by R. J. Koreto
“Theodore, good to see you, as always,” she said and gave him a kiss. “We have you for one night?”
“Yes, I’m off in the morning. Has my girl been good?” He was going to get a full range of opinions on Alice.
“All things considered, yes. She’s been organizing breakfast meetings. We’ve been treated to journalists and police officers.”
“It’s a way to keep watch on what is going on in New York,” said Alice. “Isn’t that why I’m here?”
“Exactly, my girl,” said the president, grateful at least that breakfast at the Caledonia didn’t involve firearms.
I thought it was a good time to leave. “If you all are staying in, I’ll excuse myself.”
“Yes, take the rest of the day off,” said the president. “Good seeing you again, St. Clair.” He slapped me on my back. I said goodbye to Mrs. Cowles and Alice—who slipped me a quick wink—and headed down to my room.
I lay down on my bed and breathed easily. It had been a near thing, but we were still in operation. Mariah told me she had an afternoon wedding to cook for, but I thought if I came around later, I could get her to cook me something for dinner. For now, I rolled a cigarette and enjoyed the quiet for a while, interrupted by a knock on my door.
I rarely got visitors. My room is not suitable for entertaining, and so I met friends and acquaintances elsewhere. Even if the president went out, I assumed that Alice and Mrs. Cowles would go with him, and his detail would watch over them.
“Come in; it’s open,” I yelled, too lazy to get up.
It was Alice.
“For heaven’s sake, Miss Alice, you know you shouldn’t be here, especially with your father and aunt around.” I sat up in my bed.
“They’re discussing something tedious in my aunt’s room, and I said I was just running downstairs to grab a newspaper.” She closed the door behind her and sat on the only chair.
“I came to apologize,” she said.
“An Alice Roosevelt first. And I was there to see it.”
“Do be quiet, and don’t make me sorry I came down here. I think we made a splendid case to my father upstairs. I thought you might sell me out, but you turned in a magnificent performance, and I apologize for ever doubting you.”
“I just didn’t want to have to face you if I hadn’t backed your play.”
“I know you don’t mean that. You just don’t want me to think that you trust me so deeply. I am indeed flattered, Mr. St. Clair. Thank you.” She got up and turned. “You can be difficult, but when it’s important, you’re rather a dear. Have a good evening, Cowboy.”
“Have a good evening, Princess,” I called after her. “Just close the door on your way out.”
CHAPTER 29
We didn’t have a committee meeting at breakfast the next day, which was just as well, as Mrs. Cowles didn’t have any early appointments, so the three of us had breakfast together.
“What are your plans today, Alice? Something a little more useful than associating with reporters from the Herald?” asked Mrs. Cowles.
“Nothing much. A little shopping, taking in a museum. Perhaps visiting Philly Rutledge in the afternoon.”
“Is she still upset about what happened at her party?” asked Mrs. Cowles.
Alice shrugged. “I don’t think so. She didn’t know Lynley Brackton very well and didn’t much like him. By now I think she’s seeing the positive aspects, with everyone talking about it. A little notoriety is always fun.”
“A little goes a long way. Anyway, this isn’t about your playing police detective again, is it?” asked Mrs. Cowles.
“Of course not. Simply associating with other young people of leading families in New York. Again, isn’t that why I was brought back?”
Mrs. Cowles just shook her head and helped herself to more coffee.
* * *
After breakfast, Alice and I headed to the motorcar.
“She’s going to find out eventually,” I said.
“I didn’t lie to her. We are going to visit Philly Rutledge today.”
“We’re trying to catch her out,” I said.
“An unnecessary detail. I didn’t see any need to burden my aunt with that,” Alice said without even looking embarrassed about it.
The plan was to surprise Philly and Abraham together and get them to reveal the connection between the Rutledges and the Roths.
“You know, Miss Alice, for all we’ve found out, we still have no idea how Mr. Brackton was poisoned. Who could’ve done it? How? And are we really sure Mrs. Brackton was the intended target? She may still be hiding something from us.”
“I know. I keep going over all of that in my head. I can’t get the timing right in my memory. Did Mr. Rutledge look and see something before Brackton got sick? I think he did, but I can’t be sure. He was looking at the other side of the punch table. I know he was. Maybe he didn’t realize what he was seeing. Or maybe he’s protecting someone. Or maybe he just liked looking at the beautiful Delilah Linde. Bit by bit, Mr. St. Clair. There is something here about loyalty and betrayal. Those murders were not coolly arranged. Someone was enraged.”
“And lucky,” I said. “Breaking into that greenhouse and poisoning a glass without getting caught. They were very lucky … unless they had help.” Alice nodded, probably still thinking about what Simon Rutledge was looking at. How was he involved?
It was early to start tracking Philly and Abraham, so we did some shopping. Or rather, Alice shopped, and I tagged along. The shopgirls loved serving Alice, and Alice loved being fawned over. She bought some gloves and a new hat.
“Thank you,” said Alice. “Please send the account and the packages to the Caledonia.”
“Very good, Miss Roosevelt,” said the shopgirl.
“Also, I know you don’t have men’s hats here, but perhaps you could recommend a haberdasher? I’d like to see my bodyguard in something a little more appropriate to New York than his cowboy hat.”
“Of course,” said the shopgirl, and she spared a quick smile for me. “But everything has to go together—the hat, the coat, the suit. Even the shoes.”
“That might be a little ambitious,” said Alice, looking me up and down. “Replacing his boots and that coat? We’ll think on that. Oh well, thank you anyway.”
“I thought you liked the cowboy look,” I said as we walked back to the motorcar.
“Oh, I do; I like it just fine. But you’d look so good in something … I don’t know. You did look awfully good that one time I got you into evening clothes.”
“Thank you, but I hope that was the last time.”
“Don’t you ever want to fit in more?” she asked and looked closely at me for the answer as I prepared to pull into traffic.
“No,” I said.
She didn’t seem offended at that but did appear thoughtful. We grabbed a couple of hot dogs for lunch before driving down to the Rutledge offices. We parked just beyond the entrance to the building, and after a few minutes’ wait, we saw a fine motorcar pull up.
“I think that’s the Rutledge motorcar,” said Alice excitedly, and she was proved right a moment later when Philly Rutledge came out of the building and the chauffeur let her in.
“Follow her,” said Alice. “We have to be sure she’s really going to visit Abraham Roth.”
“Say a prayer,” I said. Following someone in Manhattan traffic wasn’t all that easy. It could get very crowded downtown, and it was a fine balance to stay close to someone without being recognized.
“This is fun,” Alice said, grinning as I steered around other motorcars, carriages, and delivery drays.
“Yes, let’s do this again soon,” I said.
We were rewarded. The motorcar pulled up to one of the elegant stores the best people go to. Philly said a few words to the driver and then entered the establishment as he drove off. We held our breath—and then Philly, looking cautiously around her, crossed the street quickly and entered the office building belonging to Abraham Roth’s business
.
“She didn’t see us,” I said.
“I think she’s new to this,” said Alice. “She’s not as experienced as we are. Now quickly, park the motorcar, and we’ll go after her. It’s time to end this.”
I found a place for the motorcar just off the avenue, and we followed Philly across the street into the small building. Alice practically ran, and it was hard enough to follow her while keeping an eye on the busy afternoon crowds. More than a few people saw Alice Roosevelt running, and I had no doubt they’d have interesting stories to tell to their work mates and families later that afternoon.
The office lobby was about as elegant a room as I had been in. I knew the Roths had deep pockets, and it showed in every inch of the lobby. Marble slabs on the wall made me think we were in a fine bank, but we also saw statues that looked like they came from the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and the carpet was so thick you could comfortably take a nap on it. A well-dressed clerk sat beyond a light wood table that I bet came from Europe because I had never seen anything with that many curlicues made in the States. He stood as we entered.
“May I help you?” he asked. I could see in his eyes that he recognized Alice. Meanwhile, I glanced through an open door that led further into the building. I could see more fine desks and a private office at the end.
“Alice Roosevelt to see Mr. Roth.”
“One moment, Miss Roosevelt. He is with a client. If you will take a seat, I’ll tell him you’re here.”
“Don’t bother,” said Alice, and with a wave of her hand, she took off along the thick carpet down the hall.
“But Miss Roosevelt,” said the clerk, his perfectly formed features suddenly changing to a look of absolute dismay. He had no idea what had just happened and no idea how to fix it. He looked to me as if I knew the answer. I just shrugged and followed Alice.
A couple of other men wearing fine suits looked at us … and then looked again. It was Alice Roosevelt, and she wasn’t accompanied by the clerk, but there was a cowboy on her heels, and like the clerk, no one knew what to make of it. I wondered if Alice would make even a pretense of knocking on the door. She didn’t do it at the church, so why should she do it here?
She didn’t. She grabbed the doorknob and pushed her way in. Yes, it was just like being at St. Benedict’s all over again. Alice knew she wasn’t supposed to enter any room first, but if she thought about it—and she probably didn’t—she figured that a private office in a Roth building was hardly likely to contain anything dangerous.
It was safe enough. We stepped into an elegant office, not as elaborate as the front room but comfortable and expensive, with a fine Oriental carpet and another blond wood desk and bookshelves. Everything was neat and perfect—too neat and perfect. Every time I had seen Mr. Roosevelt’s desk—or Mrs. Cowles’s for that matter—you could tell from the pens and blotters and piles of paper that people were at work. There was no sign of that here. It may have been called an office, but I think it worked more as a meeting room.
Right now, the two people meeting were Abraham Roth and Philly Rutledge, sitting on a yellow leather couch at the opposite end of the office. We interrupted them sipping coffee from a fancy silver service on a low wood table in front of them. Maybe there was work being done here after all, just not at the desk. But I couldn’t tell for sure. If Rutledge and Roth papers were being exchanged, I didn’t see them.
“Alice!” said Philly. She looked shocked—and concerned.
“Miss Roosevelt!” said Abraham. He was well mannered because even in his surprise, he stood up. They both looked a little pink in the face, but it wasn’t from drink, as there didn’t seem to be anything stronger than coffee around.
Usually Alice figured out what was going on before I did, but I think I beat her to it by a about half a minute this time. After all, I was some years older than she was, some years older than anyone in that room. It was exactly like the scene at St. Benedict’s, and I suppose I shouldn’t have done it, but I couldn’t help myself.
I laughed.
Philly and Abraham got even redder, and then the front desk clerk came running in, looking around, not quite knowing what he was supposed to do. I stifled my amusement for a moment as Alice glared at me, and then we all just stood there staring at each other for a few moments in silence, eyes bouncing from one person to the next.
“It’s all right,” said Abraham to the clerk after about a minute. “Please close the door on your way out, and don’t disturb us unless I call.”
“Very good, sir,” said the clerk, bowing out. By that point, Alice knew what was happening, too, but she wasn’t laughing. She remained standing, arms folded across her chest, looking half embarrassed, half annoyed.
“We’re really sorry,” I said. “Miss Alice was hot on the trail of some big business deal, and all she’s done once again is bust up a romance.”
Alice just kept tapping her foot in impatience and finally said, “I don’t suppose you have anything stronger than coffee here.”
“I’m afraid not. But why don’t both of you take a seat?” Abraham smiled wryly. “I think we have some things to discuss, and I hope I can count on your discretion.”
“Of course,” said Alice, and we both pulled up chairs just opposite the couple. “You remember Mr. St. Clair from the other night.”
“Of course,” said Abraham, and he reached out and shook my hand.
“What are you doing here? How did you find us?” asked Philly, finally finding her voice.
“Why are you keeping secrets from me?” Alice asked, ignoring Philly’s questions. “I should think I’d be trustworthy.”
Philly looked a little embarrassed at that, but Abraham was a gentleman.
“That is my fault, Miss Roosevelt. I told Philly she couldn’t tell anyone. The penalties for even an accidental revelation would be enormous.” Alice glanced at me for a second. We both remembered what Cathleen said at her wedding breakfast. Cathleen and Philly shared a secret about illicit romances, giving them each a strong reason to trust the other.
“What am I doing here? It’s a long story, but I’ll try to make it short,” said Alice. “We’re still trying to figure out who killed Lynley Brackton at your party. We thought it was a matter of high finance. We still do. We thought you and Philly were acting as representatives of your fathers.”
“But that’s ridiculous,” said Philly. “My father doesn’t share any of his business with me. I just visit with him at the offices once a week and greet his senior employees, and then he buys me lunch.”
“And then you meet with Abraham,” added Alice, and Philly blushed again.
“We met at a party some months back … and then…” She couldn’t say any more, but Abraham reached out and took her hand, and nothing more was necessary.
“Miss Roosevelt, do I understand that this is the second time you’ve interrupted a romance? This is all part of your … investigations?” asked Abraham.
“We’ve had a few setbacks,” she said without a hint of apology in her tone. “But never mind. So you two are having a romance.”
“My father would never consent,” said Philly. She didn’t have to explain. The Roths may be the wealthiest family in New York, but they were Jewish. And Philly’s father was apparently a leading member of the XVII.
“I hope it works out for you,” said Alice. “But since we’re here, we have some questions to ask, and perhaps you can help us”
“Indeed. Miss Roosevelt, whatever made you think that Philly and I had some sort of business relationship?”
“First of all, Philly is a dear friend, and if you’re her beloved, it seems appropriate for you to call me Alice,” she said. “Second, it’s a rather complex situation, and you must bear some of the blame for all this.” He raised an eyebrow and glanced at me. A quick look of sympathy passed between us. “There is a small townhouse paid for through this office, and we found out something interesting. Its sole occupant is a Japanese nobleman negotiating what appears to b
e a large and secret deal with your father.”
Abraham smiled grimly. “So you stumbled onto that? My father ran it through my business to try to hide it from those who keep a close watch on him. I know about it, although not a lot of details. Anyway, I guess there’s no hiding anything from the full weight of the US Secret Service.”
“You won’t believe this,” I said. “But this isn’t a Secret Service affair. It’s all about Miss Alice here.”
Abraham was dead silent for a few moments—and then he burst out laughing.
CHAPTER 30
“Oh, very well,” said Abraham, finally controlling himself. “You know some of it, so I might as well tell you all of it. I guess I can trust the president’s daughter and the US Secret Service.” He looked at his sweetheart. “And you, too, Philly. Perhaps you know what goes on in Russia. Or maybe not. Anyway, it’s probably the worst place in the world to be if you’re Jewish. Destroying Jewish neighborhoods and killing Jews is practically government policy. My father despises the Russians for that. It’s an obsession with him. If you know anything about politics in the East, it’s becoming clear that the Russians and the Japanese are due to knock up against each other there. What’s kept it from happening is that the Japanese don’t have the capital to build a large, modern army and navy. My father is going to give them the money to do that. He’s put together a syndicate that’s raised a fortune, an amount that can change the balance in the East. And he’s doing it because he hates the Russians.”
Christ almighty. Imagine having so much money you could buy yourself a war. I don’t know if anyone else in that room looked at it that way; I was the only one there who had fought in a war, so maybe not.
Alice digested this. It matched what we heard from Baron Okada. We had known Roth was spending money in Japan but not that it was personal, and that made it different. “Is Simon Rutledge, Philly’s father, one of the investors in this syndicate? Philly, did your father mention that?”
She shook her head. “I just meet people. Father never talks business with me, not in detail.”