The Yankee Club (16 page)

After Belle gave Stoddard the once-over, she introduced herself. Laura stared at my uncovered thigh. She marched toward me and tugged the robe over my exposed leg.

I scrambled to my feet and cinched my robe. In spite of my embarrassment, I had to know about Laura’s engagement. I grabbed a five from the dwindling supply of cash in my wallet and handed the bill to Frankie. “Go downstairs and pick up some aspirin for your headache and buy Belle breakfast.”

“Sure, boss.” He took the money and held the door open for Belle.

After they left, I searched Laura’s eyes for the truth about her engagement. I gestured toward the bedroom. “We have to talk.”

Stoddard studied my face then smacked his forehead. “Son of a bitch! You didn’t tell me he was still in love with you.”

“I …” Laura gazed at me through glistening eyes. “I wasn’t sure.”

Stoddard paced the room mumbling to himself. “I’m trying to stop the most powerful men in the country from taking down the Roosevelt administration with an actress and a
brokenhearted mystery writer.” He stopped and aimed his finger at us. “You’ve got five minutes to decide if you can work together, not a fucking second longer.”

I led Laura into the bedroom and closed the door.

She surprised me with a soft kiss. She wiped lipstick from my mouth with a hankie. “Last night Dorothy Greenwoody flitted around you like a hummingbird around a red carnation. This morning I walk in and a pretty young dish is on her knees and you’re wearing next to nothing.”

“I needed to get my stitches out, and … Belle used to be a nurse.”

Laura raised an eyebrow. “What does she do for a living now?”

“That’s not important. Are you engaged to Spencer Dalrymple?”

“Why, Jake Donovan,” Laura gave her best southern belle impression. “I do believe you’re jealous.”

How could she be so flippant when our future and her life were in danger? Of course I was jealous. “Well?”

“Mickey traced Oliver Greenwoody to the Golden Legion, headed by my producer, Spencer Dalrymple. Mickey remembered Spencer always … fancied me.”

Most men found Laura attractive. I’d never noticed Dalrymple’s interest before I left for Florida. “I never knew.”

Like she was getting ready to go shopping, Laura set her hat on the dresser and patted her hair just so. “I offered to help Mickey. With just a little encouragement, Spencer invited me to dinner at New York’s best restaurants and took me for carriage rides in Central Park.” She glanced at me in the mirror. “How come we never did that?”

She faced me and wiggled the third finger on her left hand showing me her diamond. “A couple of weeks ago, he proposed. What can I say?”

“You can say he doesn’t mean anything to you, for starters.”

I couldn’t believe her casual attitude. From the other room Stoddard called out. “Three minutes.”

“Oh, Jake.” She smiled and took my hands in hers. “Of course Spencer doesn’t mean anything. I accepted his proposal to gain his trust and get close to him and his banker friends. That’s all.”

I dropped to the edge of the bed and blew out a puff of relief.

She stood in front of me. “I wanted to tell you that first day in the hospital, but Mickey and Stoddard made me promise not to tell anyone.”

I held her hand. “Of course you couldn’t say anything.”

She sat beside me and rested her head on my shoulder like she used to. Her hair still smelled like spring flowers. “I’m insulted you think I could fall for such a pompous self-centered fop.”

“You’ve fooled a lot of people. Reporters, friends …”

“I’m an actress.”

Knowing her engagement was just an act didn’t lesson my fear for her safety. “I don’t like you being involved in this.”

“Life doesn’t always provide what we want.” Laura walked away then spun and faced me, arms folded. “I learned that two years ago when you left and moved to Florida.”

Ouch. I deserved the rebuke. I hurried to her and swept her in my arms. For a moment we weren’t in the Carlyle. We were on the observation deck of the Empire State Building before I put her on the spot with a selfish proposal. “I was an idiot. I never should’ve left. We could have worked it out.”

“I cried for days, then I vowed you’d never hurt me again. I was wrong. In the hospital, I cried again.” Laura held her hands against my face. She kissed me like it might be the last time.

I kissed her back then whispered, “Do you remember our first kiss?”

“I’ve thought about it a lot since you came back. Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Back.”

A knock sounded at the door. Stoddard. “I’ve ordered coffee. We’re going to need it.”

The knock kept me from answering a tough question about my future plans.

Laura ran a soft hand over my face and smiled. “Our five minutes are up.”

While waiting for room service, I changed into respectable clothes. A fresh suit helped me recover the dignity I’d lost in front of Stoddard and Laura. Thanks to Belle, my leg felt better with the stitches out.

I twisted the handle of my cane and laid the newspaper clippings on the table. I showed them Mickey’s once-invisible note with the words Golden Legion.

Laura pointed to the photo of the twelve bankers and identified each of them by name and the bank they owned.

A waiter wheeled a tray into the room with a pot of coffee and three cups. He sneered at the modest tip I left as I considered the dire straits of my current financial condition.

Stoddard poured himself a cup. “What you’re about to hear stays with the three of us. No one else. Agreed?”

I nodded and took a chair beside Laura. Stoddard began the briefing by recapping the attempted assassination of Franklin Roosevelt nearly three months earlier. The shooting had been big news in Florida. Roosevelt gave an impromptu speech in the back of an open car in the Bayfront Park area of Miami. Giuseppe Zangara, one of the country’s millions of unemployed, lived in the area. Barely five feet, he stood on a chair and fired over the head of a woman. She turned and wrestled with the man, but he got off several more shots. Five people were hit, but not
the president-elect. Zangara was never charged with attempting to assassinate Roosevelt.

After the Secret Service completed an investigation, the Hoover administration concluded Zangara acted alone. Roosevelt was inaugurated two weeks after the shooting. Sixteen days later, Zangara was executed for murdering the Chicago mayor.

Stoddard took a long gulp. “There’s never been an assassination of a president-elect. If Zangara had killed Roosevelt, the United States would’ve fallen into a constitutional crisis and further economic chaos. My boss thinks the Supreme Court would have nullified the election. Hoover would have remained president and declared martial law. His policies, supported by the Golden Legion that resulted in the Depression, would have continued.”

Damn.

“A politician close to Roosevelt gave me an assignment to determine whether the assassin targeted Roosevelt and acted alone. I traced the flow of money and hired Mickey to pound the streets in Chicago where Zangara came from. He drew a blank until he came back to New York.”

While Stoddard spoke, Laura looked at me, appearing to judge my reaction. The day I discovered her in Mickey’s office, I thought she was hiding something but never imagined her secret involved a conspiracy of national importance.

Stoddard finished his coffee and refilled the cup. “Mickey and I weren’t able to prove it, but we believe the assassination attempt on Roosevelt was a well-orchestrated plot to throw the country into turmoil and prevent Roosevelt from implementing policies that would threaten the bankers who’ve controlled this country for the past fifty years. We’re not sure what they have planned next. If they kill Roosevelt now, Vice President Garner would take over and the country would be sympathetic and demand that Roosevelt’s policies be enacted.”

I didn’t understand why Stoddard’s investigation continued outside the federal government. “Now that he’s president, why doesn’t Roosevelt bring in the Secret Service or the FBI?”

Laura answered, “Roosevelt can’t reopen the investigation. He’d appear self-indulgent and fearful at a time the country expects him to act with bold decisiveness.”

“Spencer Dalrymple and his associates in the Golden Legion stand to lose the most by Roosevelt’s New Deal policies,” Stoddard said, “such as taking the country off the gold standard.”

I nodded toward Laura. “Why did you need her?”

“We needed someone who could get close to Dalrymple. Laura had worked for him, he’d financed two of her plays, and he, well …”

“I get it, he likes her. He doesn’t like me.” I told them about the limo ride, his purchase of my publisher, the train ticket Dalrymple expected me to use, and my frozen bank account.

Laura opened her purse, but I held up a hand. “That’s very sweet, but I have enough cash for a few days.”

She snapped her purse closed. “Sounds like pride talking, but suit yourself.”

Stoddard set his cup beside the phone and sifted through Mickey’s newspaper articles. “My clandestine investigation will continue until we can prove a threat exists. Our job is to obtain evidence on what the Golden Legion is planning next. I’m talking evidence strong enough to convince Congress and the president’s inner circle to bring in the full force of the federal government and stop these traitors.”

Laura flashed me a smile of encouragement. With just the three of us, our task wouldn’t be easy. “I might be able to prove the Golden Legion ordered the hit on Mickey. Belle can ID the driver. His name is Paul Cummings, and he’s connected to a group called the Blackshirts.”

Stoddard nodded. “Sure. They’re a fascist gang gaining popularity for opposing American communists.”

“I know some people who might have information about them.” Gino. Also, Dashiell and Lillian were involved in politics and hated fascists.

“See what you can find out.” Stoddard dropped into a chair beside the table and removed a pack of cigarettes. “Mind if I smoke?”

“I’d rather you didn’t. What role does Baron Karl Friedman play?” I described Oliver Greenwoody’s reaction to Friedman on the deck of the Dalrymple Estate.

Stoddard’s face twisted with concern. “Laura, find out what you can about the baron. Jake, Greenwoody is popular with the military and Congress, but Mickey and I couldn’t find a tie to Dalrymple or anyone in the Golden Legion. Still, they’re together a lot. See what you can find out.”

“I’m having dinner with the Greenwoodys tonight.”

Laura’s eyes narrowed. “I suppose Dorothy will be there.”

Stoddard ignored her comment. “I’ll do what I can to locate Paul Cummings.” He peeked through the curtains to the street below. “On Thursday, the president will be in the city to give a speech announcing an important New Deal appointee. I don’t like it, so let’s see what we can find out before then. Let’s meet in a couple of days. Someplace safe.”

I glanced at Laura. “The Yankee Club. Laura and I grew up with the owner. He can be trusted.”

Laura checked her watch. “Spencer’s expecting me for lunch. I’ll see you at Mickey’s funeral tomorrow.” She kissed my cheek and left.

For a long time, Stoddard and I didn’t speak. He seemed to have more on his mind as he sat and tapped the cigarette package on the table. We hadn’t hit it off in the beginning. Holding a dagger to his throat might have had something to do with it. “Go ahead and smoke.”

“I was going to anyway.” He lit a cigarette and blew out a long puff. “I don’t like Pinkertons, or ex-Pinkertons. Mickey was a former cop, a pro who did his job without asking questions.”

“You don’t like me asking questions?”

“I don’t like that you’re in this for the wrong reasons.” Stoddard gestured with the cigarette. “I can’t afford to play matchmaker.”

“Laura and I agreed not to let our feelings interfere with what we have to do.”

“Bullshit. Saying it and doing it are two different things. Undercover work and dames don’t mix. When I’m on a case, I don’t … I don’t get involved with women, if you know what I mean.”

No sex. “Like a boxer before a fight.” No wonder he was such a grumpy bastard.

“It weakens you physically,” he pointed to his temple, “and up here.”

“I may not be an ex-cop, but I used to be in the military, like you.”

“How’d you know I was in the service?”

I chuckled. “The way you walk, the way you talk, and your need for control. I’m guessing an officer, but not too high in rank, probably a lieutenant. You’re used to taking orders as well as giving them.”

Stoddard’s rigid expression softened. He even showed a hint of a smile. “Okay, you passed the test, but with an A minus. I was a captain.”

A knock sounded at the door. Stoddard dropped the cigarette in his cup. He stood and grabbed his hat as I opened the door.

Belle came in. “Frankie’s downstairs puking in the restroom. That’s some hangover.” She handed me my room key. “Here. I can tell me having a key to your room made you uncomfortable.” She appeared to notice Stoddard. A flirtatious smile swept across her face. “Hello again, tall, dark, and serious.”

Stoddard appeared at a loss for words. “I should be going.”

Belle took his arm in hers. “Would you mind escorting me to my room? Even in a fancy hotel like this, it’s not safe for a lady to walk around unescorted.”

“Ah … sure.” He opened the door.

As he and Belle entered the corridor, I clenched my fists and struck a boxer’s pose. “Remember, Stoddard. You’re in training.”

Chapter 10
Isn’t It Romantic?

As Frankie drove us from the Carlyle, I struggled to set aside concerns over Laura’s safety. I used a technique a sergeant taught me during the war and focused on the tasks at hand: finding out what I could about the Blackshirts and Oliver Greenwoody. The trick didn’t eliminate my worries, but it kept my emotions in check.

Aspirin hadn’t helped Frankie’s hangover. With his face a green shade of pale, he glanced in the rearview mirror. “We’ve got a tail.”

I checked over my shoulder. Hawkins and Stone. “They’re cops.”

“You sure? I can lose ’em in seconds if you want.”