Samuel shook Mona’s shoulder.
She groggily lifted her head from the desk. “Oh, I fell asleep.”
“Jamison is outside.”
“Good. Very good. I want you to leave the kitchen door open and go to bed, Samuel. And I mean—to bed. I’ll lock up.”
Perturbed, Samuel did as Mona bid. He wanted to see who was in the car.
Mona patted her hair and went to the front door. She quietly opened it and went down the limestone steps to where Jamison was waiting.
“Go to the kitchen and get something to eat. Don’t wake anyone up, Jamison.”
“I’ll be quiet, miss.”
“There’s a nice apple pie on the counter. Take as much as you want.”
“Fresh milk in the icebox?”
“Help yourself. I’ll come and get you when I’m finished. Go around to the back.”
Jamison grinned before he scampered off. It has been a long time since he had a slice of apple pie, and it sounded very appealing.
Mona got into the car and drove off in the direction of the horse barns.
“Where are we going?” asked Jellybean, amused at Mona’s shenanigans.
“To where my prying employees can’t hear us.”
She stopped the car before a white-fenced meadow. “What did you find out?”
“Not much. I talked to all hotel staff. The Brits were considered nuisances—always complaining about this and that.”
“Like what?”
“The rooms were too warm. The service too slow. That type of thing.”
“It is a very warm summer. They are not used to such heat in Britain.”
“Hmm.”
“Can you tell me something useful—like did they speak with anyone? Did anyone visit them? Did they ask where they could find ‘gentlemen’s entertainment?’”
“They transferred in Cincinnati from the New York train to Lexington on Thursday. They were not in the hotel much of Friday or Saturday morning. No one knew exactly where they went as a driver picked them up and returned them each time in the same car.”
“Was it the same man who drove?” Mona knew that Dexter had selected the two new Moon attorneys to escort the Brynelleth men about town. Could someone else have co-opted them?
“The doorman doesn’t think so, but couldn’t give a description.”
“What else?”
“They had Friday and Saturday breakfast at the hotel and dinner for Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. They were unhappy with the Saturday menu and complained of being hungry.”
“What time did they leave the hotel?”
“The night doorman says around nine in the evening.”
“All three together?”
“That’s what he said.”
“Could he be lying?”
“Of course. Everyone could be lying.”
“No one at the hotel suggested visiting a bordello—doorman, bellhop, bartender, waiter?”
“No one is going to admit that, Miss Mona.”
“Is that all?”
“Yep, that about sums it up.”
“Got any ideas?”
“I think the young gentleman would not pay the lady’s price, and she gave him the what for.”
“She has an alibi, Jellybean.”
“Who would believe a bunch of whores and gamblers?”
“The coroner, that’s who. The lady in question has a rock solid alibi, and it coincides with the time of death.” Mona started the car again. “Do you know Belle Brezing?”
“Not very well. I have a cousin who works there off and on, so I’ve talked to Miss Belle a few times.”
“What’s she like?”
Jellybean pondered for a moment. “She’s an old lady now, but still spry. Reads a lot. Drinks. Follows the ponies. Keeps her hand in the prostitution game for old friends. Has a couple of girls, but very limited goings-on there in that regard. Mostly stays out of the public eye. I’m sure she is not happy that this death has thrust her upon the national stage again, being that this is her second murder.”
“What do you mean, Jellybean?”
“When Belle was fifteen, she got pregnant and married a man by the name of James Kenney. He worked with Johnny Cook, who was a good friend of Belle’s and many think this Cook was in love with Belle.”
“So why didn’t she marry Cook?”
“Don’t know. Nobody knows, but Johnny Cook was found on Jefferson Street with a bullet hole in his head and a message from Belle in his pocket.”
Mona was spellbound. “The message?”
“Something about getting her a gun. This was only nine days after she had been married.”
“She kill Johnny Cook?”
“Don’t know. Don’t even know if she was interviewed by the police.”
Mona knew where her duty lay. She had to see this Belle Brezing. “I want you to give her this note as soon as possible.” Mona handed him a note with a wax seal.
“What’s in it?”
“You never mind. Just deliver it.”
Jellybean whistled. “You want to see her? Is this a request for an audience with the notorious Belle Brezing? I just told you what kind of woman she was.”
“Just deliver it, Jellybean. Here’s twenty-five dollars.”
“You said fifty,” Jellybean protested.
“When you give me another twenty-five dollars worth of information, you’ll get the rest.”
Jellybean snorted in derision.
“Cheer up, Jellybean. It takes you a week to earn twenty-five dollars minus tips at the hotel. You’ll get your other twenty-five as soon as you dig up some more information.”
“Have it your way.”
Mona stopped the car at the kitchen door.
Jamison was waiting for her and left with Jellybean munching on a slice of apple pie that the chauffeur had procured for him.
Mona locked the back door and cut two more slices of pie—one for herself and another piece for Violet, who she knew would still be awake waiting for her. Putting a pitcher of cold milk, two glasses, and the pie on a tray, Mona hurried to her bedroom.
Monsieur Bisaillon would be furious in the morning when he discovered his apple pie had been eaten during the night.
That would teach him to leave a pie out to cool on the kitchen counter!