Death by matchmaker, p.13
Death by Matchmaker, page 13
Ginger lurched from me and smacked into the back of Archie’s leg. When he spun, she rolled the Ty Cobb baseball to him. “Very well, I will heave a few for you.”
I patted my brother’s back. “You’re the best. A peach of a big brother.” One afraid of his mommy.
Skipping up the front steps, I hurried inside to the telephone. Wall-to-wall meetings packed my agenda and I never found a moment to call Jack Bentley and give him a heads-up. What possessed me to spout out the number to the Times-Herald to Bateman? I suppose the deep-voiced reporter is on my mind. Now how do I explain the mess to him… without revealing my cover?
I gave the operator my name and as I waited for her to connect me, I tried out a few explanations on the mirror.
“Hattie Bentley’s office.”
I gulped and did a doubletake at the receiver. “Jack?”
“Hello, Penelope. I just had the strangest conversation with a friend of yours.”
“That was fast.”
“Hold on a minute, I want to make sure I remember the message.” Papers shuffled. “A scary lug named Bateman called about your date at the jazz club tomorrow night.”
“He… I… what did you tell him?”
“Well, I assumed since you gave him my number and name, sort of, that you’re working a case. And being I’m an investigative reporter who’s always eager for a scoop, I rolled with the punches.”
“You did? How did you know Bateman wanted me? I didn’t provide my real name.”
“I’m a gambler.” He chuckled. “And of everyone I am acquainted with, you get yourself into the most pickles.”
“Can I ask what you said to Bateman?”
“I pretended to be your jealous estranged husband and I told him not to call you anymore. That should buy you a little time to do whatever it is that you’re doing.”
“Thanks, Jack. That was quick thinking.”
“Ah, it was a risk but he seemed a little overeager and in need of a cool-off period.” Jack cleared his throat. “So, tell me about Borden’s scam to steal designs.”
I coughed on my peppermint. “Excuse me?”
“Ooh, by the sound of you choking, I hit the nail on the head.”
“How could you possibly know about the case?”
“A magician never reveals his secrets, Penelope.” The smile echoed in his voice. “I don’t ask about who you work for and why you act like an undercover copper. Professional courtesy.”
I chewed my lip. “After things settle down, I’ll make sure you get the scoop. Fair?”
“And if your beau calls looking for you again?”
“Hang up.” My eyebrows knitted together as I said goodbye to the perplexing reporter. I couldn’t decide if his quick thinking impressed or startled me. Jack came dangerously close to discovering my secret. As it was, I had enough problems with the team so I had to be more careful around him.
As I changed into evening attire – an imperial blue dress with sheer sleeves – Mother stuck her head into my room. “Penelope, your brother mentioned your quest tonight. Please take caution.”
I selected the matching cloche hat and adjusted the crooked feather. “A private detective is accompanying me. I am well protected.” I skipped the part about the PI being a hundred years old and portly. She needed to believe in my safety. “We are only questioning witnesses and clarifying some inconsistencies.”
She closed my door and lowered her voice. “Someone phoned again this afternoon and repeated the warning.”
I slipped on white gloves with gold trimming. “Seems I upset the applecart.”
“I want this menace in jail.” She opened my jewelry drawer and located a long figure-eight necklace with multi-shaped beads. “This goes with the gold trim.”
“Thank you for having faith in my abilities.”
“I’ve never doubted your amazing qualities. I do wish you would allow me to find a proper husband so you would stop pursuing this odd fascination with criminals.” She pinched my cheek. “You should not settle for anything less than what you deserve.”
“I can take care of myself.” I hugged her and accepted the low white heels she selected for me. “Worry about Archie and Alexis.”
My sixteen-year-old little sister was away at school. She still believed we were rich beyond words. She obsessed over books and horses and wrote to me endlessly about the pony Mother would buy her for Christmas. The goofy girl matured late but was destined for beauty, much like her mother. I smiled. And her sister. If she knew the truth, she’d withdraw from school and come home immediately to help the family – a burden no teen deserved.
I sped to Oak Cliff to pick up Zeb, who was stranded when his clunker conked out. I didn’t trust his old car or his evening driving anyway. And unlike my mouthy brother, he didn’t mind the role of passenger. He repeated the Abe Lincoln story and I didn’t remind him he already told the tale.
“Did your research of me confirm my narrative?” He adjusted his bowler in the breeze from the open window.
I never got around to looking into his history but I didn’t spill the fact to him. “You check out as far as I can tell.”
“Our line of work requires due diligence. Never take anything at face value when investigating murder.”
I looped back toward my neighborhood and the home of Beauregard Braxton. “I learn quickly.”
“You remind me of me at twenty-something. Full of righteous confidence. I worked my first murder case involving the cousin of the Secretary of War. My partner and I had a likely suspect so the bosses, the President’s people, and the newspapermen, pressured us to close it out. But I was certain the husband choked his wife to death. I didn’t listen to my partner or anyone else. I charged at the man like a bull after a matador.”
“Let me guess. The husband didn’t do it?”
“Oh, he did alright. Had an ironclad alibi but I pursued the man anyway. It turned out he killed her three nights earlier and put the body on ice. Before going out of town, he left her out to thaw. A neighbor found the body the following day. I dug deeper and uncovered a telegraph he sent from Chicago asking the woman to go check on his wife because he was concerned. He could not let nature take its course and instead wanted her discovered on his timetable. Once the thaw set it, all appearances were that she died within a few hours of the discovery of the corpse.”
“How did you find out about the ice? And prove he killed her?”
“Burns on her nose were frostbite. I suffered from the malady as a child.” Zeb smiled. “As for the proof, I tricked him into believing I located a witness who observed him dragging something into an icehouse nearby. He confessed to avoid the hangman’s noose.” He closed his eyes. “Thirty-seven years later, the man still writes me letters from prison. He remains as bitter as three-day-old coffee.”
“Do you believe Beauregard Braxton stabbed his wife?”
“Again, I am faced with a solid alibi. And witnesses who say otherwise. We shall see.”
After a bit of fancy talking from the detective and me, Beauregard showed us into his study. “We appreciate you taking the time.” Zeb’s breathing labored as he lowered himself into a suede armchair.
A dim light caught on smoke and formed a halo over Beau’s head. But he was no angel, whether or not he murdered his wife. “You’re on the clock, Lange. Why are you bothering me?”
“Clarissa hired me several weeks ago to handle a delicate matter.”
Beauregard puffed on his pipe and exhaled noxious tobacco through his nose and mouth. “Something related to her so-called business. Did she stumble into a hornet’s nest?”
Zeb leaned forward on his cane, his face blank. “What’s that?”
“She hired Zeb because she believed someone would try to murder her,” I said.
Beauregard switched his attention to me for the first time. “Why is Dot Cunningham’s daughter with you, Lange? She’s not welcome after what she pulled at the estate sale.”
“You can ask me, Beau. I’m right in front of you.” This man did not respect women. I planned to use his ignorance against him.
Beauregard gritted his teeth, tired of waiting for the detective to answer. “Why are you here with this relic from the nineteenth century?”
“My mother hired your wife to find a suitable match for my brother.”
Beauregard snorted. “Archie Gillespie? Why am I not surprised Fatty Arbuckle can’t land a girl on his own?”
I glanced at Zeb and his blank face. He was too old and fatigued for late-night interviews. I had to carry the ball on this one. “You didn’t respect your wife’s job, did you, Beau?”
“Her hobby?” He puffed and peeled away his tweed smoking jacket to shove a hand in his pants pocket. “Let’s not confuse matters by calling what she did a job. If she made more than pennies, I am not aware.”
I ran a hand through my hair, suddenly wishing I pushed Mother for straight answers on the financial aspect of her transaction with Clarissa. “I’ll mark you down as a ‘no’ for respecting her job.”
“You’ve yet to explain why you are here.” His beady eyes glowered. “After your visit the night of my wife’s death, I asked around. You snuck by the police and waltzed inside against express orders. You’re no investigator. You work as a secretary for Gillespie. You are a liar.”
“Your wife confided that she was afraid of someone. Was that person you?”
“Nonsense.” He attempted to puff the pipe but nothing came out. He snatched a gold lighter from the dark walnut desk. “Lange, I expect half-cocked applesauce from private dicks like you. Why is this dame with you spouting off? Can’t you control her wild fantasies?”
Zeb tweaked his white beard. “This young lady is curious…”
“Let’s pretend for a second I believe Clarissa came to you with her concerns…”
“She did.” I gritted my teeth. “Perhaps she read about my involvement with the coppers a few months ago. The Bob Westmoreland murder.”
“Due to this vague connection, she told you that she feared for her life?” Beauregard fired the lighter and sucked air until smoke drifted from the pipe. “Did you go to the police with this theory?”
“I, uh, the follow-up discussion never took place.”
Beauregard chuckled. “You didn’t take her seriously. Neither of you did.” He propped a hip on his desk. “Crack job Lange. In your time working the case, did you find out anything? Other than the fact my wife lived in a fantasy world?”
“She controlled your money,” Zeb said.
I jerked my head. The detective had not shared her finances with me. As far as I knew, Clarissa was not wealthy. And Prudence certainly was not. I picked up a small thread and ran with it. “A few weeks ago, Clarissa tightened the purse strings. Out of the blue. That made you angry, didn’t it, Mr. Braxton?”
He snorted. “If she told you such a whopper, her mind was further gone than I realized. My bride received a modest insurance settlement with the death of her elderly brother. My company handled the claim. But to say she had substantial sums of cash and controlled our finances would be false. I am the breadwinner in my household.”
“Who inherits her wealth, Mr. Braxton?” Zeb asked.
“Wealth?” He plopped from the desk and used the pipe to point. “She manipulated you, Lange. You and this chippy fell into Clarissa’s web of deceit. In the overall scheme, her contribution to this house is next to nil.”
The scenario finally clicked in my head. “Her matchmaking business is wildly successful, Beau.”
“If you say so.”
I waited until he glanced my way and trapped his eyes. “Prudence wants to take over and escape her middle-class life.”
His mouth switched to a near snarl. “Wild conjecture. Pru has no interest in something so trivial.”
“Why do you insist on lying at every turn, Mr. Braxton? It only makes you look guilty.” I fluffed the hair spilling from my hat. “Opal kept the books and she turned over everything for the police to review. They logged into evidence your wife made more than you.”
“As if numbers can’t be fudged.”
“Who did Clarissa leave the business to?” I asked again. “You? Prudence? Does it even matter which of you legally get it?”
“You’re making me sore now. Beyond angry, young lady.” He squared to me. “Spit it out. Ask what you want to know. Pru told me about you. What you accused her of.”
“And yet you pretended not to know who I am or why I’m questioning you.”
“Point for you.” His voice rose. “Ask the question. Go ahead. I dare you.”
“You and Prudence are close.”
“Ask it. Don’t beat around the bush.” He slung papers from his desk. “Put the words in your mouth, you imprudent little…”
Zeb stepped between us. “Sir, I insist you calm down.”
I peeked around the elderly detective. “When your wife found out about you and her sister, she threatened to leave you. And take her money.”
“You feel guilty, Chippy. Clarissa begged for your help and you did nothing. Her death is on you.”
I flinched at the accusation but pressed on. Don’t let him turn the tables. Keep the spotlight on him. “You made a mistake, Beau. Only a matter of time before the heat came back on you and Prudence. You had to realize you wouldn’t get away with it.”
“Don’t push me,” he growled.
“Civil people can work these things out. Why did you kill her? Did you and Prudence plan it together? Which one of you stabbed her?”
Beauregard lunged at me like a wild animal. Zeb nudged between us again and took the brunt of the blow. Beauregard dispatched the detective and reared a hand to slap me. I steadied myself and prepared for a fight. I dodged him and clawed at his neck and cheek, fracturing two of my manicured nails. He backhanded me and connected with my shoulder.
I backed into the fireplace and snatched a poker. “Come closer, I dare you.”
“I’ll wrestle that thing away and tear you to pieces,” he snarled.
“Why not use a knife? You have experience in that medium.” Several beats went by as we engaged in the standoff.
“Well, try and prove your little theory.” Beauregard straightened his jacket and gulped. He located his discarded pipe and puffed like a steam engine working to climb a hill. “If I see you… either of you on my property again I’ll shoot you.”
I kept an eye peeled on the house as we traversed the winding sidewalk to the Buick. Beauregard’s silhouette remained in the window of his study.
Zeb struggled to move, his cane pounding the earth with each step. “You did not take the relaxed approach I would have.”
“You didn’t leave me much choice, Zeb. You were so quiet in there I almost forgot you were there. Until you stepped in front of that madman’s fist.”
“I apologize.” He wheezed and rubbed his chest. “I feel off. My mind is not working properly tonight and I’m not processing the facts like I should. I might be getting old.” He attempted a smile.
I squeezed his shoulder. “Neither of us was on our game with him. But we learned a few things.” Goosebumps prickled my arms. I shivered and glanced in all directions. Despite Beauregard remaining in the window, danger dangled in the air. “Let’s go. Something is wrong here.”
“I agree.” Zeb swiveled. “Go on ahead.”
I raced to the driveway and started the vehicle. Zeb slid in beside me and squinted at the sky. Clouds hung low and fog drifted in. As I put the car in gear, a bang echoed in the neighborhood. Sparks flew as another explosion rang out. The second one was unmistakable. Gunfire. I urged the balking Buick onward as a bullet clanged off the front hood. I punched the accelerator.
Zeb covered his head. “If Beauregard is peeping out the winder, who in the Sam Hill is shooting at us?”
15
Trouble with a Capital T
Morning sunlight glistened off the dented Buick as we pulled into the parking lot at the same time as Tobias. I pinched my lips and avoided eye contact. I grabbed my brother by the arm in hopes we wouldn’t all walk upstairs together. “Archie, don’t say a word to Top Hat about last night.”
He rubbernecked to the Englishman. “Heavens, why would he care you went on some careless pursuit?”
“Maybe he won’t notice the bullet holes,” I mumbled. Deep breaths.
I didn’t need a lecture from Tobias, especially before I had the chance to come clean. Not to mention Archie spent the previous twelve hours berating me for my carelessness. He was more concerned about how the gunshots harmed his precious car than what they nearly did to his sister.
Archie stretched the fabric of his suit to clasp the buttons. “When Officer Fielding…”
“Budding,” I corrected.
“His name is of little concern to me. When this love-smitten policeman comes by to take the report, I want a word with him.” Archie tipped his hat to Tobias. “Morning, sir.”
“I don’t recall your automobile resembling Swiss cheese yesterday.” Tobias scowled, but differently from his resting scowl. He showed real anger. “Did someone shoot at you?”
“Speak to my baby sis, Mr. Hutchinson.” Archie waddled away.
“I don’t suppose this is related to our investigation of Borden Brothers?”
I rounded from the driver’s side to the rear. A neat circle created a spider web fracture in the glass and a second bullet pierced the bumper. “No, but speaking of the case, I want to offer a suggestion. We should have a dedicated phone line for our more secretive business endeavors. I was forced to give Bateman a phony number just to get away from him.”
“No explanation as to the shot-up condition of your car?”
“Bad kids in the neighborhood, I reckon.”
“In Highland Park? Not likely.” Tobias bent to inspect the entry point. “Your avoidance of the question is the only answer I require. You are in over your head and if you are doing what I suspect, without the backup of the team, I am more than disappointed.”
