Murder on St. Nicholas Avenue (22 page)

“G
ranny, we saw Santa Claus!” Catherine reported to Mrs. Malloy when they arrived back home after their visit to Macy's department store.

“Did you now?” Mrs. Malloy said with a knowing smile, signing for Brian's benefit. “What did he look like?”

Brian replied to that. He didn't know the sign for
beard
,
but he improvised, leaving no doubt that Santa's beard was very long.

“He gave us candy,” Catherine added.

“Where is it?” Mrs. Malloy asked.

“We ate it.”

Maeve smiled. “It was just penny candy. Santa was handing it out to all the children in the store.”

“A cheap enough way to get them to come back to the store again,” Mrs. Malloy remarked with a wink. “And who's this carrying all your packages?”

Maeve realized Gino had lifted the pile of boxes he carried to cover his face, as if she'd loaded him down so much he couldn't even see. She snatched the top box off the pile to reveal his wicked grin.

“Gino,” Mrs. Malloy said. “What are you doing here this time of day?”

“It's a long story, Mrs. Malloy,” Maeve said. “We'll tell you when the children are in bed.”

“Officer Donatelli isn't a policeman anymore,” Catherine said. “That's why he's not wearing his uniform.”

“Is that so?” Mrs. Malloy said, raising her eyebrows at Gino. His grin faded, but she didn't scold him. That would come later, when the children weren't around, Maeve knew. “What did you buy?”

This was enough to distract the children, who had Gino carry the packages into Mrs. Malloy's private parlor. Some of them they couldn't show her, of course, but the children were thrilled to unwrap and display the tin and glass Christmas tree ornaments they'd chosen.

“What's wrong with stringing popcorn?” Mrs. Malloy wanted to know.

“It's fine,” Maeve said, “but we've got to have more than
that. Mr. Malloy's a millionaire now, and we have to keep up appearances.”

Mrs. Malloy snorted her opinion of that, making Maeve and Gino laugh.

“And this is really going to shock you,” Gino said, opening the last box.

“What on earth is all that?” she asked, eyeing the lights and wires with grave suspicion.

“They're electric lights for the Christmas tree,” Maeve said.

“I never heard of such a thing! All those wires! Why, if you turned on all those lights, the tree would go up in flames!”

“That's just it,” Maeve explained, managing to bite back her smile at the reaction she'd expected from the old woman. “It's much safer than candles.”

“Mama and Papa will be so surprised,” Catherine said.

“They will be that,” Mrs. Malloy said. “And how much did all this cost?”

“I charged it to their account,” Maeve said, knowing the amount would shock Mrs. Malloy but that Frank Malloy could easily afford it. “Now let's help Mrs. Malloy with dinner.”

The children scampered off to the kitchen with Gino on their heels, but Mrs. Malloy held Maeve back. “Mrs. Decker telephoned while you were out this afternoon.”

“And you answered it?” Maeve asked in amazement. Mrs. Malloy feared the telephone even more than she feared electric lights.

She managed to look offended. “Of course I answered it. People don't make telephone calls unless it's important.”

“What did she say?”

“She asked if you and Gino could come back to her house after supper.”

“Did she say why?”

Mrs. Malloy frowned, a terrifying sight if she was frowning at something you'd done, but Maeve knew she wasn't upset with her. “She got a note from that Una girl, asking for help.”

*   *   *

F
elix was starting to agree with Gino about using his carriage. He could have walked to Paul Reed's house faster than his carriage was taking him. One simply didn't arrive at someone's door on foot, however, at least if one wanted to make an impression.

He'd never met Reed, but he thought he knew some members of the man's family. The question was if Reed would see him, a total stranger. Felix was planning to mention Oscar Norwalk's name if he needed to. That would probably get him in the door, but nothing would guarantee Reed would give him any information.

The maid gave a start when she saw him, making him wonder what it was about him that had shocked her. Did her master receive so few visitors?

He had to admit the house did have a neglected air to it. The wallpaper in the entry was dark but faded in spots, probably where the sun shone through the glass in the door. Elizabeth would never have let their front hall get into that condition, he realized. The chairs placed against the wall for visitors to sit in while they waited sagged a little in the seat and dust coated the umbrellas hanging from the coatrack.

The maid returned after a few minutes, her eyes downcast this time, as if she were afraid to meet his gaze. “Mr. Reed will see you. Please follow me.”

She led him up the stairs. This floor looked no better than the one below. The carpets were worn and the furniture unpolished. She took him to the rear parlor, which would be the
room the family used, not the usual place visitors were received. She opened the door and announced him, then stepped out again and scurried off, still not looking up.

Felix shrugged off the feeling that he should understand her odd behavior and schooled his expression to pleasant politeness to greet Paul Reed.

Reed was a man of middle age, thin and a bit stooped, although he boasted a thick mane of gray hair. It looked like he'd been running his fingers through it instead of a comb, however, and he wore a dressing gown over his shirt and trousers. Not the normal attire for receiving visitors. Like his house, he had a neglected air. “Decker, to what do I owe this honor?”

Plainly, he didn't consider Felix's visit an honor, but Felix ignored his tone and stretched out his hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Reed.”

Left with no choice, Reed shook his hand and invited him to sit, but he still hadn't smiled.

“I'm also a friend of Oscar Norwalk's,” Felix explained. “That's why I'm here.”

“If you've come to tell me about the Panama project, you're too late. Oscar was here already. Two days before he . . . died. If you're hoping to get your money back, I can't help you. Pollock is dead, or have you already heard?”

“Yes, I knew about Pollock's murder. That's how I got involved in all this, as a matter of fact. I'm not an investor.”

“You were lucky, then. Or maybe you're the one who told Oscar he'd been swindled.”

“I'm afraid not. If I were, I hope I could have prevented his . . . what happened.”

“I would hope that, too,” Reed said sadly.

“Did he say who had told him? Not by name, obviously, but . . .”

“Someone from his club, he said. Oscar had been looking for more investors, apparently, and found someone who knew Panama.”

“Do you know how he met Pollock in the first place?”

“A chance encounter. Buying cigars, I think he said.”

Good heavens, had Pollock actually met prospective investors at the store where he'd also met his wife? “How did
you
find out Pollock was dead?”

He must have sensed that this was the most important question Felix had asked him so far. Instead of replying, he studied Felix for a long moment. “If you're not an investor, what is your interest in all this?”

“You may also know that Pollock's wife has been accused of killing him. Her mother asked me to help.”

“To help figure out who did kill him?” Reed asked in amazement. “Isn't that the job of the police?”

“The police think
she
killed him, but she says she didn't.”

“Of course she does, but surely they have a good reason for thinking she did.”

Felix wasn't going to go into that with Reed. “Did Lawrence Zimmerman tell you Pollock was dead?”

Reed's face settled into a scowl. “I don't remember.”

Felix smiled at that. Reed probably thought he was protecting Zimmerman, but his answer only made Felix more suspicious. “I'm not your enemy, Reed. In fact, I came to tell you that we may be able to return most of the money you invested with Pollock.”

Now he had Reed's full attention. “What do you mean? How could you do that?”

“We have located the money, which obviously wasn't invested in Panama or anywhere else. Pollock spent some of it, but I plan to see that the investors get a fair share returned to them.”

Reed's eyes grew suspiciously moist, and he remembered Caroline's tearful relief. “Why would you do this?”

“Because it's the right thing to do. I only wish I had been able to help before Oscar died, but at least his widow will benefit.”

Reed pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose without bothering to make the excuse of a nonexistent cold. “I'm sorry, Decker,” he said when he'd tucked the handkerchief away again. “I misjudged you.”

“That happens frequently, I'm afraid. Now would you mind telling me how you found out Pollock was dead?”

*   *   *

“H
e said Zimmerman told him,” Mr. Decker said.

Maeve and Gino had arrived at their house a few minutes ago, and they were all sitting in the family parlor. Mr. and Mrs. Decker had just finished telling them about their afternoon visits.

“We could have guessed that,” Gino said. “What we need to find out is how Zimmerman knew.”

“Probably because he's the killer,” Maeve said, knowing they were all thinking it.

“But nobody saw him at the house,” Mrs. Decker reminded them.

“The servants said that sometimes Pollock answered the door himself if he was expecting someone,” Mr. Decker said. “And we know he argued with someone right before he was killed.”

“Oh my goodness, with all the business with Truett's death, we've completely forgotten Mr. Yorke. At least we know he was actually at the house that day,” Maeve said.

They all stared at her in surprise.

“You're right, dear,” Mrs. Decker said after a moment. “We'd completely forgotten him.”

“Not completely,” Gino said. “I did think to stop at his hotel on my way over here after I, uh, parted ways with the police department, but he wasn't in.”

“So at least we know he's still in town,” Mrs. Decker said. “I still can't believe he's a murderer. He seemed like such a nice young man, not like Mr. Truett, who didn't seem nice at all.”

“Lawrence Zimmerman is probably a nice young man, too,” Mr. Decker said, “but I'm thinking that in the heat of anger over the swindle and Oscar Norwalk's suicide, he might have done anything.”

“The same is true for Yorke,” Gino said. “More so, in fact, because Yorke thinks Pollock killed his sister.”

“And he might have,” Maeve said.

“But,” Gino said, “why would Yorke have killed Truett?”

Maeve had no answer for that, but Mr. Decker did. “We're assuming the same person who killed Pollock also killed Truett. It seems likely, but maybe that's not true. Maybe Yorke killed Pollock in the heat of anger over his sister. Then someone found out Pollock was dead and broke into the house to steal the Panama money. It wasn't there, so this person assumed Truett had it, and he went to Truett's hotel to get it.”

“But it wasn't there, so he killed Truett?” Gino scoffed.

“No, he killed Truett because he was
sure
it was there.”

That made a strange kind of sense, Maeve realized. “Except it wasn't there, because we have it.”

“And I'm beginning to think we should return it to the investors as soon as possible,” Mr. Decker said.

“Do you think that's wise, dear?” Mrs. Decker asked. “Won't they need it for evidence or something?”

“I can't imagine why. Can you, Gino?”

Gino shook his head. “In fact, if the police get their hands on it, it might disappear completely. That's a lot of money, and a lot of temptation.”

“Would the police actually steal it?” Mrs. Decker asked.

Maeve and Gino gave her a pitying look, but Mr. Decker said, “I'm afraid it's a possibility we must consider, my dear, and even if it isn't stolen, it might never be returned to the investors. So the sooner we return it, the better.”

“I took five dollars out to bribe the matron at the jail,” Maeve said. “I think we should count that as an expense.”

“Why did you need to bribe her?” Mrs. Decker asked.

“To look after Una,” Maeve said, grinning at the memory. “That was before I got to know her, though.”

“So, Felix, you should figure out how much each investor should get, based on how much is left. Then you can deliver it to them. That will also give you an excuse to visit the ones you haven't seen yet.”

“Yes,” he said with a faint smile, “and I can also ask them if they killed Pollock while I'm there.”

She ignored that. “Oh dear, should we give Una some money to pay the servants, too? We did promise them.”

“Estimate how much you think they're owed, and I'll subtract that from the total,” Mr. Decker said.

“But where will we tell her it came from?” Maeve asked. “Are you going to pretend it's from you, Mrs. Decker?”

“Maeve's right,” Gino said. “We can't let Una know we have her husband's money, because she'll want it all.”

“And think she's entitled to it, if I've judged her correctly,” Maeve said.

Gino suddenly sat up straighter and grinned. “I just thought of something. If we prove she didn't kill her husband, she'll get the bail money back.”

“That should be enough to pay the servants and give her some spending money besides,” Mrs. Decker said. “And if not, I'll happily take care of them, poor things.”