by Delynn Royer
Trixie imagined Sean as he might have been. Younger, not as muscular as he was now, but tough. Just like the kids she’d seen today along 38th Street. Less weary of the world, though. Had he been quicker to smile back then? “And Nell’s head was turned?” she asked.
“And how. While Sean was working the night shift, Johnny was making time with his girl. It didn’t matter to him that she was engaged to Sean.”
“It might not have mattered to Johnny, but it should have mattered to her.”
“The way I figure it, Nell loved Sean in her own way, but there was always a part of her that loved excitement more, and that was Johnny.”
Trixie picked up her fork and tapped it against her dish. So, Nell Murphy had been Sean Costigan’s first love. Trixie knew a little bit about first loves. They could be deadly enough without taking into account that men didn’t seem to get over Nell easily.
Johnny hadn’t forgotten her during his time in the reformatory and later, if the gossip columns got it right, he’d returned to her time and again after numerous affairs. Then, in the end, he had waited over two years after she’d left him to file for divorce.
How long had it taken Sean to get over her? Trixie looked at the two of them now, so intent on their hushed conversation, eyes only for each other, and suspected that he’d never gotten over her at all.
“Well, I gotta get back,” Joey said.
Trixie shook off her reverie. “Huh?”
He inclined his head in the direction of the kitchen. “No rest for the wicked.”
“Oh, sure, thanks, Joey. Uh, you’ve helped a lot. If I can ever do anything for you—”
“Funny you should ask.”
“Oh, sure, name it.”
Joey stood, ready to return to work. “When I looked over here earlier, I saw you and Sean talking. Looked like you two was hitting it off pretty good. Then in came Nell and I bet Sean looked like he got hit by a two by four.”
“I thought you didn’t see her come in.”
“I didn’t. I just remember how it was with them. Nothing was ever half way.” He jerked a thumb in Sean’s direction. “Keep an eye out for my pal, will you?”
Trixie started to protest, to tell Joey that she barely knew his friend, that in fact, Sean himself didn’t trust her, so how could she possibly be the right person for Joey to trust? But before she could say a word, Joey’s solemn demeanor vanished. He winked. “See you around, doll.”
* * *
When Sean had set his mind to tracking down Nell, he thought he was prepared to see her again, either face-to-face or, if it came down to the worst, laid out cold on a slab in the First Avenue morgue.
He’d been wrong.
When he’d turned to see her very much alive from across the room, something painful caught in his chest, something that only tightened when she’d come close enough for the jasmine scent of her perfume to stir his senses and for the breathtaking color of her eyes to come clear.
It was as if fourteen years fell away. Sean remembered—No, felt what it was to be eighteen again, full of hope and possibilities.
As children, a special understanding had existed between them. He couldn’t count how many hot summer evenings had turned to dusk while the two of them sat with their legs dangling over the edge of an empty pier, talking and sharing childish dreams. And when they’d grown older, it was those bonds formed in childhood that had ripened into a sweet sexual connection that Sean had not found with any other woman who came after her.
But now, as he sat across from her in the busy cafeteria, he’d had some time to gather himself. Fourteen years had passed. They weren’t eighteen anymore, and wherever she’d been hiding the last couple days, she was here now and she was safe. It was his job to see to it that she stayed that way.
“Tell me about the night Johnny was killed,” he said.
Nell’s hands rested on the table, her fingers splayed as if she’d been bracing herself for his questions. Those fingers were long and delicate like he remembered, but now she wore scarlet polish on manicured nails. “I couldn’t sleep,” she began, “so I went for a walk.”
“What time was that?”
“I don’t know exactly. Eleven maybe.”
“You in the habit of walking your neighborhood alone at that hour?”
She smiled dryly. “Sometimes. It’s a safe neighborhood and most people know who I am.”
Sean understood what she meant. Estranged or not, she was John Murphy’s wife. No man with any sense of self-preservation would lay a hand on her.
“There’s a cozy little speak up the street,” she said. “It’s harmless. Starving artists and passionate socialists mostly. I stopped for a nightcap. One turned into two, and by the time I left, it must have been almost one in the morning.”
“Anybody walk you home?”
This seemed to amuse her. “No, I don’t like to encourage poor men who wear glasses.”
Sean not only got her joke, he took her meaning. To affect false modesty would have been pointless. Nell had always been pretty, even in the days when she wore second-hand clothing. The years that had passed since then had only matured her into a classic beauty.
“Go on,” Sean prodded.
“When I got home, my door was open so I knew something was wrong. It was quiet, so I looked inside. I saw enough to know the whole place was tossed, so I blew.”
She must have left shortly before he’d arrived. “Where did you go?”
“Back to the speak. I rang Johnny, but there was no answer. I figured he was out with his latest bimbo, so I kept trying him. I tried all night. I didn’t hear what happened until later that morning. I rang Little Arnie and asked him to come get me.”
Sean knew the juice joint where she’d spent the night. “That’s funny,” he said pointedly, “our boys questioned the owner of that speak the day you disappeared. He never said a word.”
“That’s because I asked him not to. He’s a pal.”
“Sure, he is. And so where did Arnie take you?”
Nell moistened her lips and leaned across the table. “If I told you that, it wouldn’t do you any good. That’s not where I’m staying now.”
Sean regarded her doubtfully. What was with the big secret? “Where are you staying now?”
“I won’t say. Don’t press me.”
Sean didn’t bother to hide his irritation. There’d been a time when she’d known him better than anyone. He hadn’t been the one to do the lying. “You think you can’t trust me?”
She didn’t flinch at his displeasure. “It’s not you I’m worried about. It’s everyone else, the boys in your department, people you’d never suspect. You don’t know any more than I do who’s in bed with who. Everybody’s got an angle, Sean. I would’ve thought you’d know that by now.”
Sean also leaned in close. “Not everybody, Nell. I would’ve thought you’d know that by now too.”
Nell held his hard gaze for a long moment before she relented. “Maybe not you. You got out of that old neighborhood, same as I did, but part of you will always be back there, won’t it? You were the one we could all count on. You haven’t changed in that way, have you?”
“No, not that way.”
She pulled back. “Why do you care about me? You shouldn’t. I don’t deserve that from you.”
“Why?”
“We both know why.”
Something passed behind her eyes that he wished he hadn’t seen. Regret? Maybe. Whatever it was, he wasn’t prepared to go down that road. It had nothing to do with why Johnny was killed. “What are they after?” he asked instead.
“I don’t know.”
“Oh, but you do. Johnny’s wall safe was emptied and then they tore your place apart looking for something more. Did they find it?”
“If I knew what they were after, I’d tell you.”
“Who are ‘they’?”
“I don’t know that either. If I did, maybe I could figure out who to trust.”
Sean couldn’t keep the edge out of his voice. “You can trust me, Nell.”
She opened her mouth to say something but then changed her mind. “I know.”
“Did Johnny still talk to you? Tell you things?”
“Sometimes.”
“Did he give you anything to keep?”
That seemed to strike a chord. She shook her head anxiously. “No, Sean, nothing more than a couple extra sets of clothes back when he used to stay over. All that was finished.” She leaned forward, her eyes urgent. “No more questions. How do I know that whatever I tell you won’t end up getting you killed too?”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Maybe you can and maybe you can’t. It’s not worth finding out. Let this case go. Toss it.”
“It’s my job, Nell.”
She slid one hand forward and covered his hand with her own. “The hell with your job. Walk away. You can do that just this once, can’t you?”
Before Sean could answer, Trixie touched his shoulder from behind. She had her coat on. Her hair was still damp from the rain, hanging in frazzled russet ringlets, but the sight of her fresh open face felt like a welcome dash of cool water, snapping him back to the present.
“So sorry to interrupt.” She cast a narrow look at Nell. “But I’ve got to get back. I’ll take a taxi.”
Her tone was too prim. Was she sore about something?
“Wait.” Sean pulled his hand away from Nell, who sat back in her chair with a frown as he stood. “Come here.” He took Trixie by the arm and led her a few feet away. “I brought you here. I’ll take you back.”
“Not necessary, Detective, I’m quite capable of—”
“I think I know what you’re capable of.” In his mind’s eye, he’d caught a flash of her perched atop her camera man’s shoulders. Gorgeous gams aside, she was a reporter first, and a hungry one at that. “Listen, you can go back if you want, but don’t forget our agreement.” He nodded toward Nell. “She’s off the record too. Not one word about her in print. Clear?”
She gave him a look that removed all doubt that she was sore. Plenty sore. Though he couldn’t figure over what. “Could you let go of my arm?”
He’d forgotten he still held her, and he released her.
“I gave you my word,” she said. “You may not think that’s worth anything, but it is.”
It shouldn’t have bothered him, that look of reproach she gave him before she turned away. After all, she was a nuisance. He’d be glad when he was rid of her. Wouldn’t he?
Sean opened his mouth but could think of nothing to say to stop her before she walked out the lunchroom door.
Chapter Nine
After leaving Sean at Bickford’s, Trixie walked as far as Times Square to make one last attempt to find Danny. Unlike earlier, the square was bustling full of cars, shoppers and theater patrons—a lucrative setting for an enterprising young panhandler.
She figured it would have served Sean right for bailing out on her if she’d found Danny on her own, but no such luck. Trixie gave up, hailed a cab and returned to the Examiner office to bring Julius Merryweather up to date.
From behind the editor’s closed door she could hear the muffled sounds of the city room going at full tilt, the ringing of telephones, the babble and natter of her fellow reporters.
Before her fanny could get comfortably situated in one of the chairs facing his desk, Julius grabbed a handful of crumpled telephone message sheets and waved them at her. “That copper is crawling all over me about that list of people you gave cards to.”
“Oh?” Trixie suspected there was little hope that her fanny would get comfortable any time soon.
“I’ve stalled him as long as I can.” Julius threw the messages down.
Trixie watched bleakly as one missed the desktop and fluttered to the floor. They both knew she couldn’t lie, and yet the moment she admitted to Carter that she’d only given her card to one little boy, finding Danny would move up on Carter’s priority list. That could undermine the focus of Sean’s investigation.
“Should I telephone him now?” she asked.
“No other choice that I can see.” Julius drummed his fingers on his desk.
“I don’t have to tell him any more than the bare facts unless he asks, right?”
Julius looked at her slyly. “Why? What did you find?”
Trixie was fully prepared to spill the beans. That’s what she’d come here for, but she hesitated. Only she and Sean knew where they’d been that day, who they’d spoken to, and what they’d learned. It was important that Sean learn to trust her—he was her best source on this story, yet after today, she felt more than a professional obligation to protect him. She hadn’t expected to feel this way. What was the right thing to do?
Wanting to offer Julius enough to keep from getting yanked from the story, Trixie told him that they had found several people who knew Danny. It was just a matter of another day or two until they located the boy.
While she talked, she watched with growing trepidation as Julius methodically tapped his cigar ashes into an overflowing ashtray. When she was done, he didn’t look up for a full half minute. Would he kick her off the story?
In the end, he kept her on it.
For now.
It wasn’t until she stepped out of his office, breathing a sigh of relief and sweeping her gaze over the glorious chaos that was the Examiner’s city room that she asked herself if she’d done the right thing. Julius was her managing editor. He’d hired her to dig up facts and scoop the competition, not to decide which facts should be published. The man had a reputation for integrity. Who was she to second guess him?
Trixie preferred not to examine her motives too closely and so instead she returned to her desk to catch up on the latest wires and to telephone Detective Carter. She was connected with him immediately and their conversation was oddly brief. When she told him that she’d given her card to a child named Danny at Macy’s parade, Carter seemed uninterested. He asked a few perfunctory questions and ended the call.
Several hours later, when she switched off her desk lamp to leave, Trixie had almost dismissed her misgivings about Detective Carter. What bothered her more was Nell Murphy. That woman had intruded into her thoughts all day, and each time she did, Trixie got a little more irritated and a lot more suspicious.
Why had Nell chosen to come out of hiding now to meet with Sean? And, for crying out loud, who dressed like that and looked that gorgeous on a blustery Saturday afternoon? She was clearly out to manipulate Sean. Why? Was she simply the type of woman who needed to have every man eating out of her hand? Or was there another reason?
It was early evening by the time Trixie stepped off her train in Brooklyn. As she walked along Madison Street toward her rooming house, it was quiet except for the occasional rumble of an automobile, its headlamps catching her in their beams before sweeping by. That was fine by her. She was exhausted.
When Trixie stepped inside the vestibule, she was greeted with a shower of barks and scrabbling of claws from behind Mrs. L’s door. As she checked her mail, she could detect the muffled crooning of Al Jolson on the radio.
“Oy vey, Twinks!” Mrs. L’s door squeaked open and Jolson’s static-laced lyrics poured into the hallway along with several whiffs of matzo ball soup.
Dressed in yellow mules and a purple flower print robe, Mrs. L regarded Trixie archly over the rims of her reading glasses. “Your father telephoned. Again,” she said, shoving Twinkles back with her foot.
Trixie winced. Nuts. Of course he had. With all the excitement of the break-in last night, she’d forgotten
to telephone him back.
“He’s been worried sick,” Mrs. L scolded. “I told him you were still alive, but beyond that, who could say?”
“I’ll call him right now.”
“Don’t bother. He said he would be out of town for a few days. You can leave word with the butler if you want.”
Applegate. Even over the telephone wires, he was likely to be more formidably disapproving than Mrs. L. “I’ll write a letter.”
“Hmmm, maybe you should.” She cocked her head. “Does he really have a butler or was he just pulling my leg?”
“He really has a butler.”
“Ain’t that a kick in the pants?”
“Yes, sometimes it feels like that.” Trixie recalled Applegate’s censorious stare when she’d announced that she’d decided to pursue her dream of becoming a reporter. Still worse, was the chilling, butlerly silence that had greeted her subsequent announcement that she was moving to Brooklyn.
With a tired sigh, she turned toward the stairs.
“Where are you going?”
Mrs. L’s question stopped her. “Upstairs?”
“Without your nephew?”
Trixie was too fuzzy with exhaustion to make sense of the question. From inside the apartment, the Benson Orchestra of Chicago was swinging into its popular rendition of “Ain’t We Got Fun?”
Mrs. L blinked at her.
“What?” Trixie asked.
“Your neff-few,” Mrs. L repeated as if Trixie were hard of hearing.
“But I don’t have a—”
“He arrived on the train this morning—he won’t say from where—and he walked here all by himself.” Mrs. L swooshed Twinkles back so she could open the door wider. She motioned for Trixie to step inside. “Such a sweet boy, but he needs a haircut. He’s been waiting for you all day.”
Trixie followed Mrs. L into the apartment, ignoring poor Twinkles, who bounced brightly after her in greeting. She’d visited her landlady before. She recognized the spacious but cluttered living room, the fireplace, curio cabinet and end tables with their ornate lamps and doilies.