Don't Dare a Dame (4 page)

   
“Billy shanghaied him into buying a ticket to some dinner Kate’s helping with at the parish. Seamus claimed the food would be worth the long-winded speaker, but I wasn’t tempted.”

   
I smiled. Officers Seamus Hanlon and Billy Leary were nearing retirement age. They’d been my father’s best friends, present in my earliest memories. Billy and Connelly were partners now that a bad knee kept Seamus mostly on desk duty. Seamus and Connelly palled around a lot, though, and as often as not came into Finn’s together.

   
Connelly had tipped his chair back, comfortable as a cat. The tiny cowlick that decorated the front of his reddish-brown hair was asserting itself.

   
“Is it anything I could help with?” he asked.

   
“Not unless you were walking a beat here twenty-six years ago.”

   
He chuckled. Connelly probably wasn’t past thirty. Not half a dozen years had passed since he’d left Ireland. Since he knew I was aware of it, my answer had stirred his interest.

   
“This have to do with the scraped knuckle?” he asked curiously.

   
I nodded. If we were going to be sitting here, talking work was safe turf. I told him about my afternoon with the Vanhorn sisters.

   
“Christ almighty,” he said when I got to the part about the blind woman’s dog. He rubbed at his chin. “Anyone know the two of them were expecting you?”

   
“Not when I was coming,” I said slowly. I saw what he was thinking. Nothing had been stolen. It could be because the intruder realized people were home, and searching for valuables would make noise. In that case, though, why not leave? The pitcher that had broken had been next to the exact spot where someone would stand if they were listening, or if they wanted to know why the women had hired a detective.

   
“What about the brother? Neal, is it?” Connelly asked.

   
“Making a stink seems to be more his style than running away. Besides, he seemed to have a pretty good idea what they were going to tell me.”

   
I’d already put checking what time Neal had returned to work on my list of things to do the next day. This added a slightly different reason.

   
“You haven’t heard the worst part yet,” I said. “Whoever took the call at the station heard Corrine screaming about a killing and sent the homicide unit. Which included Fuller.”

   
Connelly went still as a rock.

   
“Did you ever put in paperwork saying you want to be considered when a detective slot comes open?” I asked.

   
He took a slow drink of Guinness before giving a nod. His face betrayed nothing.

   
“Too early for me be considered much, though. I haven’t been on the force long enough, and I’ve no connections.”

   
His mildness could be deceiving, but it rubbed me the wrong way.

   
“So you’re just going to roll over? Watch that half-witted s.o.b. land a plum slot you’re better suited for—”

   
He sat up so abruptly his knees connected with mine. If I drew back, he’d know the contact affected me. Unfortunately, he probably realized that was how I was playing it. He leaned comfortably over his crossed arms.

   
“I believe I already I told you once,
mavourneen
, I don’t give up on things I set my mind on. Ever.” His eyes danced with amusement as they held mine.

   
My pulse beat faster than it should. How the devil could I face down bruisers with guns and then go dry-mouthed around this one man?

   
“If you’re inclined to cheer me after the bad news, though, or to think a bit how we might prevent Fuller from being a fly in the ointment for both of us, I was just about to see if you wanted to get a bite of dinner.”

   
“I can’t. I already promised to go with one of the girls.”

   
The advantage to rooming in a house with nine other women was you always sounded plausible if you claimed other plans. It would hardly even qualify as a lie if you found somebody to go with when you got home. That was nearly always possible, but mostly I didn’t bother.

   
Connelly closed one eye and gave me a look.

   
“That scared, are you?”

   
“Don’t flatter yourself.” But I was scared, because he was the first man I knew I could fall for.

   
He drained his glass and stood. “Tells me that kiss on the Fourth of July affected you more than I realized.”

   
Bursting into a cheery whistle, he turned and walked out, spinning his hat on one finger. He’d gone half a dozen steps before the words sank in enough that I sprang to my feet.

   
“I did
not
kiss you on the Fourth of July!”

   
Indignation raised my voice more than was prudent. Several at the bar turned to look. Without so much as a backward glance, still whistling, Connelly strolled out.

Five

   
I got to McCrory’s lunch counter early enough the next morning to nab a stool on the end. As far as I was concerned, that was the prime spot. Sitting at the end meant getting cigarette smoke from only one direction.

   
“Thanks, Izzy,” I said as a scrawny little waitress slid a mug of tea in front of me. She set off to get me some oatmeal without even asking. On those rare occasions when I wanted something different, I had to tell her fast.

   
 The rest of the dime store was still roped off, not yet open for business, but footsteps to and from the lunch counter beat a steady tattoo on the wooden floor. The familiar sound soothed me.

   
Had
I kissed Connelly at that rollicking party we’d both attended on the Fourth? Parts toward the end were fuzzy, and the question had kept me tossing and turning all night. Irked that it had resurfaced, I sipped my tea and focused attention on how I intended to approach Alf Maguire.

   
As shaken as the Vanhorn sisters had been when I left them, I wasn’t quite clear on some of the details, but they’d seemed certain their stepfather could be found at a place on Haynes. An apartment, or maybe a duplex. There’d been something about a girlfriend. Whether she’d taken him in or whether he rented the love nest was one of the details that hadn’t been clear, but I had the address.

   
My theory was that Maguire would find it harder to give me the brush-off if I caught him at home with his paramour. He’d talk in front of her rather than face her questions later about why he hadn’t. He might lie through his teeth, but even lies yield grains of something useful if you sift them carefully enough. I made short work of my breakfast, eager to start.

   
As soon as I turned onto Haynes I began to get a bad feeling. I saw two police cars, another that I knew belonged to a hack from the morning paper, and Black Mariah, the city ambulance, which mostly arrived to find its intended passengers had died waiting. Sure enough, all the activity centered around the address I was hunting. I parked far enough back to be out of the way and walked up the street.

   
“What’s the excitement?” I asked a uniform.

   
“Morning, Miss Sullivan. Looks like some fellow turned on the gas.”

   
“Dead?”

   
He nodded.

   
“The guy have a name?”

   
He shrugged. It might mean he didn’t know. It might also mean he had the name but knew enough not to tell anyone.

   
I didn’t figure I’d get inside, but I started up the walk anyway. No harm in trying. The place was a duplex, light brick. Both front doors stood open. When I got about halfway there, Boike came out the door on the left and closed it behind him. There wasn’t much of a stoop to come down, just four or five steps. He reached the bottom before he spotted me. For a second or two he hesitated, gearing himself up before we met

   
“Alf Maguire, huh?” I said.

   
From the look he shot the uniformed cop, I knew I was right.

   
“Don’t worry, your boy at the curb didn’t spill anything. I was coming to see Maguire to ask him some questions.”

   
“My guess is he’s not going to be very chatty.”

   
“Stiffs are like that.”

   
 Boike was casting a curious eye at the artificial flower pinned to my lapel. I didn’t usually bother with such things, but a girl never knows when a decorative touch may come in handy.

   
“Questions on what?” he asked.

   
“This and that.”

   
Before he could press me, the door he’d just closed opened again, flung back in anger. Two men clattered down the steps. One was Neal Vanhorn. His pal was a shorter man of similar age with a wee pointed chin like a Kewpie doll.

   
“...no business treating us like....” Neal was spewing. He broke off as he noticed me. “You!” he snapped. “You’re to blame! It’s your fault he’s dead — yours and those self-righteous sisters of mine. Driving him to despair—”

   
I slapped aside the finger he’d thrust in my face. Boike was watching intently. Both newcomers seemed unaware of the cop’s presence.

   
Neal’s companion was working himself to a question.

   
“Who are—?”

   
“She’s their private
detective
.” Neal managed to squeeze in plenty of scorn. “God knows what my dear sisters are trying to dig up now that they’ve dragged Alf through court. Infidelity? With his wife dead almost a year?” He laughed unpleasantly.

   
The eyes of the men looked damp, as though they’d been struggling with tears.

   
“Are you one of Alf’s sons?” I guessed.

   
“Yeah, he is,” Neal cut in. “And you’ve done enough damage. Clear out. You’re not welcome.”

   
“Gee, Neal, do you talk for everybody?” I’d used up what little patience I had sometime yesterday. “Maybe you should be a ventriloquist, get yourself a little Charlie McCarthy doll.”

   
Behind them, Lt. Freeze, the homicide chief, was approaching.

   
“Miss Sullivan,” he said.

   
As greetings went it was on the chilly side, but it was enough to make Neal spin around.

   
“If you gentlemen could get to the station without delay, there’s an officer waiting to take your statements,” he said. Neal and his pal had sense enough not to argue. They took their leave with hands shoved in their pockets. “Boike, get one of the uniforms and start talking to neighbors. We’ll meet you downtown,” Freeze continued.

   
I noticed a man trailing him the way his assistants tended to do. Mercifully, it wasn’t Fuller. This guy had olive skin and curly black hair.

   
“I don’t suppose you’d care to explain how you happened to turn up at the scene of a death I’m investigating?” Freeze’s gaze bored into me.

   
“Sure,” I said. “His step-daughters hired me yesterday. One’s the blind woman Fuller pushed around. Their own dad disappeared when they were kids. They wanted me to find out something about him. I was hoping Maguire might give me some names to start with. He and the father were shirttail relatives; spent time together.”

   
It was the last thing he’d expected from me, a straightforward answer. Detailed, too. Freeze frowned suspiciously.

   
“By you being here, I’m guessing he didn’t turn on the gas himself,” I said.

   
“How did—?” His eyes shot toward Boike’s retreating figure.

   
“Not from Boike.” I gave my sunniest smile. “I caught a whiff of it.”

   
He probably thought I meant I’d smelled gas. His nose twitched.

   
“You have five minutes to be on your way, Miss Sullivan.”

   
He hadn’t answered my question. He usually didn’t. As I sauntered my way toward the curb the hack from
The Journal
nearly sprained an ankle reaching my side.

   
“What’d he tell you?” he asked. “Two bucks if you know anything useful.”