Ill-Fame (A Detective Harm Queen Novel Book 2) (17 page)

“Nellie—I mean Maisy.” He was flustered, and rubbed his brow in frustration. “We’ve got to get that money before someone else does. My father had enemies, and the word is already out on the street that he’s gone. If we don’t act fast...”

“We’ll get there when we get there. Calm down. You need to collect yourself.”

He turned to her, and kissed her. It was a forceful kiss, and felt both intimate and sad. They held each other, a long, slow embrace, and his body relaxed in her arms. Finally, he looked up, imploring.

“Let’s leave town once we get the cush. I want nothing to do with any of this madness.”

“But there are things I must do first,” she replied. “I need to settle my family affairs, and get my own questions answered. And find my friend Trilly. And you graduate this week.”

“We’ll take her with us,” Moonlight said, his face cheering. “We can’t stay, Maisy.”

She thought for a moment, about her grandparents, and her overwhelming love for them. They would have sacrificed every possession they had in the world to find her and make her safe and happy. Her happiness and safety depended, now, on Moonlight Dick Darling. He needed her, and she him. She’d be able to start a business, with him by her side, in some far-off city, away from the horrible memories here.

And most important, she believed, her grandfather would approve of this decision. He’d have wanted her to be happy.

Her heart suddenly ached at the memory of his tall, bent figure, and she could still feel his calloused hand enveloping hers. Her grandfather had never been uneven in thought. He’d always known what to do. It was a slow revelation, now, that she’d be the one making the rational decisions in her relationship with Dick. It didn’t change her love for the kid, but her expectations were taming at every turn.

“We’ll go, right after your graduation ceremony,” she told Dick. He nodded, looking grateful, and they kissed once more.

Maisy had heard stories of the Ryan Hotel, but seeing it up close, in all of its Victorian Gothic magnificence, filled her with mouth-dropping awe. It was a seven-story behemoth of arched windows, granite columns and balconies; built in red brick and banded by white sandstone. The tops of the pointed spires built above three elegant, European-looking towers seemed to pierce the blue afternoon sky.

They walked into the lobby and she immediately felt a pang of envy. Dick had lived here through his teen-aged years, with unfettered access to these opulent surroundings. Marble columns held up a spectacular vaulted ceiling, bordered by a dark-oak balcony and softly lit by stained glass windows. To hell with propriety, she thought, and slipped off her battered shoes, delighting in the cool, clean tile on the bottom of her sore, dirt-encrusted feet. 

Men milled about the sitting areas, smoking cigars and sipping coffee. She felt their stares as they walked by, and suddenly was self-conscious over her filthy appearance. She made up her mind to give a defiant stare right back, but then realized, to her complete surprise, that the object of their interest wasn’t her.

It was Dick. He was a celebrity, she then remembered, with a flutter of sudden shyness. They’d never been in public together before, but now that they were, a wave of girlish excitement washed over her like she’d never experienced.

Maisy tightened her hand on Dick’s fingers, and they walked to the concierge’s desk. He rang the bell, which summoned a young man with a gray suit and brown sideburns from behind a door.

“Mister Darling. Very happy to see you again, sir. Your father isn’t here at the moment...”

“I know. He asked me to meet him in his suite.”

The concierge bowed slightly and produced a key from inside a drawer. “For you, sir,” he said, giving it to him. “Shall I send anything up to your room? A bottle from the bar, perhaps?”

Dick shook his head and handed him a bill, and Maisy was struck by how casually he tipped. This was so different than the devil-may-care fellow who had crawled up to her window in the dark of night.

“Come on,” Moonlight said to her, his voice lowering into a whisper. “Let’s get my money and go.” And he took her arm.

Maisy had never been in an elevator car before, and her stomach knotted as it lurched and groaned its way upward. The elevator operator, a smartly uniformed man with a greasy smirk, shouted out the number of each floor with gusto. She held tightly to the iron railing, trying to steady herself.  

When the car finally ground to a stop on the sixth, the operator pulled open the door and offered a cheerfully hollow “good day” to the couple. But Maisy noticed him give a knowing wink to Dick.

She suddenly realized the meaning of the gesture, with equal parts revulsion and confusion at its implication. Did she so look the part of a prostitute? Or was the sight of Jiggs Kilbane’s son in the company of a young woman a familiar one to the elevator man?

“Dick,” she said, as they walked down the plush, carpeted corridor. “He thinks that we are about to do something uncouth.”

“Well, we could.” He broke into his irresistible grin, instantly putting her mind at rest.

“We could,” she agreed and gave a smile of her own. But her mind moved to her friend Trilly Flick, as Moonlight turned the key into the door’s lock, and the idea lost its glow. She reminded herself that she had to settle her friend’s position before she could turn to her own happiness.

The door to the suite opened and they entered. The place was extravagant, certainly. Expensive-looking art hung from the walls, and rich curtains draped the windows. But she found herself a little let down in the ordinariness of its luxury. What exactly she’d expected from Jiggs Kilbane’s home didn’t know, but assumed there would be signs of his sadistic side. Perhaps a medieval stretching rack, or an electrocution chair shoved between the settee and the fireplace.

“Trilly? Trilly?” She moved through the richly furnished parlor, poking her head into the first bedroom, and then the second. “She was here,” she finally said, when she pulled open the heavy mahogany wardrobe. There were three dresses, one of which she recognized from Trilly’s visit to Madame Clifford’s house.

Her chest collapsed in gloom. Perhaps Trilly had heard the news herself and left? Had she taken her captor’s demise as her opportunity to escape? Trilly had always had an independent streak, buried deep beneath her sultry appearance.

While disappointed her reunion with Trilly wasn’t to be, Maisy felt a sense of excitement for her friend, too. They were both free of the gangster’s talons, and the freedom was exhilarating. She hoped Trilly was taking advantage of that freedom now.

“Come here, quick,” Moonlight called from the parlor. She arrived in time to see him removing a gold-framed painting of a sailboat from the wall, and could plainly see a large cut-out hole, where a massive safe sat on a sturdy shelf.

“Do you know the combination?” she asked as she moved up to Moonlight’s side.

“It’s already open,” he replied, and swung the door so they could see its empty interior. “That double-crossing bastard.”

“Who?”

“Henri,” he mumbled. “Who else would have the combination?”

“I don’t think so. He’s a gentleman, I believe. And how would he have access to your father’s personal safe?”

“Well who do you think it was, then? The ghost of Jessie James?”

“How much was in there, Dick? Do you have any idea?”

“Tens of thousands, probably. Besides his casinos and bordellos, he was involved in saloons, horses, opium dens, protection. You name the crime, and he was making money from it. Nuts,” he said, stomping his foot dejectedly. “We should have come here right away.”

Maisy suddenly put her hands to her face in shock and realization. Moonlight looked at her, surprised, and then figured it out, too.

“Your friend.”

Could Trilly really have done this? Of course she could have. Why wouldn’t she? She was smart, and could easily have learned the combination, a shadow behind Kilbane in her lithe, quiet step. While she selfishly wanted the money for her new life with Dick, the idea of Trilly making off with it admittedly gave her a liberating feeling as well. She would never hold a grudge against the girl for taking advantage of her situation.

“Wait,” Moonlight said. “Look at this.”

She bent closer to the object of Dick’s attention, the safe’s thick circular dial.

“Here.” He pointed to a thumb print on the dial’s edge, smeared in a white cream.

“It has a horrific odor,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “I can’t imagine Trilly slathering something like that on her body.”

“I don’t think so either, Maisy.” He put his hand next to the dial. “Whoever left this print has a thumb as big as mine. And I’m guessing that he not only cut dirt with my father’s money, but with your dear Trilly as well.”

CHAPTER 21

Queen’s eyes were closed, but he still heard the key turn the heavy lock.

He sat up, rubbing away the effects of his shallow nap. It was Frank Frasier, and the bars were wide open.

“I thought you said I wouldn’t see a judge until tomorrow morning.”

“Jiggs Kilbane is dead.”

What the deuce. Queen didn’t know whether to laugh or slam his fist into the wall. He’d still had some words for Jiggs, memorized and rehearsed for the past four months, but now it looked like he’d never get his chance to say them. However, the good news was that he was free to go, it appeared. If he ever fell off the wagon and took another drink, he’d make sure it was a double, in celebration of the bastard’s death.

“Who killed the son-of-a-bitch?” he asked with a smirk.

“I don’t know the details, yet. But it happened somewhere in the caves along the river.”

“I guess O’Connor changed his mind on me, huh?”

“We’ve got nothing to hold you with, Queen. Unless this witness of yours ever materializes, no one except for you saw what really happened. The County Attorney doesn’t think there is a case without her testimony.”

“I thought you had my gun.”

“We do, but no bullet or body to connect it to. Kilbane said he’d had her buried secretly. He was going to reveal her location once he was confident you were behind bars and he was safe.”

Christ, this was a lucky break. A lucky, lucky break. Jiggs had been genuinely scared of him, by the sound of it, and he took great satisfaction from that.

It broke his heart that Edna Pease’s body was hidden away in some unmarked place, but he was still selfishly grateful that he was free, and most important, that Karoline hadn’t left yet. He could still, possibly, rectify their relationship.

“So I’m free to go.”

“You are.” Frasier handed Queen his badge, money and weapon.

“Any chance I can get my old Smith and Wesson back?”

“None,” Frasier said. He stuck out his hand, and Queen took it. “For what it’s worth, I don’t believe you murdered anyone.”

“Thanks,” Queen returned. “And if you ever get tired of your overbearing boss, visit me across the river and I’ll set you up nice.”

Frasier cracked a smile under his well-oiled mustache. “I don’t think you’d appreciate my presence in Minneapolis, Detective Queen. I’d outstay my welcome fast.”

His clothes were filthy, so he was grateful when he exited the police station to find Doc’s bodyguard, Fred Connor, manning Doc’s personal carriage, and holding out a fresh suit and shirt.

“You must have had a chat with my sister,” Queen said, while trying to contain a grin.

“She wanted to know where you were, Harm.”

“And of course, you didn’t say,” he said as he climbed up next to Fred. Although the soft cushioned seats in back sounded nice after an afternoon on a cold, hard bench, he could never pass up a chance to talk with his good friend.

“Is there any chance I can convince you to detour to south Minneapolis before we visit the big man?” he asked, as the carriage bumped forward.

“You know we can’t do that. I’m under orders from Colonel Ames to bring you directly to Doc’s office.”

“His medical office?” Doc was still an actual doctor, and although he was more than busy as mayor, he still used his spare time to visit his partner at their office on Nicollet Avenue and dole out advice.

“Criminy, no, Harm. He’s petrified of being out in public with this threat hanging over his head. He’s holed up in his City Hall office, with a platoon of armed officers sitting in front.”

“What about appearances? Events? Is he planning on making his rounds? He can’t keep himself insulated like this when he has a city to run.”

“He won’t come out until you’ve found out who’s behind that note.”

Queen gritted his teeth, and the urge to have a drink washed over him like a Lake Superior wave.
Maybe if I got some decent food in my stomach at least
, he thought,
I could function better.
As if in answer, his stomach gave a nasty growl, which made Fred raise his brow.

“I’ve got an extra chicken sandwich my wife made me,” he said, rustling through a paper bag next to him. He took it out and handed it to Queen.

“I’ll give you my first-born son for this,” the detective replied while unwrapping it, and blissfully took a bite.

“Hell, Harm, I wouldn’t know what to do with a miniature version of you.”

“I wouldn’t either,” Queen said with a chuckle. “But if you give him a glass of pop-skull, some poker chips, and a wastrel to throw in the pokey, at least he wouldn’t wake you up crying in the middle of the night.”

CHAPTER 22

Minneapolis City Hall was a wedged-shape four-story limestone building that sat where Hennepin and Nicollet Avenues collided. It was a place in its final years of life, overcrowded and under-maintained, as the city preferred spending its money on a newer version going up a few blocks away.

Fred Connor eased the rig to the curb, and Queen slipped behind the privacy of the carriage’s curtained windows and changed into his fresh set of clothes. He found a can of pomade in the bundle, so he oiled his hair back and put some on his mustache to shape up the ends.