“Believe me, Stanford, I’m the last man who would even dream of interrupting one of your afternoon activities—”
“Get to it, James.”
“I don’t know how else to say this—”
“But?”
“Teddy Roosevelt is out to get you.”
White turned to the side and howled with laughter. After a few seconds, he said, “Thank you, James. I needed that.”
“You find it funny that the president of the board of police commissioners is out to—”
“No, no, not exactly funny but amusing nevertheless.”
“Stanford—”
“The question is, how?” White mused calmly, not allowing Breese to finish. “With one of his famous hunting rifles? Am I the next game he expects to hang on his wall?”
“I’m being serious.”
“I’m sure you are, and I’m also sure at this very moment he’s loading his gun with the same silver bullet he uses to kill werewolves.”
“You can be so infuriating sometimes. You need to listen.”
“I’m listening, and I hear you very well. What you don’t realize, or rather can’t accept, is that Roosevelt is a nonfactor. He will soon be gone.”
“If you’re referring to that blue law nonsense—”
“It is nonsense, and merely part of a plan put in place to diminish the power of that megalomaniac. He thrives on it, and once it’s gone…” White smiled, his mustache an extension of his grin.
“I hope you’re right.”
“I am.” He placed a reassuring hand on Breese’s shoulder. “Don’t fret, my friend.”
“I’ll try not to. Of course, you realize that if he’s hunting for you, I must be next in his sights.”
“Trust me. We’re both game he will never bag.”
Breese exhaled in relief. “I don’t know why I believe you but I always do.”
“That’s because I’ve never let you down. Now, I know the perfect prescription for what ails you.”
White ushered Breese to a door and opened it. It led to a large bedroom with a red velvet swing hanging from the ceiling. The theme of thick red velvet curtains continued along with a few dimly lit lamps. A large heart-shaped bed was in the middle of the room against the back wall with plush linens and pillows. On the bed was a pretty teenage girl who couldn’t have been more than fifteen. She was completely nude and only semiconscious, at the moment stirring a bit restlessly.
White smiled. “I think you’ll find her very willing.”
“My God, what a delectable sight.” Breese started in, then turned to White. “Are you coming?”
“I was just taking a slight respite from a glorious afternoon.” He returned to the table and the papers. Breese followed for a few steps and indicated the papers.
“Is that what I think it is?”
“Can you be more specific or do you think I’m clairvoyant?”
“You know what I mean. I’m utterly dumbfounded you haven’t disposed of that.”
“Why would I? It never fails to amuse me. Now go in. I’ll join you soon.”
Breese turned back toward the bedroom. He looked in again, and then with a slight smirk he entered the room and closed the door.
White gathered the papers into an even stack, put them in the bottom drawer of a cabinet across from the table, and headed to the bedroom to join the others.
* * *
It was Sean’s day off, and he was watching Josie. He had a date that night, and not just an ordinary one—dinner at his fiancée’s parents’ house—so Mary knew she had to be at his apartment by six in order to relieve him.
“They keep asking me to invite Mom,” he had told her. “I don’t know how much longer I can invent excuses for her not being able to make it.”
“You might as well bite the bullet. You’ll have to do it sooner or later.”
“ ‘Bite the bullet.’ Fits it perfectly, but I’m afraid I won’t survive this operation.”
“I didn’t know you had such a penchant for drama, Sean. You should have gone into the theater instead of the police force.”
“No, thank you. I meet enough self-absorbed phonies on the street. I see no reason to surround myself with them.”
“Can’t dispute that. Thanks for watching Josie.”
“She’s an incredible child. Sometimes I think she’s watching me.”
* * *
It was midafternoon. Mary still had a few hours until she was due at Sean’s to pick up Josie. She thought it would be wise to use that time to eliminate Lillian Russell as a suspect. She found it hard to believe that such a successful actress would risk so much just to get even with a playwright she disliked, but Mary had already made mistakes because she took certain things for granted. She was determined not to do that again.
Diamond Jim Brady’s and Lillian Russell’s eating bouts were legendary, and being that it was about three P.M., she figured they might be just finishing a two-hour lunch or in the middle of a three-hour one. Either way, they should still be in the restaurant, which would be either one of their two favorites, Sherry’s and Delmonico’s. It made it easier that they were close to each other.
Mary found them at Sherry’s, each finishing off the last of a two-pound steak. She was sure they had eaten quite a bit before then, but she really didn’t want to know the specifics. When the maître d’ was occupied, she snuck past him and made a beeline for their table.
“Miss Russell,” said Mary rather quickly, hoping to forge a relationship before the maître d’ discovered what she had done. “Could you possibly spare a few minutes to answer some questions?”
Russell kept eating but Diamond Jim lifted his head. “Who are you, darlin’?”
“My name is Mary Handley.”
“Are you one of those gossip columnists from Hearst or Pulitzer?”
“I can assure you I have nothing to do with that, though my husband was a journalist, a real one, not one of those.”
Russell looked up. “I know you. You’re the private detective whose husband—”
“Was murdered. Yes.”
“Right,” said Diamond Jim, suddenly remembering, “the murder in Prospect Park.”
“Not in the park actually. Near it.”
Diamond Jim nodded his head, noting the correction. Then Russell spoke.
“Didn’t I see you a while back at the Casino Theatre?”
“Yes, during rehearsals. You must have a good memory. You could’ve only seen me briefly.”
Russell gestured for Mary to sit and she did. “Sometimes I think it’s a curse. There are many things I would prefer to forget.”
“Like the London production of Princess Ida?”
At that point the maître d’ arrived. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Brady and Miss Russell. This woman evaded me. I will remove her immediately, and I promise you this will never happen again.”
“Actually, Roger,” responded Russell, “this woman is an acquaintance of ours and she’s not bothering us in the least. Roger, meet Mary Handley.”
They shook hands and Roger forced a smile before turning to Russell and Diamond Jim. “I hope no one was offended. I wanted to make sure my two favorite customers were happy.”
“Thank you, Roger,” said Diamond Jim. Roger knew that was a cue to leave, but he had another chore to accomplish.
“By the way, Mr. Brady, Herbert Barnum Seeley called. He said you hadn’t sent an RSVP for his brother’s bachelor party here this Saturday, the nineteenth. I’m sure he’s mistaken but he implored me to ask you.”
“He’s not mistaken; I forgot. Please tell Herbert I will be there and give him my apology.”
“I will most definitely do that.” As he nodded to each of them, he said, “Mr. Brady, Miss Russell, enjoy your meal. Miss Handley.” His look to Mary
indicated he wasn’t happy with the way she’d snuck into his restaurant. With that, he returned to his post at the entrance.
Mary gestured toward Roger. “It looks like I made another friend,” she said sarcastically.
“Don’t worry about Roger,” said Diamond Jim. “He’s harmless.”
Russell was eager to return to their conversation before Roger had interrupted. “So you want to know about Princess Ida?”
“You must have been upset when you and Mr. Gilbert parted company.”
“Upset? That little twit fired me!”
Diamond Jim jumped in. “Lillian, darling, I wouldn’t exactly call him little.”
“You’re absolutely right, Jim. That obnoxious, conceited, middle-sized twit fired me. Me, Lillian Russell! I should have yanked out his mustache hair by hair.”
“Needless to say, you still harbor anger for him.”
“Mary dear, you need to understand something about us actors and actresses. We remember every little slight, every bad review. It simmers inside and never goes away.”
“So the friendly greeting that I witnessed a couple of weeks ago, which I understand was followed by your vow to consider his next play, was an act, an attempt to torture him before you say no?”
“You really don’t know very much about us in the performing arts, do you? I don’t care if it’s Satan himself, if someone comes to me with a great play and a great part, I will do it. My experience with W. S. Gilbert—and I ask you, what kind of vain blowhard uses initials instead of his full name?—was an important lesson. I now insist on ironclad contracts.”
“I can’t help wondering, Miss Handley,” said Diamond Jim as he stuffed a large piece of steak into his mouth, “why are you so interested in Lillian and this writer?”
“Now, Jim,” Russell quickly responded. “You need to stop being Papa Bear. I can take care of myself.” She turned to Mary. “Why are you so interested?”
“To be honest—”
“There’s no other way to be. In the long run, dishonesty rarely works and usually comes back to haunt you.”
“Agreed. You realize, I’m sure, that as a detective I often have to take a circuitous route in order to get the information I desire.”
“Yes, fascinating profession. I would love to play one onstage someday. Of course, it would have to be a musical.”
“So you have no desire to act in Mr. Gilbert’s drama?”
“If I’ve learned anything after being an actress all these years, it’s this: keep your options open. For all I know I’ll read his play, be mesmerized, and feel that it’s the role of a lifetime. I highly doubt it though. In order to write good drama, you need a profound understanding of people and real-life behavior, areas in which that conceited twit is sorely lacking.”
“Your intense dislike of the man might make one wonder if you were capable of stealing his play as retribution.”
“Oh, come on!” Diamond Jim exclaimed. Mary had to duck as a small piece of steak shot projectile-like out of his mouth. “Lillian? Never.”
“Calm down, Jim,” said Russell, placing her hand on top of his. “She wasn’t accusing me, were you, Mary?”
“Merely surveying the landscape.”
“Ah, then put this in your crosshairs. I don’t need the money. If I had wanted to get even with that muttonhead—”
“Oooh, ‘muttonhead,’ ” said Diamond Jim as he looked up from his plate. “I like that much better than ‘twit.’ It has a nice rhythm to it. Besides, doesn’t he have muttonchops? There’s a certain ironic symbiosis to that.”
“ ‘Ironic symbiosis’? Jim, are you getting yourself an education and not telling me?”
“My education is life. I have to deal with people who talk like that, so I’ve gotta know how.”
“Well then, I will follow your lead.” Russell turned back to Mary. “If I had done it, and I most decidedly didn’t, I would have just given the play to Keith and Albee and watched that muttonhead”—she paused, looked at Jim, who nodded his approval—“squirm. There would be no point in offering it back to him in case he might actually get it.”
“Keith and Albee are a recent development. How did you know about them?”
“First of all, he’s publicly expressed his disdain for them many times. But even if he had hid it, Mary dear, I’m a star. They’ve already approached me to play the role, once they get the play, of course.”
Russell’s logic seemed completely sound and her information much too easy to check to be a lie. She decided to move on. “Do you by any chance know a stage manager or actor by the name of John Smith or a writer called Harvey Iglehart?”
“Why, Harvey—” Russell’s answer was cut short by a sudden coughing fit.
“Lillian, Lillian, are you all right?” The concern was evident in Diamond Jim’s voice. She continued coughing.
It looked to Mary like she was choking on a piece of meat. Mary, who had always been a voracious reader and had once considered becoming a doctor, knew that coughing was a good sign in this instance. It meant that air was still getting into her lungs. It was when no noise was coming out at all that there was a serious problem. Before it could advance that far, she rose to stand behind Russell and began to administer solid blows to the middle of her back with the palm of her hand.
“What the hell!” Diamond Jim blurted out, not understanding what Mary was doing.
After the third blow, Russell spit out a large piece of semichewed steak. It was disgusting to look at but Russell was okay and breathing heavily.
“Thank you, my dear,” she said to Mary in a breathy voice, placing her hand over Mary’s. By this time, Roger had made it to the table.
“Miss Russell, are you all right?” Needless to say, he seemed quite shaken. If Lillian Russell had died there while dining, it would have had a disastrous effect on Sherry’s business.
“I’m fine, Roger.”
“No thanks to you,” added Diamond Jim. “Miss Handley here saved Lillian’s life.” His statement did little to enhance Roger’s opinion of Mary.
“Thank you so much, Miss Handley,” said Roger, cloaking his distaste with a broad smile.
“Leave him alone, Jim. Go back to the front, Roger. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. Go on.” He left and she gestured to Mary. “Sit down. Now, what were we talking about?” Not learning from her experience, she cut another large piece of steak and put it in her mouth.
As Mary sat she said, “I was asking you if you had heard of a writer named Harvey Iglehart.”
“Yes, of course. Harvey Iglehart? It sounds like a name Gilbert would invent for one of his comedies.”
“John Smith and Harvey Iglehart were names I was given, along with yours, of people who might have grudges against him.”
“I’ve never heard of either.”
“I sensed you wouldn’t. They’re not exactly well known in their professions.”
At that moment, Diamond Jim emitted the loudest belch Mary had ever heard. Everyone in Sherry’s turned toward him.
“Oh, Jim,” Russell said, then they both burst into laughter. Soon, most of the others in the restaurant joined them.
Mary had expected to get nothing from Lillian Russell, and that’s exactly what she had gotten.
9
The next morning Mary wasn’t sure what her next step should be. She did know that she needed someone to watch Josie so that she could focus on her investigation—and in case she actually did come up with a plan and had to act upon it. Sean was working that day. Her mother was really the only option. Not an ideal one, but an option nevertheless. As soon as Mary wheeled Josie into her mother’s butcher shop, Elizabeth got excited and rushed toward her.
“It’s so nice to see you up and about,” Elizabeth exclaimed, a smile pai
nted on her face. From her past experiences with Elizabeth, Mary normally would have thought she meant, It’s about time you stopped feeling sorry for yourself. But this was different. It actually seemed genuine. Mary cautiously proceeded under that assumption.
“Yes, I thought it was about time. Could you please watch Josie for me? I have a lot of errands.” Mary didn’t want to reveal that she was working on a case—Harper’s case. It could have changed Elizabeth’s surprisingly sunny disposition and evoked an ugly argument, something for which she was in no mood.
“I would love to watch Josephine. She’s my little angel.” As Elizabeth picked Josie up out of her carriage, Josie immediately began to cry. Then Elizabeth said something that surprised Mary.
“Sweetheart, let’s you and Grandma strike a deal. I’ll start calling you Josie and you stop crying when you see me. Does that sound fair?”
Josie kept crying.
“That’s a lovely gesture, Mother, but it may take some time.”
“I’ll give her a month to come around. If she doesn’t, it’s back to Josephine.”
“That’s sounds fair,” said Mary, doubting Elizabeth’s stubbornness would allow her a month of “Josies.”
Mary’s plan was to hand over all the paraphernalia—the bottles, the blanket, the diapers, a change of clothes—and get out of there as soon as she could. But Elizabeth had an agenda. She always did.
“Try to be back by three. A wonderful man will be here who is going to show us the best way to cut up a pig. He already showed us with chickens, and the results have been no less than spectacular.”
Mary knew her mother meant well, that this was her way of getting Mary interested in the family business. But the family business repulsed her and now was not the time to discuss it.
“Sounds fascinating. I’ll try my best to make it.” Mary’s subtext was essentially, No way in hell, and Elizabeth knew her daughter well enough to recognize that. But she, too, had no desire to argue this point and saved it for another time. She was satisfied enough at the moment with seeing her daughter acting somewhat normal—not that, according to her, Mary had ever been normal.
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