The first thing Phil noticed when she awoke the next morning was that it was sunny. At last. No fog plagued the landscape.
She didn’t linger over her coffee, but dressed for the day, in a tweed split skirt ensemble suitable for balloon ascensions and chasing criminals, and went in to meet Daisy.
Daisy was up and dressed in a wonderful black and bisque striped day dress, beneath a black velvet vest. For a woman who had eschewed social life, she certainly had some wardrobe.
They went downstairs, where they served themselves from a sideboard set up with the usual country breakfast fare: eggs, ham, bacon, tomatoes, kedgeree. There was also a morning newspaper.
While a maid served the coffee, Phil opened the newspaper. And there were the headlines she’d been expecting ever since she’d called on the Pratts the first day.
“‘Tennessee Steel Bought by J.P. Morgan. Fauks Copper, Coal and Steel Price Falls.
“‘Steel stocks were holding low but steady this morning at the opening of the New York Stock Exchange. The Columbia Copper Company, after a short rally yesterday, plummeted. It seems unlikely that it will be able to recover and bankruptcy is imminent. The plunge appears to have been brought about by a corner store operation. Business associates, Mr. Charles Morse and Mr. Augustus Heinze, are thought to be responsible for false trading and are being questioned by the authorities, who are also looking for other agents involved in the stock manipulation. This comes amid demands for stricter oversight of banks and Wall Street.’”
Morse and Heinze. The same names written on her Follies program. Phil sipped her coffee. It looked like Perry hooked up with a couple of dishonest men and lost his company’s as well as others’ fortunes. Other agents.
Did they suspect Sheffield of knowing about this earlier than he said he did? Is that who kidnapped and questioned him? He seemed sincere in his effort to save the company, but maybe it had merely been desperation.
Did that make him a suspect in Perry’s murder? He might have quickly gone upstairs, killed Perry, and been back in the foyer appearing to wait for Vincent to find Luther.
Possible, but unlikely.
And where had Thomas Jeffrey gone when he left with Max after Godfrey’s dinner? All the way to Washington and back in twenty-four hours, just in time to see Sheffield and Vincent put under suspicion. Why come back at all? Surely not just to watch a balloon exhibition? Perhaps to mollify his wife.
And why hadn’t Detective Sergeant Atkins asked him to attest to the other men’s movements the night of Perry’s murder? Or to his own?
There were still too many unanswered questions.
And where was Atkins? Back at the cottage enjoying breakfast brought down by one of Godfrey’s many servants? Or had he taken his two suspects into custody and returned to Manhattan? She certainly hoped not. She wasn’t sure either of them was guilty. At least not of murder.
Because she just didn’t feel like this was over. Call it her female intuition; she had little else to go on at this point. All clues led to Vincent. And perhaps he had lost his head, lost his money and his girl to Perry Fauks.
It was pretty damning, as John Atkins had said. And yet.
There were still pieces missing. Like motive. Had the murders been perpetrated over love or money? The age-old question, it seemed. The only thing left was revenge. And Isaac Sheffield certainly had every reason for that.
The door opened and Godfrey stepped just inside.
“We’re caravanning to watch the balloon ascension, leaving in an hour. I hope you will both be joining us.” He seemed in particularly good spirits.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Phil said. It might be the last time they had all the players in this tragedy in one place.
Daisy rode to the field with Godfrey, with the others following behind them. Phil insisted on driving the Packard, and Lily and Preswick were sitting in the backseat rather in the servants’ carriages.
Phil knew today was the best chance for catching a killer. There would be a celebration after the launch at the field, then they’d return to Godfrey’s for dinner. Everyone would be leaving the next morning, including the Jeffreys, who would return to Washington later that afternoon.
The string of carriages and automobiles meandered down a country road and turned into an open field where a number of automobiles were already parked in a cordoned-off area, near a large white tent where the crowd had collected.
Phil pulled the Packard alongside Godfrey’s Daimler.
While they relieved themselves of goggles and driving togs, Preswick handed out the field glasses that Phil kept at the ready.
Daisy and Godfrey came to meet them.
“I see you’ve come prepared,” Godfrey said, indicating her field glasses.
“A gift from Bev Reynolds. They’re handy at the track.” And for keeping tabs on suspected felons from a distance.
“It’s an excellent day for an ascension,” Godfrey said, rubbing his hands together with the enthusiasm of a young boy. “Sunshine, good visibility—no fog—and a good brisk breeze, but no strong gusts.” He directed Preswick and Lily to a secondary tent where his servants had gathered to enjoy the celebration, then turned to Phil and Daisy. “Shall we go?”
He escorted them toward the larger tent where refreshments were being served. Small tables were set with linens and silver service. And a buffet table ran along one side overseen by several chefs.
Phil helped herself to a glass of champagne and looked out over the field where the ascension would take place. It was a flat grassy area that stretched for several acres.
Two large domed rectangular structures sat at one end.
“Hangars,” Godfrey explained. “Where we store the balloons and other aeronautical housings.”
“It’s quite impressive,” Phil said. “Where did you find an area this flat among all these rolling hills?”
Godfrey chuckled. “I happen to own it. Had to do some leveling but it’s worth it. I lease it to the government.”
Daisy opened her mouth.
“For a dollar a year, so don’t scold.”
Daisy relaxed.
It was impressive. Several baskets, their balloons not yet inflated, sat among the dried grasses. One rose upright, filled and ready to go, held to earth at this point by sandbags. Another lay precariously on its side, billowing like a mythological animal as it was filled from a large pump.
Beyond the balloons, the Long Island Sound glistened blue and silver in the sunshine.
A couple came up to say hello. Godfrey introduced “Senator Davies and his wife, Carolyn.” A few minutes of small talk, and they passed on.
“Quite a crowd,” Daisy said.
It was. Several military types sporting medals against dark blue uniforms, the ambassador and his wife, some businessmen and their wives or consorts, dressed to the hilt. Probably more than one senator or other government official.
“Ridiculous piece of pomp and circumstance,” Godfrey said, overlooking the crowd. “But we need supporters among politicians and wealthy financiers as well as the government.”
“I take it these are not just weather balloons,” Phil said.
Godfrey smiled. “We have many uses for them. Still much testing is needed. They’re not as accurate as we’d like. Even the best pilot is at the mercy of the wind. But until we perfect better aircraft this is what we have. Ah, it’s beginning.”
They looked out to where the second balloon began to expand before their eyes.
“Excuse me, I must say a few words.” Godfrey left Phil and Daisy to step onto a raised platform. “Good day, colleagues and invited guests. Welcome to today’s test of the newest additions to the Army’s Balloon Corps.” He briefly explained how the balloon was filled—with hydrogen generated by large machines built for the purpose—how the pilot steered—a mechanism housed in the basket—and of the flight on wind currents and balloon manipulation.
“The ascension will begin in just a few minutes if you’d like to find a viewing place.”
Phil saw the Pratts and the Jeffreys moving toward the field. Maud and Effie had already gone ahead. Harry, Newty, and Morris lingered over their drinks. Godfrey took Daisy to the front of the crowd accompanied by several dignitaries. Phil didn’t see Sheffield or Vincent and had to assume they were on their way to further questioning or still at Foggy Acres.
She did see Atkins standing at the far side of the tent, watching everyone.
Two men passed by her close enough for Phil to catch part of their conversation.
“Isn’t that Thomas Jeffrey?” said a man chewing on a cigar. “I’m surprised he’d show his face today. He tried to get me to buy into CCC, the fool.”
“Columbia Copper Company? You didn’t do it, did you?” said his companion. They walked on and Phil followed.
“Hell no. But Rudy Klemp did. I feel sorry for him. He’s cleaned out. Anybody else who did will be ruined today. Went belly-up last night. Stock’s completely worthless. I heard just before I left town this morning. Rallied a bit yesterday then tanked.
“Told him I wouldn’t deal with those two cheaters he was working with. They already finished off Knickerbocker Trust.”
“Thomas has always been a fool,” said the other. “Everybody but Thomas knows it.”
“I heard that Fauks Trust is in trouble, too. And not just because the son died. They’re saying it wasn’t an accident.”
“The world’s gone crazy. That’s for sure.”
“Damn. The fallout will sound through the financial world; we might as well get ready for round two.”
Phil let them go. She needed to find Atkins. But she didn’t get a chance. A swell of excitement rose as the first balloon dropped its anchor and ascended over their heads.
Everyone was looking into the sky except Phil, who was trying to find the detective sergeant.
Suddenly a man raced from the parking grounds. He stopped, looked wildly around, saw Thomas standing between his wife and daughters, and yelled, “Thomas Jeffrey, you’re a scoundrel!”
Thomas glanced over his shoulder, then moved his family a little farther away.
The man ran full tilt toward Thomas. Grabbed him by the shoulder, spun him around. “You’re a cheat and a scoundrel. You’ve bankrupted me.”
The men Phil had been following hurried toward the altercation.
“You’re drunk,” Thomas snapped back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The second balloon filled behind them, but not too many people were paying attention. They were riveted on the argument.
“You told me it was a sure thing. Is that what you told Perry Fauks?”
Thomas turned on him, grabbed the man by the neck.
Phil stopped dead in her tracks. She’d been thinking that someone had killed Perry in anger. What if Perry had been the angry one, had attacked and was killed?
Sheffield’s words came back to Phil. He must have had an accomplice.
Perry had lost the company funds, because someone had taken advantage of his näiveté. Promised a sure thing? Not Sheffield. He’d been trying to save the company. Were Perry and Thomas both caught up in the fraudulent stock manipulation?
The newcomer was now screaming at Thomas. His anger had attracted the attention of others and a knot of men surrounded the two men. The excitement of the crowd turned ominous, the balloon launch forgotten by all but the two pilots preparing for the ascension.
Godfrey gestured to several guards, who hurried toward the altercation that was rapidly degenerating into a brawl, as the balloon swelled behind the crowd. The man pushed Thomas, who staggered back.
Suddenly Thomas screamed out, “To hell with you! Leave me alone! I didn’t do anything.”
His voice was strident, almost hysterical. Phil had heard him scream like that once before—the day he’d been chastising his daughters for spending so much money. Elva had jumped and dropped a glass vase, then behaved strangely afterward. Not because she’d broken something but because she’d recognized the voice. The same voice raised in anger that she’d heard arguing with Perry before he was killed.
It had to be that. Until that moment in the foyer when Thomas had yelled at the girls, she might not have been certain who that voice had belonged to. And after that … She knew who had killed Perry. That was why she’d been acting so nervous.
Oh Elva, why hadn’t you confided in someone? Because they were family? Because she was afraid they would side with their own over the word of a servant?
She’d tried to get money from Vincent so that she could flee. And when that didn’t work she’d left a message for him wrapped around the murder weapon, because he of all of them might understand. But understand what? How could a torn piece of ticker tape point to a murderer?
Elva would never be able to tell them now. Or could she? Phil thought back. She had to be missing something. Finding the letter opener. The ticker tape wrapped around the handle. The ticker tape in Perry’s wastepaper basket. The ticker tape with Vincent’s initials. The ticker tape falling out of Thomas’s sleeve as he hurried to leave with Max.
Columbia Copper Company. CCC. He and Perry must have fought that night, and Thomas had killed him. He’d been in the deal all along.
Of course. Today, with one angry confrontation from a man Thomas had cheated, it all fell into place.
She needed to find John Atkins. Who she found was Daisy, and she remembered the day she’d met her in the Plaza running from the journalists. She was supposed to meet Perry and another man. Not Sheffield, and certainly not Godfrey—she wouldn’t have forgotten Godfrey’s name.
They hadn’t met, but they were supposed to have at the Plaza’s tearoom with Perry, the day after Perry was killed. Not Sheffield, but Thomas Jeffrey.
Godfrey was striding toward the group. “Gentlemen!” he commanded.
Thomas saw him and began backing away from the crowd. Past his wife and children, who were staring in disbelief. His head swiveled but there was nowhere to go. The crowd stood between him and the automobiles. The ocean lapped at the far side of the field.
Phil raced to Godfrey. “I think he killed Perry and Elva!”
The second balloon began to rise, but no one was paying attention.
Thomas turned toward the field, and Phil knew in that instant what he was going to do. It was his only chance.
The balloon began its ascent, the basket skimming along inches above the grasses. Thomas ran faster; he was several feet away when the basket lifted off the ground. He threw himself at it and held on as the balloon rose into the air.
The crowd became silent. All eyes watching the spectacle of Thomas hanging onto the side of the basket.
Phil lifted her field glasses, trained them on the balloon.
The pilots were pulling Thomas into the basket.
Godfrey’s men had reached the balloon and were attempting to drag it down, to no avail. The two pilots couldn’t help. They were standing upright, their hands in the air. Thomas held a pistol. Aimed at them.
As if he felt Phil watching him, he turned, fired. A report rang out and a clump of sod exploded at Phil’s feet.
Someone screamed.
“He’ll blow them to smithereens!”
The crowd shrank back with a collective gasp. Except for Phil, who started forward.
Her arm was grabbed. “Stay put,” Atkins ordered.
“But he killed Perry and Elva. I’m sure of it.”
Godfrey hurried up to them.
“Where is it going?” Atkins asked.
“No telling now. It always depended on wind currents but with him giving the orders, there’s no telling.”
Phil looked up at the sky. The first balloon was a mere dot, traveling north over the Sound, but Thomas’s seemed to be veering southwest.
“I have a unit standing by near Foggy Acres,” Atkins said.
“Lieutenant Carlton, take the detective sergeant to the radio room. You do have communications?”
Atkins nodded and the two men hurried away.
“This is ridiculous,” Phil said. “He’s getting away. We’ll have to follow it.” She ran toward the Packard. She wasn’t surprised to see Preswick and Lily waiting there for her.
Preswick started them up and they shot down the road. As she drove away, Phil heard other engines start up behind her.
“How are we going to catch it?” Lily yelled. “It doesn’t have to stay on the roads.”
“We’ll just keep it in sight and leave the rest to Godfrey and his men.”
They came to a fork in the road. “Which way?” Phil yelled.
“To your right, my lady.” Preswick pointed to the sky.
Phil swung the Packard into the turn. They all toppled to the side until she straightened up again.
When she looked again, the balloon had disappeared.
Phil kept driving; there was little else she could do at this point, except give up, and that she refused to do.
“There it is,” cried Lily.
Phil saw the top of the balloon rise above the trees, before it disappeared again.
She turned again. Onto a familiar road. “We need reinforcements.” She accelerated and barreled down the highway with Preswick and Lily clinging to the sides of the car and Phil clinging to the steering wheel.
The road curved slightly to the right and Phil recognized the drive to Holly Farm up ahead. She pressed on the brake and made the turn to the farmhouse in a cloud of dust.
She didn’t slow down at the house but drove straight to the stable. Several men came out of the paddock.
The balloon was in their sights, seemed to be going right over their heads. She’d hoped it would land on the track as it had the other time that had upset Bobby so much. Indeed, he was coming out of the office at a run.
But the balloon lifted again and floated toward the woods.
Phil slammed on the brakes, and the Packard screeched to a stop. “Bobby, the balloon! A killer is escaping.”
Bobby’s mouth opened as he looked up at the sky and scratched his head, then looked back at Phil. “He’s in that contraption?”
“Yes.”
“Want me to shoot it down?”
“No! It will explode and there are two pilots with him.”
“Huh.” Bobby raised his arm. “Well, fellas, what’re you waiting for. Get those work nags out and go after ’em. Not the thoroughbreds. Mrs. Reynolds’ll have my head if they get hurt. Jaime, take the truck.”
“Come on, your lady, I’ll show you how to drive over rough ground.” Bobby jumped into the back of the Packard. “Follow that track around to the back. Ground’s hard there.”
Seconds later four jockeys were galloping toward the woods.
Phil and her passengers bounced along a rutted farm track that led into the woods.
“Steady,” Bobby yelled. “Straight, straight, it’s gonna curve to the right.”
Phil gripped the steering wheel, willing the Packard not to veer from the narrow passage. Silently apologized to Bev each time a branch scraped along the sides. At last they drove out of the trees into a small field where two of the jockeys had stopped and were looking at the sky.
Phil slowed the Packard.
Another jockey returned to the field. “Lost it, Bobby. Sorry.”
They were all searching the sky but there was no balloon in sight.
“Where’d it go?” Bobby asked.
“Musta crashed somewhere. You want us to spread out and look for it?”
“I think it went down over there.” One of the jockeys pointed to the left.
“No, I saw it go in that direction,” said another, and broke into a string of Spanish.
“What do you want us to do?”
“Heck, it could be anywhere,” Bobby said. “And I can’t use the other horses, they wouldn’t know what to do if they ain’t on a track.”
“Of course not,” said Phil.
“They could go on foot, but—”
A sound of an engine overhead stopped his speech. They all looked up.
“Holy cow,” Bobby said. “What the heck is that?”
One of the jockeys made the sign of the cross.
“It’s an aeroplane,” Phil said. “Lily, get my field glasses.” She realized they were still around her neck. She lifted them to get a closer look.
“Where did it come from?” Bobby twisted around to follow its motion.
The aeroplane dove and lifted then tilted and turned to come back the way it had come, but instead of passing overhead, it turned again, until it was flying in a circle one, two, three times.
“What is it up to?”
“He’s showing us to the balloon,” Phil shouted.
“Don’t know if the auto will make it,” Bobby said. “You know how to ride?”
“Bobby, I’m a countess.”
“Rico, give the lady countess here your horse.”
Rico slid from the saddle. “It’s not side, lady.”
“Not a problem,” Phil said. “Give me a leg up, Bobby.”
Bobby laced his fingers and braced himself. “Turn your heads, boys.” And he hoisted Phil into the saddle.
“Follow that aeroplane.” Thank heavens for split skirts, Phil thought as they galloped away.
They found the balloon crashed at the edge of a hillock dangling in the trees. The two pilots were standing next to the balloon trying to untangle the moorings from the basket.
“We confiscated his weapon,” one of them called. “He’s over there by that tree.” He went back to assessing the damage.
Thomas lay on the ground, holding his shoulder and trying ineffectually to get up and away.
The jockeys slid off the horses and grabbed the desperate man. Phil stayed put. She wasn’t sure her legs would hold her.
Overhead the aeroplane came back for a final pass.
Phil lifted her field glasses as the plane dipped and Godfrey Bennington saluted her before lifting the nose and flying off into the sky.