Sirens (39 page)

I clutched the poppy scarf and its contents.

I must have been dozing when the voice woke me. “You’re the one brought in Louise O’Keefe?”

A nurse with gray hair pulled back tight under her cap stood in front of Charlie.

“How is she?” he asked, his voice husky. He cleared his throat.

“She’s doing fine, now. You got her here in the nick of time.”

I shifted, and Charlie stood. “Can I see her?”

“Are you family?”

“I’m her brother,” he said. He pointed at me. “And this is her cousin.”

I nodded, biting my lip and standing.

The nurse narrowed her eyes slightly. But she didn’t question. She studied a clipboard and made a note, and then said, “All right. Follow me. But she’s sleeping, and I don’t want her disturbed.”

We trailed the nurse down the white hall to a door that opened into a ward with large windows at the far end that let in the pale natural light of early morning. There were maybe twenty beds in the ward, all but a few filled with still-sleeping patients; Lou lay in the bed third from the end.

Her auburn hair framed her face like a cap and her eyes were closed, but I could see that the color had returned to her cheeks and lips and she was breathing softly. Her left arm was bandaged up and over the shoulder.

“She lost a lot of blood,” the nurse whispered, “but the wound was clean and should heal nicely.”

Charlie wrapped one arm around me. As I watched Lou’s chest rise and fall I thought about what Danny Connor had done to her. About what girls like Lou suffered for the security of a relationship,
or for what they thought was love. About what Melody had said about a girl’s choices today: that we still had no real choices; that if we step too far out of line, somebody’s going to yank us back.

Now that I knew where Melody was coming from, why she said that, and now that I knew how much Louie had been willing to sacrifice, I had to rethink. Is a girl’s—a woman’s—new liberation in this wild decade—our freedom to wear what we like, our freedom to party all night, our “flapperness”—is it real freedom? Did we expand our choices, or have we just changed the shape of our confinement?

Louie. This is your story. You survived Danny Connor. You did what you had to for Charlie, sure; you thought you were in love, sure. But when the time came, you made the right choice.

The nurse tapped on Charlie’s shoulder, signaling that it was time for us to leave.

She stopped us in the hall outside the ward. “Because it was a stab wound, the police need to speak to you. Someone’s been waiting down at the front desk.”

Charlie nodded. His white shirt was stained with Lou’s blood, and then I realized that my black pants and sweater were covered with dirt and ripped in places. I longed for a hot bath and sleep.

We made our way down the stairs to the main entrance of the hospital. A man in a suit leaned against the front desk, chatting with the nurse. When he saw us, he straightened and pulled a pad and pencil from his pocket.

“I’m Detective Smith,” he said. “This is more excitement than we usually get out here in Great Neck.”

He asked questions, glancing back and forth between Charlie and me, mostly questions about how long we’d known Daniel
Connor, why we were at the house, what had happened. I told him I was Connor’s guest; Charlie said he’d done odd jobs for Connor for several years. Did we know why he’d stabbed Louise? No, perhaps a lover’s spat, Charlie ventured. What about the fire? I saw it start, I told him, from a lightning strike.

He asked about the men—Neil Shaunnesy and Ryan McMann—and for the first time I realized I’d never heard their last names. Charlie said he thought they’d been lost like Connor, fighting the flames, inside the house, that that’s where we’d seen them last.

We told Smith the truth, for the most part; we just didn’t tell him everything.

Detective Smith seemed satisfied, although he warned us he might have to ask more questions at a later date, and he offered us a ride.

Charlie and I looked at each other. “Can you take us to Manhattan?” I asked.

Smith glanced at his watch. “I’m off duty anyhow,” he said. “Sure. Where to?”

I turned to Charlie; he shrugged. “What about your aunt and uncle?” he asked.

I pursed my lips. “There’s something I want to do first.”

I gave Smith the address, and he seemed surprised. “Pretty classy neighborhood.” He looked us up and down.

“He’s an old family friend,” I said, with no hint of irony.

On the drive I asked if the police had found anyone else on the property. Any unidentified man, alive or dead.

“What do you mean?” He glanced at me in the rearview, his eyes sharp.

Charlie squeezed my hand, but I pressed on.

“During the storm, while the house was burning and we were trying to get out, I thought I saw someone, another man, outside the greenhouse.”

I know I saw Teddy. I was so sure.

Smith was silent for a minute. “No one mentioned that. But I’ll check into it.” He paused. “You say you saw the lightning strike the pole?”

“Yes.”

“So you don’t think someone set the fire? Someone like this man of yours?”

“No, no, I don’t.”

“Okay, I’ll check it out.” We drove for a time, then he glanced back at me again. “Hang on. Your name’s Winter. You aren’t related by any chance to Theodore Winter?”

My heart skipped a beat. “I’m his sister.”

“Oh, boy. This is a coincidence.” He shook his head.

“What do you mean?” Now my heart was beating hard; Smith had pulled the car over, into a parking lot off to the side of the road.

He cut the engine, then turned to face me, one arm over the backseat. “Your brother’s been missing for a while. About a year, right? His clothes were found down on the beach there, but no body. Everyone said it was suicide, being he was a vet and all.”

I nodded.

“You found those clothes, didn’t you? His sister. That’s what I remember. You found the stuff down on the beach. You reported how depressed he’d been and all, so everyone thought suicide.”

I tightened my grip on Charlie’s hand.

Smith sighed and ran his hand over his head. “I’m real sorry to
tell you this now, Miss after all you’ve been through.”

I waited, not breathing.

“We found your brother’s remains a couple, three weeks ago, just down from Connor’s place. He’d been tied up, in a weighted bag, and dropped in, looks like about a year ago. Some lobsterman pulled it in from where it had caught on his traps. We’ve been trying for the past week to find family, but your house in White Plains is gone and your folks disappeared. We located your aunt and uncle a few days back, but they didn’t know where you were. And here you are, showing up here, just like that.”

We all sat there, waiting, as if the car was suspended in thin air, floating.

Then I whispered, “Are you sure it’s him?”

Charlie leaned forward. “He’s been gone a whole year. How can you be sure?”

“We got the dental records.” Smith’s eyes searched my face. “Looks like murder, now. He was tied up but good.”

I stopped breathing.

“Yeah.” Smith scratched his chin. “The signature of a gangster hit. Prohibition’s brought out the best in everyone, you know? Guy makes a mistake, they knock him out, stuff him in a sack with rocks, toss him overboard.”

“Murder?” I whispered. “Teddy’s dead?”

“Yeah. Likely we’ll never catch who did it.” He removed his hat, rubbed his balding head. “Something else you want to tell me? About your brother? About what he might have been doing before he disappeared?”

I shook my head, while Charlie squeezed my hand tight. I’d
been wrong. I hadn’t seen Teddy; I couldn’t have. Not once in all that time.

Teddy was dead. Had been dead for a year.

“I’m real sorry,” Smith said, shaking his head again. “What a coincidence.”

When we arrived on Fifth Avenue, Smith pulled up at the curb, gave a low whistle. “So just the one guy lives here, huh?”

“More or less,” I said. I was as exhausted as I’d ever been.

We thanked Smith, and he gave us each a card with his name and phone number. “In case you think of anything else. About your brother, about anything.” He looked at Charlie. “I’ll need to ask your sister some questions, once she’s recovered. Need to close the books on her deceased boyfriend.”

He watched us from the car as we rang the bell. I wasn’t sure whether Rushton’s butler would even be awake—it was just getting on seven in the morning—or that he’d know who I was or that he’d let us in. So I was taken aback when the door was answered by John Rushton himself, already dressed for the day.

He looked us up and down and then stood aside to let us in. I still clutched the scarf and its contents in one hand; Charlie held the other, squeezing my fingers tight.

We followed Rushton down the hallway, past several large rooms, and stopped in a smaller sitting room at the end. There he turned to face us.

“I know all about it. I have connections with the police, who’ve been watching Danny Connor for a long time, at my request.”

“Detective Smith didn’t know much,” Charlie said.

Rushton smiled briefly. “My connections are a bit higher level.” He paused, then his eyes met mine. “I know you’re looking for answers. But the explanations could take some time. I suggest we wait until you’ve had a chance to rest.”

I was having difficulty keeping my eyes open. I was having even more difficulty keeping the tears from spilling over. But it couldn’t wait.

“No. You need to know about Melody. You need to hear it.”

Rushton raised his hand.

“Don’t shush me. Don’t!” I had nothing left but emotion. “I know about Leo. I know where he is, and who his mother is, and who his father was, too.”

Rushton rubbed his eyes. “Can’t this wait?”

“No. No.” I leaned into Charlie.

Rushton said, “Fine. All right. It was Teddy. He made the request, the only one he ever made of me, and after he’d saved my life, I couldn’t say no. He asked me to take the boy in. I lost Frank, so Leo became everything to me.” He paused. “Leo is my family now.”

“Teddy? Teddy asked you to take in the boy?”

“His only favor. Well, that and assisting Melody during her time. Supporting her. Keeping her away from Patrick and Danny. I owed Teddy. I told him as much, and I make good on my debts.” Rushton paused, looking at his hands. “Besides. It was for Melody. I would do anything—” He stopped. “Teddy had to protect his family.” Rushton stared at his hands, flexing them, examining them. “That’s something I understood.”

“Why not give the child back to Melody now, then?”

“She doesn’t want Leo.” His voice shook. “And I’m attached to him.”

“No, you’re wrong.” I was beginning to understand the real meaning of right and wrong.

He lifted his hands. “Melody’s a flapper, enjoying herself. Doing what flappers do.” He was lying to himself. Now I could feel it. He was dismissing her because he was protecting himself. “She just wants to be out partying, having a good time. I’ve been watching, but it’s clear to me. She’s like all you other…well.” His eyes were bright. “You’ve made it clear you don’t think of yourself in that way, and I’ll respect your comments. But Melody spends her nights on the town, in speakeasies. Just the reason a cad like Patrick Connor could take advantage of her.” He looked at the floor. “I’m not certain she’d make a good mother for Leo.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong,” I repeated, trying to keep my seething anger in check. “She’s suffering because she can’t take care of him. Because she can’t be with him.”

“Nonsense.” He waved his hand and turned away.

“I just spent the past forty-eight hours with nonsense,” I said, my voice rising. “Danny Connor was nonsense. I’ve watched Melody watch Leo. I’ve watched Melody drink to try to forget. I know she loves him.”

Rushton turned, and his face had sagged. “But I’ve had him so long….”

“Are you blind?”

As I watched him then, all his arrogance slipped away. He seemed vulnerable and lost. “I can’t give up Leo. He’s the only family I have now. I’ve kept him safe. I took him in. Melody doesn’t want either one of us.”

My heart broke for him. His arrogance and haughty manner were a defense. He was as damaged as Teddy, from his past, from
the war, and then broken further when he lost his brother. He’d done something generous by helping Mel and taking Leo in, but he’d acted out of his own self-interest, too. And I knew then how he truly felt about Mel.

“You need to talk to her.” I looked at the floor. “She has a crush on you anyway,” I said, shrugging, looking up again. “She’s in love with you, for pete’s sake.”

“What?” His eyes searched my face. “Miss Winter, I’m hopeless with people. I don’t understand them. And I’ve certainly never understood Melody. So please don’t tease me.”

He cared for her, despite all the things he’d said. “I’m not teasing, John. She’s in love with you. Go talk to her.”

He looked at me, his eyes suddenly bright with hope.

“One last thing. Patrick and Danny Connor were involved in the bombings. Patrick helped pull the trigger, so to speak. But Danny, he gave his brother the money.”

Rushton stiffened.