by R. J. Koreto
“I was visiting, oh, it was some eighteen months ago,” Mariah continued. “I’ve been a widow for about ten years now. My late husband was in shipping—we have extensive interests in Louisiana and a large house right in the city. Anyway, my husband had a lot of business with your late husband. It had been years since I had visited New York, and while other friends were busy, he took good care of me, showed me the sights. What a gentleman he was. You must feel his loss keenly.”
“It’s a pity he didn’t bring you here to our home. We have an excellent cook,” said Victoria. It wasn’t my imagination now. Her tone was dead.
Mariah clapped her hand to her mouth. I thought she was overplaying it a bit, but Mrs. Brackton didn’t seem to notice.
“I’m so sorry. Perhaps I misunderstood. He told me you were recovering from an illness and needed lots of time to sleep, with plenty of rest and quiet, so he couldn’t bring me around.”
The room got silent except for the ladies drinking their tea and the crunch of a butter cookie being eaten.
“Oh, yes. I remember now,” said Mrs. Brackton. But she was hardly looking at anyone. Alice and Mariah were provoking her, but I didn’t know why. It was like the first time I had met her, and I saw she was a woman whose life had been squeezed out of her.
“It’s been a tragic few days,” said Alice. “Mariah, we lost another good friend recently. I don’t think you know the Lindes, but Mrs. Linde also died, shortly after Lynley. She was so young. One of the loveliest young women in New York—wouldn’t you say so, Victoria?”
“Hmm? Yes, of course. Very lovely.”
“And like you, Mariah, a good friend of Lynley’s. It’s all so sad.” Alice shook her head.
The conversation went on like that for a while. Mariah talked about how wonderful Lynley was, Alice agreed, and Mrs. Brackton just kept disappearing further and further into herself. At one point, Mrs. Brackton rang for her maid and said she had to take some medicine and would be back in a moment. I wanted to talk to the women, but another maid came by to refresh the tea service and put out some more cookies, and by the time she was done, Mrs. Brackton had returned.
She looked a little better now. The doctor had probably given her something to boost her spirits. But Alice and Mariah started in again. I kept watching as the ladies took a cookie or helped themselves to more tea and sugar, as Lynley’s praises were sung. Something had to happen. Mrs. Brackton would fall apart, despite her medication. Or someone else would call, and we’d have to make a gracious exit. Or as gracious as we could be after practically convincing Mrs. Brackton that Mariah had been one of her husband’s mistresses. Except I could’ve told them it wouldn’t make a difference. Even Mrs. Brackton must’ve known her husband had other women by the dozen.
And then something happened. Mrs. Brackton leaned back in her chair a little too quickly and overbalanced the tea, which spilled onto her dress. She cried out in surprise and embarrassment, and both Alice and Mariah jumped to her aid and grabbed napkins to help clean her up. Mrs. Brackton flailed a bit and tried to grab another napkin herself from the tea tray, which only made it more difficult for Alice and Mariah.
“Let me summon my maid. I’ll need to change, and she can help. You ladies finish your tea,” said Mrs. Brackton.
Then I realized I could get back at Alice and my sister. They had surprised me, and now I could surprise them. Alice said we needed a witness, that we needed solid evidence, and she was right.
“In just a minute,” I said, and everyone looked at me, a little startled. I had been sitting at the far end of the couch, not saying anything, not drinking or eating anything, just watching the women. I reached over and grabbed Mrs. Brackton’s left wrist, which was covered with black lace. She cried out, but I didn’t let go, and with my other hand, I reached under her sleeve. I knew I was right. You don’t play cards as much as I do without watching what your opponents do with their sleeves.
“Sir, let go! Alice, tell him to stop.” But Alice and Mariah were struck dumb as I pulled my hand out with leaves of wolfsbane between my thumb and forefinger.
“How did these get here, Mrs. Brackton? Mariah, don’t touch your tea. She just slipped some into your cup. Mrs. Brackton, you’re under arrest for attempted murder.”
I thought she’d come at me. I hadn’t arrested many women, but in my experience, they were more likely to surprise you. When men know it’s over, they know it’s over. The women often have an extra twist, and Mrs. Brackton was no exception. But she surprised me, anyway—instead of launching herself at me, she went for Mariah. I was also wrong about all life having been snuffed out of her. She had one bit left, and she used it all up right then and there.
Her face twisted in absolute rage. I wouldn’t have recognized her, in fact, and she was practically foaming at the mouth as she screamed. “He was mine! Lynley was mine! Stay away stay away—”
But Mariah knew how to take care of herself and moved quickly, sliding away from the madwoman as I grabbed her and forced her facedown onto the couch. She screamed and sobbed as I took my handcuffs out of my jacket, and soon, I had her restrained.
And what was Alice doing? She was standing by with her arms folded, looking absolutely triumphant.
“Do you ladies want to explain why I wasn’t involved in your little plan?” I asked.
“You would’ve said no,” said Alice.
“Damn right. What’s wrong with you—with both of you? You could both be dead right now.”
“Stop fussing. We knew you’d be keeping a lookout, and you were. At some point, if we kept at her, she would break. It was a fast draw, Mr. St. Clair. She made the first move and lost.”
But I wasn’t going to let her talk her way out of it. “Miss Alice, we have a certain trust. I think I’ve been fairly good. I’ve let you get away with a lot. But taunting a murderess until she lashes out … that’s too much.” My heart was pounding, and for a few moments, the only sound was Mrs. Brackton’s whimpering. Mariah looked a little amused, and Alice rolled her eyes.
“Like my father said, Mr. St. Clair: ‘In any moment of decision, the best thing you can do is the right thing, the next best thing is the wrong thing, and the worst thing you can do is nothing.’”
“We’ll see if your aunt agrees,” I shot back.
Alice then addressed the prisoner. “Victoria, that wasn’t very nice what you did with your maid, Miss Whatley. You were cleverer than I gave you credit for. We questioned Miss Whatley, and she swore under oath you hadn’t done anything. But thinking back on her responses, she only said you hadn’t done anything. You had her do it for you. When she said you hadn’t sent a package, she was technically telling the truth because she was the one who did it. You hadn’t left the house, but she did on your behalf. My stupid fault for making assumptions and not asking the right questions—only asking about your actions, not hers. I doubt if she even knew what she was doing, just following orders without question, so I’ll excuse her as an unwitting accomplice. But there is no excuse for you.”
“Miss Whatley was still lying with her hand on the Bible, Miss Alice,” I said. “My mother wouldn’t have let me get away with that.”
“Oh, but Mr. St. Clair, your mother wasn’t assaulted by an employer the way Miss Whatley was. Remember I had said that female servants weren’t safe in their house? Miss Whatley probably hated Lynley as much as Victoria did after she had heard about his affair with Mrs. Linde. Victoria, I’m guessing all you had to do was tell Miss Whatley she was helping you take revenge on your husband, and she happily did what you asked even if she didn’t know the whys or hows. Right?”
All we got from that was a little sob, which I guess was an agreement. It made perfect sense. But I don’t know if much was registering with Mrs. Brackton by that point. She was lost in her own misery by now. Alice shook her head. I was sorry I had misjudged Mrs. Brackton, too. She had found herself married to an unreliable man but had found a reliable servant. In a way, Captain O’Hara had it right. T
here was a servant involved, although it wasn’t a crime of malice, but one of loyalty.
“Mariah, why don’t you stay here in case your brother finds restraining his prisoner beyond him. I’m going to find the telephone and summon Captain O’Hara. I hope he can come quickly. We still have another culprit to challenge today, and it’ll be lunchtime soon.” She strode out the door.
“Another?” I asked, but Alice was already gone. Mrs. Brackton got quieter now, and I hoped she’d just go to sleep after that performance.
“Christ almighty, I wouldn’t have thought it, but that plan of hers worked. Joey, that girl of yours is a pistol.”
“She’s not my girl, but yeah, you’re right. She’s eighteen and crazy. What the hell is your excuse?”
She shrugged. “Same as yours. I was bored. Don’t pretend you weren’t.” She reached into my jacket pocket, pulled out my flask, and took a long swig.
“You’re still a bourbon man,” she observed.
“Miss Alice hates bourbon,” I said.
“She’s young.”
It seemed to take forever, but Captain O’Hara showed up eventually with a couple of cops and a capable-looking police matron. He took in the scene.
“St. Clair, are you absolutely sure? If you’re not, you know what will happen to both of us.”
“Completely sure,” I told him. “You can see the wolfsbane in one of the cups there. She killed her cheating husband and his mistress, Delilah Linde.”
He sighed. “This isn’t going to be pleasant for anyone,” he said. “All right, take her away. I have to talk for a few minutes.” He nodded at the matron, who firmly but gently lifted Mrs. Brackton up. She seemed a little dazed but willing to cooperate. I took back my cuffs, and the matron, accompanied by one of the cops, led her out of the room.
O’Hara suddenly noticed Mariah. “Who are you, ma’am? A friend of Miss Roosevelt’s?”
“Yes, and Mr. St. Clair’s sister,” said Alice brightly.
“His sister? How about that?” Captain O’Hara laughed. “I’d ask what you’re doing here, but I don’t want to know.”
Mariah smiled. “Believe me, you don’t.”
“It’s rather simple,” said Alice. “Mrs. Brackton committed two murders and pretended that she was the intended victim with that lie about switching glasses. In fact, she poisoned her own glass and gave it to her husband. Then she sent the poison to Delilah. Finally, she pretended someone had sent her the poisoned drink, but she did it herself. We were just having a simple tea when she went crazy and attacked Mrs. Flores.”
You didn’t get to be a New York City police captain without knowing what was what, and O’Hara knew something was wrong here.
“Miss Roosevelt, you didn’t give me the whole story here, but that’s all right. As long as I don’t get any more surprises.”
“Yeah, no more surprises from Alice Roosevelt. I wish you luck,” I said. Alice was too pleased with herself to take offense.
That’s when we got another surprise—thanks to Alice. Felicia Meadows burst into the room.
“Am I late? I came as soon as I could,” she said. “Thanks for your call, Miss Roosevelt.”
“I think you two already met at breakfast at the Caledonia. Anyway, Captain O’Hara, this is Miss Meadows of the New York Herald,” Alice said.
“I have nothing to say,” said O’Hara as he started to leave. But Miss Meadows was more than a match.
“Captain, Alice Roosevelt already gave me the basics. I can run this story two ways. Either, ‘Heroic Police Captain Solves Society Murder,’ or ‘Clumsy Cops Finally Stumble Into Right Suspect After Days of Incompetence.’”
“Oh, all right,” he grumbled. “If you put it that way.” I knew Alice wasn’t supposed to give interviews, but she and the captain filled in the details for Miss Meadows, who scribbled furiously. “Front page gold, my friends,” she said. “The presses will be running all night turning out extra copies. This will be the biggest issue since they sank the Maine. And Captain, you and your men can’t talk to any other paper until tomorrow. We own this story, and you owe me your reputation. I’m already Miss Roosevelt’s best friend. And now I’m yours.”
“All right,” said O’Hara, bowing to the reality of the First Amendment. Miss Meadows smiled at me.
“Can I get a quote from you, Cowboy?” she asked me.
“You know the rule. I can’t be quoted.”
Alice jumped in. “But add that the police department thanks Joseph St. Clair, special agent of the US Secret Service, for his help in apprehending a dangerous criminal.”
“Could you leave me out of this?” I asked, but no one listened.
“Good! You have an ear for this, Miss Roosevelt,” said Miss Meadows. She looked at Mariah. “Are you a friend of Miss Roosevelt’s? Of the arrested woman?”
“This is Mariah Flores, a friend of Alice’s and Mr. St. Clair’s sister,” said O’Hara.
Miss Meadows laughed. I didn’t know why having a sister was so funny. “A pleasure. Would love to talk more with you, but I have a taxi waiting downstairs and an impatient editor downtown. Good day to all.” She practically ran out of the room.
“Seems like a competent woman,” said Mariah, nodding her head.
“Your brother is sweet on her,” said Alice.
“For God’s sake,” I said.
“Really?” said my sister. “Glad to see you’re interested in a better class of girl. Alice has been a good influence on you.”
Another group of cops showed up, no doubt to talk to the servants and take charge of the poisoned tea. I gave a quick salute to Captain O’Hara as Alice grabbed me by the arm. Mariah followed us as we headed out of the house.
“Now, what’s this about another person we have to question?” I asked.
Alice sighed. “You haven’t figured it out yet? I’ll explain as we drive. Mariah, we’ll drive you home first. I can’t thank you enough. We really did it!”
“Miss Alice, no more games with poisoned tea,” I said.
“Oh, no. I promise. But someone is going to be very angry, so make sure you’re ready for a fast draw.”
* * *
Mariah gave Alice a kiss in front of her building, and Alice said she was going to buy us all dinner at the Rathskeller the next night Mariah had off.
“Now, Mr. St. Clair, to the Rutledge house, to speak with Simon Rutledge.”
“What does this have to do with him?”
“That’s what I couldn’t get around, Mr. St. Clair. That’s why we couldn’t believe Victoria Brackton had committed murder. Because Simon Rutledge was watching her. He knew she was doing it. More than that, he wanted her to. He’s just as guilty as she is.”
“I know you’re excited, but you may be overreaching here. I don’t think a court would agree with you,” I said.
“The court of public opinion, the Honorable Alice Roosevelt presiding, does agree,” she said.
“What if we run into Miss Rutledge?” I said.
“I doubt it. Her mother has probably pulled herself together by now and is having Philly make calls like a good debutante should.”
Alice hopped out of the motorcar. “This is going to be fun,” she said.
CHAPTER 35
The butler admitted us right away. “I am sorry, Miss Roosevelt, but Miss Rutledge is not at home. You may leave a message, if you’d like.”
“I’m not here to see Miss Rutledge. I’m here to see Mr. Rutledge. There has been a tragic development regarding a mutual friend, and it’s essential I speak with him immediately.”
He showed hardly any emotion as he led us into the same beautiful room with the Mary Cassatt paintings. I stared at them again, still wondering what the women on the canvas were thinking. That was the hard part, wasn’t it, knowing the secret loves and fears inside us? What the frightened maid Cathleen was thinking when she interrupted me in this room, what Peter was thinking when he wouldn’t tell us where he had been, what Victoria Brackton was thinkin
g when she was at the party, and finally, what Simon Rutledge was thinking when he was watching the trio at the other end of the table.
“Mr. Rutledge will see you in his study,” said the butler after he returned, and we followed him upstairs. I was hoping I’d get another one of those cigars but somehow doubted Mr. Rutledge would offer me one by the time we were done.
I had learned something about the way people greeted each other in Alice’s world. Even when he was being pleasant to me, like the night of the murder, Mr. Rutledge made it clear I was the help. But Alice was one of his class, so I thought he’d come around to greet her, but he didn’t. He stayed behind his desk, that vast expanse of polished wood and leather, and barely rose when we entered.
“Miss Roosevelt? That was a rather odd message you sent me, to say the least. Please explain.” With a quick wave of his arm, he invited us to take seats without even giving me a look. “A mutual friend, you say?”
“Victoria Brackton. We just came from her house. She’s in the process of being arraigned—I think that’s the right word—for the murder of her husband and Delilah Linde. I thought you’d want to know.” Alice was looking a little too gleeful in my opinion, but I suppose she had earned it. “I imagine, as you’re an interested party, that Captain O’Hara will let you know himself as soon as he’s done with the paperwork.”
I could see Rutledge had a dozen questions, and I wondered which one he’d ask first.
“How do you know this?” he asked.
“I was there when she fell apart and all but admitted it. She tried to kill a friend of mine out of insane jealousy. But then again, this shouldn’t be a surprise to you. I kept wondering why you were watching her talk to her husband and Delilah Linde. But you knew what was happening. You saw what she did. I think you even put her up to it.”
I could see Alice had hit home. He was nervous and licked his lips.
“That’s … extraordinary, Miss Roosevelt,” he said and finally acknowledged me with what he clearly hoped was a friendly smile. “Mr. St. Clair—that’s the name, right? You’re a lawman. You carry a badge. Miss Roosevelt is young. Maybe explain to her about slander laws.”