Don't Die Under the Apple Tree (5 page)

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Authors: Amy Patricia Meade

BOOK: Don't Die Under the Apple Tree
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“Really?” Rosie grinned. “Well, it's only going to get worse, you know. Once the girls around here learn that you wouldn't hire me back—”
“How would they find out?”
“Well, everyone saw me here today. It's not too hard to guess what I wanted. Besides, some of the girls live in my neighborhood. I'm bound to run into one of them while on the train or at the market or ...”
“And you'd tell them? You'd tell them that I wouldn't give you your job back?”
Rosie shrugged. “I have no reason to lie. If someone asks, I'm going to tell them the truth.”
“Go ahead.” Del Vecchio folded his arms across his chest. “Go ahead and tell 'em. I'm not gonna let a few women scare me.”
“A few?” Rosie laughed. “You read the news, don't you? FDR expects to be drafting 200,000 men a month by summer. What are you going to do when the guys out there get called up? Who's going to replace them? Unless the Pusheys try to revoke child labor laws, there's going to be an awful lot of women in this shipyard.”
“So?”
“So pretty soon, you're going to have to convince those women to rivet and weld and climb scaffolds and do a whole lot of things they've never done before. That won't go smoothly if they think you're a creep.”
“And hirin' you back will make 'em think otherwise?”
“It couldn't hurt, could it? ‘New foreman, new rules.' Now's your chance to prove it.”
“What makes you think they care what happens to you? For all you know, they think you murdered Finch, too.”
“I don't
think
they're on my side. I
know
it. Nelson surprised me a little while ago by thanking me for standing up to Hansen. She said it was like I was sticking up for the other women here at the yard. She also said that she didn't care if I murdered Finch. All that mattered was that I stuck up for myself and for them.”
“They don't care if you're a murderer? Aw, come on, that's just crazy.”
“I agree. I'm just telling you what Nelson told me. But imagine how pleased those women would be if you stick up for the person who stuck up for them? Why, after that, I'm sure they'd give you no trouble at all.”
Del Vecchio rolled his eyes and drew a deep breath. “Okay, Keefe. You drive a hard bargain, you know that?”
Again Rosie shrugged. “I said I wasn't a murderer. I never said anything about blackmail.”
“Yeah, yeah. You can start first thing in the morning.” Del Vecchio moved to the back doors of the building and paused. “Oh, and Keefe, I don't mind you sticking up for yourself, but if you pull that hot rivet routine again—”
“I know. I'm fired. Again.”
With a solemn nod, Del Vecchio opened the steel doors and exited to the shipyard, leaving Rosie alone in the windowless holding area.
When the doors had shut, Rosie exhaled loudly and threw her head back in triumph. She'd done it. Where and how she'd had found the nerve to boldly coerce Del Vecchio into rehiring her, she wasn't quite sure, but she had managed to get her job back. Now, to get down to the business of investigating Finch's murder, but where should she begin?
Without knowing it, Tony Del Vecchio had provided Rosie with two solid leads. First, there was the matter of the missing Jackson. Where was she and why hadn't she shown up for work? Between the Normandie fire and Finch's murder, many women were certain to be scared off of working by the docks. However, it was doubtful that word of Finch's death had spread so rapidly that Jackson would have known about it prior to the start of her shift.
Although it was very possible that Jackson was at home in bed with a cold or even the grippe, the timing of her absence was curious. Had she witnessed Finch's murder? Did she know something that she did not wish to disclose? Or perhaps she, herself, was the murderer. She had sufficient motive. Not only had Finch stripped her of her welding duties—a job that, even for a Negro woman, must have paid reasonably well—but he had humiliated her in front of her coworkers.
Jackson could have easily met Finch by the docks after their shift, perhaps even under the pretense of discussing her demotion. Whether she snuck a tool from the yard into her handbag with the intention of murdering Finch or the discussion simply got out of control and she grabbed a piece of driftwood from the shore, Finch would never have anticipated the death blow she delivered.
Then there was Finch's successor as foreman. At age thirty-eight, Tony Del Vecchio did not possess the seniority to fill the position. And to be certain, there were men at the yard who were better liked. So why was he next in line for the job? Had Del Vecchio, himself, known that he would replace Finch? Pushey Shipyard was selling tugs and tankers galore to the navy and coast guard. Any foreman who managed a tight, productive shift was sure to be handsomely rewarded for his efforts. Those financial benefits, combined with the prestige of the position, would have been very tempting to a man like Del Vecchio.
Unfortunately, looking into Jackson's and Del Vecchio's motives and alibis would have to wait until Rosie was back on the job, when she had the opportunity to glean information from other shipyard employees. Until then, however, there had to be something she could do to launch her investigation.
Rosie eyed the empty holding room and the doors that led to the men's and newly installed women's facilities. The police had probably swept this entire area before letting the day shift begin, but that didn't mean that she shouldn't have a look around. Having some shipbuilding experience under her belt, she might notice some small detail that the police overlooked. But even if she didn't, the act of searching would, at the very least, make her feel as if she was being productive.
She walked to the men's room and placed a tentative hand on the door. Should she? Rosie glanced from side to side and then chided herself for such foolishness. The room would, invariably, be empty since employees used the facilities nearest the docks during working hours. The holding area restrooms were reserved for use between shifts and for those occasions when the dock facilities were otherwise occupied or unusable.
Still, she felt terribly embarrassed, as if stepping into a men's room was some sort of obscene act.
Don't be silly, Rosie,
she scolded beneath her breath.
It's just a men's room and you're a grown, married woman.
She gave the door a shove, causing it to swing inward.
And then unexpectedly stop.
Rosie gasped and reared backward. There, in the doorway, stood Lieutenant Jack Riordan. The stubbly beard he'd sported the night before had been cleanly shaved and his tall frame was clad in a navy blue flannel suit, which he wore without an overcoat.
“Oh!” She drew her hand to her mouth.
Riordan propped the wooden door open with one hand and tipped his hat with the other. “Mrs. Keefe.”
“Lieutenant Riordan. I was ... I was just—”
“Looking for the ladies' room? It's the next door over.”
“Oh, look at that.” She feigned surprise. “Why, it is, isn't it? I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—”
Riordan let go of the men's-room door and held both hands aloft. “No, it's okay.”
“I, um ... well, I guess I'm a bit scatterbrained what with everything going on.”
“What, you mean you've never been a suspect in a murder investigation before?”
She was caught off guard at the flippancy of the remark. “No, I, uh, I'm afraid I haven't... .”
Riordan immediately apologized. “I'm sorry. That was ... that was out of line. I was trying to be clever, but I'm an idiot.”
Rosie's eyes narrowed. She had known only a handful of policemen in her lifetime, and although she had never witnessed any of them working a case, she was fairly confident that none of them would try to joke with and then apologize to the lead suspect in a murder investigation. Was Riordan trying to tell her that she was no longer the lead suspect? That he had found someone with a stronger motive? Or was he making light of the situation in order to trap her?
Riordan, prompted by her silence, cleared his throat awkwardly. “So, I hear you have your job back.”
“You were listening?”
“Not on purpose. At least not at first. I was on my way out of the men's room when I heard people talking. When I figured out who it was and what was being said, I thought it best not to interrupt. I'm glad I didn't. That was quite the speech you made. I especially liked the whole ‘innocent until proven guilty' part.”
“I had to do something to convince Tony Del Vecchio to hire me back.”
“It was still a nice touch.”
“Well, it's true. That's how the system works, isn't it? Otherwise I would have been locked up last night.”
“The police have to build a case against you and until they do you are presumed innocent, yes. However, as I'm sure you realize, there's also the court of public opinion.”
Rosie frowned as she slid her eyes toward the metal doors that led to the yard. “I suspect that jury has already handed in their verdict.”
“Yeah, I can only imagine the welcome you must have gotten. Which makes me wonder. Why did you fight so hard to get your job back? If everything you told me last night is true, I'd have figured that this was the last place you'd want to be.”
Rosie's gaze met Riordan's. If the lieutenant suspected the true motive behind Rosie's return to Pushey, there was no trace of it in his dark blue eyes.
“Where else am I supposed to work? Do you know of any other places that are willing to hire a murder suspect? I only ask because I've never been one before and thought, perhaps, you might be able to offer some pointers.” Although she had added the last comment as a serious gibe, she could feel, for a few moments, the hint of a smile spread across her lips.
“I guess I had that coming to me.” Riordan hung his head. “And what about Mr. Keefe? What does your husband think of you coming back to work?”
“My husband enlisted right before Christmas. He has no idea I was ever working here in the first place.”
“Enlisted, huh? Brave fellow.”
“Mmm,” Rosie grunted in reply. How she wished that he would change the subject.
“So he doesn't know about Finch and the, uh, murder either?”
She shook her head solemnly.
“Well, at least you have your sister to lean on.”
“She ... she has her own problems to contend with.” Rosie looked away lest she burst into tears. “Can I ask a bold question, Lieutenant?”
“Sure.”
“Do you believe I'm innocent?”
“Of course. It's my job to believe you're innocent until I can prove otherwise.”
She looked him squarely in the face. “That's not what I meant. I want to know if you've found anything that might have swayed your opinion in one direction or the other.”
“I can't tell you that, Mrs. Keefe. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't.”
Rosie nodded somberly. “I understand.”
“However”—Riordan paused dramatically—“that doesn't mean that you shouldn't feel free to tell me what you find during your little investigation.”
She nearly jumped out her skin. “My what?”
“Investigation. Unofficial investigation, of course, since you can't dust for fingerprints or gather evidence. But you'll probably be talking to people here at the yard about Finch. You might overhear some things, too, but I'm sure you realized that before you asked to be rehired.”
“No,” Rosie answered flatly. “No, it, um, it never occurred to me.”
“Really? I had you figured as being pretty sharp. Ah, well, good thing I prepared you, then,” Riordan replied with a broad grin. “That way you can keep your eyes and ears open.”
“Yes. Yes, I'll be certain to do that,” Rosie agreed absently. Had Riordan been aware of her plans all along?
“If you hear anything interesting—anything at all—give me a call at the precinct. You still have the card I gave you?”
Rosie nodded and pulled the rectangular piece of cardstock from the pocket of her sweater.
“Good. Be sure to keep it handy.”
“I will... . Um, well, I'd best be going. My sister will be wondering where I am.” She excused herself and inched tentatively toward the front door. “Good day, Lieutenant.”
“Good day,” he replied with a tip of his hat. “Oh, Mrs. Keefe? Aren't you forgetting something?”
She spun around, her face a question.
Riordan pointed a finger at the set of wooden doors behind him. “The ladies' room is over there.”

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