Hattie Ever After (22 page)

It did not take me the hour to accumulate a sufficient number of notes for Gill. I certainly was glad to be done with this task. I felt I needed to go upstairs and wash my hands straightaway.

I was about to close the journal I’d been reading when a headline jumped out at me:

Victim Now Believes
“Relative” Was Impostor;
Complains to Police

How could a relative be an impostor? Apparently, a Mrs. Harriet Bliven, living with her five-year-old daughter, Gladys, had been visited by a woman claiming to be a cousin from the east. I read further:

I realized I’d been holding my breath. I let it out now, slowly. Shakily. I might question having seen Ruby the night before, but I couldn’t question these words. Ruby had bamboozled Mrs. Bliven. Had she done the same to me? To Uncle Chester? Was she the friend he’d tried to cash the check for that time? Was she the reason he’d gone to Montana? There was only one person who could answer those questions for me.

Distraught, I hurried back to the newsroom and delivered my notes to Gill.

“You don’t look well.” He studied me. “Are you coming down with something?”

“Did you eat breakfast?” Marjorie asked, suddenly at my side.

Had I? I couldn’t remember. Couldn’t think. “I just need some fresh air.”

“We’ll cover for you.” She reached over to a hook on the wall, pulled down my coat, and helped me into it as if I were a small child.

At first I didn’t know quite where to go. But I found myself walking to the Pacific Building. To see for myself if Ruby was there. Mrs. Holm might be in on all this, too. I had no idea. The street was wrapped in the notorious San Francisco fog, making the few blocks’ walk to Mr. Wilkes’ office seem even longer.

As soon as I passed through that ornate portal, I sensed something was wrong. Mrs. Holm’s always-tidy desk was covered in papers and files. Even with his office door closed, I could hear Mr. Wilkes talking. And he was not pleased.

“Oh, Hattie.” Mrs. Holm glanced over her shoulder at the closed door behind her. “This is not a good time.”

At that moment, Mr. Wilkes’ office door opened and an egg-shaped little man walked out. Even without his summer boater, I recognized him. He’d been the one cornered by the astrology lady that day in the lobby of Ruby’s apartment building.

“Thank you.” Mr. Wilkes shook the man’s hand. “I appreciate your help. And discretion.”

“But of course.
Au revoir
.” The little man turned and acknowledged me with a tip of his hat. “You are Mademoiselle Brooks, are you not?”

I nodded and took a step back. “How did you know that?”

He cut a glance at Mr. Wilkes, who nodded. “Feel free to use that office,” he said, pointing down the hall.

“Who are you?”

He presented me with his card:

LUCIEN K. GIGNAC, PRESIDENT GIGNAC SECRET SERVICE BUREAU

“You’re a detective.”

He made an odd roll of his shoulders. “I prefer the term ‘operative.’ Come.” He escorted me to the spare office, closing the door behind us. “Will that chair be comfortable for you?”

I decided to get right to it. “Why were you at Ruby’s apartment that day?”

He had begun to seat himself and paused before lowering
his ample girth all the way down into the plush leather chair. “Perhaps you should tell me your story first.”

I clutched my pocketbook even tighter. As I told him about seeing Ruby the night before, at the millinery shop, and the money I’d lent her, about the article I’d just found, and what I’d learned about Uncle Chester, he clucked his tongue, nodded his head, and steepled his fingers.

“Were they in it together?” I finished in a rush. Broken by the harsh truth I’d spoken, I could no longer hold back tears. “My uncle and Ruby, I mean.”

He pursed his lips. “Things are not always as they appear.”

“I’m not a child,” I said. “I can handle the truth.”

“Ah, but whose truth?”

I’d had enough of this double-talk. “What do you know about my uncle?”

He stroked his fastidious moustache. “Very little. He is deceased, is he not? And you are an—how do you say it?—an orphan.”

That stopped me. “How do you know that?”

“It is my business.” He waved his hands. “I have found out many things about you. I apologize. But it was important to know whether you were …” He paused. “Involved.”

I nearly dropped my pocketbook. “Involved? In what?”

“I am not free to say. But, my dear mademoiselle, we are now very clear that you are innocent.” His spectacles magnified the sadness in his eyes. “I regret I cannot tell you more. Now.” He pulled a gold watch from his vest pocket. “I am very sorry, but I have a pressing engagement elsewhere.”

I knew I was being dismissed. But I could not move from
the chair. It was as if my shoes were made of lead, not leather. “Is Ruby to be arrested?” I choked out the words. “What will happen to Pearl?”

Mr. Gignac’s face scrunched into a frown.

“She’s been ill.” I leaned forward. “I gave Ruby money for the specialist.”

“Mon Dieu.”
Mr. Gignac closed his eyes.

I couldn’t breathe. Please, God, no bad news about Pearl. It would be too much to bear.

“I am so sorry, mademoiselle.” He put his watch back in his pocket. “Pearl is yet one more of Madame Danvers’ creations.”

A window shade began to lower in my brain. “I feel faint.…”

He leapt up and came to my side, patting my hand. “Deep breaths, my dear. Deep breaths. This is a shock, I know.”

“I don’t understand.”

His mouth formed a tight line. “There is no Pearl. Nor a grandmother in Santa Clara. It was a cruel hoax.…” His voice trailed off.

“How could she?”

“It is for the money.” He sighed. “Always, for the money. Anything for the money.”

I had confided my deepest grief to her, that I’d been unable to save Mattie. And she used it to manipulate me. “She’s in town, isn’t she? At the apartment.” I pushed myself to stand. “I’m going to tell her what I think of her.”

“I should not say this, but if you desire to have words with Madame Danvers, I would advise you to go now. Do not
delay.” He unfolded stiffly and moved away from me to stand upright again and opened the door. “Good day, Mademoiselle Brooks.”

I didn’t even bother to find a telephone to let anyone at the
Chronicle
know that I’d be out a while longer. Marjorie had said she’d cover for me, and I knew I could count on her. I raced to that familiar address on Union Street.

The old astrologer was in the lobby, petting her scroungy cat. “Ah, look, Figaro. It’s our Scorpio friend,” she said.

I brushed past her and ran to the elevator, mashing the up button. Hurry, hurry, hurry.

“No need to rush,” the old lady said. “She’s there.”

The car arrived, and I pushed open the grate to step inside.

“All will be well, young lady,” she called after me as I wrestled the gate closed. “For you, at least. Not for her.” Her haunting laugh drifted up through the elevator shaft.

Ruby, or whoever she was, answered my knock. She nodded when she saw me there. “I thought that was you, last night.” She stood in the doorway, not offering to let me in. “I can tell by your face that it was.”

“We need to talk.” I stepped forward.

“What’s done is done.” Ruby fiddled with the knob. “Let’s not be tiresome.”

“How about being honest?” I squeezed my way inside. “Tell me, Ruby, how’s Pearl?”

She sighed and closed the door. “At least come in and sit down.”

I didn’t move. “Tell me.”

“Oh, look!” She skimmed across the room to where a small stack of books rested on a chair. An open trunk sat on the floor beyond, partly filled with odds and ends.

“Are you leaving?”

“You must see what I’ve found.” She snatched up the books and held them out. “You and Chester and your books. He couldn’t bear to part with these. Me, I have no such sentiments about the things. Words, words, words. Who needs them? Give me a stack of Abe Lincolns any day. That’s knowledge enough for me.” She held the books out. “I want you to have them.”

Something bitter rose up in me. “But don’t you want to give them to Pearl?”

Her arms dropped, and she replaced the books on the chair. “You will think it a cruel trick of me, to play on your sympathy.” Her voice was petulant. “But I was desperate.”

“I told you about Mattie. That’s why you invented Pearl.” I felt woozy but was determined to stand on my own two feet. To face the full force of this ugly betrayal.

“Normally, I’d draw the line at conning someone your age, but you’ve been on your own some. You should be more careful.” She beamed at me as if she’d done me an enormous favor. “You’re angry at me now, but one day, you’ll be grateful. I’ve taught you to be more cautious about trusting people.” She turned away to continue packing.

“But why?”

She folded a paisley shawl and tucked it into the trunk. “You sound like Chester. He was so good at the con—what an actor!—but, oh, his silly little rules. We couldn’t touch the
clergy or farmers, or women with kids. Especially not women with kids. We would’ve been set for life if he hadn’t gotten cold feet that time. All because the mark had a little girl. He wanted no part of it.” She paused, then picked up that ruffled apricot dress to add to the trunk. “So I was going to turn him in. Otherwise, he’d ruin everything.”

Her words turned me into a fence post; I could not move.

She flapped her hand. “Don’t worry. He got wind of the whole thing. Fessed up himself, made bail, and skipped town.” She smirked. “Went to Montana.”

Was there no limit to this woman’s heartlessness? Betraying my uncle then and me now? “How could you send that letter? The love token?”

She’d filled the trunk to the brim and was now struggling to lock it. “I thought maybe he’d come to his senses. Plus, I needed his help with … with something.”

“Another Mrs. Bliven?”

Ruby managed to get the latches and pushed herself to her feet again. “I do wish we could chat longer, Hattie. But I’m in a bit of a rush.”

I wanted to say something that would make a crack in Ruby’s hardened, selfish heart. But to find such words would mean understanding how her mind worked, and I never wanted to lower myself to that. Never. I stormed across the room and grabbed Uncle Chester’s books, somehow comforted by his refusal to cross a line.

“Good-bye, Hattie,” she called after me, as cheerily as if she hadn’t stolen my money and broken my heart.

I did not respond.

My hand trembled so that I missed the elevator button several times before connecting with it. I cradled Uncle Chester’s books close on the ride down, rocking in place and praying for the strength to get back to my room at the hotel.

When the elevator door slid open, there was Mr. Gignac. I was not surprised to see him. I clutched the books closer to my chest. “These were my uncle’s,” I said.

“Of course.” He held open the grated door so I could step out. “Madame is at home?”

I nodded. Then I noticed the two policemen in the lobby. My eyes snapped back to Mr. Gignac.

“I hope you have made your good-byes,” he said. “Madame Danvers will be—how to say it?—unavailable for quite some time.”

I made two telephone calls when I got back to the hotel. The first was to Gill; Ruby’s story was going to be all over the papers sooner or later. He appreciated the tip. I also spoke to Marjorie and told her everything. “Take tomorrow off, kid,” she advised. “We’ve got it covered here.”

“I’ll be in,” I said. What good would it do to sit around and mope?

But mope was exactly what I did. All the rest of that awful day and into the night. I wallowed in misery on the bed, Uncle Chester’s books scattered around me. Losing the homestead was one thing. That had been devastating, but not even the savviest farmer could survive a hailstorm at harvest. When I had surveyed the scene of my ruined crops—my ruined dreams—I’d thought I was seeing the worst I would ever see. But that was before Ruby Danvers.

She had said I would thank her someday for teaching me that life was about holding back, even holding back your own true self at times. In Ruby Danvers’ dictionary, I was the prime example of a fool.

From my prone position on the bed, I could see my bouquet of feathers. The feathers I’d thought would symbolize my flight into a new life. Could I have been any more naive? Any more stupid? Hardly.

A thunderous clap of anger sounded inside me and I jumped out of bed, grabbed the feathers, ran to the window, and wrestled it open. “I hate you, Uncle Chester!” I screamed as loud as I could. “Thanks for nothing!” One by one, I let each feather in my collection drift from my hand out the window and to the street below to be trod upon by dozens of uncaring souls.

I threw myself back on the bed. So much for dreams. I had thought that learning about Uncle Chester would help me know myself somehow. All these months in the big city and I was no wiser than one of Rooster Jim’s chickens.

In frustration, I shoved all of Uncle Chester’s books to the floor, rolled onto my stomach, and pounded the mattress like a toddler throwing a tantrum. With a final punch to my pillow, I fell back, my left cheek resting on a cool spot on the sheet. In my direct line of sight, I saw the feather with the pink shaft. The one that led me to unravel Ruby’s deception. On the floor, right next to the desk. It must’ve gotten blown back inside when I threw the other feathers out the window.

I pushed myself out of bed and snatched it up, ready to fling it outside, too.