Ill-Fame (A Detective Harm Queen Novel Book 2) (22 page)

She came back.

Karoline came back.

His heart started slamming against his ribs, and he felt his skin go warm. She’d changed her mind and had returned to mend their divide.

“I’ll be right over, Peder. Did Karoline sound merry-hearted? Excited to see me?”

The phone went quiet. Then Peder spoke in a dry whisper.

“It’s not Karoline.”

“Who could it be, then?” And then, he slap-bang realized who it was.

She’d had the nerve to show up to the very same place where they’d last exchanged words: the Ulland house. He’d felt guilty enough already, when they’d tumbled together in Peder and Karoline’s parlor, and he didn’t want to be reminded of his mistake again.

“Did she say anything?”

“She said she missed our hospitality, and hoped ve didn’t hold vot happened against her. Harm, she sounded sincere.”

Of course she did. She was a deceptive, conniving bitch who could switch on her feminine wiles with a one-two shake of her waist. He’d hear what she had to say, he decided, try to convince her to redeem herself by acting as his witness in the Edna Pease matter, and then he wanted her out of that house immediately.

“I’ll be there when I can,” he said, and hung up.

As he rushed through the assembly room a patrolman approached him, looking tentative.

“Sir, there is a lady here to see you.”

“Her name?”

“Miss Anderson.”

“Show me where she’s waiting.”

The officer led him outside, where she stood on the sidewalk. She wore a white dress and a white hat with a single plume, and carried a purple parasol in her hand, her S-shaped silhouette ravishing in contrast to the dirty, bustling street. Absolutely ravishing, he noted, with some guilt at the observation.

“Why is she standing out here?” Queen asked angrily. The officer, taken aback, paused to formulate a thought, but Maisy spoke first.

“I insisted,” she replied. “It isn’t his fault. Last night we made such a scene.”

“I know I invited you to call on me whenever you felt the need. Unfortunately, this is a particularly inopportune time.” He looked at his watch, as if to emphasize his point. “Duty calls.”

“Does it relate to Henri?” she asked.

He debated whether to tell her who it related to. He knew that she was eager to see her friend, but he also wanted to keep Maisy far from harm’s way.

There was always the possibility of a trap when it came to Trilly, but he was armed, and wise to her duplicitous ways. Peder, too, would have his own men there. There was no reason not to invite Maisy along, Queen decided. Her presence might actually ease the tension of the meeting. And if the tart little treasonist attempted to seduce him again—well, he didn’t want any excuse to succumb.

“I’m on my way to see Miss Flick.”

Her lip twitched, and Queen could see she was surprised, but also trying to hide it. “I’ll go with you, Mr. Queen, and I won’t take no for an answer,” she said.

More mettle today than yesterday, he decided. She’s a chip off the old block, he thought with admiration.

“My gig is in the livery across the street,” he said. “Come with me, if you’d like.”

They’d talked about her grandfather the entire way to the Ulland house. He’d been patient with her questions, and explained the entire story from the beginning, starting with his discovery of poor Ellie Van Allen’s body outside Emil Dander’s brothel in Hell’s Half Acre, and up to Anderson’s funeral. Maisy seemed relieved, he thought, to hear a truthful account. She admitted that what bits and pieces she knew had come only from the serpentine tongue of Jiggs Kilbane, and looked as though she’d been refreshed by a Lake Calhoun summer breeze as they pulled up to the house. Her cheeks glowed pink with cheer, and he was selfishly glad that he was able to gaze upon something so damn rum.

“Thank you for taking the time with me, Detective.”

“You are most welcome,” he said, giving her a smile, but feeling tremendous dread inside at the thought of seeing Trilly again.

Queen helped Maisy out of the gig, and they went up the path to the front door. Chickens were pecking in the bits of green grass that had managed its way up through the dirt yard. He waved to Big Snorre, who sat on an empty apple crate, working on devouring the box’s former contents piled high on his lap.

“Hullo Q-veen!” he boomed, waving back with a dripping core in his massive hand. He tossed the remnant to the chickens, who squawked and flapped around the treat.

When they reached the door, Queen apologized under his breath.

“Please don’t take offense that I don’t hold it for you, Miss Anderson, but I’d like to make sure things are clear. Do you mind waiting here for a few moments?”

She nodded and opened her parasol, and he went in. The parlor smelled like lavender as he looked around.

He half-expected to see Trilly undressed and lying on the sofa, ready to bombard him with her curves, but that wasn’t the case. She sat, upright and proper on the edge of an armchair as he strode in. She looked up, with those intoxicating eyes, and her pouty lips parted in a devastating smile.

“Harm Queen, as I live and breathe.”

“You look well, Miss Flick.”

“Miss Flick?” she laughed. “Have we grown so far apart?”

“I’m engaged to Karoline Ulland.”

“Well, that’s just the thing,” she said with a touch of sarcasm. “Although she seems far too pure for your roving ways.”

“Miss Flick,” he said, sitting in the rocker, and masking his nerves. “Let me be blunt. When I last saw you, you had just sold me down river to Jiggs Kilbane. When I was locked in his office, with Miss Pease dead in my arms, you made no effort to show your concern then. How you’re able to imply, with a straight face, that somehow I’m in the wrong for not showing some intimacy, is complete lunacy.”

“Your skyrockety language don’t fool me, Harm. But go on, if you need to.”

“What I need, Miss Flick, is for you to tell the truth. I need you to walk into Police Chief John O’Connor’s office and explain to him that it was Kilbane who killed Edna, and not me.”

“And why the hell would I do that? I ain’t gotten nothin’ from you yet,” she purred.

He’d expected that she would want something, and here it was about to come, he thought with animosity.

“You’d do it out of decency, and for the memory of Miss Pease. And because you betrayed me, and owe me the truth.”

She gave another laugh, but it was bitter this time. “Don’t you know that I blow with the wind? It was nothing against you, sweets. I got no loyalty to anybody. What do you expect from me, with the life I’ve led?”

“Just tell me what you want in return.”

“Now you’re speakin’ my language.” She took off one of her gloves, and idly examined a fingernail. “I want Kilbane’s green,” she said, without looking up.

“It’s not yours. It’s his son’s money.”

“That don’t matter to me. That’s what I want from you. If you give me your word on this, I’ll tell the police the truth.”

“So tell me where the money is, and I’ll think about it.”

“The man called Henri. That ain’t really his name, ya know.”

“I do know.”

“Ha!” She gave an approving nod. “You are good at what you do, ain’t ya?”

“So what happened at the hotel? Why didn’t you get the chink first?”

“I didn’t know Jiggs was dead,” she said. “I didn’t know until Henri came back, by himself. He cleaned out the safe and left me.”

“He didn’t want anything from you?”

“No!” she scoffed. “And what the hell kind of a man is that?”

“Tell me where he is, and I’ll consider your request.” He paused, and gave her a wry smile. “That is, if you really do know. After you parted ways, I’d imagine you were officially out of his circle.”

“He told me, ’fore he left.” She put her nail in her mouth, and nibbled on its end. “I don’t know no better way to clean ‘em,” she giggled.

“Why would he tell you where he’d gone?”

Trilly shrugged her shoulders. “Because he don’t care? Or because he couldn’t help himself?”

This was a set-up if he’d ever seen one. While the man might be only an actor, he was a cunning bastard. Perhaps he really considered himself a bona fide revolutionary, and thought he had the brains to lure Queen into a trap. He knew from their earlier chase that Queen was impulsive, and ready to go dashing into the middle of a thunderstorm just to see the goddamn lightning up close.

And then there was this trickster in front of him. He trusted her about as far as he could throw her. But he truly believed that she’d sell out her former accomplice for a fortune in cush if she thought she could get away with it, and there was an element of truth behind her greedy motives.

He chose to ignore, for the time being, the obvious fact that the money rightfully belonged to Moonlight, and by a probable wedding, Maisy Anderson. Whatever promises he had to make to Trilly he would, because he didn’t give a rat’s ass about breaking them to the conniving jezebel.

“All right, Miss Flick,” he finally said. “Tell me where he is, and you have a deal.”

He waited on the walk, a cigarette in hand, while Maisy had her reunion with Trilly. Out of respect for Maisy, he gave them their privacy, but selfishly wanted to be as far away from Trilly as he could get. He felt that if he’d been in there another twenty minutes, she’d have had him in her carnal clutches.

And it would have been his own fault, he shuddered in guilt.

Maisy emerged, smiling, and he was happy she’d had her moment. Whatever his own feelings were, these two women had a shared experience together. As frightful as it must have been, it drew them together, and he understood.

Her eyes twinkled as he took her hand and assisted her back into the seat next to his. The gig had been for him and Karoline, and while he hoped that would still be true, and soon, he took the opportunity to enjoy being next to Maisy, and to share a ride on a beautiful day.

CHAPTER 29

“Good work, Detective,” the colonel said from behind his desk. “We should have this finished by the end of the afternoon.”

“It won’t be that fast,” Queen replied. “I did as you told me, and called Frasier. He has to work on a case for O’Connor, and insisted we wait.”

“Damn it. I want this rascal behind bars, as quickly as possible.”

“And I do as well. But it was your plan to work with the Saint Paul police.”

“That’s because I don’t want you to repeat what happened back in January when you were let loose alone in that infernal city.”

“I was forced off a train at gunpoint.”

“Yes, yes,” Colonel Ames said, motioning his hand in a vague dismissal. “The point is I want no more embarrassments. When do you anticipate moving on this?”

“Detective Frasier insists on this evening, under the cover of darkness.”

“Make damn sure it’s tonight, then. I want no nail-biting tomorrow morning at graduation. And how sure are you that this won’t get muddled up? Do we have our man for certain, Queen?”

“I believe so, sir.”

“This is what I don’t understand. If this fool really has that much money, why would he risk his own life over nothing more than political diatribe?”

Queen had wondered this himself. But another actor, John Wilkes Booth, had once bet his future to make a statement. Seaver Loftus’s words in that letter dripped with animosity towards Doc. And even during his time at the Theater Comique, Loftus had tried to rally his fellow actors against Captain Hill. Perhaps he felt more confident now, having secured a vast amount of green, that he could fund whatever deviant ideas trickled out of his head.

“He is behind this, I’d bet my brass on it.”

Colonel Ames slammed his hand on the desk. “Then take care of things,” he growled.

The end of the business day came quickly.

Queen confirmed a meeting time and place with Frank Frasier. He’d considered asking the detective if he’d received his own blessing from Police Chief O’Connor, but then thought the better of it. Frank Frasier was a “by the books” officer, and had done what he needed to do on his end to ensure cooperation. O’Connor had to know that Queen would come with or without his approval. He was sure the Irishman had concluded that Frasier’s involvement was far better than to have Queen running roughshod through the city on his own.

There was no need to go in a disguise, this time, Queen thought, thankfully. Arthur was fast and reliable, and his gig was light. It was a perfect vehicle to get in and out of Saint Paul fast. He snapped his horse forward out of the livery, and entered the chaos of Bridge Square, the heart of commercial Minneapolis. A streetcar whizzed past, its gong sounding through the crisp air. People were on their way home, and he jockeyed for position with the other wagons, carriages and occasional sputtering automobile as he maneuvered towards the center of the avenue.

“Mr. Queen, Mr. Queen!”

There were so many sounds that he couldn’t tell at first where the voice was coming from, but he yanked the reins to a halt when he saw Maisy come running up.

“Miss Anderson,” he shouted, looking behind to make sure a wagon wasn’t about to come barreling down on her. “Get out of the street!”

“Please let me aboard, Detective!”

Before he could say another word, she had run in front of Arthur and around to the passenger’s side. They were right at the edge of a track, and he could see, from a distance, a streetcar moving towards them at a fair pace. She’d be clipped if she didn’t get out of the way.

“Yes, yes, get on,” he yelled.

He reached over to take her hand and she climbed up.

“That wasn’t a very smart thing to do.”

“I’m accustomed to peril.” She turned to him and gave him a grateful smile.

“Your hotel is just over there. I’ll turn around and...”

“No,” she said, with a determined expression. “No.”

“Miss Anderson, you can’t accompany me. I have important business, and you have to get ready for your beau’s important day.”

“Trilly Flick told me where you were going. I want to come.”