Murder in Burnt Orange (8 page)

How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is

To have a thankless child!

—William Shakespeare,
King Lear

Patrick got to the store early that Thursday morning. All the excitement had put him behind in his work, and he wanted to get caught up. Never did he forget that he owed everything to Daniel Malloy, who had made him a partner when Dan's own son had proved such a disappointment. Dan had great faith in Patrick, and Patrick was determined to justify that faith. He let himself into the store, went upstairs to his office, hung his dripping raincoat on the rack, and got to work.

He was deep in a pile of invoices, checking their copperplate script against receipted order forms, when a tap sounded on his open door. It was still too early for the office help to be at work. He looked up, annoyed at the interruption.

The man at the door was not tall, but he was bulky, in an unhealthy sort of way. Not fat, exactly, but as if once-solid muscle had softened, like a melon gone bad. His face, too, had probably once been ruddy and handsomely chiseled. Now it sagged in pouches and furrows of pasty hue, and it was badly in need of a shave.

“Well, cousin, don't you know me?”

“Clancy!”

He was stunned. He had thought—everyone had thought—that Clancy would never return. There were those in South Bend who knew things about Clancy Malloy that would put him in jail for a long time. The family had given him the choice between prison and exile, and Clancy had wasted no time in leaving town.

And now he was back. And Patrick was sitting at the desk that would have been Clancy's if he'd behaved himself.

“So, boyo.” Clancy settled himself comfortably in the one visitor's chair. Patrick's office was utilitarian, no grandiose affair of large windows and fancy carpets and a massive desk. He was the junior partner, true, but he needed to prove himself before he was awarded all the privileges of an executive. Now, perhaps, he never would be able to do so.

“So,” repeated Clancy. “Glad to see me, are you?”

“No,” said Patrick. “I'm busy.”

“Busy doing my job, are you? Oh, not that I mind.” Clancy held up a beefy hand. He was, Patrick saw, wearing a heavy gold ring with a large black stone, carved like the beak of an eagle. “I've done very well for myself, cousin. No two-bit dry goods store in a one-horse town for this boyo, not anymore.”

Patrick's patience was wearing thin. “Clancy, if you didn't come home to kick me out, what did you come for?”

“Why, to see all me lovin' kin, of course! And to think they didn't even tell you I'd come. Wantin' it to be a nice surprise, I'm sure, a real family reunion.” He cocked an ear toward the hallway. “Ah, that's me father comin' or I've lost me ear for a footfall. Good-bye for now, cousin Paddy.”

He closed the door behind him. Patrick sat and stared at the door, unable for a moment to think what to do. What did Clancy want? What in the name of all the saints did Clancy want?

Patrick shook his head and smiled grimly. The saints probably had very little to do with Clancy's plans.

Clancy's return was obviously what was bothering Uncle Dan and Aunt Molly. That among other things. What a time Clancy had chosen to come home! Dan Malloy was already up to his ears in difficulties. And Aunt Molly was so upset that she wanted Hilda to give up her quest for the truth about the train wrecks, and the fires—

The fires. Patrick's head began to clear. He pressed a buzzer on his desk.

Uncle Dan's secretary tapped on his door and entered. “Good morning, Mr. Cavanaugh. Miss Morgan isn't here yet, but is there something I can do for you?”

“Mornin', Miss Cassidy. Would you try to get Mrs. Cavanaugh on the telephone for me? It's early, I know, but she isn't sleepin' so well these days.”

Miss Cassidy smiled. “Of course, sir. I believe the switchboard is open, so it should take only a moment.”

A few moments later the telephone on Patrick's desk rang. He pulled it toward him, picked up the handset, and held it to his ear. “Hilda? Is that you?”

“Yes. What is the matter?”

Her voice sounded anxious and Patrick hastened to reassure her. “Nothin's wrong. I just wanted to know—what was it Aunt Molly said to you yesterday? You said she was actin' funny, not like herself, hintin' things.”

“Patrick! Can this not wait? I have not yet had any coffee.”

“I need to know now, darlin', whatever you can remember.”

Hilda sighed. Patrick could hear it even over the scratchy telephone wire. “She said that something had happened—no, that something had developed. ‘There has been a development,' that is it. And she said she would not tell me about it.”

“And that's all?”

“She said, over and over again, that I was not to ask any more about the troubles. ‘There is great danger,' she said. But she would not explain.”

“Well, me dear, I can tell you what the development is. About the danger, the added danger, I mean, I don't know. But as to what Aunt Molly wouldn't tell you—it's not good news, darlin' girl.”

“Patrick! What?”

“I'm not even sure I should tell you, not like this, over the telephone. People are maybe listenin'. And I'd rather be with you.”

“You are as bad as Aunt Molly! You are teasing me, Patrick.”

“I wouldn't tease about somethin' this serious, You're not goin' to like it, Hilda, but—well, Clancy's back.”

There was dead silence save for the crackles on the wire.

“Hilda? Hilda, you there?”

“I am here, Patrick. You are right, I do not like it. I remember what Clancy did to me, and to Uncle Dan.” Three years before, Clancy had been involved with a group of men who, among other things, had murdered a man, had kidnapped Hilda and left her to die, and had badly mistreated Uncle Dan—his own father. Granted, Clancy had not done the deeds himself, but he had known of them and had abetted the others. Hilda shivered at the memory. “He is not a good person, your cousin Clancy. Why has he come?”

“That's what he's not tellin', or not tellin' me, anyway. He came to see me in my office, just to taunt me, but he wouldn't say what he wanted.”

“Whatever it is, it can be nothing good.” She paused. “I am afraid, a little, Patrick.”

From Hilda, that was a devastating admission. “I'm comin' home, darlin',” said Patrick.

“No, Patrick! Wait! Is Clancy still there, at the store?”

“He was a minute ago. I think he still is, in talkin' with Uncle Dan.”

“Then stay and find out what you can about Clancy's purpose. He has a purpose, Patrick. He did not come back here yoost to see his family.”

“And well I know that! He's not sentimental, our Clancy, not like most of the Irish. Family means nothin' to him atall. He's out for himself, for money and more money, and if it means he has to do mischief to get it, that doesn't bother him.”

“He likes it, I think. Mischief. Menace. He is a gambler, and a bad man. When you know what he wants, come home and tell me. I will feel safer when you are here.”

“I'll be there the minute I can. Lock the doors, Hilda.”

* * *

Meanwhile, Dan Malloy was having a difficult interview with his son.

“I told you not to come to the store, Clancy.”

“And where else can I see you? Riggs won't let me in the house, and I can guess by whose orders.”

“Yes, my butler is obeying my orders, and they're for your sake as much as mine. Have you forgotten, boy, that you're still in deep trouble in South Bend? That affair of Bishop's murder is still an open case, and it wasn't all that long ago. You left this city in disgrace, with the understanding that you were not to come back. I'm not the only one in town who knows how heavily involved you were.”

Clancy's face darkened. “Yes, you and Ma and me lovin' cousin and that meddlesome girlfriend of his! He took on a pile of trouble when he married that one.”

Dan ignored the outburst. “We had a bargain, Clancy. I refrained from turning you over to the police, and gave you enough money for a good start elsewhere. You appear to have prospered, and I'm happy for you if it was done honestly, about which I admit I have some doubt. But you haven't kept your part of the bargain. I don't know why you've come home, but you must leave immediately. If the police learn that you're in town, I won't be responsible for their actions.”

“I suppose you'd tell 'em. No fatted calf, just a call to the law. Some lovin' family I've got.”

“No,” said Dan heavily. “No, I'll not tell them. Not unless you get yourself into more trouble. You're still my son. But if you remember the rest of the story you just referred to, that prodigal son returned home in rags, and repentant. I see no sign of repentance in your behavior. Quite the opposite, in fact. You're gloating.”

“First time you've been right.” Clancy sprawled in his chair. “Damn right I'm gloating. I didn't do anything so awful, and if I did I've paid for it. I nearly starved those first few months, until I landed on my feet.”

“I gave you plenty of money. What did—”

“None of your business what I did with it. I'm doing well now. Better than well. I'm doing just fine, thank you very much, and I can't wait to shake the dust of this hick town off my feet. But I came here to do some business, and I'm not leaving till I've done it.”

“What business?” Dan's voice was full of foreboding.

“That's no affair of yours, either. I never meddled with your business, and I'll thank you not to meddle with mine. The point is, I'm goin' to be here for a few days. Do you want me to stay at the Oliver, where everyone will know who I am in five minutes, or will you tell that snooty butler to let me in to my own home?”

“It's not your home now,” Dan said sharply. “Where did you stay last night?”

Clancy grinned. “Here. Stayed in after the place closed up for the night. There's a nice comfortable couch in the Ladies' Retiring Room. You need a better night watchman, Father dear. He made one round to make sure everyone was out and then curled up to sleep in his own little cubbyhole.”

“He was tired. He'd had almost no sleep the night before.”

Clancy smiled oddly, and Dan frowned. “Clancy, I'm losing my patience. You've put me in an impossible situation. Have you no sense of responsibility?”

“Why should I feel responsible to you? You threw me out of my home, told me I was no longer welcome under your roof, and put my cousin in the place I should have had. The hell with you! I'm responsible to my boss, and I tell you, he'll not be happy if I don't get my job done.”

“And if it's an honest job, I'll eat my hat!” Dan's patience had snapped. He began shouting. “How did I come to have such a son? The only one who survived, and look at you! Oh, I suppose you'll have to come to the house, but we'll need to be discreet about it. You can come home with me, in the carriage, and go in the back way—no!” He stood and slammed his fist on the desk. “No, it won't do. You'd be coming and going as you pleased, and someone would see. I can't have this, Clancy!”

Dan's face had been growing more and more purple. Now he dropped back on his chair and clapped a hand to his chest. “I don't—I think—” His head sagged.

Clancy pulled the office door open and scuttled down the corridor toward the fire escape. He didn't notice Patrick, who had been standing outside the door.

Patrick made no attempt to run after Clancy. He rushed into the office. “Uncle Dan!”

“Get—doctor—heart—”

* * *

The doctor got there in minutes, since his office was just across the street. Uncle Dan had lost consciousness by that time, and the doctor looked grave when he had finished examining him. “He is not a young man, but he has great strength. There is some hope for his recovery. He must be taken home at once and given the best of care. With rest and calm and no excitement, he'll survive this. Otherwise...” The doctor spread his hands.

Patrick had telephoned Aunt Molly, so she was ready when Dan arrived home in the care of Doctor McNamara, a nurse, and Patrick. She ignored the mud on their shoes and the water they were dripping on her precious Persian rugs.

“Patrick,” she asked in an undertone, “was this—what brought this on?”

“Clancy,” he replied. “I'm sorry to have to tell you.”

“I thought as much.”

She turned away and gave her full attention to getting Dan settled and comfortable. Patrick helped where he could and got out of the way when he saw that he wasn't needed.

He was about to leave the house when Riggs, the butler, approached him. “Excuse me, Mr. Patrick. Your aunt would like you to stay for a moment if you have time.”

“Of course, as much time as she wants. This is a terrible thing, Riggs.”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Malloy is a very fine gentleman.” The old man's face worked a little. He turned away.

“He'll pull through, Riggs. Oh, and your orders about my cousin Clancy?”

“Yes, sir?”

“They stand. If you so much as see his face around here, call the police.”

Riggs nodded, looking grim. “Yes, indeed, sir.” He, too, had suffered much at the hands of Clancy Malloy.

Aunt Molly came downstairs looking tired, and shockingly to Patrick, old. It had never before been so forcefully brought home to him that his aunt and uncle would age like everyone else, and someday would die.

She sat down in her favorite chair in the drawing room, her tiny feet up on a needlepoint footstool.

Patrick knelt by her side and took her hands in his. They were ice cold, despite the little lace mitts she wore.

“How is he?”

“Comfortable, they say. He looks...” Her mouth quivered and she turned away, like Riggs.

“Aunt Molly, he's strong. He'll pull through this.”