The Impersonator (34 page)

“I’ll pay for it, Jessie. It was my fault.”

“Thanks, Ross, but anyone who moved that car would have suffered the same consequences or worse, so I’d rather you let me take responsibility. I’m just glad no one was hurt.”

“That’s so,” he said, enlightenment dawning on his face. “It could have been deadly if the next driver had headed to Dexter.”

“Quite.”

He loped toward the back door as Grandmother and I purposely headed to the front.

“It was Henry,” she said. “Henry all along, not Ross.”

“Yes.”

Looking up into my face, she stopped. “And there have been other things you haven’t told me about, haven’t there?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me now.”

So I told her about the phone call to the Stanford bursar. I told her I believed Henry had murdered several women who were connected with his bootlegging, but of course I couldn’t tell her that he had also killed her real granddaughter seven years ago. She’d learn about that soon enough.

“I remember thinking that it was a mighty strange coincidence that those cars had been parked to block the hotel entrance just when we were arriving,” she said, “and then there was that fast one that nearly ran you down. Surely you have enough to go to the police now?”

“I’ll have some hard proof very soon, and then, yes, I’ll go to the police after we leave on Monday.”

“You dasn’t wait that long.”

“I have to. Until I get something solid about the smuggling, it’s mostly speculation. Things he can explain away or deny outright.”

“If you don’t stop him, he’ll try again and again. He only needs to get lucky once.”

“Don’t worry.”

“Don’t worry? I can’t help but worry. He’ll plant someone on your ship to cause an accident at sea. If you survive the crossing, he’ll hire someone to track you in Europe. You’ll spend your whole life on the run, like a common criminal, when
he’s
the criminal!”

I couldn’t explain that I was a criminal too, or that I was going to disappear Monday, or that, with luck, my actions would put Henry behind bars, but I hated to see her so anxious about a future that was never going to exist. To ease her mind, I explained some of the precautions I had considered earlier when I thought I had a future as Jessie Carr, such as signing papers at the hotel in Sacramento rather than at the law office and buying a second ticket on another boat under an assumed name.

Once inside, the old lady laid down her basket and clippers and, with uncharacteristic emotion, took my hands in hers. “You’re a sharp girl, Jessie Carr. You’ll make it. Remember your middle name. We Becketts are survivors.”

I returned to my room to add this latest incident to the litany of Henry’s crimes. I stood by my desk, staring uneasily at the papers I had left so carelessly in plain sight. Hadn’t I left the finished pages stacked neatly on the right? Hadn’t I set the pen down on the top page rather than at the edge of the blotter?

How could I have been so thoughtless—dashing out of the room like that, leaving everything in full view? What was I thinking?

My plan had been to post the letters on Monday from Portland immediately before I hopped the train to Canada. By the time the letters arrived on Tuesday, Severinus Wade would have heard from Oliver and Grandmother that I had disappeared, and Grandmother would have revealed her own suspicions about Henry. The letters would shock everyone, but they would confirm what Grandmother said.

Now that plan had to be revised, and quickly.

It could have been Henry in my room. He’d had plenty of time to come into the house and go up to my room to see what I’d been doing here all day. I reviewed the other possibilities, eliminating the twins, who were still in town with Henry’s Packard, and Grandmother, who had been with me. It could have been Oliver, who had been shown to his own room to settle in and might have come looking for me. Ross or Aunt Victoria had had time enough to come to my room and read at least part of what I’d written. Then again, it was possible no one had been here at all. I simply couldn’t remember how I had left the papers.

At the end of the four-page epistle, I scrawled a description of Henry’s latest attempt on my life. Once again, there was no proof, but it was the best I could do. I hoped Sunday’s weather would improve enough for him to attempt to deliver the liquor in his boat, and that I could somehow learn where and how he accomplished it. That would link him firmly to the rum-running and from there to the murders of Lizzette and the other girls. But I dared not wait another day. If necessary, I could write those details in a follow-up from Portland on Monday. I folded the stationery, addressed three envelopes, licked a few two-centers, and went back to my car.

“Finished yet, Clyde?”

The handyman stood up and brushed his hands on his pants. “That’s the best I can do for now, Miss Jessie. Couldn’t find the right wrench so I put the nut back on but only hand tight. And I looked all over but didn’t find those couple of parts that fell off, but I can get ’em first thing Monday morning at Berkeley’s, or if he don’t have them, I’ll take ’em off my own flivver. Don’t you worry though, I’ll be back Monday morning and fix her good before you leave. Now I’ll just push this baby over to the side, out of the way of the party guests.”

“Why not just drive it over?”

“I don’t want that nut to fall off again and lose it.”

He opened the front door and started to push. I went around to the back and helped start it rolling. Once it got going, it was easy to guide the vehicle out of the way.

“I appreciate this, Clyde. How much do I owe you for everything?”

“Three dollars ought to do it. Two for the wrench and parts and one for me.”

“Would you do me another favor, please, and take these letters straight to the post office when you get back to town?”

“Well, sure thing, but they ain’t going nowhere until Monday morning.”

“I know, I know, but it’s very important they get there now so they go out first thing Monday.”

I felt the load lift from my chest as Clyde drove off. No matter what Henry did to me now, the information I had gathered was safely on its way. At the very least, the exposure would kill his political career, but if all I accomplished was to wash him out of politics, I was in greater danger than when I started. I had to trust that the authorities, pressured by the Carr trustees, would find the necessary evidence.

I walked to the front of the house, pausing at the spot where I remembered leaving my runabout last evening. I could see where gravel had been kicked off to the side and an indentation in the ground from a heel as if someone had been under the car and struggling to get the part loose. If I had time, I bet I could find the missing part within throwing distance.

The hairs on the back of my arms stood up and my neck and shoulders crawled with goose bumps. I straightened up quickly and scanned the façade of the house. A movement in the upstairs hall window drew my eye. Someone had stepped back from the glass.

47

My dance card was full before the band struck the first downbeat.

“I believe I have the honor,” said Uncle Oliver, dapper as a stuffed penguin as he took my gloved hand and escorted me to the center of the floor where no one could overhear us. “At last, my dear, we are alone,” he teased. His every word revealed his triumph.

I surveyed the crowded ballroom. Gay paper lanterns glowed overhead and on one wall a painted canvas depicted half a dozen European landmarks I knew now I would never see. The only decoration we lacked was David Murray’s mile-wide smile, and that was nowhere to be seen.

I wiggled my fingers at Grandmother sitting at one of the small tables that ringed the room, each covered by a tablecloth strewn with rose petals and decorated with one of her flower arrangements. She acknowledged my wave with a nod, then returned her eyes to Henry, who stood in a corner with several pals, laughing at someone’s joke. I had my eye on him too. He had flicked on the charm switch and was playing the amiable host with casual flair. Knowing what I did about him, I found the transformation chilling. It explained a lot: how he could appeal to women, earn their trust and favor, use them, and then when they least expected it, erupt in deadly violence. I wasn’t unduly worried about him tonight. The amount of whiskey he was tossing back would soon render him harmless, but Grandmother, bless her heart, was determined to track his every move.

Rain beat hard on the roof but all was warm and dry inside Cliff House. All about us, feminine finery sparkled with sequins and rhinestones against the black-and-white masculine backdrop as everyone waited for the birthday girl and her uncle to finish the first dance. Anticipation hung in the air. Then the band struck up “Look for the Silver Lining,” and we started a pretty fox-trot.

“There must be a hundred people here,” I began.

“A fitting end to a fine performance.”

“After tomorrow, we’re home free.”

“Have a care; we are not there yet,” he warned, but his self-satisfied manner belied his words. Oliver Beckett was a man basking in the glory of success. A man “with expectations,” as polite society would have it. And I was about to find out what those expectations were.

“The receiving line went better than I had hoped,” I said. “I rather thought people might try to reminisce with me and ‘remember when,’ but no one in this town knew Jessie beyond her bank book. You will be amused to learn how popular I am. Every dance is spoken for, and the unlucky ones are walking about with grim faces, determined to cut in. I am Princess Charming at the royal ball with all the bachelors vying for her hand.”

Oliver chuckled.

“What a good dancer you are!” I exclaimed. But of course he was. Being an amiable guest was Oliver’s stock-in-trade. A single man who danced with wallflowers was an asset at any gathering, so much the better if he had a sincere gaze, a gentle wit, and a flirtatious manner. I wondered … with all the money he expected to rake in, did he plan to abandon his career as a professional guest for a more permanent way of life? He was in for a rough landing. On Monday he would learn he’d been double-crossed. I did not want to be within a hundred miles of Oliver Beckett when he found I’d done a flit.

“We have some business to discuss, my dear, and there’s no time like the present. On Monday, we’ll separate at the Portland train station, you to Sacramento, Mother and I home to San Francisco to await your arrival. Once you’ve accomplished the legalities, you’ll tell Mr. Wade about your voyage and ask him to book a first-class stateroom for you to Cherbourg. That’s the port nearest Paris where you want to start your grand tour. Then ask for ten thousand dollars to be deposited in the Crocker National Bank for—”

I gasped. “He’ll never—”

“Yes he will, and without batting an eyelash. Not with lumber fetching ten times the price it did when I was your age and forests so thick they’ll never run out. Tell him you will need ten thousand for a new wardrobe, shopping in Paris, and a suite at the Ritz. Then you will come directly to San Francisco to wait for your ship to sail, withdraw the cash, and give it to me.”

“All of it?”

“Never fear, you will have plenty yourself. You and I will visit the steamship line’s office and rebook your passage to a second-class cabin, and the difference is yours. It will be enough to cover a respectable hotel and your expenses for some time.”

Ingenious. And how did he expect to get future installments with me in Europe and himself gadding about the U. S. of A.? I did not need to ask.

“October and November are rather disagreeable in Paris; I think you will be happier traveling south to the warmer climate along the Mediterranean. Whenever you are ready, you must cable Smith and Wade that you have found property to buy, something expensive, and ask for funds to be wired into a local bank. Of course, you will not buy anything extravagant, although you may eventually want to purchase a modest villa on the sea. Every so often you will pretend that you require a large sum of money to buy property or a painting or a new automobile, when in reality you’ll be wiring most of that money back home to me.”

So that was how it was to work. Uncle Oliver had never been plotting to do me in. He needed me around for years to come if his scheme was to work. I nodded my understanding as the music stopped and polite applause fluttered through the room. “How much money?”

“I told you once that I was not a greedy man, and I am not. I will require only twenty thousand dollars every year. How you get it is your business. Oh, and another thing. You will suggest to Mr. Wade that your trusted uncle be placed on the Carr Industries board at the earliest opportunity.”

Clever Oliver. That way he could monitor my withdrawals to make sure I didn’t kill the goose that laid the golden egg.

“I believe I have this dance, Miss Carr?” I turned to see an eager young man with a thin face and too many teeth.

“Why yes, Mr. er”—I checked my dance card—“Jackson! Excuse us, Uncle Oliver.” Jackson, Jackson … the banker, if I remembered correctly. Jessie certainly attracted men whose primary interest was money. The band struck up “Ain’t We Got Fun,” and the older set ceded the floor to the youngsters and their lively Charleston.

“You look lovely this evening,” Mr. Jackson said rather loudly.

“Thank you,” I replied. He was definitely not a hoofer, and I had to tone down my steps to match his.

“Your green gown is very pretty.”

“Thank you. It’s shockingly heavy, you know. Feels like I’m wearing a suit of armor.” It was one of the ritzy frocks I had bought in Portland, the dark green calf-length silk with a million clear glass bugle beads sewn onto it, making me sparkle at the slightest shimmy. “With all these beads weighing me down, I can hardly dance!”

Mr. Jackson’s toothy smile soured when someone tapped him on the shoulder to cut in. Next came Mr. Lowe, a local attorney with more hair on his lip than his head. He wasn’t the sort to let a little thing like a full dance card keep him from his shot at the heiress.

“Where have you been all my life?” he asked by way of an introduction, and without waiting for an answer, “You are a vision of loveliness, Miss Carr. That dress brings out the green in your eyes.”