Fallen Angels (17 page)

“Why don’t you come with me,” he said to
me.

So I did.

Chapter Ten

Mr. Franchot Chalmers did appear to be
suffering a great deal of emotional anguish when Mr. Simon Chalmers
opened the door to his library and ushered me in. Slumped in a
chair, and with red, swollen eyes, the senior Mr. Chalmers looked
honestly heartbroken and bereft. He also looked as if he’d been
perhaps taking too much brandy than was good for him, to judge by
the almost-empty bottle on the table beside him.

Prohibition? What Prohibition? But I’ve
already covered that issue, I reckon.

Mr. Franchot Chalmers—you know, I’m getting
tired of writing out the full names of these two men. Will anyone
become annoyed with me if I refer to them by their first names?
Well, I don’t know who would, come to think of it. My mother will
definitely never read this journal.

At any rate, Mr. Franchot rose from his chair
at once when I entered the room. Polite and gentlemanly he
definitely was, if a little fuzzy around the edges, probably due to
his consumption of brandy.

“Pa, this is Miss Allcutt, the one who found
Persephone’s body and telephoned me at the club. I’m sure you
remember her.”

“Ah, yes. How do you do, Miss Allcutt?” He
bowed politely, and I felt like a rat.

“I’m so very sorry to disturb you, Mr.
Chalmers. I understand how distressing this time must be for
you.”

“It was nice of you to call,” he said
mechanically. Then he looked at his son as if asking him to clue
him in to why I’d been allowed into his presence. I’m pretty sure
other visitors were treated politely and dismissed by the house
servants or Mr. Simon and were seldom allowed as far as Mr.
Franchot’s personal library, where he seemed to be attempting to
hide from the world.

“Pa, Miss Allcutt needs to ask us a few
questions. She’s helping the police in solving the crime.”

That was nice of Mr. Simon to say and most
unexpected, and I smiled to let him know it.

“Ah.” Mr. Franchot hesitated, then said with
a sigh, “Very well. Have a seat, Miss Allcutt. I hope somebody
solves the murder soon. Murder,” he repeated with revulsion. “I
can’t believe this has happened to Persephone. I can’t seem to take
it in.” He buried his head in his hands.

I felt awfully sorry for him. Still and all,
I also didn’t want Ernie to be arrested for committing a murder he
didn’t. Commit, I mean.

“Go ahead, Miss Allcutt. The sooner you ask
your questions, the sooner Pa can get back to . . .”

Mr. Simon let his sentence sort of trail off.
I wondered what word he’d have inserted if he’d chosen to finish
it. Finishing his brooding? Finishing his mourning? Finishing his
brandy?

Well, I’d never know the answer to that one,
so I started my inquiry. “I understand that Mrs. Chalmers had
recently begun attending the Angelica Gospel Hall. Is that
correct?” In order to add verisimilitude to this question—and also
because I wanted to be sure I remembered what these two said—I’d
taken out my secretarial pad and a sharpened pencil from my
handbag. I hadn’t used these accoutrements in the kitchen, sensing
their presence would have made the two servant ladies nervous.

“Yes. She’d begun taking a good bit of
interest in Adelaide Burkhard Emmanuel’s message. I didn’t
understand the fascination myself, but Persephone seemed to enjoy
it, so I didn’t say anything to discourage her. As far as I was
concerned, anything that made her happy, made me happy.” He sighed
deeply, and I felt sorry for him again.

“I understand she spent a good deal of
her time and money on the Angelica Gospel Hall. That didn’t bother
you?” And what a brazen question
that
was!

“Not really. Persephone had money of her own.
I didn’t even notice, to tell you the truth. I have my own business
interests that take up most of my time.”

Investments, thought I. Like his son. As a
female person, I was supposed to know nothing about such masculine
pursuits. As a matter of fact, in the case of investments, I
didn’t. But it wasn’t my fault. My father could have instructed me
in investments just as he’d done my awful brother. But had he?
Heavenly days, no! Women’s brains were too feeble to grasp such
concepts. Phooey.

“I see. So she didn’t depend on you for her,
um, living?”

He shrugged. “I supported her as her husband.
That’s only proper. But as I said, she had money of her own. And,
as I mentioned, her church participation made her . . . I don’t
know if happy is the right word. On a personal level, she felt
she’d discovered something to do that mattered in the world, if
that makes any sense.” He sighed and shrugged again. “It didn’t
make much sense to me, but she seemed to love it. She made friends
with people there and invited them over for tea and so forth.”

“Yes, I believe I understand.” Personally,
I’d prefer to donate my time and money to an animal shelter or some
organization that would help poor people, but I wasn’t Mrs.
Chalmers—which was a darned good thing, or I’d have been dead.

I continued with my investigation. “My
employer, Mr. Ernest Templeton, was hired by Mrs. Chalmers to
investigate the theft of some jewelry. Did you know about that, Mr.
Chalmers?”

“Oh, yes. Persephone told me. A jade necklace
and bracelet, and a diamond brooch she’d inherited from her
grandmother, I believe, were the items stolen. I can’t imagine
how.”

“You don’t believe a servant or visitor might
have pilfered the gems?”

He blinked at me as if I’d just uttered the
stupidest question ever spoken by a human being on this earth. “Our
servants have been with the family for years, Miss Allcutt, and I
doubt a casual visitor would have known the combination to our
safe, or even where it is. The servants, either, come to that. I’m
not in the habit of using it in front of the servants.”

“I see. But the items were taken from the
safe?”

“Yes.”

Mr. Simon chimed in at that moment. “That’s
what Persephone said. They were taken from the safe.”

Suddenly, Mr. Franchot looked at his son and
said, “Say, you don’t suppose one of those people from that church
might have taken them, do you?

Mr. Simon hesitated before saying, “Well, I
don’t know, Pa.”

“The jewelry was kept in the safe. How could
anyone know the combination to the safe?”

“And she did say they were taken from the
safe,” reiterated Mr. Simon.

I eyed him for a moment, wondering why he’d
repeated the bit about the safe. Did he suspect his stepmother had
given the items to someone and then reported them stolen for some
fell purpose unknown to her husband? Well, of course he did. He’d
already told me as much when I’d spoken to him at the scene of the
crime. I asked, “Where is the safe?”

“In this room, as a matter of fact,” said Mr.
Franchot.

“Hmm. I suppose that if an acquaintance were
visiting with her, Mrs. Chalmers might have gone to the safe to
take something out to show the acquaintance,” I mused aloud.

“Hard to imagine. How often does one need to
open a safe when one is entertaining guests?” said Mr. Franchot.
“Besides, the safe’s behind that picture.” He waved at a picture of
a horse on the far wall.

Good point. I’m sure my parents had a safe
back home in Boston, but I didn’t even know where it was, and I
couldn’t imagine Mother taking a friend to visit the safe.

“Did Mrs. Chalmers entertain guests often?” I
asked.

Mr. Franchot shrugged.

Mr. Simon said, “As Pa said, she had her
church friends over a lot. I can’t believe any of them are thieves,
although I wouldn’t put much past some of the religious zealots
I’ve met in my day.”

Mr. Simon was about thirty years old, and I
wondered exactly how many religious zealots he’d met in those
relatively few years. I didn’t ask.

“Anyhow, she didn’t entertain them in my
library,” said Mr. Franchot. “I don’t know how the theft was
accomplished.” His eyes thinned a bit. “In fact, as long as the
thief was pawing around in my papers and her jewels, I don’t know
why he didn’t take a whole lot of other things while he was at it.
I keep some bearer bonds in there, along with a good deal of
cash.”

“Yes. Interesting theft,” I said, thinking
the same thing.

Mr. Simon cleared his throat. “Pop, I know
you don’t want to hear this, but don’t you think Persephone might
have taken the jewelry to sell for that church of hers?”

Father looked at son, not challengingly, but
as if Mr. Simon’s words had hurt him. “But why, Simon? I didn’t
care how much money she gave to that silly place. She could have
given away all her jewelry, as far as I’m concerned. I’d rather
have her back than any of those damned trinkets.”

“I know, Pa. I’m sorry.” In an aside to me,
he said softly, “They weren’t exactly trinkets.”

I nodded to tell him I understood. Still, it
didn’t seem as though I was getting anywhere with the jewelry
angle, so I decided to try another tack before these two got sick
of me and asked me to leave. “Did Mrs. Chalmers have any
particularly special friends she saw more often than others?”

Mr. Simon shrugged. “I didn’t know her that
well, to tell the truth.”

Mr. Franchot thought for a bit. “There was
one woman she went places with a lot and who came here quite often.
Mrs. Fincher? Mrs. Pincher?”

“Mrs. Pinkney?” I supplied helpfully.

With a slow nod, Mr. Franchot said, “Maybe
that was it. Yes. In fact, I’m sure it was, because the woman’s
husband actually had the gall to telephone me here at home one
evening and demand that my wife stop leading his wife astray. Those
were his very words, by God. And I’d never even met the fellow,
much less had anything to do with him.”

“Good heavens. That sounds like an odd demand
to make of a perfect stranger.”

“I gathered from further conversation that he
was ranting about the church both ladies attended,” said Mr.
Franchot drily. “I told him I had no control over his wife, and if
he couldn’t handle her activities, how the devil should he expect
me to? I beg your pardon, Miss Allcutt.”

“Think nothing of it,” I said with an airy
wave of my hand.

But what he’d said was most interesting.
Could Mr. Pinkney have become so annoyed by his wife’s involvement
in the Angelica Gospel Hall that he might actually kill the woman
he believed responsible for that involvement? The notion was
certainly something to think about.

However, I believed I’d stayed long enough
with these two men, one of whom was clearly bereaved—unless he was
a better actor than John Barrymore, which would be a stretch for
any man. Therefore, I closed my notebook, placed it and my pencil
in my handbag, and rose from my chair.

“Thank you both very, very much for seeing me
at such a miserable time for you. I do appreciate your cooperation
and hope fervently that the villain who killed your wife will be
found shortly, Mr. Chalmers.” To Mr. Simon, I said, “Thank you,
too. You were very kind.”

“Think nothing of it, Miss Allcutt. I wish
you and your employer all the best in solving this crime.”

So, on that friendly note, I departed the
Chalmers house, not a whole lot wiser than when I entered it,
although I did most certainly intend to pursue the Mr. Pinkney
angle.

By the time I left the Chalmers home, it was
past my usual lunchtime, so I directed the cab driver, who had
waited as requested, to drop me off at a small tea shop near the
Figueroa Building. When I stepped inside, whom did I see but Lulu
LaBelle! She hailed me with a wave of those bright red fingernails
and a loud, “Mercy! Over here!”

So I joined her at the luncheon counter.
She’d almost finished her own lunch, but she waited around for me
to order and eat my own, which, probably because I was still
annoyed with my mother, was a corned-beef sandwich. With
sauerkraut. And lemonade. Honestly, if you haven’t tried corned
beef, it’s well worth the effort, no matter what stuffy people who
have grievances—unwarranted, I might add—against the Irish have to
say about it.

Lulu, naturally, quizzed me about the events
of the morning. “The police led Ernie away, Mercy! Whatever is
going on?”

So I told her everything. Why not? Merely
because Lulu didn’t come from a highly educated family didn’t mean
she didn’t have a workable brain, something else my mother would
never believe.

“Golly,” she said upon a gust of expelled
breath. “What a pickle for poor Ernie. I’m glad you’re
investigating, Mercy. Wish I could help, but I’m stuck behind the
desk in the lobby.”

“I wish you could help, too, Lulu. I don’t
like leaving the office so much, but . . . well, to tell you the
truth, we don’t have a lot of work at the moment, and I figure
nobody will miss me.”

Lulu nodded her sympathy. “I know.
Ernie’s never had much business except when you put that ad in
the
Times
.”

I gaped at her. “You know about that?”

“Sure. Ernie told me.”

“I thought he’d bite my head off, he was so
angry with me for placing the ad.”

“I don’t know why, since it brought in
business.”

Morosely, I said, “I think I know why. He was
mad because he didn’t think of it himself. He is a man, after all,
and many of them seem to be like that.”

Lulu grinned. “You’re probably right.” She
sobered. “But say, Mercy, isn’t there some way I could help you
investigate this murder? Investigation sounds ever so much more
interesting than sitting at that stupid desk filing my nails and
answering the telephone every two hours or so.”

My glance slid over Lulu, from her vibrant
yellow dress, enlivened with an orange sash around the dropped
waist, to her orange hat, to her violently red fingernails. “Well .
. . you know, Lulu, one of the primary aspects of detective work is
to be . . . well, inconspicuous.” That wasn’t actually anything
Ernie had told me, but it made sense to me. “Um, I don’t think
you’re very inconspicuous.”