The War Against Miss Winter (22 page)

I
ASKED
A
GNES IF
I could come back to look through the crates of files and she agreed that I could stop in in the next morning. I ran to rehearsal, where I perfected the art of thinking about one thing while doing another. During our mid-rehearsal break, I ducked into the lobby and called the Shaw House. Jayne answered on the first ring.

“I’ve been waiting for two hours! Why didn’t you call me from Agnes’s?”

“No time,” I said. “Get this: Agnes took the files.”

“Jim’s files? No!”

Behind me, the other actresses shuffled to and from the bathroom. I lowered my voice and crouched closer to the horn. “On my honor, the crates are sitting in Agnes’s dining room exactly as I packed them. She also took the furniture. She wanted it as a memento. And if that wasn’t the find of the day, I know why Eloise married Jim.” I quickly recounted Agnes’s story.

“But what does all of this have to do with Raymond Fielding?” asked Jayne.

“I’m not there yet, but give me time. I’m going back to look at the files tomorrow.”

Peter rapped on the lobby wall and announced that it was time for rehearsal to resume. I bid Jayne farewell and disconnected.

We spent the afternoon shattering the last remaining alliances in the cast, which wasn’t too hard since already nobody was speaking to anyone else and the tension in the theater could’ve held a rhino at bay. When rehearsal came to an end, I grabbed my stuff and attempted to breeze. Peter caught up with me as I was on my way out the door.

“In a hurry?” he asked. It was a stupid question since I was posed
with one foot on the street, but I told him no anyway. “I just wanted to let you know that Ruby is returning tomorrow.”

I knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, but I’d been banking on later. I pulled my leg back into the lobby. “I’m amazed that you’re so comfortable with her coming and going like this.”

“I do meet with her privately.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You do?” I conjured Ruby in a room at the St. Regis, wearing a flimsy negligee while eating bonbons in bed.

“Of course. We’ve been meeting in the evenings, though naturally the rehearsals are different in nature.”

“Naturally.” I forced a grimace. “How well do you know Ruby?”

Peter frowned. “We’re not romantically involved, if that’s what you’re asking.”

The room at the St. Regis disappeared. “I’m not.”

His expression made it clear he didn’t believe me. “Ruby’s a bit of an enigma. For someone who loves attention, she’s a surprisingly private person. But then I guess she gets that from her parents.”

“Her parents?”

“Yes, the old man’s a minister and the good wife supports the flock. Very conservative, very quiet. They came to Ruby’s first show, the one I told you about.”

I couldn’t help but feel relieved. Ruby had definitely been lying. I was not an awful person. “They’re here in New York?”

“They used to be. Upstate, I think. They were none too fond of Ruby’s chosen vocation, and I think they had a falling out over it. It wasn’t long after that show that she took her stage name. A rather ironic choice for a minister’s daughter to become a ‘Priest,’ don’t you think?”

“Ruby always was a clever one.”

He leaned in to me, though instead of feeling put out by the gesture, I was warmed by the intimacy. “I’m very grateful to you, Rosie. While Ruby may be returning, I want you to know that I still consider you an integral part of this production.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“I’ve been very impressed with your performance. I’ve told a number
of people about you. You may not get the visibility you want out of this production, but I guarantee you’ll get work.” He gently brushed my hair out my eyes. My scalp tingled.

If Agnes was ready to move on with her life, shouldn’t I be too? Jack was gone, our relationship was kaput, and life was barreling on without me. I could do a lot worse than Peter Sherwood.

I stopped his hand with my own. “Would you be interested in getting a drink?”

His smile was delicate and sad, drawing the length of a missed opportunity. “I’m afraid I have other plans tonight.” He grasped my hand until a touch became a hold. “Can we do it another time?”

I held on to him a moment too long. His palm was smooth and dry. “Absolutely.”

I struck a compromise between my desire for safety and my lack of dough and took the subway home. Jayne was out, so I scammed some dinner from the kitchen and had a picnic on my bed with Churchill and
Burns and Allen.
We were halfway through our second roll and the first commercial break when a knock sounded at the door.

Before I could ask my visitor to identify herself, Ruby poked her head around the corner. “Busy?” she asked.

“In a manner of speaking. What do you want?”

Her eyes arced across the room, taking in the details of Jayne’s and my slovenly lifestyle. An ancient cup of tea coagulated on a dresser. A bra wound its wire-filled tendrils about the radiator. The clothes I’d worn to rehearsal were splayed about the floor like a bear-skin rug. She sighed at the sight of our squalor and approached my bed. “How are rehearsals going?”

I turned the volume down on the Magnavox. “Swell, though not a day goes by that we don’t miss you. Fortunately for all of us, I hear you’re coming back tomorrow.”

“Was Peter talking about my return?”

“That and nothing else.” I gave Churchill the remainder of my roll. He lay on top of it, his almond eyes challenging me to try to steal it back. “Hear anything from your family?”

Ruby sighed again and shook her head. “No.”

“That’s a pity, but I wouldn’t give up hope. The mail can be awfully slow between here and upstate. I mean, those letters have to travel a good hundred miles through the war-torn Catskills. Fortunately, there’s no summer stock to impede them.”

Ruby backed up and pushed the door closed. “What do you want?”

“The truth.” I left the bed and met her eye to eye. “And not that bowl of hooey you fed us the other day. I know about the minister and his wife, and neither seems to be overseas.”

If Ruby had been any more shocked, we could’ve powered the chair at Sing Sing for a week. “How did you find out?”

I folded my arms and attempted to mimic her stance. “Never you mind: the point is I did. Why are you working for Eloise?”

Her nostrils flared. It was not a good look for her. “I don’t have to tell you that. You don’t have leverage anymore. Go and tell everyone you like that I lied. I won’t care.”

I thumped my finger against her breastbone. “You might not care about the house knowing your background, but you sure wouldn’t want Mrs. McCain to know you’re a fraud. She and her son aren’t known for their hospitality toward snoops.”

Ruby blanched. As fast as the fear arrived, it left. She buoyed herself until her head seemed an inch from the ceiling. “I have information for you,” she said. “I’ve learned loads about Eloise’s connection with Raymond Fielding. But if you insist on threatening me, perhaps I’ll just forget what I found.”

“So you’ve been holding out on me?”

A lazy smile stretched from ear to ear. “I prefer to think of it as waiting to divulge information until a more fortuitous time.”

That was a good dodge; I’d have to remember it for later. “How do I know you’re not lying again?”

“The evidence will make it clear. Of course, I have no intention of
showing you anything unless you promise not to say a word to Eloise about me.”

I was taking a chance, but something told me Ruby was on the square. “Go ahead. My lips are sealed.”

She settled on Jayne’s bed, her skirt billowing around her as though she were about to sing a solo. “Eloise was accused of murdering Edgar’s father—his
real
father, not Raymond Fielding.” She looked at me expectantly, waiting for applause or huzzahs or at least a gasp of amazement.

“Skip to the picture—I’ve seen the newsreel and I hope for your benefit that there’s more to this information than that. Eloise killed her artist lover. Pop Fitzgerald was able to get the crooked coppers already in his pocket to get her off. In return, she had to obey his every word, including marrying a man she couldn’t stand.”

Ruby swallowed her disappointment and continued focusing on one-upping me. “Or face disownment. While Eloise put on a happy face for her father, she had no intention of being the dutiful daughter for the rest of her life. She was good friends with Fielding. He was just starting his career, and word was he wasn’t quite the man he claimed to be.”

“He was a nance? So are half the guys in theater.”

Ruby flipped her hair. “This was before the Great War, Rosie. People weren’t quite as accepting of those…sorts of relationships.” I didn’t need to ask Ruby where she stood on the issue. “Apparently Fielding was concerned this was doing injury to his career, so he and Eloise decided to circulate a rumor that Edgar was his, further distancing her from her lover’s death and giving Fielding the manly reputation he needed. In exchange, Fielding would unofficially declare the child his son, going so far as to provide for him in his will. When Fielding died, Edgar would get his estate, and Eloise would have the financial freedom to separate from her family and from Jim.”

Things were getting weirder and weirder. “Sounds like an awful long time to wait.”

“I don’t think she intended to wait long. After all, this is a woman who’s killed before.”

It was a good story with plenty of motive, yet I couldn’t help but won
der why Ruby was willing to share it with me. “Where’s this evidence you mentioned?”

“Isn’t my word enough?” With a look, I let her know it wasn’t. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a packet of papers. “These are letters between Eloise and Fielding documenting the entire arrangement and a copy of his will.” I grabbed for them, but she lifted the stack out of my reach. “I need to return them tomorrow.”

“And you shall.” She surrendered the papers and I quickly scanned them. Things were exactly as Ruby had said. Letters between Fielding and Eloise depicted two people desperate to change their circumstances. Fielding needed a reputation. Eloise wanted money so she could break from her father and Jim for good. I shook my head in amazement. “Why on earth would she save these things?”

“Apparently, she wanted to make sure she had legal proof of their deal just in case he should ever contest it.”

“Why would he do that?”

If her smile could’ve wrapped around her head, it would’ve. “There’s a catch: no one could ever reveal Edgar’s true parentage, or the arrangement was off.”

“That doesn’t sound like a problem. Clearly Edgar and Eloise want the money and, clearly, they have no desire to dredge up the dead artist.”

Ruby cocked her head to the right. “Of course they didn’t, but that didn’t mean Fielding didn’t. If he found someone more deserving of his inheritance, say a lover, he may have been motivated to expose this information on his own.”

Jayne came home an hour later. I tipped us a couple of drinks and filled her in on my afternoon.

“So Eloise and Edgar think the play reveals that Raymond Fielding
isn’t Edgar’s father?” asked Jayne.

“Yep. And if that’s the case, they need to make sure it doesn’t see the light or they lose out on all of his dough.”

“Interesting.” Jayne dipped her finger into her glass to sop up any residual gin. “So if Ruby really was lying to us the other day, why is she working for Eloise?”

“Why does Ruby do anything?” I thought we had our prime suspects already identified, but Ruby’s behavior was more than a little odd. “Maybe Ruby’s looking for the play too. It would’ve been easy enough for her to overhear us talking about it. You know how she’s always poking her nose in our room. She could’ve put two and two together and figured out who would most likely have the script.”

“I suppose anything’s possible,” said Jayne. “Why would she want it, though?”

That was a question I couldn’t answer. “Maybe Ruby doesn’t want it for herself. Maybe she’s trying to find it for a certain playwright.”

“You mean she’s doing this for Lawrence Bentley? That sounds a little far-fetched.”

“And Eloise and Edgar’s motives don’t?” I stifled a yawn. This whole thing was wearing me out. “At Fielding’s wake, Bentley made it clear to me that he was disgusted by everyone’s interest in the missing play. He even tried to convince me it didn’t exist. What if he’s worried that if it does turn up, his new play will be overshadowed? After all, he had a hard time getting funding for it. It makes sense that he would want to prevent any competition.”

“So Ruby and he fake a breakup, she gets cast in the People’s Theatre show, eavesdrops on us, and starts working as a maid for the person who’s most likely to have the play?”

I nodded. “And we helped her out by verifying that she was on the right track.”

I pondered the suspects for the length of my drink. I dozed off in mid-
thought and probably would’ve slept through the night—glass still in hand—if the phone hadn’t started shrieking just before midnight.

“Rosie!” shouted Belle from the landing. I dropped my glass to the floor, where an oddly positioned Churchill hissed at me. “Rosie! Phone!” The only news that ever came in the middle of the night was bad news. My heart pitter-pattered as I stumbled into the hallway and took the receiver from Belle. Her tone matched her appearance: disheveled and ripped from much-needed slumber. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Not quite late enough to be tomorrow?”

Her stubby finger jabbed my shoulder. “This better be important. And whoever it is better not call at this hour again.”

I nodded my understanding and attempted to shoo her away. She didn’t move. “Hello?”

“Rosie? It’s Agnes. I’m sorry to call so late.”

I was so relieved that it was her that I went weak in the knees. I leaned against the banister and slid to the floor. “It’s all right. What’s the matter?”

She sucked in air so fast I expected to be dragged through the receiver. “The files are gone.”

“What?” My head bounced against the banister. In a rare show of humanity, Belle sensed that now wasn’t the time to aggravate me and drifted away.