Who's Sorry Now? (11 page)

“She—if it's really a woman—is as likely as a man to hate and fear Germans these days. She probably has no reason to believe he was born in America."

“I'll keep that in mind," Howard said. He sounded halfhearted to Robert. But Howard had been asking for an opinion and Robert had given him one that was possible. Maybe not likely though.

“How's the petition going?" Howard was obviously changing the subject.

“Pretty well. I have twenty people who signed it just today. I'm seeing more of the townspeople tomorrow and the next day, then going out in the countryside to convince the farmers.”

Robert thought about Howard as he went around town collecting signatures on his petition. At least Robert had a plan. It wasn't as exciting as murder and attempted murder, but he still believed it was important to have a place to sort the mail so the snoops couldn't know what other citizens were receiving.

He went to see Mrs. Smithson for his coffee lesson and took the petition with him. It turned out that making coffee wasn't all that complicated after all. It was just measuring water and coffee in the right proportions.

“Would you like to sign the petition to set up a little post office sorting room at the train station? Read the introduction and then I'll tell you why I think it's important.”

When she'd finished reading, Robert told her about the old ladies examining other people's mail and deciding who should get certain letters and which they should destroy.

“I've seen them doing that," she said. "I think it's disgraceful. How will it be set up?”

Robert explained about the numbered boxes people could pay for and put their own lock on, if they wanted to. He also told her about the little room behind it with the box numbers and an open space.

“So who is going to do this?" she asked, sipping the coffee Robert had made himself.

“Well, right now I'll be stuck with it. I was trying to get Edwin McBride a paying job. Of course that won't happen now."

“It's so sad about his death. He was a nice man. Always polite and helpful. Does the chief of police have any suspects?"

“I have no idea," Robert lied. He didn't want anyone else to know how upset Howard was about having no good leads in either of the current crimes.

Jack Summer approached Mrs. Smithson, asking, "May I ask your grandfather for an interview yet? We have two new residents of Voorburg. Your father and a new deputy. People here need to know about both of them."

“Of course. But I'd like to be at the interview with my grandfather.”

They both went over to Mr. Kurtz's shop. He was busy taking in some of his own granddaughter's dresses. "I'm paying for these," Mrs. Smithson told Jack. "I've lost a lot of weight recently. The trip to Germany took it off. Grandpa, this is Jack Summer, the editor of the local paper. He'd like to ask you about your new business and a bit about your background."

“I'd be glad to converse with him. It will perhaps bring in more business."

“I understand you left Germany to come to Voorburg. How did that come about?"

“I was afraid of living in Germany. I'd once had the misfortune to attend a Communist meeting where we had to sign in with our names and addresses. The Nazis hate the Communists as much as they hate the Jews."

“Mr. Brewster told me you got out of Germany just in time."

“Yes. My granddaughter and I didn't realize it until we got here. The German police were about to refuse to let Americans leave the country."

“Are you an American, too?" Jack asked.

“I was born and raised in St. Louis." Mr. Kurtz went on to explain about his father being a brewer who took his family to Germany.

“Is anyone else in your family still there?" Jack asked.

“No, my parents died a long time ago. My only sister, much younger than I, came back to America ten years ago and lives in Arizona. I hope she'll come to visit us soon."

“Why did you take up tailoring instead of being a brewer like your father?"

“I didn't really like being a brewer, so I apprenticed myself to a tailor when I was a young man in Germany. He taught me well. He had many customers as the economy faltered and I gained a lot of experience. I put away everything I earned working for him, and when my apprenticeship was done I acquired the best tools I could fInd. I must admit that Germany makes the best tailoring tools in the world. I knew I'd want to eventually return home and wanted to have the best shears and needles."

“Is your business going well so far?"

“I suppose you could say so. I've been here a short time and have had four customers already. Including my granddaughter," he said, smiling at Mrs. Smithson. "She's a good girl to come and save me from the Nazis.”

Jack asked, "Is there anything else you'd like our citizens to know?"

“Just make sure they know I was born in this country. I'm a full American and love this country.”

When Jack had put his notebook back in his pocket, he thanked both of them and departed. Mrs. Smithson said, "Grandpa, you said exactly the right things. I'm so proud of you."

“And I'm proud—and grateful to you, sweeting.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

JACK SUMMER'S next visit was to Howard Walker's office. "Chief, do you know anything more on McBride's death that I can report in the Voorburg Times?"

“Nothing I can report about yet."

“Anything about the person harassing Mr. Kurtz? I just interviewed him. He's a nice old guy."

“Nothing to report yet," Walker repeated. "Any other questions?"

“Two more questions. First, I'd like to talk to your new deputy. It's not often we get two new reputable people living in Voorburg."

“If you don't mind, he had a long night guarding that trash can. I sent him home to sleep. How about tomorrow?"

“All right. He'll be in the next week's first issue instead of this week's last."

“What's the other question?" Walker asked.

“Do you know anyone who has a car they'd like to sell me?"

“What's wrong with the motorcycle with the side car?"

“Well—" Jack looked a bit embarrassed. "It's this—" Jack was actually blushing. "Mrs. Towerton invites me to dinner about every two weeks."

“That's nice. Does it include anything more than dinner?" Howard asked with a smile.

“Not yet. Her children eat with us, and then she puts them to bed, and we sit out on the front porch in good weather and drink lemonade. Winters, we sit in the kitchen and drink hot chocolate. But I'd like to pay her back. A really good dinner at a good restaurant. She could get a neighbor to take the children for an evening. But I couldn't possibly take her in the sidecar of the cycle. It would blow her hair and clothing to smithereens. I need a car. Know anybody who'd like the motorcycle? Maybe in kind for a car?"

“The only one I know who needs a motorcycle is my new deputy. But he has no car to trade."

“Would the police budget allow you to buy it?"

“Nope. But maybe Deputy Parker could pay you in installments and I could kick in a buck or two when it's available.”

That afternoon, Robert found Lily reading a book in the library. The French doors were open and there was a nice warm breeze. She looked up from her book. "It's spring, Robert. I thought it would never come again."

“What are you reading? One of the books I bought you?"

“No. I'm spacing them out. I don't want to gobble them all up at once. This is one of the books Dr. Toller lent me. First-year anthropology. It's interesting. Just the basics.”

She set the book aside and asked, "How is the petition going? Have lots of people signed it?"

“Thirty-nine so far. I hope to find another twenty before submitting it to the town council."

“I haven't signed it yet. Find me a pen. Is Mr. McBride willing to be the unofficial postman?”

Robert was temporarily speechless. "Didn't you know? He's been murdered.”

Lily gasped. "Why has nobody told me this? I don't know him well. I've only seen him when I take Mr. Kessler's little carved animals to New York to refresh Jimmy Anderson's supply and collect my royalty on the sales."

“You're still doing that? I never noticed you being gone for a day," Robert admitted.

“That's because I don't mention it much. I only go to the city every six months. Mr. Kessler has increased his supply. And Kessler's carvings are getting better and better.

“Who killed Mr. McBride? And why didn't you tell me about this?"

“Howard doesn't know who did it yet. And I didn't tell you because I thought everybody in town knew about McBride's death. Jack Summer mentioned his death in his last newspaper. I thought you always read it."

“We're both supposed to since we inherited the Voorburg Times, but I've come to trust him. Why hasn't Howard mentioned this? After all, he lives here," Lily said.

“His job isn't the subject of dinner talk, Lily. And we don't own the police department. It's just like you don't mention Mr. Kessler's carvings."

“How was Mr. McBride killed?"

“Strangled. In that little shed the Harbinger boys fitted up for him to sleep in. Dr. Polhemus swore it was a piano wire. I'm glad to say he was proved wrong. It was a long strand of wire that jewelers use to cut off rings when they can no longer go back over a knuckle.”

Lily turned pale. "I'm sorry I asked. Sorry, too, that I didn't know. Did he have a family?"

“Yes, a mother who bought cemetery plots for both herself and her only son. Howard told me this."

“I suppose that's a good thing. Did we inherit cemetery plots? Our mother and father are buried in one. Did they buy two for us?"

“Golly, Lily, how would I know? Or want to know?”

“Who's going to take the job of sorting the mail?" Lily asked.

“Unfortunately, it's me. But just if and when the sorting area is built. I don't want to spend my life doing this. And I don't really need to."

“Wouldn't you be paid something?"

“I would. That's why I don't want the job," Robert explained.

“Are you crazy?"

“Lily, we're okay financially. We made a lot of money on those awful people who stayed here when their kingpin was murdered. Then there are those fake books. Lots of people need a job worse than we do."

“But it's what Great-uncle Horatio specified that we had to do. Earn our own living," Lily objected. "Great-uncle Horatio has been dead for years."

“But Mr. Prinney isn't," Lily said. "And he's responsible for making sure we earn our own living.”

Robert opened his mouth to speak, then changed his mind. What he'd been about to say was that Lily was merely sitting around reading while he was busy trying to get enough signers on the petition to create a place to sort mail.

He knew this wasn't fair. Lily worked with Mr. Prinney most of the time sorting out matters of the estate. Collecting rents on properties that could pay them. They often gave some of the companies and farms the estate owned permission to miss a payment or two in order to keep going. She more than paid her way. If he had to do what Lily did, he'd go insane with boredom.

“I'm off to see if I can get a few more signatures. I thought I'd hang out at Mabel's cafe.”

It turned out to be an even better idea than Robert anticipated. He got there at four-thirty and stayed until eight, when Mabel's closed. He sat at a table at the front of the shop and explained what the petition was about. He collected twenty-two more signatures, including one from one of the nasty women who had been interfering with the mail. Apparently, she herself was illiterate and only commented on what the other two told her. She signed with an X and Robert had to ask her name and put it down, saying it was her mark.

Her friends, if they found out, would be furious.

Tomorrow he'd consult privately with the town treasurer to see if the town council would meet and let him explain what had happened that caused him to circulate this petition.

Around the same time Robert was entering Mabel's, petition in hand with several pens, in case one ran out of ink, Howard was taking a phone call.

It was the fingerprint expert. He sounded as if he were delivering a present. "Easy as pie, Chief. The same thumb that was on the window is also on the trash barrel. Now we have the whole set of prints on file. Every single finger.”

Howard wished he could be as thrilled as his informant. But he made a good pretense of being excited by the information. Both the swastika and the attempt to burn down the building were done overnight. Did that mean the person was local? Did he (or she) know where everything in Voorburg was? Would a stranger know where to find a can of red paint? Or a trash can full of dry slats? Probably not.

Perhaps, though, it was someone from a nearby town who had cause to visit often. Maybe somebody who had a grown child or children living in Voorburg and visited often.

He wished he could fingerprint everybody, but that wasn't possible or even legal. He'd have to have just cause to fingerprint anyone, although he'd fudged the law by tricking Mario.

Still, knowing there was a record of all of the perpetrator's fingerprints was reassuring. He wouldn't have to depend on the man or woman leaving a single left hand thumbprint, if there was another attack on Mr. Kurtz's person and safety. He was glad Jack Summer had interviewed him for the local paper. That might stop the perpetrator, knowing that Mr. Kurtz was an American returning to his own country for fear of the Nazis.

He hoped that would stop whatever prejudice had led to the insult of the paint and the more serious attempt to burn down the building with Kurtz inside.

It didn't help, however, in finding out who'd succeeded in the horrible murder of Edwin McBride.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Wednesday, May 3, and Thursday, May 4

LILY HAD GONE TO BED early with her textbook on anthropology. Her dog, Agatha, thought it smelled interesting since so many people had handled it when reading it. She had to keep pushing Agatha away. "I'm glad my sense of smell isn't as good as yours. Though how you can think a long-dead animal smells good enough to roll in defeats my imagination.”

She eventually fell asleep with the book on her chest and Agatha sprawled on her feet.