Time of Fog and Fire: A Molly Murphy Mystery (Molly Murphy Mysteries) (32 page)

“Alas, all burned beyond recognition now.” She was still looking at me with cool gray eyes, completely confident, almost as if she was enjoying this.

“And so you’re reinventing yourself yet again?”

“I had grown tired of San Francisco and its lack of civilization. I think I’ll be quite content to buy a small house somewhere in New England and return to the society of my birth.”

“No more the grand dame of society? Won’t you miss that?”

“Perhaps. We’ll have to see. Maybe I’ll marry again. A better choice this time. An honorable gentleman, a cultured man with no wild ideas.”

“You were obviously attracted by Douglas Hatcher and his wild ideas once before,” I said.

“I was young and foolish.” She even smiled at this. “I’d grown up sheltered, raised by two maiden aunts. Can you wonder that I was swept off my feet when I met a man like Douglas during my last year at Radcliffe College? He always was a good talker, a complete showman. Here I was, the shy girl from Massachusetts. And he the flamboyant Texan. He told me about his ranch and his cattle and the prospects for oil. I ran off and married him. I had a small inheritance from my parents and Douglas got through that very quickly. That’s when I found that the ranch and the cattle and the oil were all lies. He had nothing except big ideas.”

She had been staring down at her hands. Now she looked up at me, expecting me to understand.

“I also found out quickly enough that he was a bully with a terrible temper. When he was crossed in any way he’d lash out. He thought nothing of knocking me clear across the room. He threw a knife at me more than once and pointed a gun at me.”

“Why didn’t you leave him?”

“I had nowhere to go,” she said simply. “The aunts died. There was no one else, and no money. Douglas made sure I was completely subservient, and dependent.” She sighed. “Then he came up with this grandiose scheme. A way to make ourselves rich beyond our wildest dreams, he said. I didn’t really believe him but I was prepared to go along with it. If we were rich, I’d have a way to escape. And if he was caught by the police, I’d claim to know nothing about it.”

“But it worked,” I said. “He made a fortune and escaped with it.”

She nodded. “And I thought, stupidly, I suppose, that we’d travel, lead the life I’d dreamed of. But instead we fled to Mexico and he bought the ranch he’d always wanted and was content. Can you imagine? Miles from anywhere in a country of peasants? I suppose I hoped we’d have children but it never happened. And I saw my life slipping away in misery. Then he hired Tiny.”

“You finally had an ally.”

“He wasn’t the brightest lad,” she said, “but willing. And I was kind to him. He came to worship me, following me around like a dog. I don’t think anyone had ever spoken to him nicely in his life before. I think he was also attracted to me in a way, but there was never anything physical between us. One night Douglas got drunk and started to knock me around. Tiny came to my rescue and killed him. Shot him in the back. I was stunned. Horrified. Then I realized my luck. I was free. I could escape. Become a new person. We buried Douglas. I sold the ranch. Nobody asks too many questions in Mexico. So we escaped.”

“You took Tiny with you.”

She shrugged, as if she was trying to shrug me away like an annoying insect.

“I had to,” she said at last. “He knew everything, didn’t he? We went first to Mexico City and I admired the flamboyant women there—so fashionable and European-looking. So I became Bella Rodriguez. Black wig, face paint, lovely clothes. And when I was ready we moved to San Francisco. There was still plenty of Douglas’s money to live the way I’d always dreamed. I invested it in thriving businesses and made even more. Everything was going exactly as I had planned.”

“Until Señor Garcia showed up?” I suggested.

She frowned. “He bought the ranch and when he was making renovations he dug up Douglas’s body. And enough evidence to realize he had been shot in the back. He searched me out. He found me in Mexico City and threatened to go to the police. I paid him off, but he traced me to San Francisco. I don’t know how. I can’t tell you what a shock that was.”

“So Tiny took care of him too.”

She nodded. “Tiny would do anything for me. Poor Tiny. Such a shame, but necessary.”

“You’re telling me all this so calmly,” I said. “And yet you’ve been responsible for several deaths.”

“Not me, my dear. I am not my brother’s keeper. If my employee was a trifle impulsive and violent, then he met a just end, didn’t he?”

“An end to which you sent him,” I replied. “Are you not afraid that I’ll go to the police myself?”

“With what? There is no proof that I was anyone other than Minnie Fenway. It will be assumed that Bella Rodriguez died in the quake or the fire. So many people did, after all.”

She was still looking at me calmly, but I thought I detected a glint of satisfaction, almost triumph in her eyes.

“I’m sorry for you though, my dear,” she said reaching across to pat my knee. “I liked your husband. It must be a great loss for you.”

“And yet I suspect that you were the one who tipped off the police that Daniel was going to the cliff top at Lands End. Am I right? Ellen told me there was always a man waiting outside your house to follow him.”

She looked away. “I said I’m truly sorry for your loss. I hope you’ll marry again and have a happy life in New York City. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m rather tired of talking.” She went back to her knitting. When she sensed that I hadn’t left she said, “What are you waiting for? You’ve said your piece. You’ve been a clever girl, I’ll grant you that. Now please leave or I’ll have to summon the conductor and tell him that you’re annoying me.”

“I’d be careful about summoning anybody, if I were you,” I said. “You see, you said I had no proof, but I do. I went down to your basement and found my husband’s valise down there. And I wondered, why would you have claimed you turned it over to the police if you didn’t have something to hide? And if you’d looked more carefully in that case you’d have found a photograph of Douglas Hatcher and his wife.” I saw her blink but she said nothing. “I have that photograph,” I went on. I was rather enjoying myself now. This woman calmly sent my husband to his death. She deserved no mercy. “And I have something else. One of Bella’s wigs. I went back to the house and I found it, and rather naïvely I thought that you might be missing it and want it when I found you again.” I actually smiled. “Oh dear, Bella. I bet you’re rather annoyed that you invited me to stay, aren’t you?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You stupid woman. No one will believe you. They’ll think your mind snapped in the double tragedy of the earthquake and your husband’s death. You’ll be locked away in an insane asylum for your wild ideas.”

“One more thing I failed to mention,” I said, standing up now and looking down at her, my face an expressionless mask. “My husband isn’t dead. He survived that fall down the cliff by a miracle. It was the man with him who died. In fact my husband is currently sitting a couple of cars further down this train and when we get back to civilization I think we’ll find that his word carries a lot of weight.”

I didn’t wait for her reply. I simply went back down the train to our seats.

Daniel sat in silence after I recounted the conversation to him.

“So what will you do?” I asked. “Can you not simply walk down the train and arrest her?”

“I wish it were that simple,” he said. “She is not in New York City, which is the extent of my jurisdiction. To arrest her I would have to present my case to a local magistrate, and I don’t personally think it would be an easy case to prove. A small snapshot and a wig? Would they be enough to prove that she was once Lizzy Hatcher and then Bella Rodriguez? And when you give the facts, she was personally not responsible for the land fraud or the deaths of her husband and Señor Garcia. She could claim to be an innocent bystander to both.”

“But, Daniel, she was living high on the hog from stolen money. She confessed to me that she was responsible for having Tiny shot. And she was partly responsible for your attempted murder and the murder of your federal agent colleague. She is a cold and calculating woman.”

He held up his hand at my onslaught. “Calm down, Molly, please. Of course I shall make my report to Mr. Wilkie. It will be up to him whether he chooses to send out agents to apprehend her. I am more concerned that the bigger fish are going to walk away scot-free. Mayor Schmitz, Abe Ruef, and Chief Dinan. From what General Funston said it seems highly probable that they will never now face corruption charges. They will emerge as heroes and that sticks in my craw.”

*   *   *

I wasn’t exactly surprised to find that Minnie Fenway, also known as Bella Rodriguez, also known as Lizzy Hatcher, had left the train at one of the stops we must have made during the night. If she ever showed up in Massachusetts, the police would be waiting for her. But my betting was that she’d stay on in the lawless West, inventing yet another identity for herself.

Thirty-three

Smoky, dirty, noisy New York City had never looked so inviting as we drew into Grand Central. Daniel hailed a cab and soon we were clip-clopping down familiar streets. While we had been away spring had burst forth in full glory. The sycamore trees were in full leaf. There were flowers in those tiny squares of garden that appear miraculously tucked between buildings or outside churches. Store windows displayed summer bonnets. There was an air of gaiety as mothers pushed buggies and older ladies walked their dogs. “Summer is coming,” everything seemed to be shouting. The harsh winter was over and forgotten. I felt tears come to my eyes when I realized how easily I could have returned home a widow, with no hope and no future. I glanced at Daniel, seated beside me with Liam on his lap. The nightmare was over.

At last we turned into our own dear Patchin Place. The cab came to a halt.

“You can walk the rest of the way, can’t you, sir?” he asked Daniel. “You don’t seem to have much in the way of bags.”

“We lost everything in the earthquake and fire in San Francisco,” I said as the cabby climbed down and then held out a hand to me.

“Did you really? Well, I’ll be blowed. Of course we read about it in the newspapers. Was it really as bad as they tried to make out?”

“Utter devastation,” I said. “A whole city in ruins and who knows how many lives lost.”

“Do you think they’ll ever recover?” he asked.

“They’ll rebuild,” Daniel said. “There is tremendous spirit out West. It’s my betting that they’ll build it up bigger and better.”

The cabby passed Daniel our pathetic bundle of odds and ends. Daniel put Liam down and took his hand. Liam had been looking around with apprehension and suddenly gave a squeal of delight. He broke away from Daniel and set off down Patchin Place on his own. He too realized that we were now home and safe. I was about to put the key in our own front door when the door opposite opened and Bridie came out. She too gave a cry of joy and rushed up to us.

“You’re safe,” she said. “You came back.” Tears started streaming down her face. “They said that San Francisco was all destroyed and so many people had died and we didn’t get any news from you so we thought that you’d died too.”

“We sent a letter, my darling, but it must have been held up,” I said. “The wires were down so there was no way of sending a telegram to let you know.” I hugged her to me and we stood there, locked in each other’s arms, both of us crying. Liam tugged at our skirts wanting to be picked up. Bridie had just bent down to embrace him when Gus came to the front door.

“Who are you talking to, Bridie?” she asked, then her face lit up. “It’s them, Sid. They’re home. They’re here!” she shouted. “Oh my darlings. You don’t know how we’ve worried about you. Why didn’t you write more often, you wicked girl? Here we were imagining all kinds of catastrophes and then we heard about the earthquake.”

“There were all kinds of catastrophes,” I said. “And we are really fortunate to make it out alive. But we’ll tell you all about it when we’ve had a chance to change our clothes and have a bath. It feels as if I’ve been living in this dress for weeks and poor little Liam…”

Liam was now in Bridie’s arms. Gus went over to give him a kiss. He resisted at first as if he couldn’t quite remember her.

“What? You don’t remember your Auntie Gus, who makes gingerbread and things for you?” she demanded.

Then his face broke into a smile and he allowed her to take him from Bridie. “Let’s go and see Auntie Sid,” she said.

“How is she?” I asked. “How is her leg?”

“What happened to Miss Goldfarb’s leg?” Daniel asked. I realized that I had not had a chance to tell him. There had always been more pressing and immediate worries.

“Sid broke her leg skiing,” I said. “She tried to go down the most difficult slope and took a tumble.”

“Typical,” Daniel said. “But I don’t suppose she’ll ever learn.”

“I’m sure she won’t,” Gus said. “She’s already planning our trip to India for when she is fully recovered. She does so yearn to ride an elephant.”

She carried Liam into the house, calling, “Sid. Look who I have found.”

And it was another happy reunion.

Later, when we were bathed and changed into clean clothes, we went across the street to their house for coffee and cake. They were agog to hear about the earthquake and fire, and we related all our experiences to them.

“Molly, you should write a book about this,” Sid said. “The world would love to hear from a survivor.”

“I’m not much of a writer. Not like you,” I said.

She waved her hands excitedly. “Then we’ll write it together. You will tell your story to me and we’ll put it into words together. I have been feeling so trapped and frustrated with this broken leg. It will give me a challenge. Something exciting to do.”

I glanced across at Daniel, who had said very little since we got home.

“Why not?” he said. “You have experienced more of the earthquake and fire than many people. And it will help you to get back to your old life. You shouldn’t be too active until you have allowed your head wound to heal properly. You’ve already had to do far too much.”