Santa Fe Mourning Page 16

  She shifted her weight and winced as one ankle gave a painful throb. She realized she must have twisted it during her run, and now it was reminding her of that all too painfully.

  “This job?” she prompted again.

  “It wasn’t any big deal. I’ve had lots of jobs before. Cleaning tables, mixing adobe . . .”

  Maddie gestured to the sleeve of his finely tailored striped linen shirt. It was dusty and rumpled now, but that couldn’t disguise the fact that he hadn’t bought it at the five and dime, nor the polished wingtips on his feet. “I would guess you don’t need something like that for adobe mixing.”

  He twitched away from her. “Maybe I needed money too. I was trying to be a good friend, sharing with Ed.”

  Maddie thought of the maid at La Fonda, Harry’s arm around her as she cried at finding a body in the alley. “Money to buy your girl jewelry, maybe?”

  “What girl?” he said. He looked genuinely puzzled.

  “I saw you that night at La Fonda. You were walking with a maid, the one who found Eddie’s father.”

  He laughed. “Oh, her. That’s my sister, June. I got her that job, back when I bused tables there. Sometimes I wait around to walk her home. It’s not always safe out there.”

  “Oh, I know.” Maddie thought of everything she hadn’t realized lurked in Santa Fe—violence, danger, things hiding in shadows. “You just happen to pop up wherever there’s trouble. La Fonda, the new nightclub—you’re everywhere, it seems.”

  Harry shrugged. “I have to make a living, don’t I? It’s just me taking care of my mom and sister. If I work hard now, I can really go places. Mr. Bennett says so.”

  The handsome nightclub owner? She could picture him employing the local kids to run errands, but maybe not so much to mentor them. Perhaps she had misjudged him. “Does he give you jobs often too?”

  “Just deliveries now and then. He talks to me, though, about running a business. He thinks I could open my own someday.”

  “What sort of business? Rum-running?”

  “There are worse things to do,” he muttered.

  “I doubt your mother would say that, if you asked her. Tell me about this job you offered to share with Eddie. Was it bringing hooch into town?”

  “I offered to split it, not give it to him. I’m not that good a friend.” He went silent, and Maddie just sat there, waiting. She’d learned that from her mother; sometimes silence was the greatest weapon.

  “Okay,” he said finally. “It was bringing in a shipment stored in Tesuque. Not even a big load, but the pay was good. I needed someone to help load the wagon.”

  “And it was for Mr. Bennett?”

  “How should I know? There’s messengers for that sort of thing, telling you where to get something and where to leave it. That’s how it works. I thought that’s all this job was too.”

  He looked away, and for the first time, Maddie saw a flicker of childish uncertainty on his face. “But there was more to it than that? Was the shipment not just alcohol this time?”

  “What else would it have been?”

  “Maybe cocaine.”

  His mouth fell open, and he shook his head. “I don’t know! I told you, I don’t ask questions. I just make the deliveries. Nothing wrong in that.”

  “Until you get caught. I heard in New York that they’ve put more federal agents out here in the west to patrol the borders. If you were caught with hard drugs . . .”

  He bit his lip. Maddie could see he was scared; his hands shook. But he set his jaw stubbornly. “I never get caught. I know better.”

  “There’s always a first time. Is that why Eddie wouldn’t take the job?”

  “He was trying to stay out of trouble with his dad again. He’d promised his mother he would.”

  “So he’s been in trouble before?”

  “The last time he helped me, his dad caught him. I wouldn’t want to mess with a big guy like that when he’s angry. Ed had a black eye the next day.”

  Maddie nodded. She remembered Eddie’s bruises when he came to get her at the train station, his quiet remoteness. “What else can you tell me about this job? I won’t peach on you. I just want to help Eddie.”

  “Nothing. I already told you—I don’t know what was in it or who it was for.”

  Exasperated, Maddie wanted to shake the kid until he saw truth. How horribly stubborn he and Eddie were! No wonder Juanita was at her wit’s end with him. “Eddie is in jail! The inspector wants to pin the murder on him, so he can close the book and forget about it. You know what could happen to him!”

  Harry’s face flamed bright red. “I’m sorry for him!” he cried. “Really I am. He’s a good friend. But I don’t know anything that could help him.”

  “There must be something. Just come with me, talk to Eddie’s lawyer . . .”

  “A lawyer! You are a crazy broad.” Harry jumped to his feet and ran away through the door, slamming it behind him.

  Maddie lurched up, trying to follow him, but her ankle gave away beneath her. She stumbled against the wall, cursing as pain shot up her leg. She limped to the door and pulled it open. It led to a flight of stairs, but no Harry. The stony quiet seemed even more oppressive.

  She hobbled up the stairs and remembered she had no idea where she was or what she would find up there. It was a bit like Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.

  At the head of the stairs, there was yet another door, and she opened to find—the bank.

  The marble hush of the stone floor and gilded railings, the whispers of tellers at their booths, and people dressed in suits and dresses hurrying past seemed like a whole different planet after the damp tunnel.

  “Mrs. Alwin,” a man cried. She turned to see Mr. Rosenwald, the manager of First National, watching her with a bemused expression on his face. He gave her a little bow. Like Anton at La Fonda, he was much too professional to show any surprise at his more eccentric customers’ behaviors. “How may I assist you today? Is there a problem with the month’s dividends?”

  Maddie gathered the tattered remnants of her dignity around her. “Not at all, Mr. Rosenwald. It’s all quite tickety-boo. I was just taking a little shortcut.”

  “A shortcut?”

  “Yes. Do forgive me. I’ll get out of your way now.” She started to limp to the glass doors, but she stopped at the receptionist’s desk. “You didn’t happen to see a boy run past here a few minutes ago?”

  The receptionist, a tidy, slender older woman in a dark-blue wool gown and spectacles, stayed as calm and cool as her boss. “I didn’t, Mrs. Alwin. But then we always have errand boys coming and going. They’re always so fast. Ah, youth.”

  So fast indeed. And Maddie felt like she was always a step behind. How could she ever help Eddie this way? “Thank you.”

  She made her way out the door, trying not to gasp at the pain in her ankle. She glanced down to see that the wretched thing was swelling. How was she supposed to get all the way home?

  The bank was on the corner of the plaza, catty-corner to the Palace and across from the art museum. It was fairly quiet at that time of day, with only a few people passing by.

  “Mrs. Alwin? Can I help you?” asked a deep, smooth voice.

  Oh, horsefeathers, she thought. Caught again. She shielded her eyes from the bright sun and looked up to find Rob Bennett staring at her.

  Unlike her disheveled, dusty self, he looked like he just stepped out of a tailor’s advertisement, in a sharply cut herringbone suit, his dark hair glossy and smooth under a felt hat. “Oh,” she said, hating how chirpy her voice sounded. “Mr. Bennett. Lovely to see you again.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Just a little tumble.” Maddie glanced down at her swollen foot, the tears in her fine new stockings, the scrapes starting to bleed a bit. “Soon mended once I’m home.”

  “Let me help you. My place is just up the street. You should get that cleaned up.”

  “Oh, no, I . . .”

  “I insist. You don’t wan
t to get infected. I’ll even throw in an orange blossom, free of charge.”

  Maddie laughed. “Well, if there’s an orange blossom—thank you, Mr. Bennett.”

  “I thought I told you to call me Rob. Here, lean on me. We’ll be there in just a minute.”

  As Maddie took his arm, she glanced up at the small office just above the grocery on the corner. She glimpsed a pale face there between the curtains, a spangled turban, then whoever it was ducked away. Was that the famous Madame Genet? Why on earth would she be watching Maddie, a stranger?

  The club looked very different during the day, empty of revelers. With the lights on and the dance floor deserted, it seemed so much more ordinary. The banquettes were a dull red, slightly worn in patches, the tables marked with rings where damp glasses had carelessly rested. The air smelled of old smoke, spilled wine, and the rich citrus cologne Rob wore as he leaned close to her. It made her head swim.

  She studied the array of bottles behind the bar, reflected in the glass shelves. No homemade “tonics” there, only the best. Or at least the containers of the best. He could possibly hide the bad stuff in good bottles, but Maddie knew he hadn’t, at least not on the night she was there. The cocktails had been top-notch. Had it all been delivered by Harry? Where did he pick it up?

  Rob helped her onto one of the chairs and reached for a cushioned stool. “Here, put your foot up on this, and I’ll fetch some iodine.”

  “You’re so kind,” Maddie said.

  He gave her a wide grin, and she could definitely see why all the ladies in town lined up for his drinks. He looked like a film star indeed. “I’m no philanthropist, except when it comes to pretty ladies with a sharp eye.”

  “Oh, yes? Then what is your price for assistance?” she teased.

  “Maybe another dance? Once your ankle heals, of course, due to my expert nursing.”

  Maddie tapped at her chin, pretending to think it over. “I think that could be arranged.”

  He laughed and ducked behind the baize door she knew led to the kitchens. It was also quiet, no cooks there yet, no clouds of steam, no errand boys fetching dirty dishes. She remembered seeing Harry there, running away so fast she couldn’t catch him.

  She carefully laid her foot on the stool, wincing a bit at the knotted ache, and studied the bar again. Harry said he did errands for lots of people. Did the job he offered to share with Eddie involve this place? Was the cocaine Elizabeth Grover liked so much being run out of the Bennett club?

  If Rob had been telling her the truth, Tomas Anaya had been working with a rival gang and run into trouble that way. It was an easy explanation for what happened to him. Yet something about it didn’t seem to quite add up.

  Rob came back with a basin of warm water and a first aid kit. He knelt down beside her and carefully washed the scratches caused by her fall. As Maddie watched, trying to be brave and not wince, he gently removed some of the tiny pebbles abraded there with a pair of tweezers and dabbed it with stinging iodine.

  “You’re very good at that,” she said. “Did you have medical training?”

  He leaned over his task with a serious expression. “Just some in the war.”

  “You were a medic over there?”

  He shook his head. “In training. It was all over by the time they were ready to send me. I learned a few things in the army camps here, though.”

  “So I see.” She watched him press a gauze pad to the worst of the scrapes and then wrap it with a length of bandage. “You should have stayed on and studied to be a doctor.”

  He laughed. “Owning a club or two is easier money. And I like this work.” He glanced up at her and smiled. “I get to meet the most interesting people.”

  “You could meet them as a doctor too. Surely people confide all their secrets to their physicians.”

  “They do that when they drink too.”

  “I guess they do.” Maddie glanced around the room, trying to distract herself from the sting of the iodine and the look in his smoky-gray eyes. “It would be fun to work in a place like this.”

  “More fun than being an artist?”

  “Nothing is more fun than that,” she said, even though fun was not what being an artist meant, not usually. It meant hard work, utter absorption, a sense of meaning, something she had to do. It was sometimes wonderful, sometimes terrible, often frustrating. But like being a doctor or a bootlegger, it gave her a glimpse of what lay beneath the surface.

  He unwound another length of gauze and gently strapped up her ankle, pulling it tight. “Well, if you ever need another job, I’m always hiring.”

  Like he hired Harry, and maybe Eddie? “I’ll remember that,” she said. She admired the neatly wrapped bandage. “You, Rob Bennett, are a man of many talents.”

  “I try my best.” His smile flickered and then turned into a small frown, like a candle going out. “Did you find out anything about your murder case?”

  “Tomas Anaya?” Maddie shook her head. “Not really. I did see his fancy woman, but she turned out to be his cousin.”

  His brows arched. “His cousin? They didn’t look so—related when I saw them.”

  Maddie shrugged. Something told her to be cautious, to not share all she knew just yet. Not until she could figure out what it meant. “Who knows?”

  “Well, I think my task is done here. And I promised you an orange blossom, didn’t I?”

  “For being a good patient.” She watched him go behind the bar, where he blended the ingredients into a silver shaker and chipped off some ice. She thought that truly he must meet almost everyone from behind that bar. “Have you heard of a woman called Madame Genet?”

  The shaker rattled in his hand, and he gave her a distracted look. “Sounds like a circus performer or something.”

  “Apparently she’s a spiritualist medium. Her, er, office is around the corner.”

  “A medium, huh? I haven’t come across one of those in years.”

  “Still a good living to be made off all the bereaved, I guess. But I haven’t met one here in Santa Fe before.”

  “I don’t think I’ve seen anyone so exotic here in the club. Does she wear a turban, jangling charms, beaded scarves, stuff like that?”

  “I haven’t seen her myself. I would imagine there’s some law of mediums that says they have to.”

  “I would hope so. Otherwise her clients wouldn’t trust her.” He laughed as he poured out the drink into two chilled glasses and handed her one. It tasted perfectly sweet and tangy. “What does she have to do with the murder?”

  “I don’t know. Nothing, probably.” Maddie carefully lowered her foot to the floor. “Excuse me for a moment. I feel the need to refresh my lipstick.”

  He pointed to the baize door. “Just through there, past the rack of glasses, and to the left.”

  Maddie made her way to the necessary room at the back of the kitchen. It might have been tucked away in a quick renovation, but it was pretty, with pale-pink walls, a brocade fainting couch, and a gilt-framed mirror. Mr. Bennett certainly knew how to build a fine atmosphere for his customers.

  She checked herself in the mirror and grimaced at the sight that greeted her. Her hair was tangled, her lipstick vanished, and the sleeve of her coat was torn and dusty. She tidied herself as best she could, using the lipstick from her handbag and repinning her hair. She thought again about cutting it into a fashionable shingle. It would make things much more convenient if she was going to keep chasing through tunnels and going to morgues and brothels in search of elusive answers.

  The kitchen was still quiet when she came out, but she could hear the low hum of voices from the club room. Rob and another man, probably the bartender arriving for his shift. Maybe it would give her a minute to snoop around a bit.

  She wasn’t sure what she wanted to find. Drugs? A note offering Harry a job? A big bottle marked “Poison—To Give to Business Rivals”? She found only pots and pans, crates of produce, unlabeled bottles. She sniffed a few, but none were like Tomas’s
tonic.

  It looked like any other restaurant kitchen, except for an alcove at the back, next to the walk-in icebox. It had room only for a long table, scattered with what looked like a science lab in disarray.

  Maddie peered at it closer. There was a length of tubing, some funnels, and a big lidded boiling pot. Whatever this was, it looked like it hadn’t been used in some time.

  She poked at a few tubes and nozzles and noticed a mark on the back of the stainless steel of a tube. There were some letters, too faded to read, and the outline of a coiled snake. Some kind of manufacturer’s mark? It definitely looked like some kind of old-fashioned medical equipment like she used to see at the hospital.

  Her nosiness was interrupted by the sound of footsteps echoing in the kitchen.

  “Mrs. Alwin?” Rob called. “Are you here?”

  Maddie carefully put the bits and bobs back where she found them and hurried back to the main kitchen with a cheery smile. “Here I am!”

  A frown flickered over his face. “Were you lost?”

  “A bit. I’ve never seen a real kitchen before.”

  The frown turned into an indulgent smile. “I would imagine it’s not a necessity for Astors.”

  “My mother is the Astor.” Maddie gestured to the alcove. “That looks intriguing. Some sort of state of the art chopper or mincer?”

  “Just something of my dad’s. I haven’t even had the chance to try it.”

  “Your father?”

  “From his chemist shop.” He took her arm and led her back to the main room, where waiters were setting up the tables for the evening. “Now let me make you another drink and find a car to take you home.”

  “Oh, I can walk . . .”

  “Of course you can’t, not on that ankle. You can’t ruin my fine nursing. Besides, it’ll be dark soon.”

  “Very well,” Maddie answered. “Just one more tiny orange blossom, though, or I’ll be one dizzy dame.”