Murder on St. Nicholas Avenue (27 page)

“Oh yes, you said they were there day and night. But surely, they wouldn't stop me from going in my own daughter's house.”

“They wouldn't dare stop you, but they'll be shouting and asking you questions and trying to get you to talk to them. It will be frightening, but you won't be in any real danger.”

She looked like she was going to cry again. “Would I have to go all alone?”

“Of course not! I'll go with you,” Maeve said, having planned all along to accompany her. She was more than anxious to find out why Una really wanted to see her mother.

“Would you? I'd be that grateful,” she said. “How soon can we go? I've missed her so much. I just want to sit down with her and have a long visit.”

“Well, I know she was eager to see you, too, so I don't see any reason we can't go right now, if that's all right with you.”

“Yes, indeed!” she cried, then touched her hair. “I'd have to fix myself up a bit first. I wouldn't want to shame Una in front of those reporters.”

She was still wearing her Sunday best dress, and her hair looked fine, but Maeve said, “I can wait while you get ready.”

“Just have a seat, then, won't you? I won't be a minute.”

She was a little longer than a minute, and when Mrs. O'Neill emerged from the back bedroom, she had a shopping basket over her arm. Seeing Maeve's questioning look, she said, “It's going to be suppertime and almost dark when we get to Una's, which won't give us much time for a visit if I have to come home this evening, so I packed a few things to spend the night. That way Una and I can talk as long as we want.”

“I'm sure Una will be glad you thought of that,” Maeve lied. Whatever Una wanted from her mother, Maeve doubted it was her company.

As they left, Mrs. O'Neill carefully locked her door, then told her neighbor she was going to stay with her daughter for a while. The woman promised to keep an eye on her place while she was gone. Maeve suspected she'd also be glad to tell any reporters where she had gone, for a small fee.

The elevated train carried them up to Harlem with remarkable speed. In spite of the cold, the streets were filled with people making Sunday calls or taking Sunday outings, and when they turned down St. Nicholas Avenue, Maeve was
relieved to see the crowd of reporters was much smaller than it had been last night. Maybe they were getting tired of the Pollock story and had moved on to more interesting things. Or maybe a lot of them had taken Sunday off.

Even still, the crowd of reporters made Mrs. O'Neill freeze in her tracks. “Will they let us pass?” she asked in alarm.

“Of course they will. Just take my arm and don't say a word.”

Maeve set a leisurely pace, as if they were just two women out for a Sunday stroll, and they walked down the opposite side of the street until they were right across from the Pollock house.

“Now we're going to walk across the street and just go straight up the front steps. Don't let go of my arm, and don't look at any of them. All right?” Mrs. O'Neill nodded, her eyes so wide, Maeve thought they might pop out. “Let's go, then.”

Maeve set a brisk pace, and Mrs. O'Neill scrambled to keep up, her basket bumping against her hip as they nearly ran across the street. When they were about halfway across, the reporters noticed them and sprang to attention.

“It's that detective girl from last night,” one of them said, making Maeve smile. They might not have put that in the newspaper, but they remembered.

“What are you doing back here?”

“Who's that with you?”

“Are you a detective, too, lady?”

Dozens more questions rang through the winter air, but Maeve didn't answer a single one. To her credit, Mrs. O'Neill didn't either, but that was probably more because she was terrified and breathless from running than because she was discreet.

Maeve glared at them and kept barreling forward, and at the last possible second, the ones in her way stepped back, closing ranks behind them immediately so that for a few moments they were surrounded. But Maeve kept shoving forward, and then they reached the steps and started up.

Mrs. O'Neill stumbled, but Maeve righted her and kept going. At the top at last, Maeve reached out and pounded the knocker just the way Mrs. Decker would have. The door opened almost at once and the two women scurried inside.

“My goodness, Miss Smith, is that you?” Hattie asked as she bolted the door against the clamoring reporters.

“Yes, Hattie, and I've brought Mrs. Pollock's mother with me.”

“Mother,” Una said from the parlor doorway.

“There's my girl!” Mrs. O'Neill cried, hurrying over to embrace her child.

Maeve noticed Una didn't seem nearly as happy to see her mother as her mother did to see her, but that's what she'd expected.

“It took you long enough,” Una said to Maeve when her mother released her.

Maeve simply shrugged, since she didn't feel she owed Una any explanations.

“Come inside, Mother. What's that you've brought?” Una asked, noticing the market basket.

“I thought . . . That is, Miss Smith said I should pack some things to spend the night,” she said, earning Maeve a black look from Una. Maeve managed not to roll her eyes. “It's already so late, we won't have any time to visit if I go home this evening.”

Una ushered her mother into the parlor and closed the door in Maeve's face. So much for hospitality.

“Will you be staying for supper, miss?” Hattie asked.

Maeve honestly didn't know if Una would be willing to feed her or not. Given the difficulty of shopping, maybe she should graciously excuse herself and offer to return to take Mrs. O'Neill back home tomorrow. As much as Maeve wanted to hear what Una had to say to her mother, her hostess obviously
wasn't going to include her in the conversation. On the other hand, she wasn't ready to face the reporters again quite so soon.

“Maybe I'll go down to the kitchen for a cup of coffee before I leave,” she said.

But before Hattie could reply, the parlor door opened, and Una said, “Miss Smith, would you come in, please?”

Now wasn't this interesting? Maeve happily accepted the invitation, no matter that it had been offered without the slightest trace of welcome. In fact, Una looked a bit angry. When she'd closed the door, she proved it.

“Miss Smith,” she hissed, “what have you done with my
money?”

G
ino found Mr. Decker sitting at the Malloy kitchen table, surrounded by stacks of money. He stopped dead in his tracks. Mr. Decker looked up with some amusement.

“Impressive, isn't it?”

“Uh, yeah.” Gino approached cautiously, feeling that he should show some respect for so much cash.

“I didn't expect to see you again until tomorrow. You must have found out something interesting.”

“I found out something
very
interesting.” Gino cautiously pulled out a chair and sat down, being careful to keep some distance between himself and the table.

“It won't bite,” Mr. Decker said, still smiling at Gino's expression.

“I just don't want to knock over your piles.”

“Thank you. I'm just about finished, as a matter of fact. I'm thinking I'll just take enough for Zimmerman and Reed
with me tonight and leave the rest in the safe. I hate carrying around so much money.”

Of course he did. “No one will know you have it.”

“Yes, that's an advantage. I'll be in my own carriage, too, which is always safer than taking a cab. So what did you find out from Yorke?”

“I don't think he killed Pollock. As he pointed out, if he'd done it, why would he stay in the city, go back to Pollock's house a second time, and then come to see you so you'd know his name and where he lives? He could've just left the city, and it's likely no one would have even known who he was or how to find him.”

“That's true. So I guess we can scratch him off our list.”

“But I did find out something very interesting from him. I asked if there was anybody who could vouch that Pollock was still alive when he left the house. He said yes, that a colored boy had seen him leave.”

“Someone on the street, you mean?”

“No, someone going into the basement door of Pollock's house as he was going down the front steps. It must've been Eddie.”

“But Eddie wasn't there when Pollock was killed.”

“That's what Hattie told me. She said Pollock had sent him on an errand, and he didn't get back until after they found Pollock dead.”

“Why would Yorke lie, then?”

“You mean why would he make up an alibi like that if it wasn't true? I don't think he did. I think he really did see Eddie coming back to the house.”

“So you think the other servants lied when they said he wasn't there?”

“No, I think they just didn't see him come in. He probably went upstairs to report back to Pollock or something.
According to the women, Pollock was shouting and carrying on the way he did when he beat Una up. This was probably after Yorke left. When that happened, they'd all gather together in the kitchen to stay out of his way until the storm blew over, and that's what they did.”

“Except for Eddie.”

“Right, because he was still out on his errand, or so they thought. But now we know he wasn't. He'd come back to the house.”

“So he would've heard Pollock beating Una, and we know he adores her.”

“He would've wanted to protect her,” Gino said, picturing it easily. “He might've even run into the room, and when he saw Pollock hit her, he went a little crazy.”

“Then he picked up the statue or whatever it was and hit Pollock with it.”

“Maybe he only wanted to stop Pollock, but hitting him once didn't stop him, so he hit him again . . .” Gino could see it clearly now, a young man in love with a woman he could never have. All he could do was save her from her husband's fury.

“And when Pollock was dead, then what?” Mr. Decker asked.

Gino realized he had no idea. Or at least no idea that made sense. “Then Eddie runs away and Una starts weeping over her dead husband until Hattie walks in and finds them.”

“If that's what happened, why did Eddie ever come back? Why didn't he run away and disappear? He must have known Una would tell the police who killed her husband.”

“Except she didn't,” Gino said in wonder. “She claims she doesn't remember who killed Pollock. Maeve thought she was lying because she'd killed him herself.”

“Which makes perfect sense if you don't know Eddie was there.”

“But if she does remember that Eddie killed him, why did she let them take her to jail?”

Gino shook his head. “I can't think of anything that makes sense. Could they be lovers?”

“Could who be lovers?” Mrs. Decker asked. She walked into the kitchen with Mrs. Malloy on her heels. Both women stopped dead at the sight of the money.

Mrs. Malloy blessed herself and murmured something that might've been a prayer. “Has that been in the house all this time?”

“Just since Maeve brought it from the Pollock house a few days ago,” Mrs. Decker said. “Felix is going to return it to the rightful owners.”

“I hope he's going to do it soon,” Mrs. Malloy said. “I won't be able to sleep a wink knowing how much money is here.”

“He's going to start tomorrow, but I'm sure Gino would be glad to spend the night here to guard you if it would make you sleep better,” Mrs. Decker said.

Gino didn't think that was really necessary, but he would certainly be glad to spend the night just the same.

Before he could say so, though, Mrs. Decker added, “And you never answered my question. Could who be lovers?”

“Mrs. Pollock and Eddie,” her husband said.

“Good heavens, where would you get an idea like that?”

Gino told the women what he'd learned from Yorke and what he and Mr. Decker had concluded. “So none of it makes sense unless Una is in love with Eddie and is trying to protect him.”

“That girl never loved anybody but herself,” Mrs. Malloy said. The women had by now taken a seat at the money-covered table, too. “And she'd sure never go to jail for a man.”

“And certainly not a boy like Eddie,” Mrs. Decker added. “He's no more than sixteen and a servant, not the kind of
man a woman develops an undying passion for. I could understand it if she'd killed her husband and Eddie went to jail for her, but not the other way around.”

“Maybe she did kill him and Eddie saw her,” Gino said. “He wouldn't tell anyone because he loves her, and she'd be nice to him so he'd keep protecting her.”

“Now that makes a little more sense,” Mrs. Malloy said, “but not enough. Una O'Neill isn't going to prison at all, I promise you. She'd betray her own mother before she'd do that. If she did kill her husband, she's going to blame it on somebody else, and who better than a poor servant boy?”

“Then why hasn't she done that already?” Mrs. Decker asked. “And if Eddie killed him, why not just tell the police and be done with it?”

“So we're right back to where we were when you ladies came in,” Mr. Decker said.

They sat for a long moment in silence as they each considered the questions they'd raised. Finally, Gino said, “I can't help thinking this Jane must know something. Why else would she run away like that?”

“Because there was a murder in the house,” Mrs. Malloy said quite logically.

“But the other servants didn't leave,” Mrs. Decker said. “They're too afraid of not finding another position and not getting their back salary. Jane was more afraid of something or someone else than of that, or she wouldn't have left.”

“And if she just wanted to get away, why not just resign and walk out the door?” Mr. Decker said. “Instead, she makes this elaborate plan to escape so no one would realize she was leaving until it was too late to stop her.”

“And no one could ask where she's going or follow her,” Gino said. “We need to at least ask her why she was so scared.”

Mr. Decker sighed. “I was going to start delivering the
money tomorrow, but now I'm thinking I have time to at least visit Zimmerman this evening. If he was the one Jane wrote to, then he's the one most likely to know where she is now.”

“It's getting late for a social call,” Mrs. Decker said.

“I'm sure Zimmerman would welcome me in the middle of the night if I'm bringing him four thousand dollars.” Mr. Decker consulted his pocket watch. “John should be returning with the coach soon. He'll take me.”

“And it's dangerous to be riding around the city with a lot of money in your pocket,” Mrs. Malloy said.

“Gino can go with me as a bodyguard.”

Gino grinned at that, grateful that Mr. Decker was including him.

“And what about me?” Mrs. Decker asked.

“I think you should wait here for Maeve. She'll want to know what we're doing. Gino and I will come back here when we're finished so we can share what we found out and hear what happened with Una and her mother from Maeve. I guess the children are safely in bed.”

“Yes.” Mrs. Decker exchanged a smile with Mrs. Malloy. “It was so much fun reading them stories and tucking them in.”

“Can you read to Brian?”

“Catherine signs for him while you read. She's so clever.”

“She learns the signs as fast as he does,” Mrs. Malloy said. “He comes home every day and teaches her what he learned.”

“They're both very clever,” Mrs. Decker said. “And so much energy! I'm worn out.”

“When the men are gone, we'll make some hot chocolate and sit in my parlor with our feet up,” Mrs. Malloy said.

“That sounds like heaven,” Mrs. Decker said.

“Yes, it does,” Mr. Decker said, “but unfortunately, Gino and I have work to do. Gino, I've set aside Zimmerman's share
of the money. Help me carry the rest of it back to the safe. I've got each stack labeled, so don't mix them up.”

*   *   *

M
aeve stood in the Pollocks' parlor and stared back at Una in feigned surprise. “What money are you talking about?”

Maeve was very interested to hear how Una would reply to this. Did she actually know about Pollock's scheme and how he kept the investors' money in his safe? And if so, was she going to admit it after claiming ignorance for days?

Plainly, Una was furious, but she was trying very hard not to lose her temper. She pressed her lips together for a few moments before answering Maeve's question. “My mother tells me you took some money from this house after I was arrested.”

“Oh, that,” Maeve said with perfect innocence. “Yes. Mrs. O'Neill had come to ask us for help in getting you out of jail. I advised her to hire an attorney, but she couldn't afford to do that. I know from experience that people like you and Mr. Pollock will keep some money in the house for expenses, and I thought I might find some that she could use to pay the attorney.”

“And you did find some,” Una said.

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“I found five hundred dollars.” Which was true, as far as it went. Grandfather always said to tell the truth if it would serve your purpose and save the lies for emergencies.

Something glittered in Una's lovely blue eyes, like sun on ice. “And what did you do with it?”

“I gave it to your mother.”

“I told you, dear,” Mrs. O'Neill said with what sounded like desperation. “That's exactly how much she gave me.”

“And what did you do with it?” Una demanded sharply.

Mrs. O'Neill blinked in surprise at her vehemence. “I already told you. I paid Mr. Nicholson and the rest went for your bond money.”

“Did you expect there to be more than that?” Maeve asked, knowing her expression betrayed not the slightest hint of guilt. She wasn't guilty of anything, after all.

Una was pressing her lips together again, and probably grinding her teeth, too. She couldn't very well admit she was missing thousands of dollars she'd claimed to know nothing about, but Maeve would have bet twice that amount that she knew perfectly well how much money had been in Pollock's safe. Maeve's only question was why she was only now inquiring after it. And even more important, if she knew it was there, why hadn't she been upset when she discovered the burglary and the empty safe?

“I . . . uh . . . Let's just say I was hoping. You see, I haven't found any information about my husband's bank account, and I'm running short of funds. I thought perhaps you might have found more than that and just . . .”

“Just what?” Maeve asked sweetly. “Stolen it?”

Una's cheeks turned fiery red, and her eyes narrowed in fury.

“I'm sure she didn't mean to suggest that, Miss Smith,” Mrs. O'Neill said quickly. “You've been so kind to us, after all.”

“And after I took money out of my own pocket to bribe the matron to look after you at the Tombs,” Maeve said. The money
had
come out of her own pocket. She wasn't going to discuss where it had come from before that, of course. “And Mrs. Decker offered to pay your servants their back wages and write them references when you were in jail.”

“That's so generous, isn't it, Una?” Mrs. O'Neill said pleadingly.

Una didn't so much as glance in her mother's direction.
“I was hoping I would be able to pay my servants myself with my own money.”

“I'm sure you were,” Maeve said, still being completely honest, since she was now certain Una at least knew there should have been more than five hundred dollars in Pollock's office. “I suppose there might have been more money in the safe. Before it was robbed, I mean.”

This seemed to confuse her. “Didn't you look in the safe?”

“It was locked,” Maeve said, not really answering the question. “And of course I don't know how to open a safe without the combination.” Also perfectly true.

Una pinched the bridge of her nose, as if she might be fighting off a headache.

“Are you all right?” Maeve asked, trying to sound concerned.

“Of course I'm not all right,” she snapped. “My husband is dead, I'm accused of killing him, and I don't have a penny to my name.”