Marty and Bev stared incredulously at Phil.
“Samuel Trout? Imogen’s husband?” Bev asked, her disbelief palpable.
“Yes. I wasn’t positive until yesterday. But one of the newsboys saw a man in a Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost, a car that I’m told isn’t even on the market yet, come and go from the warehouse where they were keeping me. And now with Bobby confirming that Trout owns the only one he knows of…”
“Are you sure?” Bobby said. “Men like that, they have muscle do their dirty work. Other people,” he elucidated. “What’s he up to this time?”
“That’s what we want to know.”
“I guess you want me to ask around.”
“That would be helpful.”
He chewed his lip, scratched his head.
“Of course he’ll help,” Bev said. “Won’t you, Bobby?”
“’Course I will. I’m just trying to figure out where to start.”
“We should have talked to this guy sooner,” Marty said under her breath.
Phil was inclined to agree with her. “So, where does Mrs. Toscana fit into all this?”
Bobby looked from one face to the other, then he turned red. “Aw, your countess, I don’t go down there so much anymore. I mean, not to The Rose, Miz T. is way above my wallet. But to Tammany Hall. Now, those politicians love her place. Word is she owns a few of them, lock, stock, and, um, well, never mind.”
“I get the point. And her and Mr. Trout?”
“They’re both from Queens. Same neighborhood. That’s all I know. He’s got a wife that’s a real looker. Don’t know nothin’ about what he has—” He glanced at Bev, probably remembering what a philanderer Reggie Reynolds had been, and added, “You know, what he has on the side.”
Phil nodded. Was there a husband in Manhattan—or London, for that matter—who didn’t cheat on his wife?
Bobby stood up to leave. “I’ll ask around, but I ain’t promising nuthin’.”
“We think it’s about real estate,” Phil said.
Bobby sat down again. “First of all. Everything is about real estate with Sam Trout. He owns a good portion of the city, and he didn’t get it all by paying a fair price, if you get what I mean.”
“Like extortion?”
“It’s Manhattan.”
“Arson?”
“Wouldn’t put that past him.”
“Maybe even a well-placed bomb or two, pretending to be the Black Hand?”
“Oh Lord, how do you get yourself into these messes? I never knew a woman—lady—countess like you in all my life for getting into trouble. Reggie and Mrs. Reynolds here had their fun. But nothin’ like you.”
“Bobby, we need to know the word on the street.”
“If I hear, I’ll let Ji—Just a Friend know. Now I gotta get back to the boys and make sure they don’t enjoy themselves too much. Tomorrow’s still a workday.” He stood, shook his head, and started for the door, weaving slightly on his way.
“Phil,” Bev said as soon as he was gone, “you were supposed to help find out who killed Tommy Green, not bring down the whole kit and caboodle. Tammany Hall? The Fireplug? The Black Hand? Are you crazy?”
Phil looked over to Marty for a response, but she was furiously writing. “Remember, no reporting until I say.”
“Well, you better hurry up. This is too good to let anybody else scoop me on it.”
“Once we get Tommy’s killer, but not before then. If you print anything prematurely, we could lose everything.”
Marty looked up at that. “What do you know, Phil?”
“Nothing provable, but we’re getting closer. And I think it’s time we started thinking about forcing the killer to show his hand.”
They went through the list of players … again.
Bev wandered over to the table and filled her plate with food.
Marty paced from one end of the room and back again. “What about Eddie?”
“Who is he?” Bev asked, contemplating a salmon sandwich.
“The mail boy. He’s a friend of Harriet’s. Maybe more than a friend, well, maybe not, but he’d like to be. It would be just like that stupid girl to let something slip to him.”
“But does the mail boy have access—”
Marty cut Phil off. “To the storage room? Of course he does. He carries up all the material to be archived. Most of it is placed in the storage room until it can be filed in the archive library. He would have a perfect opportunity to rifle people’s lockers. Pick up some dirt and make a nice bit of cash on the side. He might have even seen Tommy hiding the notes in my locker.”
“Then why were they still there when we found them?”
“Maybe he couldn’t get to them.”
“Maybe he was blackmailing somebody with the information and he figured they were safe there,” Bev suggested, and finished her sandwich.
Phil and Marty both just looked at her.
“Who?” Phil asked.
“I don’t know, but anybody can be a blackmailer if they are privy to damaging information.”
“And can prove it,” Marty added.
Bev shrugged. “Not necessarily. Maybe the threat was enough.”
“Possibly,” Phil said. “As a mail boy, he might pick up tidbits around the newsroom. Harriet might have even made him privy to some of the news she typed. But what kind of contacts did he have time or the clout to make on the outside? If Eddie was involved, it’s likely that he was a dupe of someone else.”
“Well, we won’t know if we don’t get back to town.” Marty strode to the window. “And if we don’t leave now, there’s a good chance of that.”
Bev joined her. “Isn’t it beautiful? I could spend weeks and weeks here.”
“Well, I couldn’t,” Marty said, and grabbed her shawl off the sofa.
“Where are you going?”
“We’re all going back to town.”
“Marty, calm down,” Phil said. “It will be too late to do anything by the time we get back, even if we left now. We can leave early tomorrow morning. Preswick is going to City Hall as soon as it opens tomorrow, but I’m sure it will take several hours for him to find what he’s looking for. Sit down and concentrate on getting your strength back.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my strength,” Marty said, and promptly tripped on the carpet.
“In that case, I think we would all enjoy a nice walk in the fresh air.” Phil set action to her words and went to the porch, where three sets of wellies sat by the back door.
Phil needed time to think and wanted to stay away from the city long enough to devise a plan, and to keep Marty from running off half-cocked. She was beginning to wish she had never confided in her. She was a dedicated newswoman, but she had as yet to develop the patient investigation skills of her mentor.
Marty looked out the window. “Not me. I don’t really feel up to tromping through the snow. I’ll keep the fire fed and maybe have another glass of Bev’s Christmas punch.”
“Well, I’m game,” said Bev. “Don’t get sloshed while we’re gone.”
The two of them bundled up and stepped outside. The snow was falling in heavy, wet flakes as they started walking up the hill toward the barn. Everything around them, including the air, was white. They would have never made it home in this weather; even walking required intense concentration as the wind sent drifts across their feet and piled up against fence posts.
They stopped by the barn where the horses were bedded down, then started off toward the open fields. Ahead of them, the sun was lowering in the sky, creating a dark pink frame above the distant woods.
“It’s beautiful,” Bev said. “No automobile fumes, coal smoke, or even footsteps but our own. And it’s so quiet. Maybe it was a mistake to bring Marty, but I was afraid to leave her alone.”
“No, you did the right thing. She would only get herself and the investigation into trouble in her current state of mind.”
Phil’s toes and nose were numb by the time they turned to retrace their steps to the house. The snow was coming down in a heavy curtain of white and accumulating on the ground at an alarming rate.
But it was the sound of a motor starting that had both Phil and Bev racing back to the cottage. They reached it just in time to see the back of Bev’s yellow Packard disappear into the snow.
“Ugh. Drat you, Marty.” Bev stamped her wellie-clad foot. “You’d better not wreck my car.”
Or strand them at the farm while Marty wreaked havoc on the potential suspects and wrecked any chance of bringing Tommy’s killer to justice.
They met Bobby coming out of his office, shrugging into his farm coat.
“Gawd, I was afraid that was you. No way can you get out tonight.”
“It’s Marty, driving the Packard. Ten to one, we’ll find her at the bottom of the drive. That turn is a mean one even on a good day.”
Bobby strode over to the barn door, rang the bell that would summon the farmhands, who wouldn’t appreciate being pulled from the warm comfort of the bunkhouse to dig an auto and its driver out of the snow.
Phil just hoped Marty wouldn’t seriously injure herself. Then they would be in a fix.
They found the Packard at the end of the drive, its front end stuck in a ditch and covered in snow.
Marty was standing ankle-deep in the snow, arms akimbo, and staring at the Packard.
Bev gave her a look as she walked past to inspect the damage.
Bobby moved the women back from the car, gave orders to his men, then jumped into the driver’s seat. After much grunting from the men and groaning from the engine, the Packard was back on the drive proper and facing toward the farm.
“Ladies.” Bobby gestured them into the car.
“Thanks, Bobby.” Bev edged past him.
“If you don’t mind, Miz Reynolds, I have more experience in the snow than you do.”
Bobby stopped Phil as she started to climb in. “He wants to see you up at my office.”
She was surprised but managed not to blurt out “Who?” There were only two people she could imagine who would waylay her out of town on an isolated farm. She refused to consider the first, and thought, It’s about time, when she considered the second.
As soon as they were back inside, Bev put Marty to bed with hot soup and a glass of wine.
And with a brief explanation, and the order to stay mum, Phil once again climbed the hill to the barn. And Bobby’s office.
He was sitting in Bobby’s desk chair; Bobby was nowhere to be seen. The aroma of exotic tobacco swirled around the room, a nice change from Bobby’s cigars.
“Well, it’s about time,” Phil said, stamping on the bolt of thrill that coursed through her.
“I rather thought you’d be surprised to see me.” He was fully bearded, dressed as a common laborer in a rough flannel shirt and thick shepherd’s sweater. His hair was dark and long, almost to his shoulders.
“I was. I am.” Even if he was unrecognizable in his disguise.
“And maybe just a little glad?”
“I am, but things are reaching a climax.”
His mouth lifted in a slow smile that ordinarily would have made her forget everything else—even with the beard. But they were too close to the killer to stop for fun. Well, maybe just a little bit of fun.
“Did you put back the notes?”
“All in good time.”
“When we return home, Marty will demand to see them. If she thinks I’ve betrayed her, she’ll go rogue. And that will unravel everything. Bev and I can hardly keep her constrained as it is.”
“Well, you have until New Year’s, then we’re going to start rounding up people. If you want your murderer, you’ll have to get him—or her—before then.”
“What? What people? The killer? What am I supposed to be doing?”
He put his pipe down, stood, and walked around the desk.
“What you always do.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“Don’t you understand yet?”
“I know I’ve been able to help catch the odd murderer.”
He laughed. “My dear, you are the linchpin.”
A statement that left her as confused as ever. And his closeness, that heady scent of determined male and pipe tobacco, was making it hard for her to be rational.
She stepped away from him. “I’m working on a plan, but I’ll need the notes back to make it work.”
“Those notes are essential.”
“I know, but I don’t see any other way.”
He nodded. “You’re going to use them as bait.”
“Do you see any other way?”
“Not my specialty.”
She smiled at that. His specialty was dressing up in outrageous costumes and disappearing into thin air. She wasn’t certain what his actual position was, but whatever it was, it got results.
“Preswick is going to City Hall tomorrow to determine if the vandalized buildings were sold.”
“Good man. I’ll need the results. When you’re finished with them,” he added with a lightning quicksilver smile that was unsettling.
“But how—”
“If you need me, slip a note to your newsboy. Bobby will make sure I get it.”
“You trust Bobby more than—”
“It doesn’t work that way. Now I have to go.”
“How does it work? How did you even get here in the snow?”
“The same way I’ll leave. Now remember what I said.” He reached for a heavy, fur-lined coat that had been hanging on the coatrack behind the door. “I’d kiss you goodbye, but I know how you hate hairy kisses.”
“I’ll make an exception this time.”
And she was glad she did. She had her orders, as much explanation as she’d come to expect from the other part of her team. And she knew he wouldn’t let her down if it came to that.
So she gave into the kiss and to him, and all his ridiculous, secretive, life-saving habits.
And when she’d recovered, she was alone.