama project, you’re too late. Oscar was here already. Two days before he . . . died. If you’re hoping to get your money back, I can’t help you. Pollock is dead, or have you already heard?”

  “Yes, I knew about Pollock’s murder. That’s how I got involved in all this, as a matter of fact. I’m not an investor.”

  “You were lucky, then. Or maybe you’re the one who told Oscar he’d been swindled.”

  “I’m afraid not. If I were, I hope I could have prevented his . . . what happened.”

  “I would hope that, too,” Reed said sadly.

  “Did he say who had told him? Not by name, obviously, but . . .”

  “Someone from his club, he said. Oscar had been looking for more investors, apparently, and found someone who knew Panama.”

  “Do you know how he met Pollock in the first place?”

  “A chance encounter. Buying cigars, I think he said.”

  Good heavens, had Pollock actually met prospective investors at the store where he’d also met his wife? “How did you find out Pollock was dead?”

  He must have sensed that this was the most important question Felix had asked him so far. Instead of replying, he studied Felix for a long moment. “If you’re not an investor, what is your interest in all this?”

  “You may also know that Pollock’s wife has been accused of killing him. Her mother asked me to help.”

  “To help figure out who did kill him?” Reed asked in amazement. “Isn’t that the job of the police?”

  “The police think she killed him, but she says she didn’t.”

  “Of course she does, but surely they have a good reason for thinking she did.”

  Felix wasn’t going to go into that with Reed. “Did Lawrence Zimmerman tell you Pollock was dead?”

  Reed’s face settled into a scowl. “I don’t remember.”

  Felix smiled at that. Reed probably thought he was protecting Zimmerman, but his answer only made Felix more suspicious. “I’m not your enemy, Reed. In fact, I came to tell you that we may be able to return most of the money you invested with Pollock.”

  Now he had Reed’s full attention. “What do you mean? How could you do that?”

  “We have located the money, which obviously wasn’t invested in Panama or anywhere else. Pollock spent some of it, but I plan to see that the investors get a fair share returned to them.”

  Reed’s eyes grew suspiciously moist, and he remembered Caroline’s tearful relief. “Why would you do this?”

  “Because it’s the right thing to do. I only wish I had been able to help before Oscar died, but at least his widow will benefit.”

  Reed pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose without bothering to make the excuse of a nonexistent cold. “I’m sorry, Decker,” he said when he’d tucked the handkerchief away again. “I misjudged you.”

  “That happens frequently, I’m afraid. Now would you mind telling me how you found out Pollock was dead?”

  * * *

  “He said Zimmerman told him,” Mr. Decker said.

  Maeve and Gino had arrived at their house a few minutes ago, and they were all sitting in the family parlor. Mr. and Mrs. Decker had just finished telling them about their afternoon visits.

  “We could have guessed that,” Gino said. “What we need to find out is how Zimmerman knew.”

  “Probably because he’s the killer,” Maeve said, knowing they were all thinking it.

  “But nobody saw him at the house,” Mrs. Decker reminded them.

  “The servants said that sometimes Pollock answered the door himself if he was expecting someone,” Mr. Decker said. “And we know he argued with someone right before he was killed.”

  “Oh my goodness, with all the business with Truett’s death, we’ve completely forgotten Mr. Yorke. At least we know he was actually at the house that day,” Maeve said.

  They all stared at her in surprise.

  “You’re right, dear,” Mrs. Decker said after a moment. “We’d completely forgotten him.”

  “Not completely,” Gino said. “I did think to stop at his hotel on my way over here after I, uh, parted ways with the police department, but he wasn’t in.”

  “So at least we know he’s still in town,” Mrs. Decker said. “I still can’t believe he’s a murderer. He seemed like such a nice young man, not like Mr. Truett, who didn’t seem nice at all.”

  “Lawrence Zimmerman is probably a nice young man, too,” Mr. Decker said, “but I’m thinking that in the heat of anger over the swindle and Oscar Norwalk’s suicide, he might have done anything.”

  “The same is true for Yorke,” Gino said. “More so, in fact, because Yorke thinks Pollock killed his sister.”

  “And he might have,” Maeve said.

&nbs
p; “But,” Gino said, “why would Yorke have killed Truett?”

  Maeve had no answer for that, but Mr. Decker did. “We’re assuming the same person who killed Pollock also killed Truett. It seems likely, but maybe that’s not true. Maybe Yorke killed Pollock in the heat of anger over his sister. Then someone found out Pollock was dead and broke into the house to steal the Panama money. It wasn’t there, so this person assumed Truett had it, and he went to Truett’s hotel to get it.”

  “But it wasn’t there, so he killed Truett?” Gino scoffed.

  “No, he killed Truett because he was sure it was there.”

  That made a strange kind of sense, Maeve realized. “Except it wasn’t there, because we have it.”

  “And I’m beginning to think we should return it to the investors as soon as possible,” Mr. Decker said.

  “Do you think that’s wise, dear?” Mrs. Decker asked. “Won’t they need it for evidence or something?”

  “I can’t imagine why. Can you, Gino?”

  Gino shook his head. “In fact, if the police get their hands on it, it might disappear completely. That’s a lot of money, and a lot of temptation.”

  “Would the police actually steal it?” Mrs. Decker asked.

  Maeve and Gino gave her a pitying look, but Mr. Decker said, “I’m afraid it’s a possibility we must consider, my dear, and even if it isn’t stolen, it might never be returned to the investors. So the sooner we return it, the better.”

  “I took five dollars out to bribe the matron at the jail,” Maeve said. “I think we should count that as an expense.”

  “Why did you need to bribe her?” Mrs. Decker asked.

  “To look after Una,” Maeve said, grinning at the memory. “That was before I got to know her, though.”

  “So, Felix, you should figure out how much each investor should get, based on how much is left. Then you can deliver it to them. That will also give you an excuse to visit the ones you haven’t seen yet.”

  “Yes,” he said with a faint smile, “and I can also ask them if they killed Pollock while I’m there.”

  She ignored that. “Oh dear, should we give Una some money to pay the servants, too? We did promise them.”

  “Estimate how much you think they’re owed, and I’ll subtract that from the total,” Mr. Decker said.

  “But where will we tell her it came from?” Maeve asked. “Are you going to pretend it’s from you, Mrs. Decker?”

  “Maeve’s right,” Gino said. “We can’t let Una know we have her husband’s money, because she’ll want it all.”

  “And think she’s entitled to it, if I’ve judged her correctly,” Maeve said.

  Gino suddenly sat up straighter and grinned. “I just thought of something. If we prove she didn’t kill her husband, she’ll get the bail money back.”

  “That should be enough to pay the servants and give her some spending money besides,” Mrs. Decker said. “And if not, I’ll happily take care of them, poor things.”

  “So it’s settled. I’ll start returning the investors’ money as soon as I figure out how much each of them should receive.”

  “What if one of them killed Pollock and Truett?” Gino asked.

  “It’s still their money. They can use it to pay for an attorney,” he added with an ironic smile.

  “And what about Mr. Yorke?” Mrs. Decker asked.

  “I can definitely go see him tomorrow,” Gino said.

  “I’m glad we got all that settled,” Mr. Decker said, “but that’s not the reason we asked you to come here this evening, of course.”

  “What did Una’s note say?” Maeve asked. She’d been dying of curiosity ever since Mrs. Malloy had given her the message, but the Deckers had distracted her.

  “It was a telegram, actually, although I can’t imagine how she got away to send it with the reporters on her doorstep.” Mrs. Decker handed it to Maeve.

  “It’s to Mr. Decker,” she noticed.

  “I’m sure she felt he would be the most sympathetic to her plight,” Mrs. Decker said with just a hint of sarcasm.

  “I can’t help it. I was trained from birth to protect helpless females,” Mr. Decker replied with a glint in his eye.

  “It’s too bad you don’t know any helpless females,” Maeve said, earning a grin from Mrs. Decker.

  Gino had leaned over to read the message, too. “She wants you to come to the house, but she doesn’t say why.”

  “I think we can assume she thinks he can assist her in some way,” Mrs. Decker said. “She must be going crazy with her house surrounded by reporters all day.”

  “But she told me she didn’t want our help,” Gino said. “She didn’t even want me in the house.”

  “She doesn’t need help from a poor Italian police officer,” Maeve said gently. “She does need help from a rich, middle-aged society gent.”

  Gino’s dark eyes widened with understanding. “I see!”

  “We see as well,” Mrs. Decker said. “Which is why we’re sending you to help her, Gino.”

  12

  “It’ll be midnight before we get there,” Maeve said. “I don’t know why we had to take their carriage.”

  Gino grinned in the darkness of the comfortable vehicle. When he was alone with Maeve, he didn’t care how long it took to get there. “Are you in a hurry to see Mrs. Pollock?”

  He couldn’t see her expression, but he could imagine her adorable scowl. “No, but I thought you would be.”

  “I can wait. Besides, Mr. Decker was right. Una Pollock is much more likely to open the door to us if we arrive in his carriage.”

  “The newspapers will love it, too.”

  “Yeah, they might put your picture on the front page this time. ‘Beautiful Irish Girl Rescues Widow.’”

  “They’d never say that.”

  “They said I was handsome,” he reminded her.

  “Yes, but you really are handsome.”

  Gino silently cursed the darkness that hid her expression. Did she really mean that or was she teasing him? When he was in Cuba, the men had spent a lot of time talking about the mysteries of women, and he’d thought he’d learned a lot. He couldn’t remember anything that would help him now, though, so he had to rely on honesty. “And you really are beautiful.”

  Had he stunned her speechless? She didn’t reply for a full minute, and then she said, “More beautiful than Una Pollock?”

  Gino didn’t need anyone’s advice to know the right answer to this question. “No.”

  He waited for Maeve’s gasp, then added, “She’s just pretty. You’re beautiful.”

  If he’d expected Maeve to melt into his arms, he would have been disappointed. Luckily, he hadn’t expected any such thing. “And you, Officer Donatelli, are full of malarkey.”

  “I’m not an officer anymore,” he reminded her, happy to realize it no longer hurt to say so.

  “But you aren’t denying the malarkey?”

  “I don’t even know what that is.”

  “Ask Mrs. Malloy.”

  “Which one?” he teased.

  “The old one. She’ll be only too happy to explain,” she teased right back.

  Gino settled back into the seat, glad Maeve couldn’t see his expression, because he was grinning with satisfaction. For once he’d said exactly the right thing to her. She’d scoffed at his compliments, but she wasn’t mad at him. This was definitely progress.

  “What do you suppose she wants?” Maeve asked after a minute.

  “Mrs. Pollock? Money, probably.”

  “You think that’s all?”

  Gino considered. “What else could it be?”

  “Pretty girls like Una Pollock are used to having men look after them.”

  “Who looked after her before Pollock?” he asked.

  “The man who o
wned the cigar store, for one. He rescued her from a factory, where she probably got the easiest jobs because the foreman there thought she was pretty. Before that, she probably got special treatment at school, and before that—”

  “And how could you know all this?”

  “Because I’ve seen it before.”

  “Is this what happened to you? You got special treatment because you’re so pretty?”

  “I thought I was beautiful,” she said a little sharply.

  “Beautiful, then. You got special treatment because you’re beautiful?”

  “No, I didn’t, because I’m not pretty or beautiful. I’m just an ordinary girl with ugly red hair who got teased all the time. The teacher never picked me to pass out papers or clap the erasers.”

  “Who wants to clap erasers? And your hair isn’t ugly. Whoever said that is an idiot.”

  “Anyway, Una is probably looking for a new man to take care of her, and Mr. Decker must seem like a good prospect.”

  “But he’s married.”

  “Rich men can take care of more than one woman.”

  Gino needed a minute to think about this. “You mean she wants to be his mistress?”

  “I mean she’d probably do anything for a man who’d get her out of trouble. Why do you think Mrs. Decker sent us instead of him?”

  “He didn’t want to go either,” he reminded her.

  “I know. I never liked Mr. Decker very much before, but now . . . Well, I think he really loves Mrs. Decker.”

  “Just like Mr. Malloy loves Mrs. Brandt. And my father loves my mother.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about how there are lots of men in this world who love their wives . . . In case you were wondering.”

  Maeve would, of course, never admit if she’d given this matter any thought. “You’re crazy.”

  “Probably. I still think Una wants money.”

  “Or a man who has it.”

  “It’s the same thing. So do you think she knew about the money in the safe?”

  Maeve thought this over for a minute. “I can’t believe she did.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because she wasn’t upset at all when she found out she’d been robbed. If that was me, I would’ve been screaming bloody murder. Nobody acts calm if they’ve lost thirty-seven thousand dollars.”