It Had to Be You

by Delynn Royer

  As a somberly dressed young man stepped up to take their coats, Sean took stock of a spacious entrance foyer, plush carpet, velvet wallpaper, and gleaming umbrella stands and cuspidors. No threatening characters lurking behind the ferns. Not that he’d expected any trouble here. It was outside on the street that anything might happen—but he was still tense. If he’d learned anything in his career, it was to be ready for the unexpected.

  Through an open archway ahead, he noted a crowd made up of mostly expensive dark suits, flashy gold jewelry, and black silk evening dresses milling about in an adjoining room. An ornate sign perched on an easel outside the archway read CHAPEL OF SERENITY.

  Sean addressed Nell. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Sean couldn’t see her eyes behind her veil, but her breath came shallow and quick. He’d thought at first that this signaled distress, but now he wasn’t so sure. Her response had been too quick, almost eager. It was as if the crazed energy of that crowd outside had somehow fed a part of her that thrived on excitement.

  It was not a side of her that Sean knew. One of many, he was beginning to suspect...

  The funeral director cut short his thoughts. “Your name, sir?”

  “Detective Costigan, and this is Nell Murphy.”

  “Nell Murphy,” the man repeated, running the point of a gold fountain pen down a list of names on a clipboard. His pen stopped at the bottom and then began to climb back up again. “Well, I don’t...quite...see it here.”

  “I’m Johnny’s wife.” Nell’s tone was tight.

  “His wife? Then there must be some mistake. I’ll check with Miss Stewart and—”

  “Miss Stewart?” Nell grabbed the clipboard from the surprised man’s hands. “What’s Miss Stewart got to do with this? Who made this stupid list?”

  “Miss Stewart and Mr. Cavanaugh.”

  “Get Arnie Cavanaugh,” Nell snapped.

  “Yes, madam, right away, I—”

  “That empty-headed big-boobed bimbo!” Nell’s voice rose as the director signaled frantically for one of his assistants. “Who the hell does she think she is?” She waved the clipboard in the director’s face. “I’m not around for a few days and suddenly she’s next of kin?”

  “Madam, I’m sure this misunderstanding can be—”

  Little Arnie emerged then from the chapel, his shirt collar buttoned tight against his bull neck and his tuxedo jacket straining at the seams. Freshly shaven and with his hair slicked back, he looked like a six-and-a-half-foot choir boy gone wrong. His eyes widened when he saw Nell. “Uh oh.”

  Nell shoved the clipboard at Arnie’s mid-section. “I’m not on the list.”

  “Never mind the list. You don’t need to be on no list.” Arnie took the clipboard and shoved it back at the befuddled director. “She’s jake. She’s with us.”

  “Very good, sir. My apologies, madam. I do hope that—”

  Nell headed toward the Chapel of Serenity. “Where is that bubble-brained chippy, anyhow?”

  Sean started to follow when Arnie laid a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. He wore a weary man-to-man expression. “Dat Nell, she sure is a pip, ain’t she, Detective?”

  “That’s one word for her.” Sean kept an eye on the back of Nell’s head as she mixed in with the crowd.

  “What’s dat sayin’?” Arnie continued. “Hell ain’t got no fury like a dame scoined?”

  “Something like that.” Sean lost sight of Nell as she was swallowed up by the crowd. He pointed. “Is Lenore in there?”

  “Yeah.” Arnie grimaced as Sean’s meaning sank in. “Uh oh.” He dashed back toward the chapel.

  Sean followed.

  The Chapel of Serenity did indeed resemble a chapel, with several rows of polished cherry wood pews and a raised platform in front where John Murphy’s flower-bedecked casket stood open for viewing. A floral scent hung in the air along with a stifling mix of tobacco smoke, men’s cologne and women’s perfume.

  Sean paused just inside the archway. Most of the men in this crowd didn’t possess countenances nearly as aesthetically pleasing as the deceased. They had hard, craggy faces and spoke with rough, working class accents, yet their gelled hair and swanky Fifth Avenue suits advertised gaudy success. Notwithstanding Danny’s failure to identify a suspect, Sean believed that one of them here tonight was behind Johnny’s murder.

  “Interesting crowd, eh?”

  Sean realized belatedly that, to his right and standing back from the group was Chief Keegan. Lou Grottano and Owen Carter also stood a short distance away. As always, Carter was spiffily dressed, his back against the wall, his arms folded as he observed mourners lining up to take their turn by the casket. Dressed in a rumpled dark suit, Grottano looked like the veteran hard-nosed cop that he was, his expression blank, but his eyes missing nothing.

  “A vice cop’s dream,” Sean said, looking back at the crowd. Nell must have headed toward the front. From here, he couldn’t spot her or Little Arnie.

  “Don’t worry,” the chief said, seeming to read his mind. “She’s fine. There’s four of us here and this is the only way in or out of the room.”

  Sean relaxed, but only a little.

  “Heard you had a tussle with Owen Carter today.”

  Sean looked back at Keegan, whose assessing gray gaze remained on the crowd. “He’s just sore that I called you about my suspicions,” Sean said. “But we’re all on the same team.”

  The chief nodded sagely. “Owen’s a smart lad. The commissioner likes him. He’s got a bright future. You know why that is, Sean?”

  Of course Sean knew why. Carter kissed ass like a fish swam, but he said nothing as Keegan continued. “Because he knows on which side his bread is buttered. That’s good knowledge to have. It’s not something your Uncle Brian ever got the hang of.”

  Sean wanted to retort but he quelled it. His uncle and James Keegan had been cut from different cloth. Keegan’s street smarts had translated well into department politics while Brian had relied on instinct and tenacity to solve cases and bully his way through bureaucratic barriers.

  Sean kept his tone even. “He had other priorities.”

  “That he did,” the chief said smoothly. “What are your priorities?”

  “Close the case. Make sure no one gets hurt.”

  “Noble, but I didn’t hear anything in there about saving your shield.”

  “Closing cases is supposed to do that.”

  “It is, lad, it is, but that’s no reason to be stupid about it. You got to go along to get along. The winds of change will be here before you know it. Mayors come and go and commissioners along with them, but I’ll outlast the lot of them.”

  “What are you trying to tell me, Chief? Dummy up and do as I’m told?”

  The older man finally turned his gaze on Sean. His eyes were sharp with intelligence, but his smile was that of a patient patriarch. “Owen knows the rules. That’s why he’s in charge, but you’re the better detective. I want you exactly where you are. You want to know why? Because you’re not part of their club. As of now, you’re part of mine. If you have a beef with Owen, you come to me, lad. Otherwise, follow his orders and keep your opinions to yourself. That’s your rule. Clear?”

  “Sure,” Sean said. He appreciated Keegan watching his back, but as for becoming one of Keegan’s boys? He’d never been the club-joining type. He thought about John Murphy’s wallet, still safe in his own pocket. The key Johnny had carried with him on the night he died might still prove important. If so, he would turn it over to Keegan. For now, he kept quiet about it.

  “Tell me about your eye witness,” Keegan said, all business again as he returned his attention to the crowd.

  “I had him take a look at some mug shots, but nothing shook loose.”

  “You’re sure
he saw the killers? Two of them, he said? Anything to it?”

  “He’s legit. If we catch these guys, he’ll finger them.”

  “That’s good work, lad.”

  Keegan was one of the few men whose praise meant something to Sean, but tonight he didn’t feel like he’d done much to deserve it. Not yet.

  There was still no sign of Nell, Arnie, or Lenore, but Sean caught a fleeting glimpse of another familiar profile, a pert, slightly upturned nose and strawberry blond curls. Her face, though, was half-hidden by a filmy dark veil. Just as quickly as she’d appeared, she vanished behind a trio of cigar-puffing crooks.

  But it couldn’t be. Could it? Trixie was outside with the rest of the reporters. Wasn’t she?

  Nell’s voice arose from somewhere near the casket. “I said, get out of my chair!”

  Keegan chuckled. “Now the party’s getting started.”

  Sean moved toward the front just as another female voice shrieked. “It ain’t your chair! He was divorcing you.”

  By the time Sean shouldered his way through the crowd, both Nell and Lenore Stewart were on their feet in front of the casket and facing each other like a couple of prizefighters. Lenore, tall to begin with and in high heels, towered a good five inches over Nell. Arnie, looking sweaty and miserable, stood behind Nell, holding her purse, rosary and handkerchief.

  Nell laughed. “If you think he was ever going to marry you, honey, you’re stupider than you look.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Lenore thrust her left hand in front of Nell’s face. From where he stood, Sean could see the size of the rock on Lenore’s ring finger. “Whatta ya call that, sister?”

  “Oh, that’s real nice. I think I saw one that looked just like it on sale down at Frank’s Five and Dime.”

  A woman tittered and a few chuckles emerged from the back of the room. A raspy voice called out, “Score one, Nell.”

  Angry tears shined in Lenore’s eyes. “Johnny didn’t love you no more. We was going to get married as soon as your divorce was final, get us a big house on Long Island, have kids—”

  “What do you think he was going to say, you stupid gold-digging tramp? Anything to get you between the sheets.”

  “Get out! Get out and leave us alone.” With a dramatic flourish, Lenore draped herself over the casket. “Oh, I loved ya, Johnny. What am I gonna do without ya? What am I gonna do?”

  At this impressive display, Nell was left open-mouthed and standing at the ready with no sparring partner. Score one, Lenore.

  Nell’s hands clenched into fists.

  Sean moved too late and so did Arnie. Nell launched herself toward Lenore. “Get your hands off him!”

  Lenore screeched as Nell pulled her off the casket and they stumbled backward. Lenore’s arms flailed out, knocking over a standing floral arrangement in the shape of a horseshoe.

  Lenore weighed more than Nell and her backward momentum was too much for Nell to contain. They teetered on the edge of the raised platform before falling back over the edge to land flat on their backs onto the carpet.

  “Witch!” Lenore rolled over and sat up to land a solid slap across Nell’s face.

  Nell retaliated by pulling Lenore back down with her. By the hair. She yanked hard enough to make Lenore scream. “Owwwoooo!”

  “Tramp!”

  Those were the opening shots. Each went full-on for the other—punching, smacking, kicking, grunting and hurling insults that would have made a stevedore blush. The crowd let out a hushed “ahhhhh” and moved to make room as the two women rolled across the floor, their skirts flying up to give a leg show that rivaled Minsky’s Friday Night Frolics.

  Arnie had attempted to wade in when both were still on their feet. Now he jumped down off the platform, waving his thick arms. “Whoa, goils!”

  Sean joined Arnie as a second garish flower arrangement crashed to the floor. Enough was enough. If Nell got sent to the hospital, he wouldn’t be able to take her downtown for questioning. He hooked his hands under Nell’s arms and yelled at Arnie, “Get Lenore.”

  Arnie obeyed, snagging Lenore likewise. Sean pulled Nell back and away from Lenore after Arnie heaved Lenore off of Nell.

  “Let me go!” Nell struggled to escape Sean’s hold. “She’s asking for it.”

  “Yeah? I think you’ve given her enough.”

  Sean hoisted Nell up and onto her feet. Her face was scratched, her hat was gone, her hair was askew and her stockings were snagged. Lenore hadn’t fared much better. Her hair hung in crazy blond ringlets, half up, half down. A sleeve of her dress had torn at the shoulder, and one of her eyes already looked puffy.

  Lenore was sobbing, sending lines of mascara dribbling down her cheeks. “Get her outta here, Arnie! Make her leave.”

  “What a crybaby,” Nell said, but Sean could already feel the fury draining from her.

  “Come on, Lenore.” Arnie pulled her away.

  Nell yanked hard to free herself. “Let go, Sean, I won’t hurt her.”

  Now that the show was winding down, the crowd began to stir. Someone called out gamely, “Hey, Nell! Here’s to you, kid.”

  Sean released her and Nell turned to see who had called her name, but before she could identify the source, something else caught her attention. Her gaze narrowed and she pointed. “What’s she doing here?”

  * * *

  “Ooops.” Trixie was cooked the instant Nell spotted her. She ducked her head and inched backward to hide behind a swarthy man with a moustache.

  “She’s a reporter!” Nell shouted. “Get her out of here.”

  Sean tried to detain Nell, but she sidestepped him. “Nell, calm dow—”

  “I will not calm down. Get her out.”

  The swarthy man turned to give Trixie a leer. “Hey, doll, I think she’s talking to you.”

  “Me? Nah. Gotta go.” She turned and made her way back through the crowd. She could barely contain her excitement as she pictured tomorrow’s headline, CAT FIGHT AT MURPHY WAKE! Yes. It would be the perfect opportunity to slip in the background she’d dug up on Nell and Johnny’s past. Already, she was composing leads in her head as she made her escape. She had to get to a phone. Trixie got as far as the archway of the chapel when a strong hand closed over her arm.

  “How the hell did you get in here?” Sean’s voice rumbled low next to her ear.

  She peered at him as he escorted her forcefully out into the foyer. “Why, I walked right in the front door. How did you get in?”

  “Funny girl.” Sean swung her around to face him. His jaw was set, his gaze hard. He was not amused. “Let’s try this instead. How are you leaving?”

  “Taxi?”

  “Good idea. Let’s go.”

  “Wait.” Trixie tried to pull free as he walk-dragged her toward the door. “I’ve got to get to a phone.”

  “No phone, kid. I’m putting you in a cab myself and sending you safely along your way.”

  “But—”

  Before Trixie could argue, Nell stormed through the chapel archway. Despite her dishabille, she looked magnificent. She stopped short when she spotted Sean and Trixie. “Good. She’s leaving.”

  Sean looked at Nell and held her gaze longer than necessary. “Relax,” he said pointedly. Whatever communication passed between them in those few seconds was theirs alone, but Trixie sensed enough of it to cause her heart to sink.

  Nell appeared to acquiesce to Sean’s command. She took in a deep breath as if to calm herself before looking away from him, but the subtle smile that she turned on Trixie was all about feminine triumph. “You print one word about this, sister, and you’ll live to regret it.”

  Trixie wanted nothing more than to retort, but she was speechless by what she’d just seen, or thought she’d just seen. Sean had loved Nell Murphy once. They had history. That mu
ch Trixie had known before now, intellectually at least, but that wasn’t the end of it. Trixie had recognized the look on Sean’s face when Nell had first appeared in the archway, and, unlike at Bickford’s, that look could not be written off to shock at seeing her after so many years apart. Trixie had actually felt the connection that still hummed between them. Sean is still in love with Nell. This stark realization stung like a slap in the face.

  “The lady needs her coat,” Sean said to a funeral assistant. “Trix, give him your ticket.”

  All at once, Trixie’s elation over tonight’s story seemed trivial and stupid. While she would still relish writing every vivid detail, her victory had been tarnished.

  One kiss... That was all it had been. A mistake. Nothing...

  She felt like a fool as she yanked open her purse and produced her coat check.

  No one spoke as the man went to retrieve Trixie’s coat. No one needed to. Nell merely stood with her arms folded, still wearing the satisfied smile that made Trixie want to knock her teeth out. When Trixie’s coat arrived, Sean helped her on with it.

  “Stay here,” he said to Nell. “I’ll be back.”

  He took Trixie’s arm again and the director swept the door open for them. When they stepped out into the crisp night air, the crowd surged forward to meet them, then fell back with a collective groan of disappointment when it became clear they were nobody.

  They walked a short distance to a pair of cabs parked along the curb. Sean signaled to one and the driver stepped out.

  “I guess you got your story for tonight,” he said.

  Trixie was still angry over Nell and she wanted to stay angry. Maybe that would help smother the sick feeling that had been growing in her stomach since she’d seen the truth on Sean’s face. She shouldn’t care. She didn’t want to. She opened her mouth to speak just as Finn called out.

  “Hey, Trix! Wait.” Finn was galloping up the sidewalk, his camera and plate-case bouncing on their leather straps. “Are we leaving? It’s okay if you want to. Holy cow, did I get some shots. You ain’t gonna believe—” He stopped and stared at Sean. “You’re that cop with Nell Murphy.”