Murder on St. Nicholas Avenue (25 page)

“It was a robbery, then.”

Maeve saw Gino hesitate. He wasn't sure exactly how much to tell her, but he evidently decided to go ahead. Maeve was glad, because she wanted to see Una's reactions.

“I went there to see for myself, and it looked to me like whoever broke in killed Truett first and searched the place after.”

Una flinched a little at that. “Maybe the burglar didn't know he was home, and Gordon woke up and surprised him.”

“That's possible, I guess,” Gino said. “The good news is that both Truett and your husband were killed the same way, as if the same person killed them, which could help your case.”

“Or they could decide I killed Truett, too,” Una said bitterly. “I wasn't in jail, after all, just shut up here.”

“It's hard to believe a female alone could have broken into Truett's hotel, beat his head in, searched the entire place, and then gotten out again,” Gino said.

As much as Maeve disliked Una Pollock, even she couldn't believe all that. There was no telling what a jury of twelve men would think, though.

“I hope you're right, Officer Donatelli,” Una said with a trace of her dazzling smile.

“Did you know that one of the men who invested in your husband's Panama project killed himself a couple weeks ago?” Maeve asked, feeling an urge to torment Una some more.

She didn't look very tormented, though. She just said, “I
don't know anything about his business, and I don't know anything about the investors either.”

“Except that you entertained them when they came to dinner,” Maeve reminded her.

“I met them, yes, and I made polite conversation when they were Randolph's guests. It was my duty as his wife.”

Yes, Maeve thought, and he would beat her senseless if she didn't.

“Now,” Una said, all trace of charm gone from her voice, “are you going to bring my mother here or
not?”

S
ince the next day was Sunday, the unofficial members of the Malloy Detective Agency couldn't gather until afternoon. Mrs. Malloy and Brian went to mass in the morning, while Maeve took Catherine to church. Maeve's upbringing had not included much in the way of religious instruction, so attending worship services was a new experience for her since she'd come to work for Mrs. Brandt. She did enjoy the music, and the minister sometimes had interesting things to say, even though she often found him to be hopelessly naïve about human nature. This morning the service seemed to drag, however, as she counted the minutes until the Deckers' planned visit after lunch.

Gino showed up before lunch, as she had expected, because he knew Mrs. Malloy was only too happy to feed him. He brought a stack of newspapers, too. The
World
, the
Herald
, and the
Journal
, along with several of the less important rags, like
the
Times
, all carried stories about Mrs. Pollock's mysterious visitors.

He spread them on the kitchen table for them to see. The sketches of Gino and Maeve supposedly emerging from the Pollock house in the dead of night had the children giggling.

“Is that really you?” Catherine asked, peering at one particularly inaccurate drawing.

“It's supposed to be,” Maeve said. “I wasn't wearing a fancy hat, though.”

“And you're not that fat either,” Gino said.

“What do you mean,
that
fat?” she demanded with feigned outrage.

“I mean you're not fat at all!” he quickly corrected himself, not sure if she was really outraged or not.

“I've never heard of such a thing,” Mrs. Malloy insisted, looking at each of the newspapers in turn. “Can't a person visit another person without it being in the newspapers?”

“Not if you're visiting an accused murderess,” Maeve said. “I love the way they lied about who we are, though. I thought John told them our real names.”

“Who's John?” Catherine asked.

“Mr. and Mrs. Decker's carriage driver,” Gino said. “They gave him a month's pay to tell them, too,” he added to Mrs. Malloy.

“They paid him? That's horrible!”

“Not for John,” Gino said. “And we wanted them to know who we were so they wouldn't keep looking and find out it was Mr. Decker's carriage and put his name in the stories.”

Brian signed something to Catherine that made her giggle. “Brian says Gino looks like an old man in this one.”

Gino responded by grabbing Brian and tickling him until he squealed with laughter.

“Who do they say you are?” Mrs. Malloy asked, picking up another of the papers to scan.

“One says we're influential friends,” Maeve said. “Another says we're working for her attorney.”

“My favorite one says that I'm her lover and Maeve is her mother,” Gino said.

“Nobody said that!” Maeve protested.

“Oh, I'm sure they did.” He picked up one of the papers and pretended to read it. Maeve gave him a swat that sent the children into new gales of laughter.

“But nobody said we were working for a detective agency,” Maeve said when everyone had settled down again. “That's what John told them.”

“Well, you aren't,” Mrs. Malloy reminded them.

No one had an answer for that.

Because it was Sunday, Mrs. Malloy served their noon meal in the dining room. The long table sported a lace tablecloth and a silver candelabra, and the children were cautioned to use their best manners. Mrs. Malloy allowed no discussion of murders or murderesses at the table. If the food had been good, Maeve might not have minded, but it was the typical Irish fare that Mrs. Malloy always served, boiled and flavorless.

Gino gobbled it up like he hadn't eaten in a week and praised it to the skies, but Maeve decided the first servant they would hire when the Malloys got home was a cook. Mrs. Malloy might be offended, but Maeve was more than prepared to placate her.

After they ate, Mrs. Malloy told Maeve and Gino to take the children upstairs to play while she cleaned up. Maeve thought Gino enjoyed playing with Brian's toys as much as the boy did, and they had a wonderful time until the chiming of the doorbell told them the Deckers had arrived.

The children ran down the staircase as fast as they could, completely ignoring Maeve's admonitions, and Mrs. Malloy emerged from the kitchen to greet the visitors. She and the children had welcomed them before Maeve and Gino even reached the bottom of the stairs.

When the children had calmed down enough to allow the Deckers to remove their coats, Mrs. Malloy tried to usher them into the formal parlor.

“But our cook sent these lovely cookies,” Mrs. Decker said, holding up the box she had brought. “Shouldn't we eat them at the kitchen table?”

Catherine signed the word
cookies
to Brian so that both children immediately chose the kitchen, leaving the adults no choice but to follow. Mrs. Malloy was plainly scandalized at the prospect of entertaining the Deckers in the kitchen, but Mrs. Decker linked arms with her like they were old friends and said, “We're family, after all.”

Maeve made Mrs. Malloy sit down while she prepared coffee for the grown-ups and poured milk for the children. Then they all sampled the cookies. While they ate, Catherine said, “Maeve and Gino had their pictures in the newspaper.”

“Did they really?” Mrs. Decker asked, her eyes shining because of course she would have seen the newspapers herself.

“Yes, Maeve looks fat.”

“And Gino looks old,” Maeve added, earning a grin from him.

“I'm certainly glad my picture wasn't in the newspaper then,” Mrs. Decker said.

“So am I,” her husband said. “I look old enough as it is.”

When the cookies had vanished, Mrs. Malloy said, “I'm going to take the children upstairs so you folks can talk, but before I do, I thought you'd want to know we got a telegram yesterday from Francis and Sarah.”

She signed something to Brian so he started jumping up
and down and clapping, too, the way Catherine was. Maeve felt like joining them, but she settled for grinning ear to ear and jumping up to read the telegram Mrs. Malloy had handed Mrs. Decker, leaning over Mrs. Decker's shoulder to do so.

“They'll be home in a week, if they have a good crossing,” Mrs. Decker said. “Well in time for Christmas.”

But not, Maeve realized, in time to be of much help to them on this case. Luckily, she was pretty sure they could do it without them.

When all the adults had read the telegram and expressed their happiness that the newlyweds were coming home, Catherine claimed the yellow paper, clutching it to her heart as Mrs. Malloy escorted them out.

As soon as the children were out of earshot, Mrs. Decker said, “I suppose we need to get back to work now. Was Mrs. Pollock happy to see you last night?”

Maeve glanced at Gino, and they both burst out laughing.

Mr. Decker turned to his wife. “I'd guess that she wasn't.”

“She couldn't have been less happy,” Maeve said when she had recovered herself. “She was furious. Luckily, she still hoped to charm Gino, or heaven knows what she might've done.”

“I can't convince Maeve that Mrs. Pollock doesn't have any interest in me,” Gino said.

“I'm sure she's interested in everyone who can help her,” Mrs. Decker said. “She probably figures Maeve has nothing to offer, but a police officer . . .”

“You didn't tell her you're no longer with the police, did you?” Mr. Decker asked.

“No. The subject didn't really come up.”

“That's good,” Mr. Decker said. “Did she tell you why she sent for me?”

“She gave us a reason,” Gino said with another glance at Maeve, “but Maeve doesn't believe it.”

“What did she say?” Mrs. Decker asked.

“She said she wants to see her mother,” Maeve said. “If that's true, I couldn't help but wonder why she didn't just send the telegram to Mrs. O'Neill directly.”

“That is a good question,” Mrs. Decker said with a knowing smile.

“Did you learn anything else?” her husband asked.

“Oh, one of the maids left,” Gino said.

“Oh yes, Jane,” Mrs. Decker added. “Hattie told us. I guess I forgot to mention it.”

“I don't remember her,” Mr. Decker said.

“She's very quiet,” Maeve said. “She always looked frightened. I'm not surprised she left. It's more surprising that any of them stayed at all, in fact. Gino said the other servants don't know where she went either.”

“That's odd,” Mrs. Decker said. “Servants gossip a lot, and they usually know everything about each other's business.”

“They knew Jane had written a letter to someone right after Pollock died,” Gino said. “The next day, in fact. She got Eddie to mail it for her.”

“That's odd. Who was it to?” Mrs. Decker asked.

“That's just it. Eddie can't read very well, so he doesn't know.”

“Maybe she wrote to her family,” Mrs. Decker said.

“According to the others, she doesn't have any family,” Maeve said.

“Which made me wonder if she was writing to somebody who knew Pollock,” Gino said. “To tell them he'd been murdered.”

“Who would need to know that?” Mr. Decker asked.

“I know it's far-fetched, but what if she recognized one of the investors as somebody she knew,” Gino said. “Maeve and I were talking about this on our way home last night, and it makes sense if you think about it.”

“How would she even know who the investors are, though?” Mr. Decker asked with a frown.

“They had dinner with Pollock and Una,” Maeve reminded him. “Some of them, anyway. We don't know which ones, but maybe Jane already knew one of them.”

“I see,” Mrs. Decker said. “She might have worked for one of them in the past or had seen them visiting someone she did work for. Maids do come and go with alarming regularity. Sometimes it seems that all I do is hire new maids.”

“And investigate murders,” Mr. Decker added gravely.

She ignored him. “I don't suppose we know which one of the investors she might have recognized.”

“No, nor why it would matter if she did, even if she wrote that person a letter telling him Pollock was murdered,” Maeve said.

“Except that one of the investors—I think it was Zimmerman—knew Pollock had been murdered long before it was in the newspaper, didn't he, Mr. Decker?” Gino said.

“That's right, he did. I couldn't get him to tell me how he knew, and when I suggested that the person who told him might be the killer, he scoffed.”

“That makes sense if Jane is the one who told him, but why would she go to all that trouble?” Maeve asked.

“I know she was worried about getting paid and getting a reference,” Mrs. Decker said. “All the servants were, so maybe she took a chance and tried to ingratiate herself with a former employer in hopes of going back to work for him.”

“Do you think it worked?” Maeve asked.

“It could have,” Mrs. Decker said. “Did you see her at Mr. Zimmerman's house, dear?”

“I didn't notice the servants at Zimmerman's house at all, but even if I had, I'm not sure I'd remember what this Jane looks like. I can certainly see him first when I start my visits
to return the investors' money tomorrow, and I can ask him about her, but I'm not sure why it even matters.”

“Maybe it doesn't,” Gino said, “but we have to wonder why she left the way she did. They told me she sneaked away when they thought she was going to the market, and this was before the reporters showed up. It was even before Mrs. Pollock got out of jail.”

“That is odd,” Mrs. Decker said. “I know all the servants were upset, but leaving without a word to anyone sounds almost desperate.”

“Maybe she knows something about what happened to Pollock,” Maeve said. “Maybe she even saw who killed him. That would explain why she was frightened enough to leave.”

“Then I'll definitely ask Zimmerman if he knows where she is. If she did see who killed Pollock, she might be in danger,” Mr. Decker said.

“Which is probably why Zimmerman wouldn't even admit that he knew her or that she's the one who told him about Pollock's death,” Gino said.

“We're getting ahead of ourselves,” Maeve said. “We don't even know why she left, but it's a good idea to talk to her anyway, just in case. I didn't realize you'd be returning the money so soon.”

“I think I should, don't you? I spent last evening doing the calculations, and the sooner it's out of our hands, the sooner it will be safe.”

That made perfect sense, but it went against everything she had been taught growing up. Maeve couldn't help thinking her grandfather must be turning over in his grave at the prospect of letting so much money go back to its rightful owners.

“And I still need to see Adam Yorke,” Gino said. “You said he planned to stay in town for a few more days, on the
chance he might find out something more about his sister, but he probably won't stay much longer.”

“Let's hope he hasn't already left,” Mrs. Decker said, “although the poor man must be at his wit's end. Mr. Pollock was the only one who knew what happened to Cecelia.”

“Unless he told Una,” Maeve said.

They all looked at her in surprise. “Do you think he might have?” Mrs. Decker asked.

Maeve shrugged. “I don't know for sure, of course, but it seems like something a man like Pollock would talk about if he was trying to frighten his current wife, doesn't it? He could tell her to be careful or she'd end up buried in the rose garden like his first wife or something like that.”

Mrs. Decker shuddered. “What a horrible thing to do.”

“Bury someone in the rose garden?” Mr. Decker asked.