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Archie Evans owned a garage at the edge of the East End. The building was so dilapidated it was nearly falling down. I was astonished the city hadn’t yet condemned it. However, Archie seemed to be doing a rather lucrative trade despite the dodgy locale and drizzly, gray day.
No less than three men in greasy overalls puttered about, heads stuck under the bonnets of various motorcars. Everything from a rusty 1915 Humber, to a nearly new Ace Tourer still wearing a shiny coat of cream paint.
Hale and I made our way carefully across the yard, dodging oil-slicked puddles and ankle-breaking potholes. I was glad he was with me rather than Chaz or Aunt Butty. Both the place and the men looked a little rough, and I’d no doubt Hale could match them for toughness. They’d never respect a toff like Chaz, and Aunt Butty... well, she’d likely have shown up with a cornucopia on her head and been laughed off the lot. Not that she’d have let them run her off, but it’s difficult to get information out of people when they’re doubled over with laughter.
“Archie Evans?” Hale asked the first man we came to, a weedy gentleman of indeterminate years and watery blue eyes.
He stared at us for a long beat, then pointed across to the next vehicle before turning back to his work without uttering a word.
Archie was hunched over a cherry red ‘28 Austin Windsor. Gorgeous thing. Felix had considered buying one shortly before his death. I could easily imagine myself racing through the British countryside. He looked up as we approached, a frown crossing his grime-streaked face, no doubt wondering why a lady was picking her way through his garage.
“Archie Evans?” Hale asked, taking the lead.
Clearly Archie approved. He nodded, his unusual gray eyes—bright in his tawny face—taking in our appearance. “What can I do you for?” He didn’t bother to offer a hand, which was a relief, seeing as how it was filthy with black grease and would no doubt soil my gloves.
“I understand you knew Dottie Lancaster,” Hale said easily.
“Knew,” Archie said laconically, wiping his filthy hands on a filthier rag. “What’s it to you?”
“I knew her as well.”
Archie’s expression gave away nothing. “Then you know she’s dead.”
“I do,” Hale admitted.
“Lemme guess,” Archie spat on the ground, regardless of the fact there was a lady present. “You’re that sap what married her. Told you some sob story I bet.”
“Yes, I’m that sap,” Hale admitted dryly.
Archie eyed him. “Heard you got done for the killing.”
“Alibi.”
Archie let out a huff of understanding. “Bound to happen sometime. Woman cheesed off more people than a dozen politicians put together.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at that.
Archie gave me a look. “And how’d you know her?”
“Let’s just say that she and I didn’t get along,” I said drolly.
“Sounds like Dottie. Never did get along with women.”
“But she had a female friend,” I pointed out. “Kitty?”
He snorted. “You know what happened between ‘em?”
We both shook our heads, wanting to hear his version of the story.
“Well, now, me and Kitty, we go way back, if you get my meaning. Never got married or nothin’ but might as well have been.”
“But you and Dottie somehow ended up together,” Hale said.
Archie swiped the rag across the back of his neck. “’Fraid so. Stupid of me. I knew what she was, but Dottie had been after me for a long time and she was... well, you know how she was. Beautiful and... phew!”
Hale grinned, but I crossed my arms and glared at them. Really, men could be so thick. “So you dumped poor Kitty for Dottie.”
“Like I said. Stupid.”
At least he was willing to admit it.
“Didn’t last long,” he continued. “But even though I got myself out after a coupla weeks, Kitty wouldn’t take me back. If you ask me, she done it.”
“Kitty?” I asked. “You think she killed Dottie?” It totally fit with my theories about vengeance.
“Yup. She was livid over the whole thing. Not that I blame her. Probably killed Dottie out of pure spite. Kitty ain’t exactly the forgiving kind.”
“You know where we can find her?” Hale asked.
Surprisingly, Archie gave him directions to Kitty’s flat in the East End. We thanked him and picked our way back across the lot to my car.
Hale was just opening the door for me when Archie shouted out, “Mind how you go. That woman... she’s dangerous.”
Hale and I exchanged glances. The ride to Kitty’s was very quiet.
––––––––
KITTY LEONARD’S FLAT was above a pie and mash shop. We had to walk through a narrow alley—stinking of rotting rubbish and likely infested with rats—and take a set of rickety steps up to the first floor. I was happier than ever that Hale was with me, even though things were still a little awkward and unsettled between us. We needed to have A Talk, but at the moment, we needed to figure out who killed Dottie.
I rapped on the door which rattled in the frame. Inside, there was a crash, followed by a coarse female voice letting out a string of words that turned the air blue. Finally, the door was yanked open, and a woman stood on the threshold.
She was surprisingly small—no more than five feet tall—with blonde hair done in curlers and skin so pale I wondered if she’d powdered her entire body. Her makeup was garish to the point of being tarty, and she wore a heavy, handknit cardigan over a thin slip. It was not the way a decent sort of person opened the door.
“Whatcha want?” She took a drag on the cigarette that dangled from her red lips and sent a puff of smoke straight into my face.
My eyes watered, but I managed not to cough, keeping a vague smile plastered to my face. We needed information from this woman, and she was clearly not the sort of person who liked competition in either the brains or the beauty department. Something I understood intrinsically. I also understood that while she would pretend not to be impressed by my title, she was just the sort of person who would be impressed.
“Ophelia, Lady Rample,” I said, holding out my hand.
She stared at it a moment before finally shaking it. She affected being unimpressed, but I could tell she was despite herself. “What’sa toff like you doin’ here?”
“Well,” I said, pressing my gloved hands together primly, “I am in desperate need of your help.”
Her eyes widened a fraction before the mask of indifference fell once again. “Yeah? Whatcha need my help with?” Her gaze flicked to Hale, standing on the step below me. “Don’t I know you?”
“Hale Davis.” He tipped his hat.
This time, she wasn’t able to withhold her surprise. “You’re Dottie’s husband.”
“Was,” he corrected. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard—”
“Yeah, someone done her in. I heard. Can’t say I’m surprised.” She took another drag on her cigarette, but this time blew smoke away from me.
“The police are useless,” I confided.
She snorted. “No surprise there.”
“We plan to discover the truth of why Dottie died and who killed her,” I said. “And we’re hoping you can help us.”
Her eyes went to little slits. “Why would I do that?”
“She was your friend, wasn’t she?” I asked.
“Until she stole my man,” Kitty sneered. “Then she was dead to me.” As if realizing how that sounded, her mouth made a little "oh." “Sorry, I mean...”
I waved it off. “Not to worry. I understand. But we don’t want that nasty detective thinking the wrong thing, do we?” Implying he might be after her next. “Which is why we need your help. After all, you knew her best.”
“True. Well, come on in.” She stepped back to let us through the door which opened straight into the kitchen. “Ain’t got tea, though.” Despite the fact there was a steaming pot sitting on the table just inside the door.
“No worries,” I said airily. “We just ate.”
We sat at the table in rickety mismatching chairs, ignoring the teapot which smelled of cheap tea and strong tannins and the pack of inexpensive biscuits lying open on the counter. A clothes line strung with undergarments hung over the cooker.
I admit to being rather shocked she would allow us to see her flat in such a state. My mother would have been appalled. Her home was always neat as a pin. Mine was only so because of Maddie and a cleaning woman that came once a week to do for me. Still, judge not and all that. So I settled on my precarious perch and focused on getting what I could out of Kitty.
“How did you and Dottie meet?” I said, pretending my throat didn’t itch as Kitty puffed away on her cigarette.
She rubbed the side of her nose. “It was two years ago. We were workin’ at this club, see. Nothin’ untoward, mind. Just serving drinks, that sort of thing. We got on, see, being of a mind about certain things. So for a while we was flatmates.”
“Here?” Hale asked. His voice didn’t reflect it, but I got the impression he was surprised.
“Naw. Few streets over in what she called a ‘better address.’” Kitty shook her head. “’If you pretend, you’ll get there eventually,’ she’d always say to me. Stuff and nonsense. No amount of pretending was ever gonna make Dottie more’n she was. Common as muck.”
I tried not to laugh. That was like the pot calling the kettle black. “Why did you stop living together?”
“It was the rent. Sky high. Couldn’t afford it, and she wouldn’t see reason. So I moved out, got me this flat with my boyfriend, Archie. She was madder than anything, but she got over it.”
Archie had told the truth then. He had lived here with her. “And you stayed friends? You and Dottie.”
“Sure. Until six months ago when she stole Archie right out from under me.”
I feigned astonishment and horror. “That’s terrible.”
“It was. The blighter. But it weren’t hardly more’n a week and he were back here, beggin’ me to forgive him and take him back.”
“And did you?” Hale asked, playing along.
“No sir! Gave him his marching orders, let me tell you.”
“I suppose you’d have liked to get a bit of payback,” I suggested.
“Well, sure, that’d have been nice, but she got hers in the end, didn’t she?” Kitty stubbed out her cigarette and contentedly lit another.
“I suppose she did,” I said. “But of course, it wasn’t you.”
“’Course not. I’m no idiot. I’m not about to hang for the likes of her.”
Fair point, although I wasn’t sure I bought it. “The police asked about your alibi?”
She snorted. “No police around here. Give it time, and they will be. But I’ve got a good one. I was right here with my new man. We were getting real cozy like, if you know what I mean.” She winked then gave Hale a lascivious look.
I did. Unfortunately. “Oh, you’ve got a new boyfriend. How lovely for you.”
“So you see, no need to go bumping off old Dottie. She was her own worst enemy.”
“What do you mean?” asked Hale.
“You know,” she said meaningfully. “She pulled her tricks on you. That was Dottie. Cooking up schemes. Getting her hooks in innocent people. Told her that was never gonna get her places, but she wouldn’t listen. And look what happened.” She didn’t seem very broken up about it.
“Do you have any idea who might have wanted to kill Dottie?” I asked.
“Sure. Anyone who ever met her. But if you want to know what I think, I think it was Archie what done her in.”
“Why’s that?” Hale asked.
“She stole from him, didn’t she? Took a wad o’ cash right outta his trouser pocket.”
Interesting. Archie hadn’t mentioned that little fact. I wondered how much Dottie had taken and if it would have made Archie mad enough to kill her. The former boyfriend blamed the former best friend and vice versa. No surprise there.
“Was there somewhere Dottie liked to hang out?” I asked. “Somewhere she might have met someone who...”
“Wanted to kill her?” Kitty blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling, those bright red lips pursing just so. Despite her relative youth, tiny lines already formed around her lips. “Well, last I knew, she’d just discovered this new placed called Apollyon. She said a lotta swells hung out there. She was gonna snare herself a new man.” She snorted. “She couldn’t even keep the one she got.” She eyed Hale knowingly.
With nothing else to discover from the woman, we said our goodbyes. I breathed a sigh of relief as we once again inhaled fresh air. It wasn’t just the smoky room that had been oppressive. Kitty, with her bad attitude and mean streak, was one of those women I found exhausting.
“Where to now?” I asked as Hale escorted me to the car. “I’m betting this Apollyon place doesn’t open for hours yet.”
“I won’t be able to go with you,” he said. “I’ve got to play tonight.”
I understood, but I still felt a slight pang, so I said breezily, “That’s alright. I’ll bring Chaz along.”
“I’ve got a couple hours before I need to be at the club. Why don’t we grab a bite to eat,” he suggested. “And talk.”
It sounded ominous. But I agreed. We did, indeed, need to talk. I just wasn’t sure where or how that talk would go.