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Authors: Amy Patricia Meade

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BOOK: Don't Die Under the Apple Tree

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“I'm not âdragging' them into anything. But if we need to corroborate your alibiâ”

“Why would you need to do that?” He rose to his feet. “Finch's murderer just walked outta here. Heck, she probably strolled right past you.”

“Oh, you mean Mrs. Keefe? Yes, she did just leave. But it's funny, I didn't think you had her pegged as the murderer.”

“What? Why wouldn't I? You heard what she did to Finch yesterday morning, didn't ya?”

“Naturally. What confuses me is when you hired her back, you made it sound like it was the other guys who thought she was guilty. You, on the other hand, seemed more sympathetic.”

“You ... you heard that? Don't you need a warrant or writ or something before you can listen in on other people's conversations?”

“Not when those conversations take place in a wide open area in front of a men's room door.”

“Okay. All right. You got me. I gave Keefe her job back. What of it?”

“Aren't you worried about the safety of your other employees?”

“Well, I ...” Del Vecchio stammered. “Well, sure I am. But I figure she did what she did 'cause she was steamed at Finch. It's not like she's crazy or anything.”

“No? I'd say bashing a guy's head in is pretty crazy.”

“Yeah, but she's not gonna do it again.”

“You seem pretty certain.”

“No, it ... it was a question. She's not gonna do it again, is she?”

Riordan shrugged. “You tell me. You're the one who put a possible murderer back on the payroll.”

“Hey, now! Look, I felt sorry for her, okay. That's all. Her husband's a creep. A real hustler. Told her he's enlisted. Meanwhile, I've seen him at least five times in the past month. Each time with a different broad. I figure she wouldn't have been here in the first place if she didn't need the dough.”

Riordan frowned.
No wonder Keefe didn't respond when I complimented her husband's bravery.
“You, um, you always feel sorry for people you think are killers?”

“Can't say I've known any others,” he replied glibly. “Hey, we done here? I have to get back to the yard.”

The lieutenant was still thinking about Rosie Keefe. “Huh? Oh. Yeah, we're done.”

Tony Del Vecchio stood up and headed to the back door.

Riordan, however, couldn't shake the feeling that there was something the new foreman wasn't telling him. “For now.”

Chapter Seven

Rosie hopped the IRT back to Manhattan, her mind traveling as fast as the engine that carried her home. Had she given any thought at all to Lieutenant Riordan, she would have realized that he'd most likely be at the shipyard that afternoon. It was, after all, the last place Finch was seen alive. But so focused was Rosie on being reinstated that she couldn't have been more surprised by Riordan's presence if he had been magically transformed into Cary Grant.

Although she had found it more than a bit jarring to open the men's-room door and see Riordan gazing back at her, Rosie couldn't help but wonder if it wasn't so much the surprise of their encounter as much as the content of that meeting that she found disconcerting.

That was not to say that the exchange they shared was unpleasant. Indeed, if anything, it was
too
pleasant. And therein lay the problem. If Riordan had been gruff, cold, and examining toward his main suspect, Rosie would have understood. Instead, the lieutenant came across as polite, sociable, and utterly charming. So charming, in fact, that Rosie, despite her potential impending trip to the gallows, raised a smile.

But why? Why should he be nice to her? Why should he bother to make small talk? Perhaps this was his way of getting her to confide in him. Maybe he was even trying to wheedle her into signing a confession. If persuasion was the name of his game, Rosie had to admit he was quite effective. Although she had committed no crimes for which she could confess, back in the holding area she had nearly told him about Billy and his disappearance. It was only upon reminding herself that Riordan's priority was solving the case that she finally bit her tongue.

It was open to speculation whether or not Riordan had a desire to convict Rosie. When asked whether he believed her to be innocent, Riordan had been purposely vague, not about his duties as a police officer but about his feelings regarding those duties:
“Even if I wanted to tell you, I couldn't.”
Was he trying to say that he had found something and wanted to tell her about it?

Then there was his comment about her investigation. How had he guessed that was the reason for her return to the shipyard? And why did he encourage her to share her findings with him? Was he asking her to help him exonerate her or to help him prove her guilt?

The train came to a halt at the Eighth Avenue/ Twenty-third Street Station. Rosie grabbed her handbag, stepped out onto the platform, and, after scaling the steps back to the surface, began the short walk home. A strong wind had kicked up since she had left the shipyard, but the brilliant sunshine helped to ward off the chill. Neighborhood children, having swapped their school uniforms for playclothes, filled the sidewalks and alleyways to make the most of the hours before supper.

Rosie entered the front door of the brownstone and made her way upstairs where Katie, having donned a bright yellow apron over her red and white day dress, stood over the stove, and Charlie, in his playpen, cooed and screeched.

“Something smells good,” Rosie complimented as she hung her coat in the front closet.

“Beef stew. I wanted to use up some vegetables before they went bad.”

Rosie nodded. “Where's Ma?

“She went home,” Katie explained.

“Oh. She's not still sore at me for going down to the shipyard, is she?”

“No, I asked her to leave.”

“You did? Why?”

“Because I wanted to talk to youâalone.”

“Uh-oh, that can't be good.” Rosie leaned over the wooden rail of Charlie's playpen and delighted the infant by shaking one of his rattles.

“I want to know why you went to the shipyard today.”

Rosie placed the rattle in her nephew's chubby hand before flopping onto the sofa. “I already told you. I went there to ask for my job back.”

Katie wiped her hands on her apron and moved into the living room area. “But why?”

“Because we could use the money.” She leaned forward and wiggled a finger at the baby through the bars of his playpen. “Yes, we could, couldn't we, Charlie?” she sang in a high-pitched voice. “That's right, we could.”

“That's not the whole story and you know it.”

Rosie's voice dropped to its normal timbre. “I know nothing of the sort. I asked for my job back because there aren't many other jobs around for someone who can't type, can't take dictation, and doesn't know how to operate a switchboard. At least, none that pay well.”

“Yeah, and we both agreed that by moving in with Ma, you could take a lesser-paying job that didn't have you climbing scaffolds like a monkey. So what gives?”

“I just thought it would be nice to be able to afford a few little luxuries. Wouldn't you like that?”

“Sure I would. Let me know when the War Department says it's okay to have them again,” Katie scoffed.

“All right, so we can't get stockings, but the extra money can buy us a heck of a lot of eyebrow pencil for drawing seams on our legs.”

Katie rolled her eyes.

“I'd like to do more than just make do, Katie-girl. That's all.”

“
Is
that all?” Katie folded her arms across her chest.

“Of course it is. What else could there be?”

Katie disappeared into the bedroom and came back with the evening paper, which she proceeded to toss onto Rosie's lap. “How about this?”

The publication had been folded to display the top of the fourth page where a bold-font headline announced:

SHIPYARD WORKER KILLED
IN BROOKLYN BLUDGEONING.

Rosie picked it up with trembling fingers.

“You told me he had been stabbed,” Katie reminded.

“Yes, I did,” Rosie answered quietly.

“Why did you lie to me?”

“Because I didn't want you to worry.”

Katie gave an exasperated sigh and threw her hands in the air. “I'm your sister, Rosie! I'm supposed to worry about you. That's the way it works.”

“I know, but you were already upset about Finch assaulting me. I didn't want to worry you even more.”

Katie shook her head and plopped onto the sofa beside her sister. “The police, they know that you hit Finch in the head with aâ”

“Stapler? Yes.”

“Do they think you did this? Is that why that man came here last night?”

Rosie frowned. Katie's husband had been one of seven hundred men who drowned when the USS
Houston
went down in Indonesia at the end of February. The loss had caused the normally cheerful young blonde to take to bed with the shades drawn for the better part of a week. It was only upon moving in with Rosie and leaving the apartment she'd shared with Jimmy that Katie's depression had finally started to lift. Over the past few weeks, Katie had gradually returned to her old self, but how would she react if she knew that Rosie, the new anchor in her life, might soon be lost, too?

“Rosie,” Katie urged. “Rosie, tell me the truth. I know you're looking out for me, but I'm not a little girl anymore.”

Rosie recalled Riordan's words earlier that afternoon:
“At least you have your sister to lean on.”

“I want to look out for you the way you've always looked out for me, Rosie. The way you've looked out for Charlie and me since we moved here. And you need to talk to someone. You can't carry it all on your shoulders.”

Perhaps Riordan was right. Here she had been pining for Billy to come back and “rescue” her, but, in truth, even when she was at her lowest, Katie offered more comfort than Bill Keefe ever could. “All right.” Rosie sighed. “I'll tell you everything, but I don't want Ma to know.”

“I won't breathe a word. Why do you think I sent her home in the first place?”

Rosie told her sister about the previous night's interrogation and the afternoon at the shipyard.

“So the police actually think you did it? And the guys at the yard, too? How could anyone believe such a thing?”

“The police are watching me as a suspect, yes. As for the guys at the yard, I can't say I blame them, or anyone else, for thinking I might have done it. Everyone within a hundred yards of Finch's office heard him shouting. A lot of them even saw the blood.”

“Which is exactly why you wouldn't have clubbed Finch to death. You'd use a gun or a knife or poison, but you wouldn't have hit him in the head. Not again. That would be like leaving a signed note at the scene of the crime. How stupid do they think you are?”

“Who says they think I'm stupid? They could think I'm just plain crazy.”

Katie shrugged. “But the women think you're innocent.”

“No, not necessarily. They're on my side because I stood up against Hansen and because âFinch had it coming to him.' Whatever that means.”

“They'd take the side of a potential murderer over that of a dead victim? Gee. Makes you wonder what Finch did to them, doesn't it?”

“I know what he did to me. I'm sure he didn't treat them with any more respect.”

“What a creep,” Katie remarked. “How did a guy like that sleep at night?”

Rosie's mind wandered to Billy and the possibility that he was not overseas but, in the words of Del Vecchio, “shacked up with some dame.” “How do lots of people live with the things they do?”

Katie clicked her tongue and shook her head somberly. “So, you checking out the shipyardâis that because you think someone there might have done it? You think they might have seen what happened with you and Finch andâ”

“And bashed him on the head in order to pin it on me? The thought has certainly popped into my mind. But I'm also checking it out because it seems like the most logical place to start. Finch spent most of his time there.”

“And what if the killer is someone who works at the shipyard? What if they get wise to what you're doing? Aren't you scared?”

“I'm terrified,” Rosie stated honestly. “But I'm probably more terrified at the prospect of doing nothing and waiting for the police to come and arrest me.”

“This cop you talked aboutâLieutenant Riordanâhave you told him that you're innocent?”

“Of course I did. But I'm sure everyone tells him that. The prisons are full of people who didn't commit the crimes they've been convicted for.”

“But why would he have given you the okay to snoop if he thought you were guilty?”

“He didn't give me the okay. But then again, I guess he didn't tell me not to snoop, either.”

“What?”

“What he said was that I'd probably overhear some things while on the job and if I did, I should let him know.”

“Does that mean he knows you're going investigate and wants to be part of it? Or ... ?”

“I have no idea what he means or what he's thinking.”

“Did you ask him?”

“Yes, and all I got in return was that his job requires him to presume that I'm innocent until he finds evidence that states otherwise.”

“That's good, though. Isn't it?”

“So long as he remains impartial, sure. But if he, in his heart of hearts, believes I'm guilty ...”

“He didn't tell you what he believes.”

“He can't. He won't. He's not permitted.”

Katie sighed and leaned against the back of the sofa. “What do you believe?”

Rosie's brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you think you can trust Riordan? Are you going to do what he said and share your findings with him?”

“I don't know. On one hand, Riordan has the whole police department behind him, so having him follow up on leads could be helpful. On the other hand, if he's only looking to arrest me and not find the real killer ...” Rosie sighed and scratched the back of her head pensively. “Unfortunately, only time will tell if I can trust him. Until then, I'm going to have to be careful about sharing all the information I uncover.”

“You mean âwe' uncover,” Katie corrected.

“Huh?”

“We. I'm going to help you get to the bottom of this thing,” she explained as she sat up straight.

Rosie burst out laughing. “That's very sweet of you, honey, but I can't see you climbing scaffolds and catching rivets in a bucket.”

“I won't be climbing scaffolds. I'll leave that to you, thank you very much.”

“I didn't think so” Rosie continued to laugh.

“I am serious about helping you, though.”

“Again, that's very sweet, but I don't know what you could do. Besides, you have Charlie to take care of.”

BOOK: Don't Die Under the Apple Tree

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