A Golden Cage (8 page)

The old man took the opportunity to shove the coins in his pocket and take off down the street.

Dee hadn't seen him, but she was definitely on her way to the pier.

Joe leaned his bike against the crate and crossed his arms.

She was so busy steering her bicycle over the wood planks that she didn't see him until she was almost upon him. She squeaked and barely managed to jump off her bike before she fell.

She stood on the wharf and scowled at him.

He loved that scowl. She'd used it since she was little—when her feelings were hurt, when she was disappointed, when she was frustrated, to get her way—but today Joe wasn't moved. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you?”

“You were supposed to be out with your cycling club.”

“I was.”

“Back so soon?”

She shrugged. She wasn't going to admit to him what she was up to. Though it was obvious to Joe. “Go home, Dee. This is no place for you.”

“For a girl, you mean.”

“A lady. Go home.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Now, Dee.”

“You go first.”

“I'm not going—” But he knew he wasn't going to win this, and they would look ridiculous acting out this childish spat on the wharf.

“We'll both go,” he said. He waited for her to get on her bike; she waited for him to get on his. Then they both rode south,
arriving at Bonheur fifteen minutes later, not having said a word between them.

*   *   *

D
eanna handed her bicycle to one of the footmen and started up the front steps to Bonheur. Joe wasn't even going to see her inside. He just sat astride his bicycle, feet on the ground, arms crossed. He was mad at her. Not just annoyed, like he and Bob used to be when she pestered them to play with her, but really angry. They used to always give in . . . eventually. But Joe wasn't budging. She didn't understand what was happening to him.

He was the one getting to do what he wanted to do. He got to leave society, live in a drafty old warehouse, spending all day working on the things that fascinated him. But as soon as Deanna tried to do something interesting, he got all cross with her.

He was turning into a bully.

“The master and mistress are sailing. Madame Manon is taking tea in her room,” Carlisle informed her once she was inside. “As she didn't expect you to return so soon.”

Deanna supposed she would have to confess to Gran Gwen that she hadn't actually joined the group for long.

“Then I won't bother her. I'll have tea in my room, if you please.”

“Certainly, miss. I shall inform Cook.”

Deanna smiled and climbed the stairs. She imagined the blues of the water and sky, the white of the clouds, and the Ballards, not on the yacht that was moored at their private dock nearby, but on Lionel's sailboat. Laurette would be dressed in one of her light, airy dresses and a wide hat with a big bow tied under her chin. He would have his sleeves rolled up, and they'd
work the sails together and laugh as the boat danced among the waves, sea spray covering them in a fine mist.

Happy on the Waves.

She stopped when she reached the landing, recollecting herself. This was no time to think about sailing or happiness. Amabelle Deeks was out there somewhere, afraid—but hopefully alive.

J
oe had spent a long, fruitless day, first with the murder, then with Dee. They'd parted badly. Well, to be truthful, he had left without even saying good-bye. He'd just been so angry with her for reasons that weren't altogether clear to him, but had something to do with the difficulties in which she seemed bound and determined to place herself. Situations that were dangerous and unseemly. But mainly dangerous.

He wasn't sure that she understood how dependent her good reputation was on society's opinion. He knew she didn't care a fig for society now. But one day she would. She'd marry some acceptable man—and probably the sooner the better. She'd settle down and become . . . It made his heart hurt a little to think of Dee as a staid, appropriate society lady. He'd hated watching her shrivel up under her mother's constant demanding oversight.

He preferred the vivacious, daring young girl he'd known for over half her life. He and Bob had made sure she came to
no harm, though she did try their patience and their nerves often. Since Bob's death, Joe had watched over her alone. And at first he'd been delighted to see that vivacity blossom once again under the tutelage of his grandmother.

But it was dangerous to let it flourish. Deanna was eighteen, soon to be nineteen. She needed to take her place in society; for himself, he had no intention of going back.

He was feeling fairly glum when he and Orrin closed up for the night. So when Will showed up at his door, wearing civilian clothes and suggesting they go out for a beer, he'd been surprised but more than willing. It was something they didn't often do anymore, now that Will was in the police force.

He'd also been surprised when they didn't stop at the local pub but hailed a hack and drove back uptown to the White Horse Tavern.

The bar was located not far from the police station and was mostly filled with regulars and guests from the handful of nearby boardinghouses. It was not even midnight and yet most of its customers, shop owners, clerks, teachers, craftsmen, had gone home to bed so they could awaken early the next morning in time to attend one of the several churches in town.

Joe and Will didn't have the pub to themselves, but it was considerably emptier and quieter than the bars and pubs in the Fifth, where they would be packed and rowdy far into the next morning.

Nonetheless, Will led them to a table in an alcove near the front door, but well back in the shadows.

“It's not that I'm not enjoying the evening,” Joe said as he looked around the half-filled room, “but are we on a surveillance?”

“Not really. I was told some of the actors came in here after
the performance. I was hoping to talk to the barmaid or maybe have a chance to talk with the actors again. None of them would cooperate when I went to the boardinghouse where they're staying. I didn't even have anything to bribe—or threaten—them with. And at this point I would consider using threats to get some information.”

They were interrupted by the appearance of the barmaid, a hefty woman who on first glance looked younger than she actually was.

“Evening, Sergeant.”

Will nodded. “Peg.”

“You here on business or pleasure?”

“For a beer and maybe a little information.”

Peg pulled a rag from her shoulder and slapped it on the table.

It made Joe jump, but Will just sat there, leaning back in his chair, as Peg began to swab the table clean. When she was finished she slung the rag back over her shoulder and said, “A beer for you, and what's your good-looking friend gonna have?”

“Beer,” Joe said, “Providing you're referring to me.”

Peg let out a hearty laugh. “See anyone else here with even half a decent face? 'Cept the sergeant here, of course. Though I gotta say, some real lookers in here last night.” Her eyes narrowed and her smile turned into a frown. “One of those boys was the man they found dead last night, weren't he?” She beetled her eyes at Will. “Which one?”

“The one they called Charlie. Charles Withrop.”

“Charlie?” Peg tapped the dimple in her strong chin. “Charlie . . . Not that pretty blond boy? Him with the angel face?”

“I'm afraid so.”

“Well, the devil take it all. I could name you fingerfuls of useless grunts that he coulda taken before that boy. Heard they found him up at one of the big houses.”

“That would be my friend's house.” Will gestured to Joe.

“Joe Ballard,” Joe said, introducing himself. “And yes, he was found in the conservatory at my father's house.”

“Joe Ballard. Ballard. Ain't you the one Orrin O'Laren's apprenticed to?”

“That's the one,” Joe agreed.

“So Charlie was killed at your posh house. Huh.” Peg shook her head. “Must be some powerful interesting gadgets down here to make you leave the comforts of home.”

“They are to me.”

Peg laughed almost silently. “If that don't beat all. I'll get your beers, gentlemen. If that ain't a kick in the pants.”

“Buy yourself a pint, Peg,” Will said. “And come have a seat with us. Joe can tell you about his inventions.” He smirked at Joe.

Peg laughed uproariously at that. “Well, it's tempting, but I'm worried about my virtue.” She grinned and rested her hand on the table and spoke in a lower voice. “And my life. I don't know nothing anyway. Just that while he was here, he seemed like a sweet boy, young like, but with an air about him, don't know what you'd call it. Like he'd . . . oh, I don't know, just not all sweetness.”

“A violent streak?” Will asked, jumping on her statement.

“Oh no. I expect any violence done would be done to him, not the other way around. And it seems I would be right. Damn shame, though.”

“When did he—”

Peg stopped him. “Not all at once, or my other customers will
think I'm buttering up the cops. I'll be back with your beers.” She left them, moving slowly and methodically, her head shaking in counterpoint to her hips.

“Do you think she knows something?” Joe said as soon as Peg moved out of hearing distance. “Maybe you're about to break the case.”

“I doubt Peg knows more that she's just told us. But I'll keep at it. I'm under the gun to get this murder solved quickly.”

“It's only been a day. Surely your superiors can be more patient than that.”

“They can. The Judge can't.”

“Judge Grantham? It's not like anyone can blame him for Charlie's murder. He wasn't killed on his property. If anything, they should be snubbing us, because he was found at Bonheur. Though I suspect that will start soon enough in some quarters.”

“Well, my captain said the Judge demanded that we wrap this up immediately. He—get this—feels responsible for bringing that ‘shady element' to town, though everyone knows the event was actually concocted by his daughter and son-in-law.”

“He's probably afraid that being associated with them in any way might sully his reputation.” Joe leaned back in his chair. “Thank God I don't have a profession that is dependent on what everyone thinks of me.”

“I admit, I can see his point. Evidently he's been hearing a big case which is due to wrap up any day now. He only came to town long enough for his birthday celebration.” Will grinned. “I guess he couldn't give up having his very own performance at home.”

“Or he was afraid he would appear unsympathetic if he ignored his family on his special day. Monday will be soon enough for sentencing. What's the accused up for?”

“Dissemination of information on birth control. The court is asking for full sentencing and Judge Grantham will surely rule accordingly.”

“Twelve years?”

Will shrugged. “The man's some half-wit who someone paid ten cents to hand out flyers.”

“And for that he gets twelve years? That's criminal. Killers have gotten less.”

“Killers have gotten off scot-free.”

Peg returned, carrying two fairly clean mugs with foam oozing over their sides. She set them down on the table. “There you go, gentlemen.”

“Peg,” Will asked, “do you remember if they all left together?”

“Who?” asked Peg, seeming to have forgotten their conversation.

“The actors, last night, did they all leave together? Did Charlie leave with them or before them?”

“Why don't you ask them yourselves?”

“I already tried. They won't talk.” Will picked up his glass.

“Well, try again.” She hurried off.

Will sighed and took a drink of his beer.

“Well, if it's any consolation, you may have a second chance soon enough,” Joe said. “If those aren't your actors coming through the door, I'll go get myself a pair of spectacles.”

A group consisting of four men and two women entered the premises. They were chatting but not raucously so. Joe squinted through the uneven light to see if he recognized any of them from the yacht. Because it was beginning to seem to him that if Amabelle had left the yacht party and gone straight to Bonheur, chances were Charlie had followed her there, and if Charlie had, someone could have just as easily followed him.

Will ducked his head and looked at the door. “Damn. I wanted to question everyone else first.”

“Then we should have come earlier. They didn't see you. They're moving to the other end of the room.”

Joe didn't recognize any of them. It was impossible to tell about the women because of the hats they were wearing. And the men all looked like . . . actors. Joe hadn't been aware of any actors being at the yacht party, but he hadn't really been looking.

“So you questioned that lot already?”

“The ones I could see, yes. The troupe is spread out between two different places. Chorus—men and women at Mrs. Calpini's boardinghouse. She wasn't thrilled but she wasn't going to turn down cash. Most of the principal actors are staying at the Ocean House Hotel. A couple are staying with friends.

“And all are complaining. They're losing money by being kept here. But once I let them leave, there will be no way of discovering the murderer. The Judge is adamant about keeping them until they've been cleared or accused.”

“That might never happen,” Joe said. “Is the Judge willing to foot the bill for keeping them here? It's got to be costing them a pretty penny, renting rooms for the whole cast, not to mention the box office they'll lose.”

“The Judge has higher things to worry about.”

“Like sentencing some poor sod to twelve years?” Joe shivered. “No wonder he enjoys the theater. Something to take his mind off the sordid realities of life.”

“True,” Will said. “And there are some who would begrudge him that.”

“Like his pal Comstock?”

“Nah, as long as a man keeps the footlights between himself
and the actresses, he's not a problem. And he's sure of the Judge's allegiance. But cross over that line . . . The man is indefatigable in his war against smut. When the Judge ceases to be useful, he won't think twice about feeding him to the hounds.”

“All in the name of morality,” said Joe. “Uh-oh, here comes one of the actors. I guess they saw us after all.”

Will glanced over his beer mug. “Edwin Stevens, the company manager.”

Stevens was above medium height, middle aged, handsome—it seemed to Joe that all the actors he'd ever seen were good-looking men. Stevens was dressed in a brown suit and was making his way toward their table. He had a trim figure, wavy dark hair, and eyebrows that flew up at the arch. The eyebrows gave him away. Joe wouldn't have recognized him otherwise.

“Professor Papyrus,” Joe said, and half stood as the man reached the table.

As Joe had hoped, the greeting took him off his stride physically and emotionally. He stopped and turned to bow to Joe. Joe had known that stroking Mr. Edwin Stevens's vanity would throw him off long enough for Will to prepare to address him.

“Ah, you were perhaps in attendance at our little performance last night?”

Yes, before one of your chorus members was murdered
, Joe thought. The man seemed totally unaffected by the death, and the actors whom he could hear laughing were certainly losing no sleep or jollification over “poor Charlie.”

“Yes, and I enjoyed—”

“Thank you,” he said, dismissing Joe. “Now, if I may, Sergeant. I am most saddened to interrupt your leisure time, but while you sit here drinking your beer, my actors are kept cooling their heels, losing their income, and forgetting their lines,
while I, my dear sir, am losing my shirt paying for the accommodations.” He lifted one of his flying eyebrows so high that Joe thought it might lift the man off the floor.

And Joe had been completely wrong about deflecting the man's attention from Will. He'd recovered himself way too quickly, probably from having to think on his feet onstage. Joe sat back and waited for him to have his say.

He stood over Will like a human colossus, though Will was the taller, stronger man.

“Are you any closer to finding the villain who did this dastardly deed?”

Joe listened, fascinated. He talked like a character in a play—or in one of Dee's dime novels. The thought of her deflated his spirits somewhat. At least she would be at the Rensselaers' dinner all night and under the eagle eye of his grandmother, though she would be more likely to enter into Deanna's schemes than try to dissuade her from them.

Though to give the old lady her due, she knew how a young girl needed to conduct herself in order to enter society. Once Dee was there, it would be a whole other kettle of fish.

“I have authorities that I must answer to,” Will was saying. “The more your people cooperate, the sooner you will be allowed to return to the city.”

“We have cooperated. I don't know what more we can do, unless it's to draw straws to decide which one of us will give up his life and confess so that the others may go back to work.”