A Barricade in Hell (21 page)

Gabe turned to find Jack sitting in the visitor's chair next to the desk, frantically scribbling in his moleskine notebook. Recording what happened as he recorded all the cases they worked together.

His partner glanced up when Gabe dropped into his chair. Jack wrote another few lines before snapping the notebook shut and stuffing it into a jacket pocket. “Christ Almighty, Gabe. How could she look you in the eye and lie like that?”

“She doesn't know about Maddie Holmes. I'd like to keep it that way if at all possible.” Gabe opened the shallow top desk drawer, shifting the clutter inside until he uncovered his tattered Woolworth five-and-dime-store notebook full of names and phone numbers. He thumbed through until he found the page with Commissioner Lindsey's name and number scrawled down one side. “But what she said about society folk slumming at her lectures made me wonder who else might have gotten involved with the peace movement. Do you think your stepmother, Katherine, has heard any gossip regarding Effie Fontaine?”

“Katherine doesn't indulge in gossip, and she'd be insulted if I implied such a thing. I doubt she'd tell me even if she had heard any talk. We get along worse than ever since I had the nerve to make her a grandmother.” Jack tapped the edge of the desk with his pencil, frowning. “Sadie, on the other hand … I'd wager lunch that she's heard something. Nothing keeps my wife from knowing all the gossip, not even our daughter. I'll ask her tonight.”

“Make it clear that she's not to go hunting for stories or asking questions. I'm not sure that's safe.”

Jack wiped a hand over his mouth and frowned. “That would be just like her too. I'll make sure Sadie understands to stay clear. Fontaine and her bodyguards give me the willies. I don't want Sadie anywhere near that woman or doing anything that might be noticed.”

“Good. I've got another angle I want to try too. Maybe we can figure out what's at stake for Miss Fontaine. There has to be a reason people who have contact with her turn up missing and presumed dead.” He scribbled Lindsey's number on a piece of paper. “I'm going to give the commissioner a call and see if his daughter Adele is well enough to talk to us.”

“Why bother—?” Understanding bloomed on Jack's face. “Bradley and Adele Wells aren't the cream of society, but they're damn close. Bradley might have gone slumming for a lecture or two.”

“Maybe. Right now it's only a hunch, but I want to play it out. We've got a long way to go before we can connect Fontaine or the people around her to any of these cases.” The cold itch on the back of his neck said this was more than a hunch. Gabe didn't understand where his certainty came from, but he knew in his bones that Bradley Wells had fallen under Effie Fontaine's shadow. He closed up his desk for the second time in an hour and stood. “I'll use the phone in the chief's office to call Lindsey. Even if Adele is too ill to speak to us, she might be able to tell her father what we need to know. And even if Wells did attend her lectures, connecting Fontaine to the murder is still a long way off. Let's go.”

The call to the commissioner was brief. Lindsey was eager for any kind of progress on his son-in-law's murder and agreed to let them speak to his daughter. Having her father there would make things easier for Adele.

They stopped at Jack's office for his coat and plaid cap before leaving the station. The two of them didn't speak on the way out. Questioning grieving relatives was part of a detective's job, a duty that never got easier. Neither one of them relished causing Adele Wells more pain or reminding her of all she'd lost.

Most days, Gabe believed finding justice for victims was paramount, no matter what the cost. Other days, he wasn't so sure.

 

CHAPTER 13

Delia

Isadora showed up at my front door not long after ten. As always, she was dressed to turn heads and ensure she was the center of attention. Dora did a little twirl in the entryway to show off her fashionably short watered-taffeta skirt and matching sea green jacket. A single strand of pearls at her throat matched the cream silk blouse underneath the jacket.

Her hat was utterly outrageous, with puffs of rumpled black silk and bows all around the brim, all of which made it absolutely perfect for her. The peacock plume on the crown was so long, it had brushed the top of the doorframe as she swept inside.

“Delia, hurry up and get dressed to go out.” She appeared much more chipper and cheery than I'd seen her in weeks, positively brimming with good humor. “I woke up this morning with the most marvelous idea! Go on now, I have a driver waiting.”

Her smile was sunny and utterly guileless, and I didn't believe it for an instant. I'd no doubt that this was all a ruse for my benefit, an attempt to take my mind off vengeful ghosts and my ruined parlor. “Good morning, Dora. Perhaps you should tell me about this marvelous idea before I commit to going out. I'd a full day planned before the tarot reading tonight.”

She took both my hands, fond smile still firmly in place. “Did you really think I'd leave you here alone to brood all day? Get dressed. I promise this will be fun.”

“All right, but I'm holding you to that promise.” I looked her outfit over again and shook my head. “Between you and Sadie, I always end up looking dull as dust.”

“Nonsense. I have to dress this way to get any attention at all. And still, no one has ever looked at me the way Gabe looks at you.” She squeezed my hand. “Wear your blue silk. You look lovely in that shade. I'll tell you where we're going once we're in the car.”

I did as I was told and got dressed after finding the blue silk dress in the wardrobe and sorting out gloves, a handbag, and shoes to match. Dora chatted about things she'd read on the society page that morning, reminding me of Sadie at her best, full of gossip and stories of amusing scandals. By the time I was ready, I felt much better about our mystery outing.

A long black car sat at the curb, a uniformed driver waiting patiently by the rear door for Dora's return. I stopped on the front steps and stared. “Please say you didn't hire a car just to pamper me. If anyone needs pampering, it's Gabe. He's much more shaken than I am.”

Dora laughed and put her arm through mine. “The car belongs to Daniel. He rarely drives, so the car sits in a rented garage, gathering dust. I promised him I'd take it out every so often while he's in Europe.” She leaned close to whisper, laughter in her voice. “The driver comes with the car and leaves the garage about as often. I think he might have gathered a bit of dust as well. Nathan is rather stodgy, but a day with us should loosen him up a bit.”

I eyed Nathan, taking in his stiff posture and frosty demeanor. “Thawing him will be a challenge even for you. You might need more than an afternoon.”

“Then perhaps we should make taking the car out a weekly event. Never let it be said I shrink from a challenge.” She gave him her most beguiling smile, the sort that normally turned men's knees to jelly on the spot.

Nathan didn't melt; if anything, the way he stood became more rigid. He bowed stiffly as I got into the car, but never so much as gave a hint of a smile. I slid across the cold, leather seat to make room for Dora, fairly certain she'd finally met someone she couldn't charm.

Dora got in and he shut the door, moving quickly around the front of the car to the driver's seat. A moment later we pulled away from the curb.

Dora and I had spoken about her going to see Archie again this morning, and making an attempt to banish the ghosts tormenting him. I'd had nightmares of Archie Baldwin all night long, watching him cringe at the feet of vengeful soldiers, each gas-ravaged and bloody face full of hate. “Did you get the chance to see Archie today?”

“No, I'm afraid not. Gabe and Jack had just left the station. Something to do with the Wells murder investigation.” Isadora rooted around in her handbag, frowning until she found her compact. She checked her hat in the small mirror and dropped the compact back in her bag. “Your husband's men are too well trained. No one would let me into his cell without Gabe's permission. I'll make arrangements with Gabe and Jack to see Archie first thing tomorrow.”

“I'll go with you. Knowing beforehand what we'll face will make a world of difference.” Just the thought of Archie suffering for another day made me intensely uncomfortable. “We'll be prepared this time.”

“I've already prepared. But I'll more than welcome your assistance.” Dora patted my hand and smiled, doggedly determined to be cheerful. “We'll help Archie, you've my word on that. But I've gone to a lot of trouble arranging this surprise, and all my efforts will be wasted if you spend the day fretting. Try to enjoy yourself.”

A small picnic hamper sat on the floor at my feet. I opened the lid, and the smell of roast chicken, fresh bread, and chocolates filled the backseat. “A picnic is a wonderful idea, Dora, but I'm afraid eating outdoors in mid-January is a bit chilly for me.”

“Don't be silly. I'm better at planning surprises than that.” She leaned back and fussed with the beads on her jacket, smug as a cat with a saucer of cream. “We're going to the Conservatory of Flowers for our picnic. With the exception of a few hearty Minnesotans, not many tourists go to Golden Gate Park in winter. It's much too cold. We'll be quite warm inside the conservatory while we eat and likely have the orchids all to ourselves.”

“Dora … that's perfect.” Tears filled my eyes. “My father used to go there to paint the water lilies and the roses when they were in bloom. He'd take me with him whenever I wanted to go along. I haven't been there in years. Not since he died.”

“You told me.” She squeezed my hand. “And since I've never been to the conservatory, this is the perfect opportunity for you to teach me about the plants grown there. You never know when some exotic herb or flower buds might come in handy.”

Golden Gate Park wasn't far and it didn't take long before the tall redwood and eucalyptus trees, thickets of rhododendron, and sweeping green lawns came into view. Even in winter, the three-mile-long park was an oasis in the middle of San Francisco, quiet and green.

Most of the pathways that crisscrossed the park were designed for strolling, not for cars. Nathan found a place to park not too far from the conservatory, and Dora and I set off, picnic hamper swinging between us.

Few ghosts wandered the park anytime I'd visited, something that had always surprised me. I'd expected to see men from the gold rush years, women from Barbary Coast saloons, or whalers from long ago, but I never did. Those few spirits I saw were faded, little more than tattered remnants of people living here before San Francisco was founded: Spanish explorers and Russian fur trappers, and members of the Ohlone Tribe, the people who lived here first of all.

Occasionally I caught glimpses of young men in muddy uniforms wandering between the trees, rifles at the ready, or crawling across the grass on their bellies. The city was filling with haunts of those recently dead in the Great War, their spirits returning home or to places they remembered fondly. Given the headlines and the number of spirits I saw anytime I ventured downtown, there weren't near as many soldiers' ghosts in the park as I'd feared.

What I feared most was finding the little girl ghost had followed me here, far outside the protections ringing my house, or finding legions of ghostly children staring at me from between the trees. Neither of those things happened. The few children I saw were very much alive, bundled tight in heavy coats and holding fast to a mother's or nanny's hand, or playing tag on the lawns, cheeks flushed with cold and laughter.

We strolled around a curve in the path and the conservatory came into view. Spread atop a slope and overlooking a small valley, the building looked enormous even from a distance. The greenhouse's central dome soared sixty feet over the entryway, a delicate bubble of glass and painted wood silhouetted against the sky, glittering in thin winter sunlight. L-shaped wings with arched roofs extended more than a hundred feet in each direction on either side of the central pavilion. Moisture condensed on curved walls and fogged the inside, leaving the glass looking perpetually rain-washed.

Dora stopped in the middle of the path, staring, and a smile slowly spread across her face. She set the picnic hamper on the walkway between us. “No wonder you and your father were drawn here so often, Dee. This might be the most beautiful place I've seen in San Francisco. The palaces I visited in Europe weren't nearly so striking. Was the building rebuilt after the quake?”

“No—surprisingly, the conservatory survived almost unscathed.” I pointed to the top of the dome and a wall to the left of the entrance. “A few glass segments broke there at the top, over there and a few places around the back. It was rather miraculous how little damage the quake caused.”

“Really … for a building like this to survive an earthquake that size would be a bit of a miracle.” Dora studied the conservatory through narrowed eyes, frowning slightly. She turned in a slow circle, taking in the slope, the valley, and the trees growing all around the rim. As soon as she got back round to facing me, a bright smile wiped concentration from her face. Isadora took my arm and picked up the picnic basket. “I can't say for certain if other forces are at work here, so we'll leave things at miraculous for now. Let's get inside, Dee. I'm ravenous.”

Dora wouldn't tell me what she suspected until she knew for sure, if for no other reason than to keep me from imagining monsters lurking behind the begonias. I trusted her to warn me of danger and wasn't overly concerned. Still, I looked at my surroundings with a fresh eye.

We hurried up the path to the front door, a fitful wind rattling winter-bare tree branches and stirring the shrubbery. Isadora's peacock plume bobbed up and down, but didn't seem any the worse for suffering the wind's attentions. We paid the entrance fee and went inside.