Mary laughed as she riffled through the several letters that had arrived in the morning post. “Look,” she said, holding up one of the envelopes. “Mrs. Fesler’s payment.” She ripped it open and extracted a check, as well as a sheet of stationery, which she unfolded.
“Dear Miss MacDougall and Mrs. Harrison,” she read aloud. “Thank you again for your assistance. Mr. Pettyjohn remains full of remorse and promises to reimburse me fully for the cost of your services. The other members of the cat fanciers club have, for now, forgiven him, and he will continue as a member of the club—provided he does no more illicit work on behalf of a certain Egyptian deity. Sincerely yours, Mrs. Alfred Fesler.”
“I’m glad he got off lightly,” Jeanette said, feeding a Moody Investigations letterhead into the Remington.
“Me too,” Mary said, making for her own desk as Jeanette began rat-tat-tatting merrily away. Quentin Pettyjohn, after all, had saved a certain headstrong damsel in distress and deserved a bit of compassion.
About an hour later, Aksel Adamsen popped in to invite both Mary and Jeanette to the Halloween party he was hosting. “If you’re inspired to wear a costume,” he enthused, “that would be just grand. I’m dressing up as the Tin Man from Oz and Miss Kozlow is coming as Dorothy.”
Jeanette’s eyebrows went up. “Oh, I didn’t know you were acquainted with Miss Kozlow.”
“I wasn’t,” Aksel said, “until Mary introduced us at the piano recital. I think Eliza’s just swell, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes, just swell,” Jeanette agreed.
“Yes, indeed, swell,” Mary said, trying not to sound too excited about the successful outcome of her underhanded matchmaking.
Just then the office door swung open yet again and in strode Edmond Roy.
“Edmond, hello,” Mary beamed. “What a pleasant surprise.” She slipped over and took his arm. “Edmond, I’d like you to meet my old friend Aksel Adamsen. Aksel, this is Edmond Roy, an artist who’s helping with the Oddfellows mural.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Roy,” Aksel said, shaking Edmond’s hand. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to enjoy costume parties, would you?”
“Yes,” Jeanette teased, “we’re in need of a cowardly lion.”
“Well then, I’m your man… I mean lion,” Edmond grinned. “I have the unruly mane for the job.” He ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair. “And I’m so timid, you’d hardly believe it.”
“And I’ll be Aunt Em,” Jeanette said, “being, most likely, the oldest person at the festivities. Mary, what do you think of Glinda, the Good Witch of the South?”
“Witch of the South?” Mary wrinkled her nose. “Hardly the role for a girl from the frozen north. No, I have another character in mind.” She smiled coyly. “I’ve always wanted to be an immortal with vast powers to influence puny humans. I think I’ll go as Bastet, the Epyptian cat goddess. Edmond, could you fashion me a feline mask? Papier-mâché perhaps? Pretty please?”
Aksel seemed delighted to have recruited more partygoers, but, looking at his watch, excused himself. “Sorry, must run. Meeting with a client and his banker.”
The instant Aksel disappeared, Edmond turned to Mary. “Could I speak with you? Privately?”
Mary looked at Jeanette, who made a gesture of dismissal with her right hand. “I told you, I’m out of the chaperone business. Go on, have your little private conference.”
Mary ushered Edmond into her office and shut the door. They stood facing each other, and Mary reached for his hand. It was big and warm and strong and a little rough—from all that turpentine, no doubt.
“I suppose it’s too much to think that you’ve come to your senses and decided to stay in Duluth,” she said.
When Edmond’s shoulders slumped, Mary knew that nothing had changed.
“Sorry, Mary. California’s something I have to do. But I’m not planning to leave until the spring. You’ll have four or five months to change your mind.”
She shook her head. “That’s not going to happen.”
“So, it’s a stalemate.”
“I’m afraid so.”
For now, Mary thought. A stalemate for now. She wasn’t done with Edmond yet. She would not let him get away. Of that she was certain.
“Well, there is one thing I’m game for trying,” Edmond said, brushing a stray hair from her forehead.
Mary raised her eyebrows. “What?”
“I’d like to properly get to know your father, over coffee or dinner. Or perhaps we could watch the stock ticker together.”
Mary burst out laughing.
“In the worst of cases,” Edmond continued, “we’d only end up in a fistfight.”
“That can be arranged. Dinner, that is, not a fistfight. In fact, I’m confident you two will get on splendidly.”
“Well, he and I do have one important thing in common.”
“What’s that?”
He grabbed her gently by the waist and drew her close.
“We both care deeply for a wild, vexing, impetuous, brilliant young lady named Mary MacDougall.”
Chapter XXXI
Although her father occasionally conducted business meetings in his walnut-lined home office, Mary never had. Because, of course, she had never had any business to conduct, until now. So she was feeling understandably nervous when Detective Sauer appeared at her front door with the two gentlemen who had asked to see her. He intimated that her complete cooperation would be required.
As Emma Beach looked on in the foyer, with an air of bemusement, Mary ushered the three gentlemen into the office. She sat herself in her father’s rolling leather chair behind his desk, feeling slightly above her station there. Detective Sauer sat on the other side of the desk, to her left. On the right was Chauncey Troyer, the chief of police. And in the center sat Mr. Rufus Wells of the State Department—a pale, blond wisp of a man in a gray suit, so slender he might have disappeared, if viewed from the side. For her part, Jeanette perched on the edge of the window seat in the full wash of the afternoon sun. Mary had insisted she be present, for moral support.
“As we all know,” Mr. Wells began, “Miss MacDougall has ascertained that Prince Nicolae of Ostovia did not drown in St. Louis Bay. But for now and for the foreseeable future, it remains in everyone’s interest to proceed as if he did. The prince and his supporters have bought time for him to stay safe and gather his strength. He may yet grow into a man and attempt to reclaim the principality that was taken from him.
“We suspect his uncle realizes that the drowned boy was a ruse, and may continue hunting for him. Vlad the Vicious, as we call him in the office, is far too canny not to take that possibility into account. But with Nicolae supposedly out of the picture, he can claim complete control—a situation that pleases the great Ostovian banks. And if the Ostovian banks are pleased, so too are the banks of Wall Street. And if the banks of Wall Street are pleased…”
“…the present administration in Washington is pleased,” Mary grumbled. “I know. I know. But a blameless boy named Tavish MacKenzie got entangled in the plot and was murdered. And how can that go unpunished?”
Mr. Wells tented his fingers in front of him. “Your passion for justice is exemplary, Miss MacDougall. And the skillful manner in which you acquitted yourself is remarkable—for someone so young and inexperienced. You are quite the unlikeliest operative I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
Mary shot the man a hard, sham smile. His flattery seemed condescending, to say the least. He was merely buttering her up.
“But, you see,” he continued, tipping his head slightly to the side, “I did not come to negotiate. I came to deliver an ultimatum.”
Jeanette’s face went pale, but Mary was determined to show no sign of being intimidated. She crossed her arms and stared at him.
“You and Mrs. Harrison are to tell no one of this. If you do, costs will be exacted from your father and his businesses. Substantial costs. And criminal charges may quite possibly be levied against you, Miss MacDougall
, personally. Correct, Chief Troyer?”
The chief, a bulldog of a man, nodded slowly. “Afraid so. Sorry, Miss MacDougall, but best you toe the line this time.”
Mary glanced at Detective Sauer, who looked back helplessly. She knew he was on her side, but he couldn’t do a thing. The whole situation was abominable. She felt as if she were going to explode.
Mr. Wells’s voice took on a conciliatory tone. “If you agree to stay mum, I promise that sometime next summer the coffin interred in West Duluth—thought to contain the remains of Prince Nicolae of Ostovia—will be quietly transposed to the plot you purchased at Shady Oak Cemetery. Master MacKenzie will end up where he belongs.”
Mary was a bit surprised. How had Mr. Wells even learned of her little deception? Clearly, someone in the government had been keeping tabs on her—which chilled her as much as it flattered her
Mr. Wells rose. “I think that concludes our official business. Gentlemen, Mrs. Harrison, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like a private word with Miss MacDougall.”
The chief looked a little miffed at not being included. But he and the other two filed dutifully out of the library, Jeanette shutting the door behind them.
Mary had to admit she was intrigued. “What did you want to talk about, Mr. Wells?” she asked, standing and coming around the desk.
He looked her up and down, as if appraising her. “Do you happen to have any immediate plans to travel in Germany or the Austro-Hungarian Empire?”
Mary’s eyes widened. “Why in the world do you ask?”
“A young lady of means, such as yourself, would have little or no trouble roving freely about Europe. No one would suspect her of anything other than enjoying the sights and the culture of the old continent. And as she did, she might visit and observe certain areas of interest, ask seemingly innocent questions that might uncover useful information about our German-speaking friends.”
Good Lord, Mary thought. He wants me to be a spy!
“You needn’t decide right now, Miss MacDougall. But if you should happen to undertake a European tour, or would be open to an itinerary of our devising—well, your country would be most grateful for your help.” He reached into his inner coat pocket and pulled out a calling card showing only his name and an address in Washington, D.C.
“If you want to talk about it, simply send me a telegram with some innocuous greeting,” he said, handing her the card. “Someone will be in touch. Needless to say, your discretion is required. In other words, our private chat just now did not take place.”
From the front porch, Mary and Jeanette watched the three men make their way down the walk and steps to Superior Street, where Chief Troyer’s carriage was waiting for them. They stood for a moment on the sidewalk—Mr. Wells and the chief talking, while Detective Sauer slouched dispiritedly off to the side, silent. Then they climbed up into the carriage and drove away toward downtown.
Almost simultaneously, a cab coming from the direction of downtown swung around and parked in front of the house.
Up on the porch, Mary gasped. “Oh dear, it’s Father!”
“Oh, dear, indeed!” Jeanette echoed. “Do you think he saw…?”
John MacDougall alit from the cab and huffed up the first set of steps—the cabbie right behind him with his valises. The business mogul shot his daughter a quizzical look, furrowing his brow.
“Did I just see Chief Troyer and Detective Sauer and some other fellow driving away from my house, Mary?”
She took a deep breath. “You did.”
“They were visiting you?”
“Well, yes.”
“Why?” The query came out as a low rumble. “What have you done now?”
If I explained it, your hair would turn white, Mary thought. “I wish I could tell you, Father. But I’m sworn to secrecy.”
The peeved patriarch turned to Jeanette, who grimaced. “I’m sorry, John. I’m not allowed to say, either.”
He focused his narrowed eyes back on his daughter. “You will tell me what’s going on,” he demanded.
Mary went up on her tiptoes, and kissed him on his bearded cheek. “Welcome home, Father. Your timing’s perfect. We’re having a guest for dinner tonight and it will be so good to have you here.”
“Who?” he asked, not looking the least bit placated. “Who’s coming?”
Mary smiled sweetly. “My friend, Mr. Roy. He’s expressed a great interest in getting to know you. Isn’t that wonderful?”
John MacDougall groaned and turned toward the open front door. “Emma!” he bellowed.
As if by magic, the housekeeper appeared on the porch almost instantaneously.
“Emma, would you please get me a nice, big whiskey.”
~ THE END ~
Acknowledgements
This book isn’t just the product of the author sitting at the keyboard sweating out 70,000 words. No, indeed. Without my editors, beta readers, and proofreaders, it wouldn’t be nearly the book that it is. One more time—and hopefully not the last time—I want to thank Marlo Garnsworthy, Kate Collins, Jeri Smith, Marie Joseph, Julie King, and Sue Wichmann for all their contributions to A Fatal Fondness. Ladies, I owe you!
About the Author
Richard Audry is the pen name of D. R. Martin. As Richard Audry, he is the author of four Mary MacDougall historical mysteries and three King Harald Canine Cozy mysteries. Under his own name, he has written the rip-roaring Johnny Graphic ghost adventure trilogy. He’s also the author of the hardboiled PI mystery Smoking Ruin and two books of literary commentary: Travis McGee & Me and Four Science Fiction Masters. You can follow D. R. at drmartinbooks.com and www.facebook.com/richardaudryauthor/.
If you enjoyed A Fatal Fondness, be sure to read these other tales of mystery by Richard Audry…
A Mary MacDougall Mystery Duet
The year is 1901 and young Mary MacDougall has a rather improbable ambition—to become a consulting detective. A Mary MacDougall Mystery Duet features the two cases that establish her as a force to be reckoned with. In the first novella, A Pretty Little Plot, Mary’s painting instructor is charged with kidnapping two of his students. And it’s up to Mary to save him or condemn him. The second novella, The Stolen Star, follows Mary as she unpeels layers of deceit and duplicity during a snowy Christmas season, in the hunt for a purloined and very valuable sapphire. In addition to the paperback and Kindle edition of Duet, the novellas A Pretty Little Plot and The Stolen Star are available separately as e-books. Buy Kindle Duet here.
A Daughter’s Doubt
Mary MacDougall’s first case of 1902 seems simple enough. Did Agnes Olcott really die of cholera off in Dillmont, Michigan? Or were there darker doings at the Westerholm Institution for Women, as the woman’s daughter suspects? With the reluctant help of her aunt and her dear friend Edmond Roy, the young detective struggles to reveal the true fate of Mrs. Olcott. As she digs ever deeper, the enemy Mary provokes could spell disaster for her and the people she loves. Buy the Kindle here.
The Karma of King Harald
When springtime arrives in picturesque New Bergen, so too do the tourists and antiquers. This year, though, there are some unwelcome visitors. Extortion. Arson. And murder. Join Andy Skyberg and his crime-sniffing mutt King Harald as they embark on their very first mystery adventure. Buy the Kindle here.
King Harald’s Heist
As the leaves begin to change color in New Bergen, Andy Skyberg wants to turn his full attention to his sister’s new restaurant—and to the beautiful Finnish architect who’s managing the project. But Andy’s big ol’ mutt King Harald has a kennel full of trouble in store for him, beginning with a pilfered thousand-dollar bill and a naughty garden gnome. Before long, the crime-sniffing pooch finds even more deep doo-doo to toss his boss into. Buy the Kindle here.
King Harald’s Snow Job
Christmastime is fast approaching and Andy Skyberg is itching to blow town for a weekend of holiday cheer with old friends. But first, his Aunt Bev needs a teensy bit of help. She�
��s managing the Girls’ Weekend Out event at the Beaver Tail Resort and summons Andy. He figures he can spare a few hours before hitting the road. But a giant blizzard socks them all in. And before you know it, Andy and his jumbo mutt King Harald are up to their noses in another case. It’s a winter wonderland of fast-paced fun and merry madness. Buy the Kindle here.
Smoking Ruin
by D. R. Martin
Minneapolis P.I. Marta Hjelm failed to prevent a murder that was waiting to happen. Her guilt has brought her right to the edge of burnout and dropout. But a prize specimen from her ancient past—her cheating ex-husband—appears out of nowhere with a gig too good to turn down. One last job, Marta figures, can’t hurt. But hurt it does, as Marta tries to make sense of a terrorist plot at a major ad agency. Buy the Kindle here.
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