Murder on Pleasant Avenue

by Victoria Thompson

  “Do you really think she was poisoned?”

  “How likely is it that she just suddenly got sick and died several days after her husband?”

  “You’re right, that does sound suspicious.”

  “And the precinct detective told Mr. Malloy he’s welcome to investigate, so that’s exactly what he’s going to do.”

  “He can’t investigate in that neighborhood. He’ll need my help.”

  “You’ll have to talk to him about that. Oh, and we saw Mr. and Mrs. Cassidi, and they told us a kidnapped boy was just released last night.”

  “Petrosino will be happy to hear that.”

  “We can’t tell him, or at least he can’t investigate. The family didn’t go to the police.”

  Gino muttered something that might have been a curse.

  “But,” Maeve continued doggedly, “Mrs. Cassidi is going to arrange for Mrs. Malloy to meet with the boy and his mother to see if he can tell us anything that will help locate the place where they hold the victims.”

  “Why Mrs. Malloy?”

  “So no one will think they went to the police, I guess. The Black Hand could still take revenge, even though they returned the boy safely.”

  “You’re right. But who would have killed Mrs. Esposito and why?”

  “I have no idea, and I’m heartbroken.”

  “You didn’t even know the woman,” Gino reminded her.

  “I know, but I’d just convinced Mr. Malloy that she was the one who killed her husband.”

  Gino thought that was hilarious.

  “Don’t laugh. It made perfect sense.”

  “I’m sure it did. Who did he think did it?”

  “Balducci or one of his gang.”

  “Which makes a lot more sense. We’ll have to find somebody who actually saw them do it and isn’t afraid of the Black Hand in order to prove it, though.”

  “Which is why it would have been so nice if Mrs. Esposito had done it.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Sarah blamed herself for Mrs. Esposito’s death.

  “Don’t be silly,” Malloy said. “We don’t even know yet if she was murdered.”

  He’d waited until after supper to tell her the news, when Maeve had taken the children up to bed and Gino had mumbled something about needing to work on the motorcar and sneaked out to the garage. Neither of them wanted to be there when she found out, she realized.

  “But you’re pretty sure she was murdered, or you wouldn’t have tracked down the coroner and bribed him to do an autopsy.”

  “All right, I am,” he admitted sheepishly, “but you didn’t kill her.”

  “But I involved her in all this.”

  “She was already involved. She was married to Esposito.”

  “You don’t understand,” Sarah said. “I drew attention to her by confronting her in the church. That must have frightened someone.”

  “Do you think she knew who killed her husband?”

  Sarah frowned. Could she have? “She didn’t seem to, and I think Mrs. Cassidi and I made it pretty clear we thought she’d done it. If she did know or even suspected, why wouldn’t she have told us, if only to clear herself?”

  “She surely would have, so she probably didn’t know then,” Malloy said reasonably. “But maybe she figured it out later. Maybe she even said something to the real killer.”

  “And then invited him over for a visit so he could poison her.” Sarah shook her head. “That doesn’t make any sense at all.”

  “So you see, it’s not your fault.”

  “I’m not sure how that proves it’s not my fault. I think it just proves that Esposito’s killer had no reason to kill her.”

  “No reason that we know of, at least not yet,” he added.

  “And now we’ll never find out because she’s dead.”

  “Maybe somebody saw whoever it was who killed her. Hardly anything happens in that neighborhood that at least a dozen people don’t see.”

  “But will they tell you anything?”

  “I’m going to take Gino in his disguise. He might be able to get something out of the neighbors.”

  “This case is impossible. Every time we think we have it figured out, we . . .” She gestured helplessly.

  “A boy that the Black Hand had kidnapped came home last night,” he said, probably to distract her.

  He succeeded. “He did? That’s wonderful.”

  “Especially because Mrs. Cassidi thinks she can get the boy to talk to us.”

  “Maybe he can give us more information about where he was held than Mrs. Cassidi did,” Sarah said, warming to the thought. “Even if we could just stop these kidnappings, that would be something.”

  “Mrs. Cassidi didn’t think it was a good idea for me to talk to him, though, in case the Black Hand gets wind of it. They might not be too happy if the boy is talking to the police.”

  “You’re not the police.”

  “They probably wouldn’t see much difference. But she thought the boy’s mother might let him talk to you.”

  “Me? Oh, that’s an excellent idea. I’m a nurse. I’ll check him to make sure he’s in good health.”

  “That’s what I was thinking. You’ll take your medical bag. Mrs. Cassidi will send you a message about when you can meet. And Sarah?”

  “Yes?”

  “None of this is your fault.”

  XI

  While Sarah waited at home to hear from Mrs. Cassidi and Maeve dropped Catherine off at school on her way to the office, Frank and Gino—in his disguise—went to Italian Harlem to question the Espositos’ neighbors. They found out very little, because even though Gino spoke Italian, they didn’t know him and didn’t trust him, but one of the neighbors did tell them where Mrs. Esposito’s current maid lived. The Espositos, it seemed, had a difficult time keeping help, as more than one of the neighbors was only too happy to mention. No one would live at a gangster’s house, so they had no live-in help, and the daily girls they did manage to hire often got frightened and left without notice.

  Frank and Gino had to take the El back downtown to where the maid lived with her family. Because she was a Negro, she and her family lived in one of the worst tenements and paid higher rent than white people paid for better tenements. Landlords knew the Negroes didn’t have many housing options, so they charged what they wanted and never did any upkeep on the buildings because their tenants couldn’t leave.

  Frank had to lie to get someone to tell them which flat Mary White lived in because the people there didn’t trust him for the same reasons the people in Italian Harlem didn’t trust him. To overcome their reluctance, he told them Mary hadn’t received her salary, and he’d been tasked with delivering her final pay. That led them to a rear flat on the fourth floor. The older woman who opened the door looked terrified when she saw them.

  “We paid the rent,” she insisted, her gaze darting nervously between Frank and his odd companion.

  “I’m not from the landlord. You see, well, Mrs. Esposito didn’t give Mary her final pay. I’m delivering her salary to her,” Frank lied, although he was perfectly willing to give Mary what was owed to her if that would motivate her to answer his questions. “Is Mary here?”

  The woman looked shocked, but at least she seemed to believe Frank. “I . . . Mary!” she called.

  A young woman came up behind her, obviously reluctant and just as frightened as the woman who must be her mother. Her eyes were wide and her lip was trembling. She looked as if she had been crying, which would be understandable considering the shock she’d had yesterday.

  “Miss White,” Frank said, pulling off his hat in the hope that a show of respect would put her at ease, at least a little. “I think Mrs. Esposito owed you some money, and of course you should be paid for yesterday, since you made the trip up. It w
asn’t your fault that Mrs. Esposito was . . . Well, it was a terrible thing, but not your fault, so you shouldn’t have to suffer. May we come in?” Frank looked around meaningfully at the other doors in the corridor, which had opened during this brief exchange as the neighbors tried to hear what these white men had come to say.

  The two women exchanged a glance. Mary shrugged, still looking uncertain, but her mother stood back so the two men could enter. Gino pulled off his hat as well and nodded to the two ladies as he walked by them into the flat. His disguise must have confused them, since he looked like he should be sitting in an Italian restaurant drinking grappa and gossiping with the other old men instead of accompanying someone who looked like a rich Irish cop.

  Frank glanced around the kitchen, which was sparsely furnished but immaculate. If Mary kept Mrs. Esposito’s house this clean, she’d been lucky to have her. “Can we sit down?” He gestured to the kitchen table with its four mismatched chairs.

  “If you like,” Mrs. White said, still frightened but now equally confused. She was a plump woman whose face showed a life of struggle. Her dress was faded but clean and pressed, her apron blindingly white.

  Frank and Gino took two of the seats and waited while Mary and her mother took the other two.

  “That must have been a shock when you found Mrs. Esposito yesterday, Mary,” Frank said, using the gentle tone he always took with his daughter, Catherine.

  “Yes, sir, it was,” Mary said softly. She looked about eighteen, her face still smooth with the beauty of youth and innocence.

  “Can you tell me where you found her and what you saw?”

  Mary blinked in surprise. “Why do you want to know that?”

  Her mother shot her a warning look. “You answer the man, Mary. He gonna pay you.”

  Mary straightened. “I found her in the . . .” She gave her mother a pained glance. “In the bathroom.”

  “I heard she’d been sick.”

  “Yes, sir. Real sick. I . . .” She lowered her gaze to where her hands were clenched on the table. “I was glad nobody told me to clean it up.”

  “Was she still dressed or in her nightclothes?”

  Plainly, she found this a strange question, but she said, “Still dressed.”

  Frank nodded. “Did you notice anything else? Anything strange or out of the ordinary?”

  Mary shifted uneasily in her chair. “The front door was open. When I got there, I mean. She always kept it locked, and I’d have to knock. But it was open just a little, like somebody went out and didn’t close it all the way.”

  “So you just went in without knocking,” Frank said.

  “Oh no, sir. I knocked, but she didn’t answer, so that’s when I went in.”

  “And what did you see? Not Mrs. Esposito, at least not at first, I’d guess.”

  “No, sir. I saw . . . It was strange. I went in the kitchen and there was a tray with tea things on it.”

  “Tea things?”

  “Yes, sir. A pot and two cups. They was used, like she’d had company and then brought the tray back in the kitchen for me to wash up the things later.”

  “And did you wash them?”

  “Yes, sir, I did.”

  Frank managed not to sigh. So much for testing the cups for poison. “Then what did you do?”

  “I started cleaning, like I always do, but when I got upstairs, I smelled . . .” She glanced at her mother again.

  “I’m sure we all know what you smelled,” Frank said gently. “So you went to investigate.”

  “I thought maybe the toilet was broke or something, but then I saw her on the floor and I was so scared. I ran out and went next door and somebody went for the police and . . .” She was crying again.

  “That’s all right, Miss White. Thank you for telling me.”

  Mrs. White reached over and patted her daughter’s hands where they were still clenched on the table, but she shot Frank a dirty look. “Why’d you need to know all that for anyways? She don’t like talking about it. It’s a horrible thing, even if that lady was married to a crook.”

  “I’m sorry, but it was important to know exactly what happened.”

  “Important to who?”

  “To me,” Frank said with a small smile. “Miss White, how much did Mrs. Esposito owe you?”

  Mary’s head snapped up at that and she glanced at her mother for some kind of assistance.

  “Tell the man, Mary,” her mother said.

  “She owed me a dollar from before.”

  “And for yesterday?”

  “Fifty cents.”

  Frank thought that was criminal. He pulled out a five-dollar bill, a week’s wages for a working man, and slid it across the table to her.

  “I don’t have no change, mister,” she said in dismay.

  “You don’t need any. That’s for your trouble. I’m sorry you were the one who found Mrs. Esposito.”

  Mary sniffed and snatched up the money before Frank could change his mind, stuffing it into her skirt pocket. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Who are you, mister?” the mother asked suspiciously. “You don’t look Italian.” She couldn’t help glancing at Gino, who certainly did, even though he hadn’t uttered a word.

  “I’m Frank Malloy.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out one of his business cards. One of the expensive, engraved ones. Mary White deserved that much. He laid it on the table, but neither woman made a move to pick it up.

  “You work for Mr. Esposito?” the mother asked with another meaningful glance at Gino.

  “No. I’m trying to figure out who killed him, though. I don’t suppose either of you would have any ideas.” Frank looked at Mary, who was focused on her hands again. “You didn’t happen to hear Mrs. Esposito say anything about it, did you, Mary?”

  Mary’s eyes filled with fear again, and she shook her head. But maybe she was lying. Why would she be so afraid if she really hadn’t heard anything?

  Frank tried another tack. “People said Mrs. Esposito had a diamond ring or something like that, something valuable that her husband had given her. Did you ever see it?”

  Mary shook her head again. “He had a safe. Mr. Esposito. It was big. I think he kept his money in it. If she had anything like that, she would’ve kept it in there, too, I guess.”

  “You never saw her wearing anything like that?”

  “Mrs. Esposito, she didn’t like to show off. She said the devil gets jealous or something like that. She was Catholic,” she added, as if that explained a lot of strange behavior.

  Frank nodded, thinking of his mother. “I guess you wouldn’t know if Mrs. Esposito had any enemies.”

  Mary gave this a few moments’ thought. “Nobody liked her, I know that. The neighbors wouldn’t speak to her on the street. That’s why I was surprised to see the tray. I couldn’t think who would visit her.”

  “You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, girl,” her mother said.

  Mary just shrugged.

  “I know what you mean, though,” Frank said. “If we could figure out who it was, we’d know who killed her.”

  “She was killed?” Mrs. White echoed in horror. “Didn’t nobody say that.”

  “We aren’t sure, but I think she may have been poisoned,” Frank said.

  “I never poisoned her,” Mary cried in renewed terror. “Please, sir, I wasn’t even there!”

  “I know that. Don’t worry, Mary. No one is accusing you. I think whoever visited her the day before did it. That’s why I was wondering if you had any idea who it was.”

  “None at all,” she claimed, and Frank knew she wouldn’t say, even if she did. She was too frightened of him and men like him.

  Frank thanked them and they stood to leave. “Oh, Mary, one more thing. You said Mrs. Esposito was still dressed. Was she wearing a house dress or was she
dressed up, like she’d been expecting company?”

  “Just a house dress, mister.”

  Frank thanked her again, and they left. They pretended not to notice the eyes staring out of the partially opened doors as they descended the stairs. Mary and her mother would probably be visited by a lot of curious neighbors.

  “So at least we know how Mrs. Esposito could have been poisoned,” Gino remarked when they reached the sidewalk. “Assuming she really was poisoned.”

  “I’m going to visit the coroner tomorrow to see if he found anything. He seemed to know what I was talking about when I mentioned testing for arsenic, although I wish I could’ve called in our old pal Jerusalem Moody. At least I know for sure that he knows what he’s doing.”

  “Yes, too bad he’s so far downtown from Italian Harlem.”

  “We’ll just have to hope this Unger is at least half as good as Moody.” Which they both knew wasn’t likely, but they could still hope.

  * * *

  * * *

  A few more days like this, with nothing to do but think, and Maeve’s typing would be at the expert level. She pulled the sheet of paper, on which she had just typed hundreds of words copied from a book, out of the typewriter and tossed it into the wastepaper basket beside her desk. Not a single person had even walked down their hall, much less come in to consult with them that day. Maeve was very much afraid she would die of boredom soon. Why did everyone else have something important to do and she was just sitting here, typing nonsense onto paper she would throw away?

  A day had passed since Mrs. Esposito’s body had been found. Surely, rumors were swirling by now. Maybe Teo had heard something. Maybe someone at the settlement house had heard something. Would they think it strange if she showed up again, snooping around? Would anyone even talk to her now?

  But she didn’t have to snoop around, she realized. They had identified someone at the settlement who had a very good reason for wanting Nunzio Esposito dead—especially if Jane Harding had told him who had kidnapped her and why. If Jane was the woman being held in the flat and McWilliam knew it, then he could have gone crazy and who would blame him? Mr. Malloy didn’t think Esposito would have let a man get close enough to stab him, but he probably wouldn’t have been afraid of someone like McWilliam, whom he would have considered weak and harmless.