Authors: Mary Daheim
“She mended it if she married Jimmy Malone,” I pointed out. “Remember, we’re getting all of this via hearsay. Clara Haines is a very sharp old lady, but she’s relying mostly on what her parents told her. And that was mainly neighborhood gossip.”
Jackie was perusing the menu for the third time. “I still think we’ve solved the mystery. Jimmy Malone loved Minnie, but he wanted Carrie’s money. Maybe Minnie flirted with Sanford to throw everybody off-guard. You know, a blind. I’m thinking about the halibut now.”
I was thinking about the view, or, rather, enjoying it.
The Coho
was making its last run of the day, just pulling into the nearby slip. One of the freighters I’d seen yesterday was still moored in the harbor. The other was anchored at the marine terminal to our left. In the opposite
direction a group of bicyclists were getting ready to pedal off down the waterfront trail. The Hook jutted out across from us, sheltering a handful of pleasurecraft heading for the marina.
Upon our arrival,
The Victoria Express
had been making its six-thirty sailing. I’d thought about Leo Walsh and wondered if he was sitting in a bar somewhere, drowning his sorrows. Or maybe he’d gone off to a high bluff to jump and was just plain drowning. It was an unsettling idea. It occurred to me that I hadn’t mentioned Leo to Jackie. But why should I? We’d had plenty of other things to discuss.
“You’re drifting, Emma.” Jackie reached across the table and tugged at my denim sleeve. “What do you think about Lena and Minnie?”
I gave myself a good shake. “Lena and Minnie? As a couple? What?”
Jackie giggled. “No, as in Lena disapproving of Minnie. For Sanford. Hatchet Face wouldn’t have liked her son marrying a servant, would she?”
Mike came to my rescue. “Lena may have been a believer in equality and women’s rights, but given her era she would have been very class conscious in spite of herself. I have to agree with Jackie. Lena would have frowned on a relationship between Sanford and Minnie.”
Paul stroked the stem of his wineglass. “Let’s not gloss over anything. This Clara Haines said Jimmy and Minnie actually dated, right?”
“Courted
,” Jackie quoted. “That’s what they called dating in the olden days, Lamb-love.”
“I know that, Sweets,” Paul replied patiently. “What I’m saying is that Minnie had a history with Jimmy. That’s why it’ll be interesting to find out what turns up in the King County marriage licenses.”
“A New York steak,” Jackie said. “That sounds good,
with mushrooms and a green salad and a baked potato with butter and sour cream and bacon bits and chives.” She gave all three of us a defiant look but spoke again before we could object. “I’m thinking Jimmy wasn’t a bigamist. That golden wedding anniversary story was a fraud. I mean, Minnie and Jimmy got married after they left Port Angeles. But because they passed the first three kids—by Carrie—off as their own, they had to pretend they were married in 1903. So they just added five or six years on to the time they were really married to cover those kids’ birth dates. Besides, they got their presents sooner that way. In fact, they wouldn’t have gotten them at all if they’d waited for the real anniversary because they were both dead by then.” Jackie glanced back at the menu. “I could get the green salad that comes with shrimp. That sounds good, too.”
The waitress came to take our order. Jackie asked to go last; she still hadn’t made up her mind. Mike joined me in ordering salmon, and Paul requested the petit filet medium well. To my surprise, Jackie asked for the sautéed prawns. They hadn’t even been in the running up until then.
Mike traded his vodka martini in for a glass of Riesling; Paul went with a red instead of the white wine he’d been drinking; I decided to get wild and have another CC, water back; Jackie asked for Sprite.
“We’ve narrowed this down quite a bit,” I pointed out after the waitress had gone off with our requests. “The big change in the family status must have taken place between early September and late October of 1908. That’s about a five- or six-week period. I think it’s amazing that we’ve been able to zero in like that.”
“Absolutely.” Mike Randall smiled at me as if I’d won the Nobel Prize. “I realize there’s a certain amount of luck involved, but basically it’s a question of research and following leads. I’m astounded at how you
can ask the right questions and get the necessary answers.”
“It’s what I get paid for,” I retorted, then felt a twinge of remorse. I smiled weakly at Mike. “You’re right about the luck. Finding all those old folks has been a real help. Of course people are living much longer these days.”
Now it was Paul who seemed to be off in his own little corner of the world. There were chickenlike marks on his cocktail napkin. Replacing his ballpoint pen in his pocket, he acknowledged the arrival of his red wine with an absent nod. “The timing is interesting, I guess, but I don’t see that it adds much to figuring things out. We still don’t know what happened to Simone.”
Mike sipped thoughtfully at his wine. “We don’t have any data on those bones yet.”
I’d forgotten about the spare parts. “Where are they?” I asked.
“I gave them to the zoology teacher,” Mike said. “I assumed they were from a small animal. She’ll get back to me tonight or in the morning.”
Jackie was stuffing sourdough bread in her mouth. She swallowed hard and clapped her hands. “We need to go to the library again tomorrow. If we take that six weeks in 1908 and concentrate on the local newspapers, we might find more clues.” She looked at me. “Well? What time do they open?”
“Jackie,” I began, shaking my head, “if my Jag’s ready, I’ll be gone. I’ve got a big crisis facing me at work.”
Next to me, Mike leaned closer. “Really? That’s terrible news, Emma. Tell us about it. Maybe you can sort through your feelings by verbalizing them.”
I glommed on to my fresh Canadian Club. “I can tell you my feelings without any problem. I’m up a stump. My ad manager quit and half the town is ticked off because
we screwed up. There’s a special edition due out next Wednesday and not enough to fill it, editorial or advertising. If anybody here has fourteen hundred column inches of ads or eight hundred inches of copy, I’ll walk out with a big grin.”
Mike gave me a confidential smile. “You see? Don’t you feel better? You’ve laid it all out.”
“No,” I responded, trying not to sound tart. “I didn’t. Carla did, and that’s part of the problem.” Noting Mike’s puzzlement, I took pity on him. “Look, it’s nothing I can talk out. I have to
do
it, and that’s impossible unless I’m on the scene. That’s why I have to head back to Alpine tomorrow.”
The hurt expression on Mike’s face made me feel like a world-class worm. He meant well, I knew that. But his buzzword comfort was driving me nuts. I had a terrible urge to rush to a pay phone and call my brother, Ben. Or Vida. I missed Vida, even when she was huffing and harrumphing at me. Vida at her worst was an improvement over most people at their best. But I’d never dare tell her so. She’d fix me with her gimlet eye and mutter something that would feature the word
fool
.
Mike Randall was nodding, a font of understanding. “You’ve prioritized. That’s so important. It’s a sign of real maturity.”
I might have screamed if our salads hadn’t arrived just then. Jackie attacked hers with the verve of a rabbit, but she wasn’t about to give up on me.
“I’ll make you a deal, Emma. If you stay until noon, I won’t bother you ever again. We’ll go to the library first thing, at ten. I’m pretty sure that’s when they open. Or call that Tessie Whoozits and ask her to let us in early.”
I shook my head. “She’s a genealogist, not a librarian.”
“Whatever.” Jackie forked up more lettuce. “I’ll bet
she’d be able to dig up something that would help us now that we know more. Why don’t we call her tonight?”
I started to protest, then reconsidered. Tessie Roo had been intrigued by our little mystery. If she could add anything to it, we might be able to wrap things up before morning. Then I could flee Port Angeles with a clear conscience.
I agreed. “I’ll call her after we finish dinner.”
Jackie’s dimples flashed at me. Paul smiled at Jackie. Mike nodded sagely. I drank my Canadian Club to the dregs.
The pay phones were located just off the restaurant’s lounge. Tessie was the only Roo in the local phone book. She answered on the second ring. Her delight in hearing from me warmed my heart.
“I thought you’d forgotten all about me!” she declared in that husky, engaging voice. “I was dying to hear what happened with Claudia Malone Cameron. Can you come by and have a glass of sherry?”
After two stiff CC’s, I didn’t need to add sherry to the list. I also didn’t want to inflict the others on Tessie. I wasn’t exactly sure how to proceed.
“Is there any way I could meet you at your office later on?” I inquired. “Say in about a half hour?” Jackie and Paul had ordered dessert; Mike Randall was sipping cognac. Perhaps the Melchers could drop me off at the museum. I could walk back to their house. The fresh air would do me good.
Tessie, however, volunteered to pick me up. I informed her I wasn’t at the Melcher house but finishing dinner at Downriggers. We agreed to rendezvous on the museum steps at nine o’clock.
I was hanging up the phone when I heard a gust of laughter erupt in the bar. I turned to see what had
caused the hilarity. A group of young men in their late twenties were sitting at a big table, apparently indulging themselves in the joys of youth and beer. I would have gone off without another glance if I hadn’t seen a familiar figure hunched over the bar. Even from this murky distance I recognized Leo Walsh. That same aspect had been presented to me earlier aboard
The Victoria Express
.
I’d like to think it was my innate compassion that propelled me into the lounge. More likely it was the two CC’s that did it. To be fair, I’d devoured a considerable amount of food since having the drinks and I was feeling quite sober. Often I have trouble giving myself the benefit of the doubt.
Boldly, I sidled up to Leo. The bar stool next to him was empty. He was drinking something on the rocks. Judging from the pale color, it was Scotch.
“Hi,” I said. “How come you’re not headed back to Culver City?”
Leo wasn’t really drunk yet, but he was working on it. “Emma Lord, as I live and drink.” He raised his glass to me. “What’ll it be? Hot coffee?”
“Sounds good.” Briefly, I questioned my sanity. Jackie and the men would wonder where I’d gone. But they were engaged in dessert and cognac. If concerned, they’d figure I was still talking to Tessie Roo.
The prompt arrival of my coffee caused Leo to order another Scotch. “You don’t give up easy, do you?” His gaze was sardonic.
“I left the brandy cask in the parking lot,” I said lightly. “Have you been here since you got off the boat?”
Leo sighed. Somehow, it was a painful sound. “I had dinner.” He tapped the bar. “Here. Oysters. Not bad. You find any stray dogs?”
I shook my head. “No. Just a dead body.” I bit my
tongue. Why had I said such a thing? Why didn’t I drink my coffee and go back to the dining area? Why was I such an idiot?
“Oh, yeah?” Leo smirked, then lit a cigarette. The ashtray was already overflowing. “Anybody we know?”
“I’m not sure.” I wasn’t sure of anything, especially why I was sitting at the bar with Leo Walsh. His fresh drink arrived; I sipped my coffee. “Leo, where are you staying?”
He stared at me, then puffed on his cigarette. Deliberately, he blew smoke in my face. “You want to join me for a night of passion?”
“Drop dead, Leo.” My voice was sharp, then I shook my head. “You bother me. I don’t know what to say.”
He rubbed at his crooked nose. “I’ve got a room at a motel out on 101. It’s clean. It’s cheap. It’s lonely.” A brief, poignant silence grew between us. “Hey,” he barked, “go away, honey. You’re a doll, and I could get to like you. You might get to like me, and then we’d both be miserable. Drink your coffee and go feed that stray dog.”
The perverse streak in my nature dictated that I stay put. “Who are you, Leo? Why are you here? What makes you such a jerk?”
He stood up, drank his Scotch down in one gulp, stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette, and threw a twenty-dollar bill on the bar. “Whatever it is, you’re too nice to know. So long, Emma Lord. Enjoy your dead body. It’s probably got more life in it than I have.” Leo lurched out of the lounge.
Tessie Roo was waiting for me in the shadow of the old courthouse dome. Jackie had wanted to come with me, but Paul had insisted that she go home and rest. Mike also expressed a desire to meet with Tessie. I
fibbed a bit, saying that the genealogist would be upset to find anyone other than me on hand.
Tessie was raring to go. She had come prepared with a thermos of hot tea. But when we got up to her office, I had to confess that I might have brought her out on a fool’s errand.
“It’s the early newspapers I need more than the genealogy records,” I told Tessie after recapping the day’s investigation. “I don’t suppose you have access to the library’s periodical room?”
Tessie tossed her head. “I don’t need it. Not for that era.” She scooted over to an oak filing cabinet and began hauling out faded binders. “I don’t have all the papers from that period, but I’ve got the principal publications. That’s how I do my research. I can’t be running back and forth to the library all the time, eh?”
The binders contained yellowed copies of
The Olympic-Leader
and
The Tribune-Times
. I suggested that Tessie take the former and I go through the latter. We settled on August 1908 as our starting point.
I expected that our first item of interest would be the Bullard house fire. However, I was determined to go over every inch of local news copy. Both papers were weeklies, which minimized the task.
The first reference I found was in the August fifth edition. Mr. and Mrs. Edmund Rowley were going to San Francisco for a visit. Mrs. Rowley wished to see firsthand how the city had rebuilt since the earthquake of two years earlier. Briefly, I pictured Eddie, leaning on his cane, while Lena surveyed the recovering city from Nob Hill.