The Ace of Clubs

by Patricia Loofbourrow

  She finished her cake, drained her cup. “May I have more?”

  I smiled at her. “Have as much as you wish.” She reminded me of Tenni, with thin arms and a child’s honesty.

  Mrs. Pike put a second piece of cake on her plate and slathered it with butter.

  “How did you and Mr. Pike meet?”

  She blushed. “We grew up together, mum. In the Bridgers. It’s our way.” She took a deep breath. “It’s a blessing, being as I am.”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  She snorted in amusement. “I know what I am: an ugly woman. Don’t deny it! Here, I’m a pitiable creature, secretly ridiculed and scorned. Ugly women are doomed to live at home as a burden to their fathers, or sent off to try to join the Dealers. But in the Bridgers, it’s the pretty girls have the most trouble. All the men want them, yet none are allowed to pay them court.” She gazed off to the side. “Most pretty ones run off. But I had many suitors.” She smiled to herself. “I could pick any I wanted.”

  I frowned. “You get to pick?”

  “Of course! We receive the man’s attentions, bear the children, raise them, keep the home — it would be cruel to force a man on us we didn’t want! That’s why I’m so blessed.” She smiled, pride clear on her face. “I chose the best, the kindest, the most righteous man of them all.” Her expression became fierce. “And I won’t have him toyed with, by you or anyone else.”

  Oh, dear. I might need Mr. Pike in the future. “I most sincerely apologize for any distress I’ve caused.” There! That should mollify her. “As a token of goodwill, I’ll pay him for his work, at your grandfather’s stated rate. I recall the paper Doyle Pike presented to me the day I sat in his office. It said, ‘For retrieval of documents: ten dollars,’ did it not?”

  “Ten dollars?” Her eyes widened in dumbfounded wonder, as if learning she had hit the jackpot at our casino. “Oh, thank you, mum. Thank you so much.”

  The Investigation

  The next morning, the Bridges Daily had an article on page 3:

  Warehouse Manager Found Shot

  I stared at the few lines about Joe and Josie’s uncle. He was forty. The police thought he surprised a robber.

  First Marja, then Joe and Josie’s uncle. How many more people would die for their connection to me?

  At breakfast, I showed the paper to Tony. “He worked for the Clubbs. Marja worked for him.”

  Tony frowned. “Do you think this is related?”

  “Tony, he’s Joe’s uncle. Marja overheard something in his warehouse and tried to warn me and now they’re both dead. I don’t know what to think.”

  Tony peered at the paper. “It says here the man’s name was Shigo Rei. You say he was Joe’s uncle?”

  “Josie said it.” She also said the man changed his name to hide the fact that he was a Kerr. An investigation into his past might harm others in his family. “Maybe the man was their mother’s brother.” In either case, this would make him a Pot rag too. How did he get a job working as a manager?

  Tony sat, hand to his chin. “I should never have involved the police. This is a Family matter.” He shook his head. “I have too much to do right now to deal with this. I’ll have Ten assist you.”

  “Oh,” I said, both surprised and hesitant.

  Tony grinned. “You might need another gun. Or a fist, should it come to that. There may be a time where a huge group won’t do, and I’ll feel better knowing he’s looking after you.”

  Interesting. So Sawbuck wasn’t just Tony’s right hand man, but his enforcer as well.

  * * *

  Right after morning meeting, we left for Market Center.

  The courthouse on Market Center was an imposing white edifice which sat upon a base of red brick, almost obscured by the press of the crowd. Shouting reporters, camera-men flashing their photos, men calling out words, shaking their fists, holding up banners in support or derision.

  Our men made us a path. Black wrought-iron banisters guided us up the white stone steps to a grand hall whose doors stood open beyond majestic pillars. Inside, an expansive lobby tiled in golden stone teemed with people. Our guards pushed through the throng, who parted more readily than those outside. We climbed the wide curving steps to our left, to a private room where we might observe the proceedings. It did most resemble the boxes at the Opera House.

  So many people sat down below that I felt afraid at the thought of being called before them. A man spoke loud and eloquent from a podium on the lower level, with a group of men seated on a raised stage before him intently listening. The room itself was lit brightly, but no lights shown on the box itself, throwing us into relative darkness.

  The Hart Family sat in front of us, the Clubbs beyond them in front of the Diamonds. None seemed to notice our presence.

  The Diamond Family sat on the far side of our assigned row, with Jon closest. He focused on the proceedings, apparently unaware of our entry. I glanced at Tony, who smiled. “Go ahead.”

  So I moved to sit by Jonathan Diamond. While grateful that I didn’t have to sit near Gardena, or worse yet, her dreadful oldest brother Cesare, for the first time I felt uneasy in Jon’s presence. His mad twin Jack Diamond was absent, for which I felt relieved.

  My procession down the row caught the attention of the Diamonds; they glanced over yet did not rise. I folded my hands in my lap and watched the spectacle before me. I didn’t understand most of what was being said, but the man at the podium seemed enraged.

  “I must speak with you,” Jon whispered.

  I didn’t move. “Why did you lie to me?”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him lean forward. “I have loved you more dearly than you know, Mrs. Spadros —”

  He’d never called me that in a private conversation before, and it stung.

  “— but if you chide me now, when I was forced to choose between the life of my sister and a possible insult to your feelings, then ... you’re a different woman than I thought.”

  I felt ashamed of myself. “Forgive me.”

  He didn’t speak for some time, and I sat in misery, hearing nothing that was said. Of course, Jon was right. He’d always spoken truth to me, which was why his deception cut me so deeply. It felt as if a support had dropped from under me, a betrayal on top of all the others which composed my life.

  Yet what if he had told me the truth in February? Who might have been listening? What might Roy Spadros do to Gardena and little Roland? Gardena might now be dead at Roy’s hand, with Roland a hostage, the Diamond Family helpless to stop whatever Roy might do to or with the child.

  I wiped my eyes with my handkerchief and sighed. “You’re right, as you always are.”

  “I care nothing about being right. Only about those I hold dear.” He paused. “Which is why I must speak to you.”

  “Speak, then.”

  Judith Hart turned round and glared at us.

  “Not here,” he whispered.

  Another man stood up, burns on his face. He spoke of loading the cargo, described the zeppelin lifting off, his shock and pain after the tremendous explosion which followed. The chamber, full of people, stood silent during his speech. After he spoke, the crowd murmured, some applauding.

  Then a man in the center of those on the stage struck a small hammer on a block of wood. “We shall recess until 3 pm.”

  I gave Tony a questioning glance, and he said, “Luncheon.”

  Was it that late already? The clock to the wall at our right chimed noon, and I stood, laughing. “Long luncheon.”

  “Indeed,” Jon said from behind.

  I followed Tony along the row and out to the hallway. Roy and Molly were already partway down the stair.

  Jon grabbed my arm and pulled me aside, out of sight of the stair. Tony followed.

  “There’s too much you don’t know,” Jon said to us. “Have you conferred with your attorneys?”

  “Some,” Tony said. “But they’ve told us nothing, other than their assurances that the inquest goe
s well.”

  “It’s not going well at all,” Jon said. “I’m not allowed to speak with your attorneys,” he glanced around, “and as Keeper of the Court, I shouldn’t be seen speaking with you either.”

  “Jon, whatever are you talking about?”

  Tony shook his head, finger to his lips.

  “Admit no fault in this whatsoever,” Jon said. “I wish you could deny being there, but it’s too late for that now.” He turned to me. “You shouldn’t have laughed up there in the box. Too many people saw you. Keep a sober demeanor when in public from now on. Say only what the lawyers tell you to. Your life depends on it.”

  “But why?”

  Cesare Diamond called sharply from down the stairs, “Jon!”

  Tony’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

  Jon glanced towards his brother’s voice. “I must go. Did you get my letter?”

  “Yes, but —”

  “Just heed what I wrote and all will be well.” He hurried off as fast as he ever did, which was a moderately rapid walk.

  Oh, gods, I thought. I burned the letter. “Jon, wait!”

  Tony put his hand on my arm. “Leave it be, Jacqui.”

  “But Tony —”

  “He’s Keeper of the Court, Jacqui. He mustn’t be seen to favor us. The lawyers can answer any questions you have.”

  I shook my head. I didn’t even know what to ask.

  What had I gotten myself into?

  * * *

  When we returned home, I had Pearson find Sawbuck and ask him to attend me at his convenience. After getting changed, I found the scrap of paper Marja held in her hand when I found her dead, and brought it to my study.

  Spread out upon the desk, it was the size of my palm. Dirty, with smudged pencil scratches upon it, the scrap had been ripped from cheap paper. Newsprint?

  I remembered Mr. Blackberry telling me that Dame Anastasia and someone fitting Frank Pagliacci’s description were in the Bridges Daily giving Mr. Durak their false interview. They could have gotten a piece of newsprint from there.

  But I couldn’t read whatever might be written on it.

  I held the paper up to the light. A knock came at the door.

  “Come in,” I said.

  Sawbuck stuck his head in. “You wanted to see me?”

  I put the paper down. “Yes! Please come in.”

  Sawbuck pulled a chair over, sitting across my desk from me. Which felt strange.

  I said, “We need to talk.”

  He bit his lip and nodded, not meeting my eye. “I realize what you must think. But I’ve not betrayed you.”

  I let out an amused laugh. “That wasn’t why I called you. But I’m curious: how did you come to be here?”

  Sawbuck smiled fondly. “Aunt Molly has ever doted on me. Even as a small boy I visited often.” He pointed over his shoulder. “I used to bounce on that sofa. I don’t recall Mr. Anthony’s birth, but they tell me I was taken with him even then.”

  “You were what, six?”

  “I suppose. After Master Roy Acevedo was murdered, Mr. Anthony’s father chose me as his protector.”

  “A boy of eight?”

  “I was large for my age, yet as a child, I could be at his side where men might not be allowed.” He shrugged. “Perhaps it was too much responsibility. But here he is, alive still.”

  “And here you are.”

  “And here I am. Alive still.” He gave a wry grin. “Which is some feat in Bridges.”

  Especially as someone opposed to Roy. But perhaps Roy let Sawbuck live, knowing every day spent beside the man he loved but unable to speak of it would be torture. I nodded.

  “What can I do for you, Mrs. Spadros?”

  “Has Roy Spadros said anything about our driver’s death?”

  Sawbuck sat motionless, staring at me. “No, he hasn’t.”

  “Or our visit to the Harts?”

  His jaw dropped. “You don’t think —”

  “That he had our driver shot? No. But with the way he feels about the Harts —”

  Sawbuck let out a breath. “He might leave Mr. Anthony to his own devices. As punishment.”

  “I thought so.” I tapped my pen on the blotter, laid it down. “So we’re on our own.”

  “Until the old codger decides a new torture is more fun.”

  “Indeed.” I held up the paper. “This was in Marja’s hand when we found her.” I handed it to him. “Can you see anything?”

  Sawbuck scrutinized it, held it up to the light. He shook his head. “Nothing.” Then his eyes narrowed, and he sniffed it.

  “Onion?”

  “No,” he said, handing it back.

  I sniffed the paper but didn’t smell anything. This had to be in her hand for a reason. “Let’s try anyway.”

  I went to an electric lamps and turned it on, placing the paper over the bulb. A message began to appear in brown. “Not onion.” A caramel odor wafted through the room. “Sugar water.”

  The writing was tiny, block-printed:

  I KNEW YOU’D FIGURE THIS OUT.

  I BELIEVE YOU TOO DANGEROUS

  TO KEEP ALIVE. BUT I NEED HIM.

  SINCE HE WANTS YOU, WE’RE BOUND

  TO EACH OTHER A WHILE LONGER.

  He? He who?

  WHEN I’VE DESTROYED THE SPADROS FAMILY,

  WE’LL KILL THEM. THEN WE’LL TAKE THE CITY

  AND YOU WON’T STOP IT. YOU’RE MAKING THIS

  A CHALLENGE. SO I’LL GIVE THIS ADVICE:

  DON’T CHASE OUTSIDERS.

  YOUR FED WILL BE DEAD

  SOON ENOUGH.

  The Trouble

  I frowned, shaking my head, and handed the scrap to Sawbuck. Why go to the trouble of leaving this message? And why speak of Zia — who I did chase down, but she got the worst of that encounter — as if she were my ally?

  “He’s playing with you,” Sawbuck said. “I’ve seen this sort before. Fancies himself a master criminal. Likely he’s a cold-blooded killer who’s read too many spy novels.” He snorted. “But who’s the Fed? Someone after Master Rainbow?”

  I nodded. “A woman —”

  Sawbuck raised an eyebrow.

  “— named Zia Cashout. Pretty, with red hair. They worked together. But he didn’t know she was a Fed until her friends tried to kill him. He thinks they destroyed his boat.”

  “Well, if that’s not the strangest thing I’ve ever heard, I don’t know what is,” Sawbuck said. “How do you know her?”

  I went back to my desk. How much could I trust Sawbuck? “Master Rainbow introduced her first as his maid, then his sister. She was with him when he brought me to rescue the boy.”

  Sawbuck nodded.

  “But later she made it clear she was in league with Frank Pagliacci.” In love with him might be more accurate. I pointed to the paper. “Which makes this puzzling.”

  “Perhaps they’ve had a falling-out,” Sawbuck said. “And you’ve not heard from her since?”

  I shook my head.

  “Wait,” Sawbuck said. “This is the woman the police think you knifed on Market Center.”

  Why did I mention her name? “So my husband did tell you.”

  Sawbuck chuckled. “Did you really knife her?”

  “Not intentionally.” It was the first time I’d actually cut anyone. “If I’d have known she was a Fed, though ....”

  Sawbuck leaned forward. “Why do you keep lying to him? What haven’t you told us?”

  I sighed. “None of it matters now. I was trying to help Dame Anastasia, and ... well, now she’s dead.”

  Pearson knocked. “Two packages for you, mum.”

  In the hall, a big bouquet of lavender sat next to a package addressed to me. Inside were two thick round white candles, six inches long, carved on the surface as if covered with lace. There was no return address or note. “Where did these come from?”

  “There was no card on the flowers, mum,” Pearson said. “Perhaps the messenger lost it. Where would you like them?�
��

  “In the parlor, please.” I detested lavender, and white was my least favorite color. But it was so rare for anyone to send me a gift that I didn’t have the heart to throw them away.

  Thunder rolled in the distance. I went to the front door and opened it. The air smelled of rain.

  “Mrs. Spadros,” Tony said behind me, “would you assist me?” Tony had shed his coat and hat, and rolled up his sleeves.

  I laughed. I’d never seen him like this. He appeared ready to engage in some physical labor, which of course we had servants for. “Whatever with?”

  “Come,” he said, and took my hand.

  I glanced over my shoulder. “Thanks for your help, Ten. We'll speak on this matter another time.”

  Sawbuck grinned at me. “My pleasure.”

  Tony led me through the house and out to the back gardens, where a target stood ready. “You must teach me to shoot.”

  “Me? Can’t Ten teach you?”

  “He’s tried.” Clouds scudded past overhead, while black storm-clouds loomed in the distance. “I thought maybe ...”

  I smiled. “Very well. First, you must put in earplugs.”

  “Already done.”

  He handed me some, which I put on. Then I brought him to the closest mark. “Stand one foot in front. Your left should be good, since you’re left-handed. Which eye do you see from?”

  Tony stared at me blankly. “I don’t know.”

  “That might be your trouble. Hold a finger up to cover the middle of the target.”

  When Tony did so, I said, “Watch the target. Close one eye, then the other. The finger which stays still is your sighting eye.”

  “Oh!” Tony let his arm drop. “Why did no one ever tell me?”

  I shrugged. “Not everyone is good at explanation, I suppose.” Roy probably loved to see him fail. “Now the gun.”

  I showed him how to stand, how to hold the gun. “Now, it’s going to be loud. Make everything else but the target go away.”

  Tony sounded out of breath. “Very well.”

  “Now slowly squeeze the trigger.”

  Hands trembling, he did so. “I hit it!”

  I grinned at him. “That you did.”