And Mary was still basking in the apparent success of her matchmaking at the concert hall. Of course, she liked Aksel. But she needed to get rid of him, as it were, and Eliza Kozlow had the look of someone who could handle the job. It was early days, though, and there could be many a slip between love at first sight and the altar.
By the time the sharp rapping came on the apartment door, Mary had spent a couple of hours alternating between annoyance and worry. Where was Edmond and why was he so tardy?
She rushed to the door.
There he stood—tall, dark, lean, and looming well over her. And so handsome that Mary’s knees almost buckled. He had a single red rose in his left hand and offered it to her.
Immediately all was forgiven.
“So sorry I’m late, Mary,” he said with an endearing, crooked smile, as she took the flower. “Had quite a time getting away from the party. And the streetcar connections took forever. Mind the thorns now.”
There came a whiff of beer on his breath. Mary knew he’d spent the afternoon at a reunion of his old artistic acquaintances. Apparently it had been quite the convivial gathering.
“Think nothing of it,” she said. “I’m just glad you’re safe and sound and here.” She took him by the hand and drew him into the apartment. “Come in. I have a terrific spread for us.”
But when the door clicked shut, all thoughts of food and wine flew right out of her head, as Edmond wrapped his arms around her, leaned down, and planted a long, slow kiss on her lips. By the time he stopped, Mary felt positively lightheaded. She set down the rose, which she had been carefully holding in her left hand.
“Did you have much to eat at the party?” she said, leading him into the parlor.
“Well, no, as a matter of fact.” Edmond took off his jacket and fedora and threw them on a chair. “I didn’t want to spoil my appetite for our little picnic repast.” He sat on the sofa, elbows resting on his knees, chin resting on his hands. “I figured I’d only had a couple of beers, but now that I think about it, someone was always refilling my glass.”
It might not be wise to open that bottle of claret, Mary thought, heading for the kitchen. She returned with the Virginia ham and cheddar on one plate, and the bread on another. She went back for the necessary utensils and the liver pâté. When she returned, Edmond had slid off the sofa onto the green plaid blanket. He was uncorking the Château Dauzac. Oh well, she thought, taking the bottle and pouring a couple of inches into each goblet.
Edmond swirled the purple liquid, sniffed it, and took a sip. “Oh my. What a treat! That’s lovely, just lovely. Much nicer than the swill I usually drink. You sure do know how to treat a slightly inebriated dauber.”
“Not too inebriated, I hope,” Mary said, only half-jesting.
Edmond looked a bit apologetic. “The thing is, I visited with so many people that I wasn’t paying attention to how much I was drinking. You should have been there, Mary. There was talk of forming an artists’ guild. You know, to support each other and teach folks how to make their own art.”
As he talked, Mary put a slice of ham and chunk of cheese on his plate, along with a hearty piece of bread.
“And my friend Randall just sold a big canvas to one of the Washburns. The most money he’s ever made. Five hundred dollars. Do you believe it?” He stopped for a few bites. “Oh, and you’ll never guess who was there. Eloise Memminger and Nan Burton. Remember them?”
Mary did indeed. Fellow students in the painting class that Edmond had taught at the Minneapolis School of Fine Arts. It was Mary’s introduction to him, nearly a year and a half earlier. He had gotten tangled up in a criminal investigation. On her very first case, Mary had saved him from jail and became quite, quite fond of him.
As Edmond chattered away about the artists’ gathering, Mary nibbled and drank. After a while, she took up the conversation, as Edmond ate. She told him all about her day at the university and how much fun it had been.
“Oh, and before I forget it,” Edmond said, “I wanted to invite you to a little dinner party at Herr Neumann’s next Friday evening. He’s hosting a friend from Munich, a former student, and said I ought to invite you. Mrs. Harrison, too, if she’d like to tag along.”
“Oh, I’d love to come,” Mary said, picturing a table brimming with hearty German fare. “And I’ll ask Jeanette if she’s available.”
As Edmond continued to jabber away, Mary smiled to herself. He seemed so excited, as though being around other artists had filled him with fresh energy. When he finally finished talking and eating, he took a few sips of wine and smiled mischievously at her.
“This is almost like Manet’s ‘Luncheon on the Grass.’ Only there’re just two of us, not four. And no one’s naked.” He made a wicked but silly grin. “Yet.”
In spite of herself, Mary felt a blush in her cheeks. But she wasn’t about to let his little tease pass without comment. “Yes. I’ve seen Monsieur Manet’s painting. It seems that unclad young woman is very warm-blooded indeed, compared to the fully dressed men in their jackets and trousers.”
Edmond laughed and slipped closer to her. She slid up next to him and he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. They sat for a few long seconds like that and then he cupped his hand under her chin and gently pulled her face toward his.
They kissed, a passionate smoldering kiss, Mary arching her back and pressing into him. He ran his hand over her waist and hip, where it lingered. Then he lightly caressed her bosom, producing in her something like a mild electric shock.
As he twisted his body toward her, Edmond somehow kicked over one of the goblets sitting near him. It rolled off the blanket and onto the tile of the hearth, dripping its remaining liquid.
“Blast it!” he cursed.
She pulled away from him. “Not to worry, it’s all right. Let me take the dishes back to the kitchen. It’ll be just a few seconds.”
She gave him a peck on the cheek and gathered up goblets and plates, as many as she could carry. She stacked them in the sink and went back for the rest, bringing a towel and damp rag.
Edmond was lying on his back on the blanket, his hands resting on his stomach.
“I’ll just wipe this up and be right back,” she said, smiling over at him.
But as she did, Mary noticed that his eyes were shut, his mouth slightly open, his breathing slow and regular. He was dead asleep.
“Edmond,” she said, nudging him gently on the shoulder. “Edmond? Wake up.” She didn’t want to speak too loudly. She nudged him again.
But it was to no avail. He snorted and rolled onto his side.
The beer and the wine had done their job too well.
She placed a pillow under his head and covered him with another blanket. Sitting for a while on the sofa, she watched him intently, hoping he might revive. It struck her how innocent people look when they sleep—almost childlike.
She sighed. What are you playing at, Mary MacDougall, she thought. You’re toying with the man, leading him on. Making him think who knows what. That you want to spend your life with him? Have his children? Grow old together?
She finally rose and went to bed, certain the night would hold little slumber for her.
* * *
Mary was sitting at the kitchen table the next morning, nibbling on a piece of toast and reading the Sunday newspaper, when she heard Edmond stirring in the parlor. A few minutes later he appeared in the doorway. Though he had obviously attempted to freshen up—his hair combed, his tie straightened—his face looked a bit ashen.
“My head hurts something fierce.” He stood there awkwardly, his coat and hat in his hand. “I made a terrible mess of the evening, didn’t I?”
Mary couldn’t help but smile at his forlorn expression. “Doesn’t surprise me, you having a headache. And I’d imagine you’re feeling a bit stiff, sleeping on the floor like that. A piece of buttered toast and a cup of strong coffee would do you some good. Sit down and let me fix them up.”
Edmond did as instructed, laying
his coat and hat on another chair. “I should have had more to eat and less to drink at Randall’s party.”
Mary set a cup of coffee down in front of him. “It’s okay, Edmond. We’ll just have to try again some other day.”
“But that’s the problem, isn’t it, Mary?” he said as she tended to the toast. “I thought when I came to Duluth, we’d be able to spend more time together, just the two of us. But it hasn’t worked out, has it? You always seem so busy.”
Mary placed his toast on a plate, avoiding his intense stare, and put it in front of him, along with a butter dish. “It does seem that way, doesn’t it? But with the agency starting up and all…”
“I meant to ask you something last night. Did you manage to find your watch thief?” he asked, scraping butter across the toast.
Mary plopped back down into her chair. “The culprit, a certain Beansie MacKenzie, is still at large, but the watch has been recovered. I have a good lead in the matter of the filched felines. We’re looking into a confidence trickster, who may be setting up a young lady and her mother. And then there’s the poor Ostovian prince.”
Edmond stopped in mid-bite and looked at her with concern. “Good heavens, you’re not involved in that business, are you? Neumann says he’s heard rumors of Ostovian assassins in Duluth. I don’t care how clever you are, Mary, you shouldn’t let yourself get anywhere near people like that.”
“Well, I’m only informally involved.” Mary was glad that Detective Sauer wasn’t within earshot as she delivered such a whopper. “I’m feeding the police any information I can glean from the Ostovian priest and his wife.”
Edmond looked perplexed. “Why are you visiting an Ostovian priest?”
“It’s nothing to do with religion,” Mary laughed. “Father Pretrescu is making me a pair of hiking boots.”
The man looked even more confused but just shrugged. “Well, why not? Say, I was wondering, do you have any jam?”
Mary went over to a cabinet and pulled out a pot of marmalade. She set it on the table next to Edmond’s toast. Then he caught her totally by surprise, when he firmly took her wrist and pulled her down onto his lap.
She almost laughed at the awkwardness of it. “I see you’re feeling better, Mr. Roy.”
“I am, Miss MacDougall, thanks to your kind ministrations. Now, I want to tell you about a crazy idea I have.”
“Yes, go on,” Mary said, cuddling up against him. “I’m open to a certain amount of craziness.”
“Yesterday afternoon,” he began, “Randall told me about some people he knows who are starting up an artists’ colony out in Old Monterey. He said I ought to spend a few months there come springtime. I’ll have finished with the Oddfellows and I just heard there’s a chance I can get back my old Minneapolis teaching job over the winter. I could build up some cash.”
Suddenly alarm bells began going off in Mary’s head. “Minneapolis sounds fine. But I can find more work for you in Duluth, Edmond, I’m sure of it. And why would you want to go all the way out to California?”
“For the fun of it,” he said, putting his arms around her waist. “To see something I’ve never seen before. They say the coast is magnificent. And you must come along with me. It’d be grand! The two of us, on our own!”
“Me?” Mary gulped. “In California? What in the world would I do out there?”
Edmond’s face was full of excitement. “You could practice your painting. We could hire a good piano for you. You could hike and ride and explore that glorious countryside. Leave cold Duluth behind for a time.”
“Leave Duluth?” Mary repeated, shaken by the immensity of Edmond’s scheme. “Leave the agency? Abandon my career?”
“Forget about detecting for a while. But if you must, set up shop out there. I’ll bet California could use a sharp lady sleuth.”
“But what about my father? What about Jeanette?”
“I know you’d miss them. But we would be together, just the two of us. With no one demanding our time. No one telling us what to do. No one watching us. No fear of being caught out.”
The idea of spending undistracted weeks with Edmond anywhere certainly had its appeal. But could Mary do something so radical? What kind of bridges would she have to burn to take such a leap? And indeed, what about her career, just now gaining traction?
“What do you say, Mary?”
His look was so earnest, so hopeful.
“I, I, I…” She stood, disengaging from him and taking a deep breath. “I think you need another piece of toast.”
Chapter XVIII
Jeanette was scribbling away in her journal early Sunday evening, when she heard the front door slam. A young woman’s voice called out, “Hullo, anyone home?”
“Only the hired help,” came Emma Beach’s voice, echoing through the big house on Superior Street. “That is, Mrs. Harrison and myself.”
Seated at the desk in the library, Jeanette kept writing until, a moment later, Mary appeared in the door, looking rosy cheeked and invigorated. If she knew what Jeanette was about to say to her, she wouldn’t have looked nearly so jolly.
“I’m back,” Mary said, collapsing onto the dark leather settee next to one of the bookshelves.
“I can see that,” Jeanette replied, putting down her fountain pen. “And how were things in the big city?”
“Oh, just splendid. Lillian and I had a grand time. We took a walking tour of the campus. You wouldn’t believe how it sprawls out, on the bluff above the river. Just beautiful. And all the handsome buildings and masses of students.” The words tumbled out of Mary in a torrent. “I met some of Lillian’s new friends, and at the game we ended up sitting next to a mob of boys from Delta Tau Delta, who were quite insistent we come to their homecoming party. To tell you the truth, I wouldn’t have trusted them as far as I could throw them. I mean, they kept offering us whiskey out of little flasks.”
“My goodness! Scandalous behavior,” Jeanette muttered, with Mary apparently not noticing the mockery in her tone.
“Well, we turned them down, of course. Lillian was determined we go to the shindig at the Gamma Phi Beta sorority, though I think her two friends seemed disappointed at missing out on meeting all those boys.”
“And the sorority party? Was it fun?”
“Oh yes, very much so.”
“Did you notice the two letters from Pittsburgh out on the side table?”
Mary’s eyes widened. “From Pittsburgh? My gosh! What did they say?”
“For heaven’s sake, they’re addressed to you. I don’t open other people’s mail.”
Mary ran out of the room, her shoes clattering down the hallway. She was back in a few winks, clutching two envelopes. Throwing herself back on the settee, she ripped open one of them and pulled out a single sheet of stationery.
“From Tena.” She scanned the note, summing up the contents as she read along. “It went well, as well as can be expected. Father was wary at first, but after he talked with Paul a while, he came to understand that Paul is a proper businessman who just happens to be a photographer. It helped that Paul’s brother manages a manufactory in Chicago and Father knows the firm. Apparently, he was persuaded that Paul wasn’t out to rob Tena blind. The ceremony will take place in December sometime. Then it’s off to Egypt for their honeymoon.”
Jeanette couldn’t help but feel a little envious of Tena. Since Daniel had passed, she had never had the good fortune to find the man who could replace him. She perhaps expected too much. But she wouldn’t compromise. In any worthy match she expected kindness and humor and intelligence. Honesty and concern and basic decency. Daniel had all that and more.
“Now let’s see what Father has to say for himself.” Mary opened the second envelope, read the letter, and laughed. “Typical John MacDougall. A few curt sentences.” She cleared her throat, and, with a bulldog expression, lowered her voice and applied a Scottish burr. “‘Dear Mary. Your aunt is as stubborn as you are and she is not to be dissuaded. I have given her and
her fiancé my blessing. Not that the lack of it would stop Tena. Paul seems a decent sort, as far as I can tell. All best, Father.’”
Jeanette smiled at Mary’s impersonation of her father. Emma arrived with tea and a sandwich—the traveler having missed her supper. Mary updated the housekeeper on the news from Pittsburgh. After Emma, left Jeanette decided the time had come to talk turkey.
“Let me tell you about what I did,” she began, “after you left. I worked most of Friday on the Twentieth Century Club’s letter. And, of course, I worked on Saturday, as well. But when lunch rolled around, I felt the need for a little constitutional. One gets stiff sitting in front of a typewriter all day.”
“Naturally,” Mary said, taking a bite of her sardine sandwich.
“And what should I walk by, but the Oddfellows Hall.”
Mary chewed for a few seconds and swallowed. “Oh, really?”
“Yes, and I went upstairs to the meeting room to see what kind of progress your friend Mr. Roy had made on the mural. And guess what I found?”
“What?” Mary’s eyes were focused nervously on the sandwich, not on Jeanette.
“Mr. Roy was not there. But Herr Neumann was. He told me Mr. Roy had taken a few days off to visit friends in Minneapolis. What a coincidence—you and he being in the same city at the same time. I don’t suppose you bumped into him down there, did you?”
Mary looked up at Jeanette for a few long seconds, straightening her spine. “I didn’t bump into him in Minneapolis. I bumped into him in St. Paul. In our apartment at the Collonade, in fact. And to answer the question you most certainly want to ask, other than chatting and eating, nothing happened. The truth is, he’d been drinking all afternoon and fell asleep on the parlor floor.” Mary jutted out her chin. “And I must say, as an adult with my own career and resources, I’m getting a little annoyed with constantly being treated like a child.”
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