Murder on St. Nicholas Avenue

by Victoria Thompson

  “Where would she hear about another job?” Velvet asked. No one had an answer.

  The water had started boiling, so Velvet poured it into the teapot. Everything else on the tray was ready. “You can take this up now,” she said to Hattie.

  Left with no more excuses, Gino followed her up the stairs and back to the parlor, where he hoped Una Pollock was no longer weeping.

  * * *

  “I’ll be glad to tell your mother that you want to see her,” Maeve said, still puzzled by the request. “I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you.”

  Una said nothing. She was more interested in dabbing at what was left of her tears and patting her hair back into place. Maybe she thought Mr. Decker was still coming.

  “Your mother said she hasn’t been invited to your house since you got married,” Maeve tried.

  Una looked up sharply but took her time responding. “Randolph wasn’t very sociable. He didn’t like company.”

  “I thought you regularly entertained his business associates. Didn’t they come for dinner?”

  Una frowned, obviously not enjoying being contradicted. “Why are you so interested in my social life?”

  “I’m just making conversation, trying to keep your mind off your troubles.”

  “I wish you could.”

  They heard the clatter of the tea tray in the hallway. Maeve stood up, ready to help, although she noticed Una did not. She was used to being waited on. Maeve wondered how long it took for that to happen. Maybe it came more naturally for pretty girls.

  Hattie glanced warily at her mistress, as if she were prepared to bolt, tea tray and all, if Una’s mood wasn’t just right. Una had run out of steam, however, and didn’t even turn her head in Hattie’s direction.

  Hattie set the tea tray down on the side cabinet where Maeve had found the liquor. “Should I pour?” she asked Maeve softly.

  “I’ll do it.”

  Hattie nodded gratefully and made her escape. Only then did Maeve notice Gino lurking just outside the still-open doorway.

  “Welcome back,” she said as she crossed to pour the tea.

  He stepped into the room as if he’d intended to all along. “How are you feeling, Mrs. Pollock?”

  “Better, thank you.” She even used a different tone of voice when she was talking to a man she wanted to manipulate, Maeve noticed.

  Instead of going to her, as Maeve had expected, Gino came to where Maeve was pouring tea into three cups. “Do you think she knows about Truett?” he whispered.

  Maeve looked up in surprise. They hadn’t even considered this. “How could she?” she whispered back.

  “What are you plotting over there?” Una snapped.

  Maeve plastered a polite smile on her lips and carried one of the teacups over to her. “We were just wondering if you’ve seen any newspapers.”

  “Of course not. My staff can’t even get out to buy food, and I wouldn’t want to read them anyway.”

  Maeve handed Una the cup, for which she did not thank her, and then glanced at Gino with a silent question. He shrugged, which was not at all helpful, so Maeve decided to plunge ahead.

  “Did you know that Mr. Truett is dead?”

  Una had just taken a sip of tea, and she spit it out in a most unladylike fashion and began to choke.

  Gino started over, ready to slap her on the back or whatever, but Maeve stopped him with a gesture. She took the cup and saucer from Una while she coughed and got her breath back, letting her struggle without assistance. When she was breathing again, she looked up at Maeve with pure hatred.

  “Are you all right?” Maeve asked without much genuine concern.

  “I’m fine.”

  “I guess you hadn’t heard about him. I’m sorry to break it to you, but I suppose that’s better than reading about it in the newspaper. You must’ve known him pretty well, since he was your husband’s business partner.”

  Una was still seething, although Maeve couldn’t be sure if she was mad because Maeve had made her choke or because Truett was dead or both. Maeve offered her the tea again, and she took it without much grace.

  After a sip or two, she looked up at where Maeve still loomed over her. “How did he . . . die?”

  “He was murdered,” Maeve said. “The same way your husband was.”

  Una closed her eyes, and the cup rattled in the saucer as her hands shook. This was obviously a shock to her. Maybe she did know Truett well. Maeve felt a niggle of regret that she’d broken the news so baldly. But only a niggle.

  Gino came over and pushed a cup of tea into Maeve’s hands. “Sit down,” he said softly, and she understood that he wanted her to ease up on Una. Maybe he was right, so she sat in the chair opposite and took a polite sip of the tea.

  Gino went over to the sofa and sat down, too. Without his tea, Maeve noticed. By then Una had regained her composure. She looked almost angelic sitting there.

  “Mrs. Pollock wants to see her mother,” Maeve said to Gino.

  This surprised him as much as it had her, but he said, “She’ll be happy to hear that. She’s been worried about you.”

  Una didn’t seem to care if her mother was worried or not. “Do they know . . . ? Do they have any idea who might have killed Gor— Mr. Truett?”

  “No,” Gino said. “Whoever did it searched his rooms the same way your husband’s office was searched, though.”

  “It was a robbery, then.”

  Maeve saw Gino hesitate. He wasn’t sure exactly how much to tell her, but he evidently decided to go ahead. Maeve was glad, because she wanted to see Una’s reactions.

  “I went there to see for myself, and it looked to me like whoever broke in killed Truett first and searched the place after.”

  Una flinched a little at that. “Maybe the burglar didn’t know he was home, and Gordon woke up and surprised him.”

  “That’s possible, I guess,” Gino said. “The good news is that both Truett and your husband were killed the same way, as if the same person killed them, which could help your case.”

  “Or they could decide I killed Truett, too,” Una said bitterly. “I wasn’t in jail, after all, just shut up here.”

  “It’s hard to believe a female alone could have broken into Truett’s hotel, beat his head in, searched the entire place, and then gotten out again,” Gino said.

  As much as Maeve disliked Una Pollock, even she couldn’t believe all that. There was no telling what a jury of twelve men would think, though.

  “I hope you’re right, Officer Donatelli,” Una said with a trace of her dazzling smile.

  “Did you know that one of the men who invested in your husband’s Panama project killed himself a couple weeks ago?” Maeve asked, feeling an urge to torment Una some more.

  She didn’t look very tormented, though. She just said, “I don’t know anything about his business, and I don’t know anything about the investors either.”

  “Except that you entertained them when they came to dinner,” Maeve reminded her.

  “I met them, yes, and I made polite conversation when they were Randolph’s guests. It was my duty as his wife.”

  Yes, Maeve thought, and he would beat her senseless if she didn’t.

  “Now,” Una said, all trace of charm gone from her voice, “are you going to bring my mother here or not?”

  13

  Since the next day was Sunday, the unofficial members of the Malloy Detective Agency couldn’t gather until afternoon. Mrs. Malloy and Brian went to mass in the morning, while Maeve took Catherine to church. Maeve’s upbringing had not included much in the way of religious instruction, so attending worship services was a new experience for her since she’d come to work for Mrs. Brandt. She did enjoy the music, and the minister sometimes had interesting things to say, even though she often found him to be hopelessly naïve about human nature
. This morning the service seemed to drag, however, as she counted the minutes until the Deckers’ planned visit after lunch.

  Gino showed up before lunch, as she had expected, because he knew Mrs. Malloy was only too happy to feed him. He brought a stack of newspapers, too. The World, the Herald, and the Journal, along with several of the less important rags, like the Times, all carried stories about Mrs. Pollock’s mysterious visitors.

  He spread them on the kitchen table for them to see. The sketches of Gino and Maeve supposedly emerging from the Pollock house in the dead of night had the children giggling.

  “Is that really you?” Catherine asked, peering at one particularly inaccurate drawing.

  “It’s supposed to be,” Maeve said. “I wasn’t wearing a fancy hat, though.”

  “And you’re not that fat either,” Gino said.

  “What do you mean, that fat?” she demanded with feigned outrage.

  “I mean you’re not fat at all!” he quickly corrected himself, not sure if she was really outraged or not.

  “I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Mrs. Malloy insisted, looking at each of the newspapers in turn. “Can’t a person visit another person without it being in the newspapers?”

  “Not if you’re visiting an accused murderess,” Maeve said. “I love the way they lied about who we are, though. I thought John told them our real names.”

  “Who’s John?” Catherine asked.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Decker’s carriage driver,” Gino said. “They gave him a month’s pay to tell them, too,” he added to Mrs. Malloy.

  “They paid him? That’s horrible!”

  “Not for John,” Gino said. “And we wanted them to know who we were so they wouldn’t keep looking and find out it was Mr. Decker’s carriage and put his name in the stories.”

  Brian signed something to Catherine that made her giggle. “Brian says Gino looks like an old man in this one.”

  Gino responded by grabbing Brian and tickling him until he squealed with laughter.

  “Who do they say you are?” Mrs. Malloy asked, picking up another of the papers to scan.

  “One says we’re influential friends,” Maeve said. “Another says we’re working for her attorney.”

  “My favorite one says that I’m her lover and Maeve is her mother,” Gino said.

  “Nobody said that!” Maeve protested.

  “Oh, I’m sure they did.” He picked up one of the papers and pretended to read it. Maeve gave him a swat that sent the children into new gales of laughter.

  “But nobody said we were working for a detective agency,” Maeve said when everyone had settled down again. “That’s what John told them.”

  “Well, you aren’t,” Mrs. Malloy reminded them.

  No one had an answer for that.

  Because it was Sunday, Mrs. Malloy served their noon meal in the dining room. The long table sported a lace tablecloth and a silver candelabra, and the children were cautioned to use their best manners. Mrs. Malloy allowed no discussion of murders or murderesses at the table. If the food had been good, Maeve might not have minded, but it was the typical Irish fare that Mrs. Malloy always served, boiled and flavorless.

  Gino gobbled it up like he hadn’t eaten in a week and praised it to the skies, but Maeve decided the first servant they would hire when the Malloys got home was a cook. Mrs. Malloy might be offended, but Maeve was more than prepared to placate her.

  After they ate, Mrs. Malloy told Maeve and Gino to take the children upstairs to play while she cleaned up. Maeve thought Gino enjoyed playing with Brian’s toys as much as the boy did, and they had a wonderful time until the chiming of the doorbell told them the Deckers had arrived.

  The children ran down the staircase as fast as they could, completely ignoring Maeve’s admonitions, and Mrs. Malloy emerged from the kitchen to greet the visitors. She and the children had welcomed them before Maeve and Gino even reached the bottom of the stairs.

  When the children had calmed down enough to allow the Deckers to remove their coats, Mrs. Malloy tried to usher them into the formal parlor.

  “But our cook sent these lovely cookies,” Mrs. Decker said, holding up the box she had brought. “Shouldn’t we eat them at the kitchen table?”

  Catherine signed the word cookies to Brian so that both children immediately chose the kitchen, leaving the adults no choice but to follow. Mrs. Malloy was plainly scandalized at the prospect of entertaining the Deckers in the kitchen, but Mrs. Decker linked arms with her like they were old friends and said, “We’re family, after all.”

  Maeve made Mrs. Malloy sit down while she prepared coffee for the grown-ups and poured milk for the children. Then they all sampled the cookies. While they ate, Catherine said, “Maeve and Gino had their pictures in the newspaper.”

  “Did they really?” Mrs. Decker asked, her eyes shining because of course she would have seen the newspapers herself.

  “Yes, Maeve looks fat.”

  “And Gino looks old,” Maeve added, earning a grin from him.

  “I’m certainly glad my picture wasn’t in the newspaper then,” Mrs. Decker said.

  “So am I,” her husband said. “I look old enough as it is.”

  When the cookies had vanished, Mrs. Malloy said, “I’m going to take the children upstairs so you folks can talk, but before I do, I thought you’d want to know we got a telegram yesterday from Francis and Sarah.”

  She signed something to Brian so he started jumping up and down and clapping, too, the way Catherine was. Maeve felt like joining them, but she settled for grinning ear to ear and jumping up to read the telegram Mrs. Malloy had handed Mrs. Decker, leaning over Mrs. Decker’s shoulder to do so.

  “They’ll be home in a week, if they have a good crossing,” Mrs. Decker said. “Well in time for Christmas.”

  But not, Maeve realized, in time to be of much help to them on this case. Luckily, she was pretty sure they could do it without them.

  When all the adults had read the telegram and expressed their happiness that the newlyweds were coming home, Catherine claimed the yellow paper, clutching it to her heart as Mrs. Malloy escorted them out.

  As soon as the children were out of earshot, Mrs. Decker said, “I suppose we need to get back to work now. Was Mrs. Pollock happy to see you last night?”

  Maeve glanced at Gino, and they both burst out laughing.

  Mr. Decker turned to his wife. “I’d guess that she wasn’t.”

  “She couldn’t have been less happy,” Maeve said when she had recovered herself. “She was furious. Luckily, she still hoped to charm Gino, or heaven knows what she might’ve done.”

  “I can’t convince Maeve that Mrs. Pollock doesn’t have any interest in me,” Gino said.

  “I’m sure she’s interested in everyone who can help her,” Mrs. Decker said. “She probably figures Maeve has nothing to offer, but a police officer . . .”

  “You didn’t tell her you’re no longer with the police, did you?” Mr. Decker asked.

  “No. The subject didn’t really come up.”

  “That’s good,” Mr. Decker said. “Did she tell you why she sent for me?”

  “She gave us a reason,” Gino said with another glance at Maeve, “but Maeve doesn’t believe it.”

  “What did she say?” Mrs. Decker asked.

  “She said she wants to see her mother,” Maeve said. “If that’s true, I couldn’t help but wonder why she didn’t just send the telegram to Mrs. O’Neill directly.”

  “That is a good question,” Mrs. Decker said with a knowing smile.

  “Did you learn anything else?” her husband asked.

  “Oh, one of the maids left,” Gino said.

  “Oh yes, Jane,” Mrs. Decker added. “Hattie told us. I guess I forgot to mention it.”

  “I don’t remember her,” Mr. Decker said.


  “She’s very quiet,” Maeve said. “She always looked frightened. I’m not surprised she left. It’s more surprising that any of them stayed at all, in fact. Gino said the other servants don’t know where she went either.”

  “That’s odd,” Mrs. Decker said. “Servants gossip a lot, and they usually know everything about each other’s business.”

  “They knew Jane had written a letter to someone right after Pollock died,” Gino said. “The next day, in fact. She got Eddie to mail it for her.”

  “That’s odd. Who was it to?” Mrs. Decker asked.

  “That’s just it. Eddie can’t read very well, so he doesn’t know.”

  “Maybe she wrote to her family,” Mrs. Decker said.

  “According to the others, she doesn’t have any family,” Maeve said.

  “Which made me wonder if she was writing to somebody who knew Pollock,” Gino said. “To tell them he’d been murdered.”

  “Who would need to know that?” Mr. Decker asked.

  “I know it’s far-fetched, but what if she recognized one of the investors as somebody she knew,” Gino said. “Maeve and I were talking about this on our way home last night, and it makes sense if you think about it.”

  “How would she even know who the investors are, though?” Mr. Decker asked with a frown.

  “They had dinner with Pollock and Una,” Maeve reminded him. “Some of them, anyway. We don’t know which ones, but maybe Jane already knew one of them.”

  “I see,” Mrs. Decker said. “She might have worked for one of them in the past or had seen them visiting someone she did work for. Maids do come and go with alarming regularity. Sometimes it seems that all I do is hire new maids.”

  “And investigate murders,” Mr. Decker added gravely.

  She ignored him. “I don’t suppose we know which one of the investors she might have recognized.”

  “No, nor why it would matter if she did, even if she wrote that person a letter telling him Pollock was murdered,” Maeve said.

  “Except that one of the investors—I think it was Zimmerman—knew Pollock had been murdered long before it was in the newspaper, didn’t he, Mr. Decker?” Gino said.