Murder in Burnt Orange (12 page)

CLAIMS MANY MORE

Torrid Wave Kills in Various Cities

—South Bend
Tribune,
July 19, 1905

Where was Clancy Malloy?

As July crept toward August, and the punishing heat returned, the Cavanaugh, Johansson, and Malloy families thought about little but Clancy. Where was he? Was he alive or dead? Still in South Bend, or about his dubious business elsewhere? Aunt Molly was torn between outrage at what he had done and agonizing sorrow over what her son had become, between a desperate hope that he would be found and a desperate fear of what would happen when he was. To Dan, who was slowly—very slowly—recovering from his heart attack, Molly presented a bright face and a cheerful attitude. To the rest of the world, especially to Hilda, she allowed her true feelings to show.

For her part, Hilda was quite simply furious with Clancy. “There is no end to the trouble he makes!” she stormed to Patrick. “He gave Uncle Dan a heart attack, he is making Aunt Molly sick with worry. He must be found!”

She had what she thought was a bright idea about that. “Sam Black!” she pronounced one morning with satisfaction. “There was much talk that he was the one behind some of these bad things. Perhaps he and Clancy are working together, and Sam knows where Clancy is.”

“The police are way ahead of you, darlin',” said Patrick absently, still reading the newspaper. “They've talked to Sam more than once. He claims he doesn't even know who Clancy Malloy is. Look at this, Hilda. The fools are still doin' it.”

He handed her the front page of the
Tribune,
with its article about a speeding Santa Fe train breaking all records from Los Angeles to Chicago. “Over sixty-one miles an hour, on the average. It's craziness, that's what it is. They keep it up, there'll be more people killed.”

Hilda fanned herself with the paper. “This heat will kill
me
if it does not stop.”

“Don't say that!” Patrick said sharply. “It
has
killed people. Look for yourself.” He pointed at the paper she was still holding. “LaPorte, Chicago, even right here in South Bend.”

But Hilda, listlessly looking at the front page, had her attention caught by the story below the one about the South Bend man's death. “Look at this, Patrick. Train robberies!”

Patrick looked. “It says the stories aren't true.”

“The police always say that when they cannot find out who did something. And the railroad men would not want to admit the robberies, or people will be afraid to use their trains to send money. Do you know what I think, Patrick?”

Since she was obviously about to tell him, he simply waited.

“I think that Clancy is behind this! No, listen, Patrick,” as he looked skeptical. “Clancy is in hiding. He has to live somehow. I think he has been stealing from the trains to buy food.”

“And nobody knows about it?”

Hilda looked scornful. “Of course they know about it! They will not tell, because they are afraid of him, him and his ‘boss,' whoever that may be.”

The heat was making Patrick's brain slow and his temper grumpy. “And who might ‘they' be, for that matter? You're free with your ideas, but short on facts.”

Hilda's temper was not at its best, either. “And you, you do not want to believe me because you might have to do something about my ideas.” She pushed her plate back. “It is too hot to argue. It is too hot to live. I will go back to bed.” And she did, lumbering up the stairs with none of her usual quicksilver grace.

Patrick shook his head. He would be nearly as glad as she when this baby made its appearance in the world.

* * *

By the end of July Hilda had decided that none of it would ever be over. The heat would continue to torture her, the baby would never be born, Clancy would remain at large, and life would be unendurable. She ate whatever cold food Mrs. O'Rourke could contrive, but in every other respect she had reverted to her behavior of months before.

Meanwhile Patrick was working long hours, trying to keep the store running smoothly in Dan's absence, and running into obstacles every step of the way. Dan had known by instinct, apparently, what people would buy. He knew all the suppliers, he knew when merchandise could be delivered, he knew exactly what markup would be fair to the customers and still make money for the store. Patrick had been learning these things, but he still had a lot to learn, and he made mistakes, it seemed, daily. The staff were hot and weary, the merchandise limp and dusty. And when, at the end of each long, sweltering day, Patrick came home, everyone there was hot and cross, especially Hilda. Patrick, too, had decided that life was, if not entirely, at least very nearly unendurable.

Then August dawned one Tuesday morning, and the longed-for miracle had occurred. The sky was clear, the air was cool, there was a balmy breeze. Hilda accepted with a smile the coffee Eileen brought her. “You look very nice today, Eileen. Is that a new dress?”

Eileen was wearing, under her apron, a flowery print dress from the Sears, Roebuck catalog, the same dress she'd worn off and on since it had come in the mail a month ago. Prints were the latest thing in summer attire for servants, and Eileen thought it pretty, too. “It's freshly ironed, ma'am,” she said tactfully. “What shall I bring you for your breakfast?”

“I think I will go down for breakfast today. And Eileen, run me a cool bath, will you, please, and lay out anything I can still wear.”

There wasn't much choice. Hilda was bulging. She could wear only the loose skirts that Eileen had run up for her out of thin muslin, and dressing sacques on top. The sacques were pretty, made with embroidery and lace inserts, but they were still lingerie, and Hilda had at first blushed to wear them downstairs. But Patrick hadn't noticed that they were boudoir wear, and they were comfortable—or as comfortable as any clothing was these days. Thanks be to God, at least she could get through the day, now that the weather had changed, without wishing she were back in Sweden in a snowbank.

All the same, she was disconcerted when Eileen announced that Sergeant Lefkowicz had come to see her.

“It'll be all right, ma'am,” whispered the little maid. “He's a man, and men never really know about ladies' clothing.”

“Sergeant, it is good to see you,” Hilda lied. She gestured at the couch she was lying on. “Please forgive me if I do not get up.”

Lefkowicz grinned. “My ma told me I shouldn't come, that you wouldn't feel like company just now.” Evidently he had got over his embarrassment about her pregnancy.

“It is all right. I feel better now that it is cooler.”

“Well, that's why I've come. It's about the picnic, see.”

“Picnic?” Hilda asked blankly.

“For the Boys' Club. Remember?”

“Oh! Oh, Sergeant, I forgot. It was my idea, even, and I forgot completely.”

“Well, it's been too hot anyway, for the grownups, at least. And of course I know you couldn't come, now. But we've hit a dead end when it comes to finding that Clancy Malloy, and I thought it might be a good idea to talk to the boys, see what they might know.”

Hilda forgot her decision a few days ago that life would never again hold any interest. “Yes! That is a very good thought. I do not know why it did not come to me, but oh, the weather has been unbearable!”

“You're right about that. But I was thinking maybe next Saturday—not this week, but the next. Would that give you time to get it all put together?”

Another thing Hilda had forgotten was her offer to organize. The thought made her want to go back to bed again, but she had made the offer and she could not go back on her word.

“That will be enough time,” she said, her fingers crossed behind her back. “I cannot do it all myself, of course, but I think Mrs. Elbel will help, and perhaps Mrs. Studebaker.”

“And Mrs. Malloy.”

Hilda frowned. “I do not know about Mrs. Malloy. She is—”

“She's worried sick about Clancy,” said Lefkowicz bluntly. “And about Mr. Malloy, too, though I hear he's much better. My ma thinks it would do her a world of good to busy herself with something else for a change.”

Hilda cocked her head to one side. “Your mother is a wise woman, I think. We will do it!”

“Ma said,” Lefkowicz continued, “that you'd better not do any of it yourself. You can phone people and get it done that way. And if you need an extra hand on the day, she says, she'll be glad to bake some cookies and fry some doughnuts and go over to help get all the food set out.”

“Not just a wise woman, but a good woman, too!” Hilda smiled. “Tell her thank you, and that would be very nice. And oh, Sergeant, I nearly forgot. Talking of boys made me remember. That other errand boy at the bank, the one who wanted to talk to you maybe. Have you found him?”

“No, and it's not for want of hunting. It seems he's been out of town, looking for another job.”

“He left his job at the bank?”

“So I hear tell. Kind of a foolish thing to do, times being the way they are, but that's what his ma says.”

“It might not be a foolish thing,” said Hilda thoughtfully, “if there are bad things happening in banks. Do not give up, Sergeant. I think he has things to tell us, if we can find him. And now I must go to the telephone.”

To sleep: perchance to dream: Ay, there's the rub...

—William Shakespeare,
Hamlet

Her first call was to Mrs. Elbel. The two had not gotten along well at first. Hilda had resented what she thought of as a patronizing attitude on the part of the older lady. But Mrs. Elbel had gained considerable respect for Hilda over the way she handled the Boys' Club Christmas party, and had worked with her smoothly ever since.

“Of course I'll be happy to help,” she told Hilda promptly. “Some of the ladies are out of town, but I'm sure we can find enough to get the job done. Now let's see. We'll need tables—I can borrow those from the church—”

Together they made a list of duties and assigned each, tentatively, to one of their hoped-for volunteers.

“If you will write the invitation, I will give it to Patrick to have it printed,” said Hilda. “Your English is much better than mine.”

“Yes, and I'll phone Mrs. Studebaker. Mrs. Clem, that is. I believe Colonel and Mrs. George are in France just now, but Mrs. Clem will be happy to help. At least—” She paused.

Hilda said, “She has not been well, I have heard.” There was sorrow in her voice. Mrs. Clem Studebaker, Hilda's mistress for all the years she had worked as housemaid at Tippecanoe Place, was a true lady, kind when Hilda worked for her and kind now that Hilda had a home and a life of her own. But Mrs. Clem missed her dear, departed husband every day of her life, and Hilda had the awful feeling that she was longing to join him.

“She's been a bit frail,” Mrs. Elbel admitted. “She's in her sixties, you know, and that operation a while back laid her low. But she'll have her cook prepare most of the food, I imagine, and she always has good ideas. It will do her good to help with this.”

That reminded Hilda. “And I will ask Mrs. Malloy to help, also. She, too, has been sad and worried, but she will want to work with us.” At least Hilda hoped so. She had not talked to Aunt Molly for several days, and the last time, the older woman had sounded tired and worn, not at all like her usual self.

Hilda did not confide the real purpose of the picnic to Mrs. Elbel, but to Aunt Molly she was entirely candid.

“Aunt Molly, I need your help,” she said after Riggs had called his mistress to the telephone, and Hilda had asked after Uncle Dan. “It is about a picnic for the Boys' Club, but it is more than that. Would you come to see me, so I can explain? I would come to you, but—”

“But you're feeling as big as a house, and tired as a washerwoman on a Monday night. Of course I'll come, dear.”

The two had not seen each other since soon after Dan's heart attack. Molly's eyes widened when she saw Hilda. “Goodness, child, you
are
as big as a house. The baby's not due for another month, is it?”

“Yes, but I think maybe the doctor is wrong. Kristina, she kicks like a chick trying to get out of its shell!”

“A good, healthy baby, then. Now sit down, dear, and tell me what it is you need of me.”

Hilda explained about the picnic. “But Aunt Molly, it is not just to give a treat for the boys. That, too, but we think, Sergeant Lefkowicz and I, that it will be a good chance to talk to them about all the dreadful things that have been happening. Boys know a lot, and see a lot, and they may be able to help us.” She took a deep breath. “They might even know where Clancy is.”

“I see.” Molly was silent for so long that Hilda was afraid she was offended.

“I fear they will not find my son,” Molly said finally. “I fear he is dead. I would know, I think, if he were still alive. A mother can sense, sometimes, when her child is in peril. When I think of Clancy, when I pray for him, I get no feeling that he is in jeopardy. I get—nothing.”

Hilda was shocked. It was always possible, but— “You may be wrong, Aunt Molly. I remember, when Uncle Dan was missing, you thought he was dead. But he was not.”

“He was near death, though. If you hadn't found him when you did—but yes, that time I was wrong. It was, I think perhaps, my mind that kept insisting he might never come back to me. In my heart, I could not believe it. But now—some of my people had the sight, you know. Oh, way back, it was, and the family never talked about it, but every now and then I—know things. And just as I am certain that Mr. Malloy will recover completely from his illness, I am sure, in my heart, that we will never find Clancy.”

She sat with head bowed for a moment, then looked up. “But this picnic is a good idea all the same, my dear. Especially if Clancy is never found, we must use every resource we have to get to the truth of the train wrecks, the fires, all the evil around us. I will certainly help all I can, and if we don't learn anything useful, well—” she spread her tiny hands “—the boys will have a good time, and that's worth the trouble.”

So they worked out the details, and Aunt Molly went home, leaving Hilda filled with wonder at the strength of this little woman who, believing her son dead, nevertheless went about the business of life with grace and courage.

Hilda's background didn't encourage a belief in clairvoyance. The spirits that live in trees, in woods, in water, yes—perhaps. Hilda wasn't sure she actually believed in the
tomte
and trolls of her Scandinavian folklore, but she didn't like walking near woods, especially at night, and she was careful about streams. Just because one was a good Christian didn't mean one shouldn't be careful.

But she had also learned not to scoff at the beliefs of others. And if Aunt Molly thought, believed, that Clancy was dead, well—she, Hilda, would bear it in mind as a possibility.

Maybe her dreams would be less troubled.

For Hilda had not been sleeping well. She had blamed the heat and her heavy, ungainly body that made comfortable sleep impossible. But when, finally, she fell asleep, she had nightmares that she could never remember in the morning, except the impression of trying to run, run away from some undefined horror—only she could not run, could not walk, could only try to crawl from the Thing that came nearer, nearer.... She would scream and then wake with Patrick's hand on her hair, soothing, calming, easing her back into sleep.

For the next few nights after Molly's visit the dream was different. This time she was chasing the Thing down endless corridors, twisting, writhing tunnels, a labyrinth that led nowhere, and always with mocking laughter in her ears. In the mornings she would remember that laughter and clutch Patrick's arm tightly until its echoes faded from her mind.

The day of the picnic arrived, a beautiful day, warm, with no hint of rain. Hilda's capable crew had made all the arrangements. Mrs. O'Rourke had volunteered to bake enough of her famous chocolate cakes to feed an army; she and Mr. O'Rourke were to drive them to the park in state in the carriage.

As they were carrying the last load out, Hilda made a decision. Patrick was at the store, so she could not consult him. “Mrs. O'Rourke, can you fit me into the carriage? I could hold a few of the cakes on my lap.”

Mrs. O'Rourke looked at the bulge where Hilda's lap used to be. “No need for that, madam. There's room enough. But—”

Hilda didn't let her continue. “I will not get out. No one will see me. I want to hear children laughing, to smell the fresh air. I have been in the house too long.”

“Yes, madam.” Mrs. O'Rourke didn't quite sniff, but her disapproval was evident in every line of her body.

Hilda didn't care. This picnic was her idea and she intended to be there. If anything exciting happened, she wanted to be on the scene. With most of the city's police force there, she and Kristina would be well protected.

All the same, she hoped Patrick wouldn't find out until she was safely back home.

It began well. O'Rourke drove the carriage to a spot where Hilda could see everything without being conspicuous. She had feared hers might be the only carriage, but there were several others, waiting, she assumed, for the fine ladies to be finished with their charitable work. She recognized the Malloy coachman, who had left his driver's seat and was chatting with—oh,
Herre Gud
, with John Bolton! She had never thought Mrs. Studebaker would come in person.

If John saw her, there could be trouble. He would certainly come over to chat, and that would attract attention. She slid down in her seat until she could barely see out, a most uncomfortable position in her present condition. As an afterthought she snatched off her hat, but it was too late.

“Doing an imitation of an ostrich, are you?” It was John's lightly sarcastic voice. “But no, it's their heads they stick in the sand.”

“Go away, John,” said Hilda through her teeth. “I don't want anyone to know I'm here.”

“And why are you here, is what I'd like to know. Or no, let me guess. It's Hilda Pinkerton, hot on the trail of Clancy Malloy.”

“What do you know about Clancy Malloy?” In her eagerness to gain whatever information John had, she forgot to keep her voice low.

“Nothing I want to tell the whole world.” In a quick movement, John hoisted himself onto the seat beside Hilda.

“John! Get down! If anyone sees you in here with me—”

“If anyone thinks I'd be up to no good with you at this particular time of your life, they've got a filthy mind. Do you want to know about Clancy, or don't you?”

“I want to know, but quickly, John.” She looked around nervously. No one seemed to be paying any attention. O'Rourke had gone off with his wife to help arrange the cakes on the serving tables, and the boys, of course, had no eyes for anything but the food.

“I don't know if this is going to make things better for you, or worse, but I have it on good authority that the blot on the Malloy family escutcheon will deface it no more. In short, Clancy has departed for a better world. Or maybe a worse one, come to think of it. I somehow can't see the pearly gates opening wide for such as him.”

“Aunt Molly said so.” It was the barest whisper.

John looked at her sharply. “His mother knows?”

“No, she—yes, she knows, but not that way. She—oh, John, you would not believe me, anyway. How do you know? What happened?”

“It's only rumor, but a pretty reliable one. If you want to know the whole story, talk to your little friend Andy Mueller. He's the source of the story, as far as I can tell. I expect you'll have to wait a bit, though.”

His last remark came over the strident sound of a dinner bell that set up a cheer from something like a hundred young male voices.

“I think I'll join them,” said John, stepping down lightly. “Shall I bring you a plate, milady?”

“Do not make fun of me, John Bolton! And I do not want any food, but I would like some lemonade, please—lots of lemonade.”

She had to wait until the boys had eaten their fill, and that took some time. All healthy boys have good appetites, but boys who almost never have enough to eat can resemble a plague of locusts. The trestle tables, groaning with food to start, were left with plates of crumbs. Mrs. O'Rourke's eighteen chocolate cakes had vanished down to the last dollop of icing, leaving that good lady both gratified and annoyed. She had planned on taking at least one back home for supper at the Cavanaugh house.

John, having eaten his own lunch, went off in search of Andy and brought him to the carriage, along with Hilda's lemonade.

Andy was alarmed when he saw Hilda.

“Miss! I didn't ought to be seen talking to you.”

He would have run away if John had not caught him by the arm and virtually thrust him into the carriage. He came in behind the boy and sat next to him to make sure he didn't bolt. “There, now, nobody will see you. Tell the lady what you know.”

So, with hesitations and a few tears, Andy told his tale.