Death of Riley (16 page)

As they shuffled out, I heard one of Nuala's boys mutter, “She's going to be a right old tartar, isn't she? Is she like that all the time?”

I smiled to myself as I straightened up my bedclothes and the pillows that had fallen to the floor. I had just taken off my new costume jacket and was hanging it on the peg when my door burst open and Nuala herself came in. “You've heard the terrible news then?” she demanded.

“I thought I told you to knock first,” I said, glad that she hadn't come in two minutes later and thus caught me in my undergarments. “What terrible news? It's not Seamus, is it? He's not taken a turn for the worse?”

“Seamus is on the mend, thank the Blessed Mother and all the saints. He'll be up and walking again in a week or so. No,‘tis Finbar and myself that have suffered misfortune. With me not around to keep an eye on them, things went from bad to worse. The long and short of it is that Finbar lost his job at the saloon, lazy no-good bag of bones that he is, and the boys were up to such mischief that we've been thrown out of our apartment.”

“Dear me. That's terrible. I hope you've found a new place.”

She gave me a sly, sideways look. “What with looking after our poor cousin being such a full-time job, I'll not have a chance to go looking, and anyway, Seamus has graciously agreed that we can move in with him for the moment, until he's on his feet and Finbar finds himself new employment.”

“All of you? In that one room?” I demanded. “Mrs. O'Hallaran would never agree.”

“
Oh,
but she has agreed. I spoke to her myself. We're fellow Irishwomen. We understand each other. She told me I was a saint, giving up my own thoughts of happiness to nurse my sick cousin. And she knows it will only be for a while. Just until things straighten themselves out again.”

What could I say? It was, after all, not my house, even though I had rented the top floor and invited Seamus and the little ones to join me. I could hardly go down to Mrs. O'Hallaran and demand that she not let Nuala, Finbar and the three horrors move in without seeming unfeeling and hard-hearted.

“So I'll be keeping Young Seamus and Bridie with me a while longer then?”

“And I thought I'd move in here too,” she said, giving me what passed for a friendly smile. “Then we can have one room for girls and one for boys. It's up to young Seamus which one he chooses. Maybe he'd rather stay with his sister and you.”

“I'll try to make you as welcome as you made me,” I replied smoothly and she got my meaning.

“It won't be for long,” she said. “With the good food you've been buying, we'll have Seamus back on his feet and working again in no time at all.”

The smile she gave me was one of triumph as she closed the door behind her. I stood in my own room wanting to hit somebody, so frustrated was I feeling. I had little doubt that she had been working up to this the moment she set eyes on the place. And I knew it wasn't going to be easy getting rid of her again. I just had to pray that her boys would drive Mrs. O'Hallaran crazy within the week.

So Sunday was not the day of rest I had contemplated, nor could I look forward to my usual Sunday outing with the children. Nuala announced that she and Finbar would be taking the children to mass and I could come along if I'd a mind to. I hadn't a mind to go anywhere with Nuala. I made myself a sandwich and took the train all the way out to Coney Island. So, it seemed, did the rest of New York City. The car was packed with screaming children, laughing young couples and shouting Italians. By the time I got there, any hope of solitude was dashed. The beach was so full it was hard to see the sand between the people. I wandered around, listening to the screams from the Steeplechase Amusement Park on the boardwalk, where riders on mechanical horses were whisked around a racetrack high in the air, and then beaten with paddles by waiting clowns when they descended again. What strange things people will pay money for.

In the end the temptation of the ocean was too much for me. I knew I shouldn't be spending Paddy's money on things for myself, but it was only ten cents to rent a bathing suit and use the changing facilities. The suit was heavy serge with so many frills that I looked like a giant chicken, but the first feel of the cold Atlantic on my toes made it all worth it. There were ropes extending out into the waves. I held on, just as a precaution. I'd never needed ropes to swim out through the waves at home, but then I hadn't been wearing a hundred-pound monstrosity of a garment. Then I was out at the end of the rope, farther than anyone but the strong male swimmers. I struck out and started to swim. Waves broke over my face and I felt the joy of being propelled forward with strong kicks. I turned on my back and floated, shutting out the whole world but the blue sky and white clouds above me.

“Are you all right, miss?” An arm grabbed me and I turned to see a young man in lifeguard's red and white stripes beside me.

“I'm just fine. Thank you. Floating and looking at the sky.”

“Only you're awfully far out, for a woman.”

“Thank you for your concern, but I can swim as well as you can. I'll race you into shore if you want.” I gave him a challenging smile.

“All right. Ready. Go.”

We both struck out for the shore with powerful strokes. He beat me, but not by much. “You're a grand swimmer,” he said, helping me to my feet among the waves. “If you hadn't been hampered by the swimsuit, it would have been level pegging. Too bad you're not a man. We could use more lifeguards on the beach.”

“As you say, too bad I'm not a man.”

He smiled, looked at me, went to say something, then shrugged his shoulders. “Nice meeting you, then,” he muttered and walked away.

Had he been about to ask me for a date? At any rate, the encounter had made me feel good. There were plenty of young men in the world just waiting to meet me. The swim had felt good too, although the looks of horror I got from the other young ladies when they saw my wet, bedraggled hair almost made me laugh.

I returned home rejuvenated, refreshed and ready to tackle Monday's problems and a houseful of children. I wasn't so confident about tackling Nuala.

F
ifteen

On Monday morning I dressed with care in my new business suit and added my boater with its new brown ribbon. This would be an important day for me. By the end of it I might be one step closer to solving Paddy Riley's murder. I would also have to tread very carefully. One of the people I was going to interview today might be desperate enough to kill again.

There was no point in visiting either Angus MacDonald or his wife Elizabeth before ten o'clock. The upper classes were notoriously late risers. So my first call was to Berger and DeBose, importers and exporters of fine foods and wines. Their office was in a tall brick warehouse building along the Hudson River. It was an overcast morning, with the promise of rain later and I had walked instead of taking the elevated. I needed a clear head for my encounters today. I knew I must convey no hint of suspicion in any of my conversations. I must be the innocent newcomer, trying to clear up the odds and ends left by my former partner. I need not even give away that Paddy was dead, if they didn't already know.

I presented my card to a skinny youth who returned to escort me to an inner sanctum where a large, bewiskered man rose to his feet and introduced himself as Mr. DeBose. “Miss Murphy?” The tone was not friendly.

“Mr. DeBose. I am the new junior partner in the firm of P. Riley Associates. My senior partner being indisposed, I am trying to tie up the loose ends in his current cases. I saw your name in our files and came to see if I could be of any assistance.”

“You're too damned late, aren't you?” Mr. DeBose's flabby cheeks puffed out like red balloons. “Tell your confounded senior partner that if he'd been doing his job when I asked him to, he might have caught young Hofmeister before he skipped off to South America with my money.”

“When was this?”

“When was it? Friday a week ago, that's when it was. He went to put the weekly takings in the bank and never came back. We found out from the police that he had passage booked on a liner sailing to Montevideo on Friday night. Of course we only found out he was missing on Monday morning, and by then it was too late, damn him.”

“So he was the one who had been cheating you?”

“Cheating us? I should say cheating was an understatement. Robbing us blind, madam. That's what young Hofmeister was doing. We had no idea of the scope of it when we called in your Mr. Riley. Now it turns out the young scoundrel was billing us for fictitious clients, creating fictitious inventories, and all of it going into Hofmeister's pocket. So what has your man got to say for himself, eh? Why did he take on the commission if he was going to sit on his fat behind and do nothing, eh?”

“I’m sorry to tell you that Mr. Riley is dead,” I said quietly.

“Well, I'll be—” he muttered. “My condolences, of course. Had he been ailing for a while or was he taken sudden?”

“He was killed, Mr. DeBose. Brutally murdered.”

He turned white now. Truly he had a most expressive face. “Well, that is another kettle of fish, isn't it? I hope they've caught the scoundrel.”

“They will, Mr. DeBose. I'm confident of that. So I'll bid you good day. Since no work was apparently done on your case, there will, of course, be no bill.”

He nodded. “Much obliged.”

“My condolences on your dishonest employee. It must be a hard loss to bear.”

“You can say that again, Miss Murphy. A hard loss indeed. And not just financial. It's a question of trust, isn't it? Now we won't be so anxious to trust our employees again, I can tell you that.”

He held out a meaty hand. “Thank you for stopping by.”

Another suspect to cross off my list. The wicked Mr. Hofmeister was already on his way to South America when Paddy was still alive and well.

Which left me with the MacDonalds. Angus was the only son of a very rich man who was also a puritan. If Paddy had uncovered some kind of wayward behavior that would incur his father's wrath, maybe even lead to disinheritance, then he might have resorted to murder. My first true motive. And he had the funds to pay for a hired killer too. I must be careful not to expose myself to danger.

I decided to start with Mrs. MacDonald, the client who had hired Paddy Riley. It would be only natural that I should pay a call on her, to apprise her of the situation. So I took the Broadway streetcar to Central Park and then walked beside the park, trying to concentrate on my mission and not be reminded of happier times spent among those shady boulevards. I had been surprised to discover that the MacDonalds—millionaires or at least future millionaires—lived in an apartment house. Surprised, that is, until I saw the Dakota Building for myself. The street was lined with impressive turreted buildings, rivaling European castles in their grandeur, and the Dakota, taking up a whole block at Seventy-second Street, was the grandest of them all.

I was admitted to a lavish foyer by a doorman dripping in gold braid, looking like a European prince. “I will inquire whether Mrs. MacDonald is at home,” he said, taking my card. “Please take a seat.” He motioned to an armchair among the potted palms and disappeared into a small office room.

I sat there admiring the scenery until he returned. “Mrs. MacDonald will see you. Ask the elevator operator for the eighth floor. You will see the front door straight ahead of you.”

The elevator glided effortlessly upward. The operator opened the door and I stepped out into a thickly carpeted hallway. Before me were grand double doors. Looking up and down the hall, I realized that this was the only apartment on the eighth floor. Before I could knock, die door was opened by a maid and I was admitted to a magnificent living room with windows overlooking Central Park. The furnishings were ivory and gilt and the whole effect was one of lightness and space. A slim and fragile-looking woman was reclining on a day bed, a half-finished breakfast tray beside her, reminding me that the upper classes began their days much later than the rest of us.

She looked up, her face alight with anticipation. “You come from Mr. Riley? He has news for me?”

“I’m afraid I have bad news, Mrs. MacDonald. Mr. Riley died last week. I wanted to inform his current clients as quickly as possible, so that they could take appropriate measures.”

Her face fell. “I am sorry to hear about Mr. Riley,” she said. “Really, his death is most inconvenient. Do you know if he had almost completed his work for me?”

“I’m afraid I have no idea.”

“He had procured no evidence then?”

“I’m afraid I have no way of knowing that, Mr. Riley did not discuss his cases with anyone. He observed a strict code of confidentiality with his clients.”

“This is most annoying,” she said again. “I had hoped to nip this in the bud. I've put up with Angus and his unsuitable relationships for long enough. But this one has gone too far. I'm doing this for his sake as well as my own, you know. There is the family name to think of. His father would be appalled.”

I said nothing. She looked up at me sharply. “It is strange that Mr. Riley didn't keep his partner informed. Wait a minute. You're not working for one of those muckraking newspapers, are you? This wouldn't be the first time I've had newspaper reporters trying to worm their way in here under various guises.”

“I assure you, Mrs. MacDonald, that I am not a newspaper reporter. I am merely trying to do what Mr. Riley would have wanted of me.”

Her face had become a mask. “Well, thank you for calling. My condolences about Mr. Riley.”

She waved me away with a languid hand.

I wasn't as good at this as I had hoped, I thought as I rode down in the elevator. If only I could have thought of the right things to say, asked the right questions; she had been on the verge of telling me everything. She may even have known the name of Angus's unsuitable relationship. But at least I still had the motive—she had been planning to tell Angus's father. I would have to tread cautiously when I went to see Angus.

I had learned from the file that Mr. Angus MacDonald had an office in the financial district on Wall Street, in a building owned by his father. I traveled south again on the El and spent some moments brushing off the dust of travel, making myself presentable before I approached that marble edifice, the MacDonald Building. I was told by his secretary that Mr. MacDonald was in a meeting and couldn't see me. I asked when a good time might be and the answer implied never. At that I decided I had been humble and polite long enough. I asked for a piece of paper, wrote a note and asked the secretary to take it to Mr. MacDonald right away.