Ask Me No Questions Page 18

“Nobody,” Bobby snapped at the same time Mimi cried, “I don’t know!”

  Phil made a note to invite John Atkins to a nice dinner once this investigation was over. Who knew how hard gathering clues could be? She was quite ready for one of Bev’s cocktails.

  Mimi had frozen in the middle of the floor. Now she crumpled onto the chaise, then sat rocking and wringing her hands. Yes, a cocktail was certainly called for. Phil might never attend a melodrama again.

  “Bobby, I beg you. You gotta get me out of here.”

  “Perhaps, Mr. Mullins, it might be better if she did take a few days off, just until the air clears.”

  “No. I mean outta Manhattan. Please, Bobby.”

  “Mimi, hon, the coppers told you not to leave town. If you do they’ll come after you and try to pin Reggie’s murder on you. But you can’t stay in town without money. I already gave you what I could.”

  “But don’t you have Reggie’s money for the trip?” Phil asked. Surely she couldn’t have run through it that fast.

  Another look to Bobby. “There wasn’t any money.”

  “There had to be. You don’t go traipsing off to South America without cash, and the police didn’t return any to Bev.”

  “How did you know where we were going?”

  “It don’t matter,” said Bobby. “The coppers probably kept the money. They do stuff like that. Old Roosevelt tried to clean up the force, but as soon as he left it just went back to like it was. There’s a few honest coppers, like Atkins, and you don’t want to cross him, though I doubt he’ll last. Good riddance, I say. Impossible to deal with honest cops.”

  “Indeed.”

  “I mean, you gotta admire the guy for hanging tough, but it’ll get him killed before it’s all over.”

  “Before what’s all over?”

  “Everything. Ain’t nothing totally honest in this town. Just the way it’s always been. Not gonna change anytime soon, if ever.”

  Mimi closed the suitcase, tried to snap it shut, leaned against it. “Ugh!” She pushed the top back, pulled off the top layer of clothes, dislodging a shiny black purse.

  Phil reached it before Mimi did.

  “How pretty,” Phil said, and snapped it open it before Mimi could snatch it back. Empty.

  “It got all mucked up the day that … the day that…” She sniffed.

  “But you got it back,” Phil said, stifling the urge to look inside.

  “The cops found it on the street—damn dock trash copped it then threw it away. It only had my compact and lip rouge and a hankie in it. Now it’s ruined.”

  Phil didn’t comment.

  “If you want it, you might as well keep it. I don’t have room for it anyway.”

  “Thank you,” Phil said, and tucked it under her arm in case Mimi changed her mind.

  Mimi latched the suitcase and yanked it off the chaise. “I’m done.”

  “The hell you are.” Bobby grabbed the suitcase and tossed it back on the chaise. “What will the countess here think of you, acting like a crazy woman?”

  “I think she’s frightened and needs someone who will protect her.”

  Mimi nodded emphatically and cast a grateful look at Phil.

  Another knock at the door.

  Mimi squeaked.

  “Half hour, Miss LaPonte.”

  “Come on, old girl, I’ll be out front and make sure nobody’s got a gun. It’s all gonna be fine.”

  The door opened and an older woman stepped into the room. “You’ll have to leave now. Miss LaPonte must dress. Lord, girl, you been crying again? Nobody wants to see swollen eyes and a hangdog face on a Florodora girl.” She pulled Mimi over to the dressing table and shooed Phil and Mullins toward the door.

  Mullins escorted her down the hall.

  “Did Mrs. Reynolds send you here?”

  “No. We just read that the police had released Mimi and I wanted to find out how she fared. I think they are both perhaps victims.” Phil lifted her eyebrows, inviting his response.

  “Well, between you and me, they were both driving him crazy. A couple of demanding broads, begging your pardon.”

  “How so?”

  Bobby screwed up his face. “Like all women. Wanting this, wanting that, wanting more of his time. Wanting him to stop seeing the other. This one”—Bobby jerked his head back over his shoulder—“always needing more money. She was never satisfied. I told Reggie to leave her and settle on his wife. She’s a comely woman and classy, knows how to have fun without stoppin’ being a lady, if you know what I mean.”

  “I do.”

  “I thought he meant to do just that. Pay Mildre—I mean Mimi—”

  “Mildred will do.”

  “Pay her a lump sum and send her on her way. England, maybe. They need dancing girls there, right? Maybe that’s what he was doing. He never said nothin’ to me about South America. No way would he leave the boys in the lurch. And a lot of men got money on that race. Devil’s Thunder is gonna make a lot of people money. I don’t believe Reggie woulda cut out on us. He might want to leave town for a few days. Like maybe he was afraid Mrs. Reynolds might be on his back, ya know? I begged him to stick with his wife—she was a true one—but he couldn’t follow nothing but his … well, you know how it is.”

  Alas, she did. “Did you tell all this to the police?”

  “Hell, no. Pardon, your missus—ma’am. But you don’t tell the police around here nothin’. Just pay your protection money and go on about your business.”

  They’d reached the exit door and he opened it for her. “Do you have a carriage waiting for you? Or you want me to hail a cab for you?” His step faltered slightly. “Do countesses take cabs?”

  “I believe that if they want to survive in Manhattan, they must, but it was arranged with the coachman to return for me here.”

  He nodded to the doorman, shoved his bowler down over his bright orange hair, and they stepped out onto the sidewalk.

  There was no carriage. She scanned the street to see if it was nearby and saw it coming toward her, stuck behind a slow-moving sanitary commission cart.

  “Ah, here it is.” As she turned back to Bobby, a man across the street struck a match and tucked his head to light a cigarette.

  Hadn’t she seen the same man outside the theater when she’d arrived? What was he doing across the street now? He certainly didn’t seem to be in a hurry, and he would be needed for the matinee in a few minutes.

  “Do you know that man?” she asked. “Over there with the cigarette.”

  Bobby squinted. “Can’t say I do. Why?”

  “He just for a moment seemed familiar.”

  “Don’t think it would be anybody you’d know.”

  “No, you’re probably right.”

  The carriage pulled up and Bobby helped her inside.

  “Ma’am, you won’t tell Mimi I said those things about her, she can be a right harridan.”

  “I didn’t know you were friends.”

  “We’re not exactly. But I was Reggie’s right-hand man.”

  “I see.” And Phil was pretty sure she did. “Will she be safe going on stage again?”

  “I don’t know, ma’am. Nothing makes sense to me.”

  He closed the door. The carriage took off, and Phil leaned to the other side of the carriage as they drove away.

  Why was she not surprised when she found the street empty and no sign of man or cigarette?

  13

  “I’m beginning to agree with you, Bev,” Phil said, bursting into the parlor and pulling off her veil. She tossed it to Bev, who was lounging on the sofa. “If we had a fire lit, I’d gladly toss this monstrosity into the flames.”

  “Oh, let’s do it,” Bev said, sitting up and slipping her stocking feet into a pair of satin slippers.

  “Not yet. But I do agree. There is no sense in you being in mourning any longer than necessary. You would have thought Reggie, after choosing you, would have better taste in a mistress.”

  “Mildred Potts
is a sow’s ear,” Bev said. “And Reggie was a rotter.”

  Well put, thought Phil. “Bev, stop it. You shouldn’t say such things.”

  Bev propelled herself off the sofa. “What is wrong with you, Phil? You sound like an old prude. Is this what marrying royalty does to you?”

  “Actually, just the opposite, my dear Bev. But the police are looking for someone to arrest. And if Miss Potts told them what she told me, and if they can’t find this alleged driver, you might be the one they choose.”

  “They wouldn’t dare.”

  “They would more than dare. I’m deadly serious. They need to arrest someone. So stop being a self-indulgent brat and start thinking about your survival.”

  Bev stopped cold, slowly turned back to Phil. “Is it as bad as that?”

  Phil sighed. “I don’t know, but it is certainly within the realm of possibility. That LaPonte woman would throw her mother under a trolley to save herself. She’s hiding something—her guilt, perhaps, I don’t know for certain. But she’s definitely afraid.”

  Bev reached for the bell.

  “And don’t think your afternoon cocktails are going to solve the problem. You should start searching your mind for who would want to shoot Reggie. And why. And then we’d better seriously go about proving it, because if we don’t, you’ll be living on bread and water while you’re waiting to be executed.”

  Bev sank onto the nearest chair. “I didn’t kill him. Or the man in the library.”

  “Then who did?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “And you really don’t know who he is?”

  “I told you, no.”

  “And no one knows who the driver is or where he is. No one seems to know anything, not us, not Atkins, not even Bobby Mullins, who was Reggie’s right-hand man.”

  “Bobby Mullins? When did you talk to him?”

  “He was at the theater.”

  Bev sat up. “What’s he doing at the theater when he should be at the farm taking care of my horses?”

  “This morning he was trying to talk the inimitable Mildred out of leaving town.”

  “She wouldn’t dare. Unless she’s guilty.”

  “She may be guilty, but I don’t think that is what’s scaring her. And she was definitely scared. While I was there, she received a threat not to appear onstage. I guess Reggie had his admirers.”

  “He did. Too many, if you ask me. But I’m glad they’re taking it out on her and not me.”

  “I suppose. But surely none of Reggie’s friends will actually kill her for going onstage. She’s in the chorus, for heaven’s sake.”

  “I’m sure I don’t care.”

  “And she was hiding a half-packed suitcase under a tapestry. When the note came, she threw the rest of her belongings into it and slammed it shut.”

  “And?”

  “And she gave me this.”

  “A purse? Really, Phil.”

  “Not just any purse, I’m certain it’s the one I saw lying on the car floor the day of Reggie’s death. The one the thief was trying to steal. I thought it might be a clue. But it’s empty.”

  “Let me see.”

  Phil handed it to her, and she immediately began rummaging in the lining and seams. “There’s nothing here.” Bev tossed the bag onto the couch.

  “I know. I thought there might be something. It was on the floor of Reggie’s auto. But the thief stole it while I was arguing with Atkins.”

  “Then how did Mimi end up with it?”

  “She says the police found it on the street and returned it.” Phil picked up the bag, opened it, felt along the lining. “Whatever was—or might have been—here is long gone.” She dropped the bag back on the cushion.

  “So then what happened?”

  “Then Bobby showed me out. He says Reggie would never have left before the big race. Not and leave all of ‘them’—I assume he means his employees, stablemen, jockeys, and such—in the lurch with a big race coming up. Something about this just doesn’t make sense.”

  “Something?” asked Bev, her voice growing slightly shrill. “How about nothing? Nothing makes sense.”

  Phil walked to the window, pushed back the curtain, and looked out. No policeman, just ordinary pedestrian traffic. A picture was beginning to emerge, but it was dim and the details were elusive. As she let the curtain drop, a chill ran up her spine. She quickly turned back, but no one was there—not that she could see. Nonetheless, one thing was perfectly certain. They were being watched.

  “What is it, Phil? You look worried.”

  “Not worried, just at a stand. From the moment I set foot out of the house this morning, I felt like someone was watching me.”

  “Well, there are the constables Atkins put to guard us for some reason or another.”

  “They’ve been taken off the watch.”

  “Oh? Maybe they no longer consider me a suspect?”

  Phil let that pass. She didn’t think for a minute Atkins had come to that conclusion.

  “But as I was leaving the theater, I caught a glimpse of a man across the street. He was lighting a cigarette and he looked so familiar that I thought I must have seen him before.”

  “Why didn’t you hightail it across the street and ask him?”

  Phil shrugged. “I was already in the carriage before I became suspicious. It was just a man lighting a cigarette. But then … well, when I looked out of the carriage, he was gone. Besides countesses don’t ‘hightail it’ anywhere.”

  Bev laughed. “I think you’re having handsome mystery man fantasies,” she said. “Not that I blame you. You have just spent a terrible two years in black.”

  “Yes.” Though it hadn’t been all bad, Phil recalled with a little smile. Even dowagers needed a bit of fun. “I thought so, too, but remember the first day I met Detective Sergeant Atkins? He looked like a street bum because he was doing what they call an ‘undercover operation.’ A disguise to make him look different and to fit in. Hmm.”

  “You think the man you saw today was Atkins being ‘undercover’?”

  Phil thought back. “No. I would recognize John Atkins even if he was undercover.” She gave Bev a quick smile. “This was someone else, and there was something familiar about him, the way he stood, something. At least I thought that at the time.

  “Maybe it’s just some strange hysteria or like one of those dreams where you find someone but when he turns, it is someone else.”

  “My poor Phil. I’m sorry to get you into this.”

  “Don’t give it another thought. Now I have an idea.”

  “Do tell.”

  “I think we should tell Tuttle to say you are indisposed tomorrow and you and I will slip out to Holly Farm. I’d like to see Devil’s Thunder for myself. Can you drive the Packard?”

  “Of course, it’s the twentieth century. And I think that’s an excellent idea. Someone needs to look out after my investments. And that person is me.

  “We’ll go out in the morning. It’s a two-hour drive. We’ll stay at the farm overnight. It’s quaint, but comfy. Not grand enough for Reggie, he only stayed there when he had horses running back to back. But I rather like it. We’ll have a picnic dinner, then watch the training session the next morning.”

  “Sounds divine. Though I have no motoring clothes.”

  “Not to worry. I’ll just have Tuttle call around for a duster and accoutrements. We’ll have them delivered.”

  “Shall we take Elmira and Lily?”

  “Elmira, no. She gets queasy, but Lily if you think she’ll do for us both.”

  Phil thought she would do famously. “Two dusters and accoutrements.”

  “Wonderful. I feel better already.”

  “So do I,” Phil agreed. She might be able to learn something from the stable boys, or if not, Lily certainly could. And with any luck Bobby would start taking his duties seriously and she’d get another chance to question him, too.

  “It will be nice,” Bev continued. “The ride will be a
bit dusty, but the farm is quite lovely, if you don’t mind nature.”

  “I rather like nature.” And there was no end to the things she might learn.

  * * *

  At the crack of noon the next day, Phil and Lily, dressed in their linen driving dusters, met Bev downstairs for their drive out to Holly Farm. Phil could tell Lily was excited. She’d hardly been out since they’d arrived in the city.

  Once this unfortunate situation was over, Phil would make sure that she’d have plenty of chances to see everything Manhattan had to offer, like the library, the museum, and the park, which Bev said stretched for miles but Phil had seen only from the outside.

  They would all go, Phil, Preswick, and Lily. They’d have a holiday, Lily would wear one of her new dresses, and Preswick, well, he’d never dispense with his suit and vest and tie but he might have some fun.

  Yes, Preswick deserved a little fun. He’d volunteered to go with them today, though he detested the out of doors, because he considered it his duty to attend the “dowager.” Only after explaining to him that she was afraid to leave the brownstone without someone she could trust there to make sure nothing nefarious happened, did he agree to stay behind.

  He did insist on seeing them off himself, giving last-minute instructions to Lily as if they were about to embark on a safari in darkest Africa instead of an overnight jaunt to Long island. But at last Lily climbed in the back where picnic baskets, valises, and a box of wines and cordials enough for a fortnight were piled on the seat, conveniently covering up whatever stains might be left from Reggie’s demise.

  The driver who brought the auto around from the garage handed over the keys to Bev, who tipped him and climbed in the driver’s seat. He ran around to crank the engine and the motorcar rumbled into life. Phil turned, gave Lily a thumbs-up—she had no idea if the girl had ever been in a motorcar.

  Lily merely lifted her chin and sat a little straighter. They both adjusted their goggles, and they were off.

  It took quite a while to get through Manhattan to the bridge that would take them to Queens, an outlying suburb, and then to Long Island, where Holly Farm was located.

  “We could wait for the car ferry at Thirty-Fourth, but the bridge is more fun,” Bev yelled from the driver’s seat.