Fallen Sparrow (14 page)

He didn’t like her weasel face. He spoke flatly. “A friend of mine is using my room.” Content’s hat was a moon on the rug. “Do not disturb her for any reason whatever. Take all calls. Don’t let anyone in. I don’t know just what time I’ll be back—”

She began complaint. “I always have Friday afternoon off—”

His voice was harsh as cinders. “Stay here until I return. Then you can go.” For good.

She stammered. She had caught the assumption and she was a little afraid. “Of course I’ll stay, Mr. Kit. I didn’t mean I minded—”

He opened the door, repeated, “No matter who it is, you are not to disturb the lady under any circumstances.” He stressed the words.

“Oh, no, sir.” Her stupid eyes were great, enormous with not understanding him or anything.

The day man on the elevator was Nacks. He had been here before Kit’s return last year. He wasn’t a hireling.

Kit said, “If anyone calls while I’m out, get the name, will you? And tell them I’m not here.”

He took a cab to the Pennsylvania Station. So much to do but he must attend to this personally, waste precious time on the train. There was a half hour before the next run. He entered a phone booth, called the seventeenth precinct. Tobin wasn’t there. He obtained the number of his apartment. Tobin wasn’t there. He left his name. “I’ll call again.”

At Newark he took a cab to the bus terminal. Lotte’s name, description, meant something at her suburban drug store. And he was on the stoop of a tiny white clapboard cottage; under her cotton white hair, Lotte’s cookie face peered at him. Her strong arms reached up to his shoulders. “Mr. Kit. You are well again. You have arrived from the ranch, yes?”

“And you will come back and take care of me?”

“But yes, I come.” Her face was scornful. “That girl tell me she can attend to things while I rest. She could do nothing. She could not boil an egg.”

It was smooth; it worked. He waited, carried her old-world straw suitcase to bus, to train. He told her what he must of Ab, of Content.

“The poor little one.” She understood. You didn’t need many words with Lotte; she had understanding. Even if Elise were uninvolved in evil, you could never make her understand.

He asked, “Has Mother had Elise long, Lotte?”

“That girl.” Her face was red. “Your mother hire her only just before she leave. She do not even tell me. She send a letter from Florida she hire her and I may take a vacation. I do not need a vacation. But I go.” She was shaking. “I leave that girl to care for our things.”

Hurt, not consulted, not dreaming the letter might be forgery. Those after Kit were determined not to fail; forgery would be as simple as a suicide in their machinations. He wouldn’t wire his mother and Geoffrey about Elise; he’d let her stay, work under Lotte’s eagle eye. Better to know the enemy than to have a new and unknown watcher substituted. Elise could stay; she’d get away with nothing now.

It was only past noon when they reached New York; better time than he’d expected. He’d take Lotte up himself; he wouldn’t miss the new maid’s face.

She opened the door to his ring. It was worth seeing, the slack mouth, the amazed blankness.

He said, simply, hiding the grin, “Lotte’s come back.”

“Ja wohl, I come back.” She shoved the girl to pass to her own quarters.

Elise stood there. She hated him but she didn’t know what to do. She only obeyed directions; Kit had spoiled the pattern.

He looked straight at her. “Lotte will be in charge until Mrs. Wilhite returns. She has been here a great many years and knows how I wish things. You will take your orders from her.”

She could scarcely make words. “Yes, sir.”

He said, “You will not entertain your friends in the living-room again.” She could report that to her bosses, not that he suspected her true purpose here. He didn’t let her speak. “Has Miss Content rung?”

She said sullenly, “No.” The “sir” was faint.

“Any calls?”

“No, sir.”

“You will take any calls while I am out. Please tell Lotte I will not expect any dinner here tonight. I know that no food has been ordered. I looked last night.”

He let her go then and she sped. He scribbled a note on the phone pad, “It’s safe to come out. Lotte is here. Ring if you want anything.” He tore it away, went softly down the corridor and forced it under the door of his room.

He still couldn’t reach Tobin. But there was something else he must find out today. He thought Carlo Lepetino would know the answer. Louie’s uncle had some reason for pleading with Kit to return to the restaurant. He knew something. The sea shell souvenirs that Kit had shipped from Lisbon to Louie were not at Poppa’s apartment and Jake knew nothing of them. Carlo knew something.

He didn’t take a cab this time. Now that he realized how complete their preparations were, he’d be careful when and where he rode from the apartment. He walked over to Lexington, used the subway to 59th.

He walked again; he needed the cold air, needed to think. He didn’t realize his hunger until the food scents of Carlo’s made him light-headed. He sat at a table, ordered a meal. Only when he had wolfed and gulped did he speak the name.

“He is in the kitchen. I will call him.”

“I’ll go out there.”

The dark-haired boy hesitated. He had to be a cousin; he had the shape of Louie’s face. Kit gave his name. It was admission to where Carlo stirred a long spoon in a bubbling cauldron.

Kit said softly, “Louie gave you something to keep, something I sent to him.”

The soft brown eyes weren’t sad; they were eager. “I was to keep this until you asked, saying nothing.”

Kit had penciled to Louie, “Some day I may be an Indian giver.” Louie understood. He asked now, “You have them? You didn’t throw them out?”

Carlo’s face was proud. “They are here. See?”

On the wall shelf above their heads, the shells were scattered. They did not intrude. There were other shells, tankards, pottery, souvenirs.

“Louie himself he put them here, see?”

Kit knew the one, the large one. He reached up, thrust it deep into his overcoat pocket. “I don’t want the others. You can throw them out.” They’d gather dust; Louie had put them there.

The uncle asked with hope, “You know who killed our Louie?”

“I know.” He grinned. “I will find him.” He was sure of himself now. He had the bait to dangle before their greed.

The housemaid’s eyes were red. He handed her his hat, removed the large sea shell from his pocket with a gesture, gave her the coat.

“Any calls?”

She was frightened. Her hands fumbled with the hat. “Yes, sir.” She had her tongue. “Inspector Tobin telephoned.”

He wrote the two numbers. “See if you can get him on the wire for me.”

His whistle was jaunty. “The minstrel boy to the wars …” He thumped his door. “Awake, Content?”

Her little voice said, “Yes.” She opened to him. Her eyes weren’t so swollen. She said, “I slept.” The blue pyjama sleeves fell over her hands.

He directed, “Climb back in and rest.” He pushed the bell.

Elise came quickly. “Ask Lotte to fix some food for Miss Content before you make those calls. And bring me a hammer.”

Content said, “I’m not hungry.”

“You need something.” Lotte could fix something out of nothing. He waited until the maid departed. “You’ll have to eat to help me. You want to help, don’t you?”

“You know that.”

“I want you to move from your apartment later on today when you feel up to it.”

Her eyes rounded. He turned the shell in his hands. He could see the break, where he had cemented it carefully together.

“I don’t want you to stay there alone any longer.”

She said, “I can’t go home, Kit. They disapprove. Father said if I insisted on being a night club singer it would not be from his home.”

“I want you to move in here.” He watched her to see if she’d take it. She did, surprised but with no rejection. “I don’t know that you’re not safe. But I don’t want to take any chances. The one I’m after knows someone on your floor; I think it’s José.”

“Yes. It’s José.”

His face lit. “You know the man?”

“No, Kit.” She shook her head. “But José did have company. Wednesday night. I asked him yesterday. He said it was a frightful annoyance having the police come—it made the place look bad to visitors.”

“You didn’t ask who?”

“No. I’ve been careful not to be curious. José is very curious. He asks me many things.”

“About—” The name had to be spoken. “Ab?”

She wet her lips. “Yes. And about you—”

“Did you tell him Ab was going to Washington?”

“No, Kit.” She was sad. “I have been very careful what I have told José.”

Elise was standing there. “You asked for a hammer, sir?” She spoke as if he’d asked for a boa constrictor.

“Thank you.” He took it. “Get those calls through right away.” He locked the door behind her. Content was curious. He tapped at the crack on the shell, tapped until the two halves fell apart. The dirty brown lozenge was where he had placed it almost four years ago in a Lisbon hotel room.

Content’s eyebrows were arcs.

He told her, “Wait until I remove the mud.” He’d caked it over and over with the clayed earth. The hot running water washed the covering away. Content was peering around his arm. For the moment, her grief was forgotten. She sucked in her breath when the gem appeared, the moonstone, the fire opal. More blazing than any known in fact or fiction. An opal of antiquity burning blue and flame and pearl. She held it in her fingers with awe.

Elise was tapping again. He warned, “Keep it out of sight,” went into the bedroom and opened the door.

The girl wasn’t poking her eyes about now. She said, “Inspector Tobin is on the phone, sir.”

He closed the door in her face. Let her think he was going to turn her over to the police.

Tobin said, “I tried to reach you earlier, McKittrick.”

Kit said. “I’d like to see you.”

“I’d like to see you.”

He made it the Crillon, eight o’clock. It wasn’t yet five. The constant Elise was back again with the tray. He handed her the hammer without explanation, again locked the door. Maybe she’d bolt after this disconnected day. He didn’t care.

Content emerged fondling the stone. “Where did you get it? What are you going to do with it?” She handed it to him and went to the table.

“I got it in Spain.” He turned it, watching the colors change. He spoke slowly, “I’m going to give it to a woman. To Toni Donne.”

She was astonished; she’d expected Barby’s name.

“Don’t eat too much. We’re dining with Tobin.” He didn’t look at her. He said harshly, “I’m going to fall madly in love with Toni Donne.” His heart wrenched with bitterness. He hardened himself to all feeling. “In fact I fell madly in love with her last night. She doesn’t know it yet. Tomorrow I shall tell her and give her this.”

Content shook her head.

He poured a drink from the decanter. “When I get it back, I’ll give it to you.”

She pushed away the food. He’d spoiled her taste. But he’d see she ate a good dinner. She said simply, “I don’t believe I’d ever want it, Kit.”

He wrapped a handkerchief around the glow, buried it in his pocket.

“I’ll clear out while you dress. We’ve time to move you before dinner. You won’t work at the club tonight?”

She held her lips firm. “I must.”

She wasn’t long. They were silent returning to her apartment.

He told her, “Don’t try to pack much. We’ll send Elise down tomorrow to finish the job.” He looked with curiosity into the hallway. “You think your fiddler might be in?”

She was a little frightened. “He usually sleeps all day.”

“I’ll step across and tell him you’re moving.”

She didn’t restrain him nor was he nervous. He could draw more rapidly than any of them; they hadn’t learned from old-time western experts. He might find the wobbling man there.

He found Otto Skaas. He was surprised. José
,
his cheeks flushed, resented the intrusion. José didn’t look beautiful in dinner clothes; he did in the embroidered white peasant blouse, the baggy red trousers.

Skaas offered his hand; Kit couldn’t ignore it now.

Kit asked, “Back from Franconia so soon?”

“Yes.” There was no German accent in the Oxford intonations. “We returned this morning. When Barby learned of her fiancé’s death.”

He heard his stupid echo. “Fiancée?”

Skaas explained easily. “Ab Hamilton. You’ve heard? He—”

Kit spoke mechanically. “Yes. I’ve heard.” He didn’t try to understand it. He didn’t know why it made him feel as it did. Ab was worth a baker’s dozen of him. He turned to José alone. “I’m moving Content up to my place. She’s rather broken up, doesn’t want to be alone.

There was petulance on José’s underlip. “She cannot do that. We must rehearse.”

Kit was abrupt. “Rehearse all you damn please. It won’t bother me. If it does, I’ll get out.” He closed himself out of that room. It smelled of beer and perfume. Barby Ab’s fiancée? He still didn’t get it; he couldn’t believe.

Content stared into his face. “What’s the matter?” She was sitting on one overpacked bag.

He walked over, put his knee on it. He asked, “Were Barby and Ab engaged?”

“Yes.” She hesitated. “It was after word came that you were missing.”

He had to break out with it. “If she was engaged to Ab, what was she doing at Franconia Notch with Otto Skaas?”

She didn’t want to answer him. She said, “Ab couldn’t go. He had business in Washington. There was a party going to Franconia.”

He persisted blindly, “Why was she with Otto Skaas?”

Content spoke as if her mouth had a hot stone in it. “Because she wanted to be. Because that’s the way she is. The way she’s always been. Any man could have her. You’ve never known it but everyone else has. Ab knew. He didn’t care. He knew she’d marry him. No matter whom she was infatuated with, she’d marry him. Because he was a Hamilton. Ab was in love with her. Ab—” She began to cry softly. He didn’t look at her.

Tobin was seated on the narrow leather bench, waiting. Content repeated under her breath, “I don’t want to come, Kit,” and he repeated, “It’s better.”