A Fatal Fondness

by Richard Audry

  Jeanette could tell that Mrs. Fesler—having digested the notion that the man believed he was able to consort with a goddess—was feeling not a little bit peeved. One couldn’t blame her, but Jeanette found herself agreeing with Mary’s notion of clemency for Mr. Pettyjohn.

  “He’s really very sorry, you know,” she put in, “and all he wants is to remain a member of your club.”

  “I have to confess, I’m not sure what to do about our Mr. Pettyjohn. I’m not sure at all,” Mrs. Fesler said. “But please, Miss MacDougall, do tell me what I owe you and I’ll settle my account.”

  Mary turned to Jeanette. “Do you know off the top of your head?”

  “Afraid not,” Jeanette answered. “The rate is five dollars a day. So no more than twenty-five or thirty dollars, for five or six days. I need to consult our logs.”

  Mrs. Fesler grimaced. “That’s a lot of money.” She bent over and snatched up Princess, cuddling the animal. “I hope you’re grateful for all the trouble I’ve gone through to get you back, you little imp.” She winked at Mary. “She isn’t, you know. Grateful, that is.”

  “Of course she isn’t,” Jeanette laughed. “She’s a cat.”

  Chapter XXVII

  As they rode away from Mrs. Fesler’s house, Mary was determined to enjoy the rest of the day and not ruminate about poor Beansie and would-be rippers and whatnot. But she couldn’t help seeing, in her mind’s eye, the blade of that automatic knife flick out. She shuddered inside. What was to stop the man from making another run at her? The only thing for it was to be on constant guard and pack a revolver in her bag.

  Thankfully, yesterday’s dismal dampness had fled in the night like a thief, and good riddance. The afternoon was simply too glorious for anything but sheer pleasure—sunny, warmish, and brimming with autumnal color everywhere. A rare outburst of summer in mid-October.

  And she’d be with Edmond that evening at Herr Neumann’s dinner party. Normally, that would have brightened her mood even more. Normally, she loved a nice party. But she had a premonition that tonight they’d be settling the matter of Monterey. And Mary knew that neither of them would be happy with the outcome.

  “Do you think she’ll let Mr. Pettyjohn off?” Jeanette asked, as Bill whistled a jaunty tune up in the driver’s seat.

  “I do hope so,” Mary answered. “I believe he’s learned his lesson, don’t you?”

  “Well, I think he knows not to snatch cats from people’s houses any more. As you suggested to him, he ought to take in animals that manifest the goddess and need a home. Everyone benefits.”

  “Indeed. Our furry friends need roofs over their heads.”

  “I’ll send Mrs. Fesler’s bill out as soon as I have my new typewriter. Another Remington will do fine.”

  Mary smiled. She had been waiting for Jeanette to bring up the matter of the trashed typewriter. Her cousin seemed inordinately fond of the machine, which Mary found amusing. After all, wasn’t it just a collection of metallic bits and pieces? Nothing of great value, really.

  “Order a new one whenever you want,” she said. “Are you certain you don’t want to go to the dinner party tonight? It would take your mind off your poor, dead Remington. And Edmond specifically told me you’re more than welcome. Frau Neumann has been marinating the sauerbraten for a whole week. It sounds absolutely delicious, don’t you think?”

  “It does. But thank you, no. I have a stack of letters to reply to. And Detective Sauer loaned me a new book he just finished. By a young writer named Joe… John… No.” Jeanette paused to summon up the name. “Jack. London. His first novel, apparently. About a headstrong young woman who goes to the Yukon against her family’s wishes.”

  “Well, headstrong young women certainly can make life interesting for their families, don’t you think?”

  Jeanette raised one eyebrow. “Yes, they certainly can. By the way, thank you for informing me that you’re seeing Edmond. I’m glad our little talk made an impression. And I’ll be quite relieved when you tell your father that Edmond is in town. Full disclosure, don’t they call it?”

  When they arrived home, Mary found three items waiting for her in the front hallway. A letter from Father, a letter from Tena, and the expected box of hankies from Mrs. Petrescu. She grabbed them all and headed upstairs, ripping open the note from Tena as she went.

  Mary’s aunt wrote that their intimate nuptials would be held in Tena’s own parlor the week after Christmas—presided over by an Allegheny County judge whose wife was a friend of hers. Then, after New Year’s, the newlyweds were heading off to Egypt for their honeymoon. Tena said they intended to make a trip to Duluth in the springtime, and she hoped that Mary would be there. Paul had told her that Edmond was going to California in the spring, and that he hoped to bring Mary with him. Did she really intend to accompany him? Very bold, indeed. Had she broached the subject with her father?

  Mary was instantly incensed. What was Edmond thinking, putting that notion in Paul’s head? Yet more reason to make her position clear and final, this evening!

  Next, she scanned Father’s dispatch. Much of it had to do with boring details of a deal he had made to become a partner in a Maine timber venture. He said he should be home on or about the twenty-fourth.

  Truth be told, Mary would be happy to see the old grouch. The house always seemed a bit empty when he wasn’t around. She did need to figure out a way to tell him about Edmond being in town, but she had another week to ponder that.

  She set the two letters on her dresser next to the hankie box that Mrs. Petrescu had sent. When she finished dressing, she pulled out her small beaded handbag and put her Smith & Wesson .38 into it. Too bulky, she decided. And what if someone caught a glimpse of it? Then she pulled out her new .32, another Smith & Wesson. It nestled quite demurely in the handbag. After her encounter with that Ostovian thug, she had no intention of sallying forth unarmed in coming days. She would not be caught out helpless again.

  * * *

  The Neumann house was about eight blocks up the hill. It was nondescript on the outside but bursting with art and music inside. While Fraulein Neumann played Grieg on the baby grand—quite handsomely, in fact—her father showed Mary around the place. Many of his own pieces graced the walls, along with works by friends and students. He introduced her to the guest of honor, his former student, now a successful landscapist living in Munich. Mary recognized several local artists in attendance, along with a couple of well-heeled collectors. The German wine seemed to have put everyone in a convivial mood.

  It amused Mary to find Edmond hard at work in the kitchen, his sleeves rolled up, peeling potatoes for Frau Neumann. “Usually all thumbs at this sort of thing,” he laughed, “but no serious wounds so far. Go wait for me out on the back porch. I’ll bring some wine. If you’re hungry, there are pears on the table.”

  “But take care,” Frau Neumann put in with a grin, “to leave plenty of room for sauerbraten.”

  Mary made her way to the rear of the house, greeting people as she went. She stepped outside into a lovely space that glowed with autumnal colors in the early evening’s light. In the crisp air, she caught a smoky whiff of leaves being burned somewhere nearby. She sat at the table and picked up one of the pears—enjoying the spot and relishing the beauty of the moment. A few minutes later, Edmond joined her, bearing two goblets of white wine.

  “Isn’t it pleasant?” he said, sitting down next to her and handing her the wine.

  “Delightful.” Mary put aside the uneaten pear and took the glass. “I could stay out here forever.”

  “You wouldn’t rather be chasing some bank robber?”

  “No,” she said adamantly. “Tonight I’d let him steal all the gold in the vault.”

  “Well then, I hope you don’t mind if I steal one of these.” He leaned over and gently kissed her.

  “Very nice,” she said, savoring the unexpectedness of it. “As kissing bandits go, you’re a wily one. Hope you’ve no plans to do it professionally.”


  “No, strictly an amateur when it comes to smooching.” He leaned back in his chair, grinning. “But competent, I hope.”

  “Oh, yes indeed,” Mary nodded with a coy smile.

  “Speaking of my profession, the art school in Minneapolis does want me to teach again. The scandal of last year has been forgiven.” He took a sip of his wine. “I told them I could fill in over the winter, but I’m off to California in April.” His eyes met Mary’s and his expression turned serious. “Say you’ll come with me. You must!”

  Despite the calming effects of the wine, Mary felt her frustration flaring. “We do need to talk about that, Edmond. Apparently Paul and Tena are under the impression that I’ve already agreed to head west with you.”

  A look of dismay came over his face. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned it when I wrote Paul. I hope I didn’t get you in hot water.”

  Mary shook her head. “No, no, it’s not that. But you still don’t seem to understand. I have a career. I can’t just go running off to Monterey like some flibbertigibbet.”

  “And I don’t understand why you wouldn’t jump at the chance.” Edmond sounded equally frustrated. “Duluth is fine, I suppose. So is Minneapolis. But I’m craving something fresh—new scenery, new people, new outlook.” He gave her a vexed look. “Why wouldn’t you want go somewhere totally different, totally fresh? Be someone other than the great John MacDougall’s daughter? Nobody in Monterey will know who you are, and if they do, they won’t care. Now be honest—doesn’t that sound more stimulating than doing the same old thing day after day in the same old Duluth? ”

  Mary sniffed. “I rather like being the ‘same old’ Mary. I guess I don’t view my life here as dismally as you seem to.”

  “Now don’t go twisting my words around. I just think you’d benefit from something new and exciting.”

  “You want excitement, Edmond?” Mary said. “I’ll give you excitement. I just saved a young woman from putting herself in the clutches of a confidence trickster who might have ruined her. I recovered three beloved pet cats abducted by an adherent of an Egyptian religious cult.” She thought that sounded more dramatic than a trio of kitties being stolen by an eccentric bookkeeper. “I tracked down a pocket watch that contained a young man’s only photograph of his dear, deceased mother. And I believe I’ve uncovered the murder of an innocent young man by European assassins.”

  Instead of looking impressed, Edmond looked appalled. “Assassins? I suppose it involves that Ostovian prince, doesn’t it?”

  “Well, as a matter of fact, it does. But I can’t tell you anything more.”

  He groaned. “Why do you find that sort of business appealing? It’s dangerous. It’s ugly. It’s awful. It absolutely baffles me.”

  “And I don’t see why you find moving to the wild west so appealing.”

  “Hardly the wild west,” Edmond muttered. “You’re just a day away from San Francisco. Besides, it’s not as though you couldn’t come back here in six months or a year and start up your business again. It’s not like you have clients lined up out the door.”

  “But how can I build a business if I disappear for months on end?” She felt they were talking in circles. “I thought this was working so well, having you here in Duluth. I know I can find more commissions for you, even if you don’t want to paint Father. Meanwhile, I can continue my detecting, and we can get together whenever the fancy strikes.”

  Edmond took another slow sip. “That’s all well and good. But there is the matter of your father. I know perfectly well that if you and I are to go forward, I have to face him and we have to find some accommodation. Truth be told, I haven’t minded you keeping me secreted away. But it just postpones facing up to him.”

  “You’re quite right,” she said. “I’m done with deceit and dissembling. I’m going to tell him you’ve been here for weeks now and I want him to get to know you.”

  Edmond looked uncomfortable. “May I tell you the truth?”

  Mary thought that sounded rather ominous. “All right.”

  “You’re the first rich person I’ve ever known who I’ve genuinely liked.”

  Mary almost argued that she wasn’t all that rich, but knew that was disingenuous. “That’s painting a lot of well-off people with a very broad brush, isn’t it?”

  “A few I’ve met were pleasant enough. Some were arrogant. Some were outright bastards, in the way they treated people. And however cordial some of them might seem, most of them could not give the slightest damn about folks below them on the social ladder. That’s why I find being in their world so unsettling, Mary. It’s not a place where I belong, even with you in it.”

  Alarm bells rang in her head. Mary had a sudden fear that she might lose Edmond to this ridiculous notion that well-to-do people were all callous and indifferent to the human condition. Granted, he wasn’t entirely wrong. Mary knew of wealthy individuals who could give Ebenezer Scrooge and King Midas runs for their money. But she had to prove to him that John MacDougall wasn’t one of them.

  “You’re not being fair, Edmond,” she said. “You have to give Father a chance. You have to spend some time with him, just talking. I know you’ll end up liking him and he you.”

  Edmond tilted his head. “I’ll do it on one condition.”

  Mary brightened. “What?”

  He leaned across the table and took her hands. “Say you’ll come to California with me. You don’t have to promise to stay. Just come and give it a month or two. Just think of it as a holiday.”

  She pulled her hands back, feeling her whole body tense. “Edmond, I have a career. I can’t walk away from it, just as I’m getting started.”

  “More a whim than a career,” he huffed.

  Mary’s anger flared.

  “Whim? Whim?”

  Glaring at him, she bolted to her feet. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Roy, I think I’ll go mingle.” And she tramped back inside the house, fuming.

  “Mary,” came his voice, as she went into the house, “I’m sorry.”

  She managed to avoid sitting next to Edmond at the dinner table. In fact, she managed to avoid saying another word to him all evening. She stayed for a half hour after the meal concluded, before saying her thank yous to the Neumanns and slipping out the door.

  The night was clear, and Mary could see a canopy of twinkling stars in the crystalline sky. She headed downhill toward Superior Street, trudging from one puddle of gaslight to the next as she mulled over her argument with Edmond.

  “Whim,” she muttered darkly. “Whim indeed. And after I saved his neck. He thinks my career is a whim?” She wondered if he had ever taken her seriously, ever really respected her.

  While Mary didn’t consider herself a trained businesswoman, she had enough of John MacDougall in her to know that you don’t get anywhere chasing butterflies. Edmond’s California adventure seemed just that. Exciting and stimulating, perhaps. But a business proposition? Probably not. Yet he dared to mock her for focusing on her dream. How could the man be so pig-headed? Why wouldn’t he listen to reason?

  She was walking down a block where no houses had been built yet, full of dense brush and scrubby trees, when the pattering of footsteps behind her caught her attention. Her breath quickened. She twirled around to see a man coming in her direction, silhouetted in the gaslight. She couldn’t make out his face, but his manner and his ragged cap seemed sickeningly familiar.

  She snapped open her purse and firmly gripped the metallic object inside. And not a moment too soon, as the fellow revealed a long knife in his right hand.

  Mary quickly drew the Smith & Wesson out of her bag and cocked it, her hand quaking.

  The Ostovian stopped in his tracks, about ten feet away, as he heard the click.

  “Come to try again?” Mary said, painfully aware of the flutter in her voice.

  He stood there, knife balanced lightly in his hand. “You are… What is the word?” He peered at her with a certain malevolent amusement. “Resourceful? You would th
ink killing a young woman would not be so difficult.”

  Mary drew a deep breath. “It’s pointless, eliminating me. Other people know about the prince. It won’t make any difference.”

  “Even if you put a bullet in me,” the man said, sounding a little uncertain, “I will still get to you with my knife. A little gun like that could not kill me quick enough.”

  “Tell that to William McKinley,” Mary said. “A little gun like this killed him.” She purposely neglected to mention that it had taken the president a few days to die.

  “You say others know?”

  Mary nodded. “The police have been told the murdered boy was a look-alike. I’ve seen the real prince myself, though I’d expect he’s a long way from Duluth by now.”

  The man made a crooked little smile. “Killing the orphan boy, it was nothing personal.”

  Her anger erupted. “Well, it was damned personal for Beansie! He had as much right to a future, to happiness, as any prince.”

  “You are very naïve if you think that, Miss MacDougall.” The man slipped the knife back into the sheath on his hip. With a tip of his cap, he darted into the brush, vanishing instantly.

  Her heart pounding like a bass drum, Mary wobbled and very nearly tipped over. She sat down on the curb, panting and trying to collect herself. When she got up a moment later, she slipped the revolver into her coat pocket and continued on downhill. Who had sent this slasher? It had to be Father Petrescu. To think of it! A so-called “man of God” who murdered children and dispatched assassins.

  “Mary, wait!”

  Mary glanced back, as Edmond came trotting up to her, breathing hard and looking decidedly upset.

  “I didn’t know you’d gone off in the dark all alone.” He took a couple of deep breaths. “I wish you’d’ve let me come with you. Argument or not, it’s not safe.”

  She wasn’t about to dispute the point. And truth be told, she was terrifically relieved to see him. Her encounter with the Ostovian had drained the anger right out of her.