Near Prospect Park

by Lawrence H. Levy

  “Well, it looks like you were right.”

  “Thank God. I would’ve felt so foolish if I weren’t.”

  “I won’t forget it. I’m indebted to you, Mary.”

  “I did what I thought was right. I don’t expect anything in return.”

  As he walked to an end table where his cognac was waiting for him, he said, “Would that there were more people in this city like you.”

  “There are plenty. Unfortunately, they’re not in positions of power.”

  “That seems to be the theme in most places.” He took his cognac and sat in the club chair next to the end table. As he took a sip, he asked, “So, how are you doing?”

  “I’m beginning to get a little woozy, so I’m not going to finish this.” She put her glass down on the coffee table in front of her.

  “That’s not what I was asking.”

  “I know….It’s been tough. I miss Harper terribly, yet I also have my daughter to care for, whom I love with all my heart, and I feel driven to find his killer. I’m not sure if any of those things mix well together.”

  “They don’t and they shouldn’t. But what you must keep in mind is that in order to bring that little girl up properly, you must be free of all demons.”

  “I won’t be until I find out who did this to us.”

  “Then you know what you have to do. Is there any way I can be of assistance?”

  “Not unless you know the one suspect I have left: Harvey Iglehart.”

  “Who?”

  “That seems to be the general consensus whenever I mention his name.”

  “Have the police come up with anything?”

  “No, and I don’t really expect them to. There aren’t a lot of clues.”

  “I’ll check into it. See if I can find out any information.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Roosevelt. Now, I think I should be going.” Mary was a bit wobbly when she stood up.

  “Let me get you a carriage.”

  “Please, it’s not necessary.”

  “It’s the least I can do, Mary. As they say, tonight you saved my bacon.”

  “It was my pleasure. I felt useful for a change.”

  On the way home in the carriage, still tipsy, Mary started to review the task before her. An overwhelming feeling of helplessness permeated her being, and she was sure the cognac had nothing to do with it.

  12

  It’s hard staying out late at night when you have to get up with a baby the next morning. Mary was half asleep as she fed Josie. Sean had been incredibly gracious when she returned as late as she did. For the past year or so, they had been getting along much better than they ever had. She wasn’t sure if it was their father’s death that had brought them together or if Sean had just matured and dropped any childhood jealousies he’d once harbored. It really didn’t matter. She was enjoying their relationship.

  Despite the morning fog that clouded her mind, one question continually popped up: what’s next? The only answer she had wasn’t very satisfying, and that was that she didn’t have a clue. She decided that, barring some emergency like saving Teddy Roosevelt’s career, she would accomplish the task she had wanted to complete the night before: giving Walter’s play to Lillian Russell. It wasn’t crucial, but Mary thought it might help keep her mind off her frustration with finding Harvey Iglehart. Due to the blue laws, the theater was dark on Sunday, so Mary would probably have to find Russell at one of the restaurants she frequented with Diamond Jim. It was convenient since Mary also wanted to pay Gilbert a visit to see if he had come up with any more suspects. He was renting a house just off Fifth Avenue, not far from Sherry’s.

  First Mary had to decide who would watch Josie. She couldn’t prevail upon Sean so soon after the night before, and she had no desire to deal with her mother. In her state, she might not have the patience to hold her tongue and that would guarantee an argument. Harper’s father lived on the other side of Brooklyn, but he hadn’t seen Josie in a while and she thought he might enjoy a visit. She was right.

  Charles Lloyd, always called Chuck by his friends, lived in a modest house on the opposite side of Brooklyn, far from Manhattan, next to the fat-rendering plant in which he had worked for most of his career. Nearby, an oil refinery and a phosphate works belched away. Combined, the three of them produced an awful smell that permeated the area most of the time. That location had purposely been chosen by New York City. At the time they thought the smells brought disease with them, and New York wanted no part of it. They had originally placed some plants on the side of Brooklyn closer to New York in the hope of making travel easier for the workers who lived in Manhattan. It accomplished that, but the smell wafted over, which still caused concern for those who lived in New York. Of course, these manufacturing relocations had been done with no regard for the people of Brooklyn. The decisions were made long before New York wanted to annex Brooklyn, and though it was in progress, the official merger was still over a year away.

  Chuck Lloyd was delighted that Mary had brought Josie to his house. “Every time I see her she looks more and more like Harper’s mother, God rest her soul.”

  “That’s lovely to hear. Harper would be so pleased.” Mary had heard her fair share of opinions as to who Josie looked like. Some said her, others Harper. Then there were those who said her mother and her grandmother. She had come to the conclusion that people saw what they wanted to see, and there was no sense in arguing the point. She had decided to let them be happy with their observations.

  “Would it be okay if I took her to church with me? I was never much of a churchgoer and I still don’t feel comfortable attending the big Sunday masses, but ever since Harper…I’ve been sayin’ a prayer for him, you, and Josie every Sunday.”

  Mary wasn’t very religious. She had given up going to church years before, but she was touched by Chuck’s gesture and naturally responded that he could. To her, he embodied the hardworking, honest blue-collar man, and she understood why Harper had loved him so much.

  “Mary, how are ya?”

  Her response was a slight grimace. He understood right away.

  “I’m sure you’re asked that all the time, and ya wanna answer, How do ya think I feel? Everyone has advice, and they usually don’t know what they’re talkin’ about.”

  “How can they if they haven’t experienced it?”

  “Even if they have, we’re all different. I can’t compare the couple down the street to me and Sally.” He paused, still misty after all the years. “My wife. Sally was her name.”

  “Harper told me.”

  “He was a good boy, that Harper.” Fighting the tears in his eyes, he continued, “I know it’s too soon to say what I’m gonna say, but I need to say it now while I’m thinkin’ of it. I held on to Sally too long, as if I would lose her if I even thought of someone else. But I’da never lost her. She’d have always been with me or what we had was worth nothin’. And what did it get me? A lonely life, that’s what.”

  “Are you telling me—”

  “I’m tellin’ ya about me. I made a mistake and kept on makin’ it. All I’m sayin’ is—and it’s just my opinion, so take it as that—if some time in the future ya find yourself havin’ feelings for someone, don’t run away from it. Harper would want ya to be happy.”

  Mary knew how hard it was for Chuck to say those words. Moved by it, she instinctively hugged him. Somehow, it made them both feel closer to Harper.

  * * *

  Gilbert was in his study with Dottie. Pen in hand, Dottie was wearing powder-blue gloves that matched her dress. In front of her was a pad with a list of names on it. At the moment, they were in a heated discussion.

  “You’re completely wrong, Double D,” Gilbert emphatically decried.

  “I don’t think so, Mr. Gilbert. In my opinion, it’s the wrong choice.”

  “Your opinion,�
� he said, rolling his eyes derisively as Mary was shown in by his butler. “Ah, Mary, what do you think of Marie Dressler?”

  “I think she’s very funny.”

  He turned to Dottie. “See?”

  “ ‘Funny,’ ” said Dottie. “She said ‘funny.’ That doesn’t mean she can handle heavy drama.”

  “If she can do comedy, she can do drama. A good actress is a good actress. And besides, curiosity seekers would flock to see her do a drama.” He turned to Mary. “Don’t you agree?”

  “I’m not sure what you’re discussing.”

  “Other actresses, should Lillian be foolish enough to pass on doing The Fortune Hunter.”

  “Might I suggest Sarah Bernhardt or Eleonora Duse? They’re known for drama and are very popular with audiences. Duse is touring the United States as we speak, so the timing could be very fortunate.”

  “Bernhardt and Duse always play to packed theaters regardless of the play. I want my play to be the star. If it also broadens someone’s acting career, that will make its legacy stronger.”

  “You can destroy your play by doing that,” said Dottie.

  “The play will stand on its own. Put her down.”

  That was as far as Dottie wished to take this discussion. Gilbert always welcomed her opinion (especially if she agreed with him), but in the end, the decision was up to him. That was the reality of her job and that was how it would always be. She wrote Marie Dressler’s name on the list.

  As Dottie got up to leave, Mary spoke. “Dottie, if you don’t mind waiting a minute, I have something to impart to the two of you.” Dottie looked at Gilbert, who nodded. “I have eliminated two of the suspects you had suggested, both Lillian Russell and John Smith: one because all sense tells me she’s clearly not guilty and the other because he was dead when it happened.”

  “See?” Gilbert chimed in. “I knew Lillian was innocent. She likes me too much.”

  Mary didn’t want to burst his bubble, so she didn’t respond.

  Dottie shook her head, taking it in. “John is dead. I told him this business would kill him someday, and it apparently did.”

  “I still need to find Harvey Iglehart and I’m sure I will. I was wondering, though, if either of you had thought of some other possibilities.”

  “Sorry, Mary, I haven’t the foggiest,” said Gilbert.

  “What about Mark Lindstrom?” Dottie suggested.

  “The director?” After Dottie’s nod, he continued. “He’s dead, too.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know.”

  “Cancer. A miserable death for a miserable person.”

  “Yes, he was difficult. And your former accountant, Henry…” She paused, trying to remember his last name.

  “Malamud. He went batty. Moved to Africa, became a naturalist.”

  “Is there anyone else?” Mary asked. Their silence was enough of an answer. “Thank you. If you happen to think of anyone, please let me know. I’m sorry to have interrupted your business.”

  “Not a problem in the slightest. Dottie here was just leaving to find a roller copier to have copies made of my play so this nonsense can never happen again.” He looked at Dottie pointedly. “Weren’t you, Dottie?”

  “Yes, of course.” With that, she left.

  “So your play was recovered.”

  “Keith and Albee completed the transaction yesterday without incident. I don’t understand.”

  “Unfortunately, I do.” They exchanged goodbyes and Mary left for her second chore of the day.

  Finding Russell wasn’t as easy as it had been the first time. As she had done earlier, Mary followed the food trail, hoping to “bump into” her and Diamond Jim as they overindulged themselves. They weren’t at Sherry’s, which relieved Roger, who finally got the opportunity to show Mary the door. There was no sign of them at Delmonico’s either. The gossip columnists at the newspapers had always kept the public apprised of all the watering holes of Diamond Jim and Russell, so Mary had a list of where she needed to go.

  Luchow’s was a German restaurant located on East Fourteenth Street, and it was there that Mary found Diamond Jim gorging on his lunch. Instead of Russell, Diamond Jim’s tablemates were Stanford White, James Breese, and Lance Fuller.

  With a mouth full of food, Diamond Jim greeted her. “Mary, good to see you. How come we always meet when I’m eating?”

  “That begs the question: when are you not eating?”

  Diamond Jim paused for a moment, then emitted a boisterous laugh that reverberated throughout the restaurant. “I like you, Mary. You’re full of piss and vinegar.” He turned to the others, indicating Mary with his knife, and started a round of introductions before White cut him off.

  “I’ve already had the extreme pleasure,” he said with his patented wily smile.

  After the requisite pleasantries were exchanged, Mary got to the point. “I’m looking for Lillian. I have a favor to ask.”

  “I’m sure she’ll oblige. I informed her of our little escapade the other night and she was very impressed.” Diamond Jim specifically avoided saying last night because that would reveal that they were the ones who warned Roosevelt to leave the bachelor party.

  White’s ears perked up. “You and Miss Handley had an escapade?”

  “Sorry, Stanford, I don’t divulge private matters.”

  “And it was private, too. Now you really have my interest.”

  “Don’t be concerned with what we do, Mr. White,” said Mary. “I’m sure our escapades pale in comparison to yours.”

  “I would be more than willing to accept that analysis if I knew the nature of the escapade.” Mary wasn’t responding, so he turned to Diamond Jim.

  “Sorry,” said Diamond Jim. “Like I said, I don’t divulge private matters.”

  “Hogwash, Jim. What about you and that woman who snuck into the Turkish baths?”

  “That wasn’t private. That was an event upon the likes of which legends are made.”

  White, Diamond Jim, and Breese laughed. “You’re right. I stand corrected.”

  Fuller interrupted. “Gentlemen, might I remind you that a lady is present.”

  “Don’t be concerned about me,” said Mary. “I’ve been to a Turkish bath and found the talk far exceeded the substance.”

  “Really?” replied White, who never backed down from any challenge, especially one involving an attractive woman. “I guess that depends on who and what you saw.”

  “Stanford,” began Fuller.

  “Yes, Lance?”

  “We all know how incredibly charming you are, but this lady has a job to do. May I suggest you allow her to do it?”

  “Why, Lance, I wouldn’t dream of stopping her. Continue, Miss Handley.”

  “Actually, I’m the one who should continue,” said Diamond Jim. “Lillian is at her home on Seventy-Seventh Street between West End and Riverside Drive. I—er—I know exactly where it is, but I can never remember the number. What is it again?”

  As Diamond Jim searched his mind for the address, Fuller spoke. “I attended a party at her house for her last show.” He turned to Mary. “I’m going uptown. Allow me to drop you.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Fuller.”

  “Please, Lance.” He smiled. “And might I voice my complete sympathies?”

  “For what?”

  Breese jumped in. “I believe Lance here is referring to the murder of your husband in Prospect Park.”

  Mary was about to respond but Fuller beat her to it. “It was near the park, not in it.”

  “Thank you,” Mary said. “The newspapers got it wrong and I’ve been burdened with correcting people ever since.”

  “That’s because most people only read headlines, whereas I read the whole article. Shall we go?”

  Intrigued, she looked at Fuller. �
��Yes, let’s do.” Mary thanked Jim, then nodded to the others in farewell. “Gentlemen.”

  With that, she and Fuller left. Almost gloating, Breese turned to White.

  “Well, Stanford, it looks like Lance completely outmaneuvered you.”

  “Don’t be so sure. There is plenty of game left and I have superior moves.”

  “There’s less game left than you think. You’re about to be blindsided with a checkmate.”

  Wishing to end this conversation, Diamond Jim interrupted. “Speaking of game, I wonder if they have any more duck.”

  As he waved the waiter over, he caught a glimpse of White. If it were possible to see the wheels turning in a man’s mind, Diamond Jim saw just that.

  13

  The carriage ride to Lillian Russell’s house was pleasant. Mary found Fuller to be an attractive and intelligent man. In the middle of her analysis, she stopped herself. There was absolutely no possible way she could consider a relationship so soon, and she labeled it more of an unemotional observation.

  “Mary, you seem to be a very nice woman, so I need to warn you about Stanford.”

  “I’ve met my share of flirts. I think I know how to handle men like Stanford White.”

  “He’s no ordinary flirt.”

  “Flirting depends on how receptive the other person is, and he won’t find me willing.”

  “ ‘Willing’ is subjective.”

  “I highly doubt that.”

  “Just be careful.”

  He had piqued her curiosity, and she couldn’t let that go. “What do you mean?”

  Fuller looked around, restless, uncomfortable with what he was about to say. “Stanford is my friend, and there’s a limit to what I can divulge. Let’s just say that there’s a bit of a rogue in him.”