Front Page Affair (20 page)

Chapter Thirty-One

“Wake up, Miss Kitty.” Grace drew back the curtains in Kitty's bedroom.

Kitty opened her eyes a crack. She had stayed up late the previous night, discussing Dr. Albert with her father. Mr. Weeks hadn't wanted to talk about his childhood any further—some things never changed—but was eager to speculate on the diplomat's relationship with Hunter Cole and whether that had played a part in Mr. Cole's murder. Then, Kitty pointed out that—unless she had been completely mistaken, and she didn't think she was—until she mentioned Mr. Cole's name, neither agent seemed to have heard of him. So if Dr. Albert did have something to do with Hunter Cole's death, the connection must be obscure.

“It's almost eight o'clock,” the maid said, offering Kitty her dressing gown.

Kitty groaned and jumped out of bed. Now that she had good news to share, she didn't want to be late to meet her new friends from the Treasury Department. To his great credit, throughout their conversation the previous evening, Mr. Weeks hadn't once turned on Kitty. He never expressed dismay that she hadn't taken him into her confidence.

Grace fluffed the pillows and straightened the sheets while chattering on about the latest developments in the Harry Thaw case. “They let Mr. Thaw go, Miss Kitty. They said he had spent enough time at the lunatic asylum and that he didn't need to be punished any more for shooting the man who stole his wife's honor.”

Kitty wondered whether the result would have been different if women were allowed to serve on juries. Judging from Grace's fervent support of the millionaire playboy, probably not. But, in every photograph that Kitty had seen, Harry Thaw looked like a demented leprechaun. If she had any say in the matter, millionaire or not, Mr. Thaw would remain behind bars.

Kitty sat at her dressing table while Grace combed her hair and pinned it into a chignon. “What do you think, Miss Kitty?”

Kitty glanced at her reflection. “Very nice, thank you, Grace.” She looked older and wiser and felt stronger as well. It wasn't just the new hairstyle that made the difference. It felt liberating to be the daughter of a man without antecedents. It meant she could do as she pleased and that she too could be who she wanted.

Kitty stepped into her pale green skirt and slipped on the matching jacket with military-inspired cording on the edges. She fastened her earrings and joined her father in the dining room.

“You look lovely.” Mr. Weeks smiled. “My Athena. Ready to do battle.”

“I hope that won't be necessary.” Kitty laughed.

“Have you seen this morning's news? The pressure seems to be mounting.” He pointed to the paper.

GERMAN AMBASSADOR ANXIOUS TO SHOW THAT BERLIN IS OPEN TO FURTHER COMMUNICATION WITH PRESIDENT.

“I wonder how it will end.” She took her place at his side.

Julian Weeks turned serious. “I could go with you to speak to those men.”

“You're not supposed to know about them, remember?” She reached across her plate and squeezed his hand. “Besides, I can manage.”

• • •

“Aspirin in Canada.” Booth whistled when Kitty finished her story. “Well, I never.” They met under clear skies in Riverside Park.

“ASA,” Kitty corrected. “‘Aspirin' would be illegal, and my father and Mr. Maitland aren't breaking the law.”

“At this point,” Soames said, “I think we'd look the other way even if they were.”

“So, can I have the passport, please?”

“We'll verify your claims, Miss Weeks.” Booth tucked his newspaper under his arm. “If you're telling the truth, we'll see that Mr. Weeks receives his papers.”

“Then I'll expect them soon. Do you require any additional information from me, or are we all done?”

“Just one question,” Booth replied. “How did you find out about the ASA?”

“I was keen to discover the truth for my own peace of mind,” Kitty said, “so I persevered. It took a few tries.”

Booth tipped his hat. “Thank you, Miss Weeks. By the way, you never met us, and none of this ever happened. Come along, Soames.” He headed for their car, but the younger agent lingered behind.

“I'm sorry we had to put you through so much trouble,” he said. “It's not our usual way, Miss Weeks. The Secret Service doesn't usually strong-arm civilians. It's just that we're in a bit of a struggle—”

“With the Germans?”

He looked sheepish. “Actually, with the Justice Department.”

Now it was Kitty's turn to be astonished. “I don't see—”

“Justice runs the Bureau of Investigation. Since the war broke out, we've been facing new threats, and there's a bit of a battle going on between the Bureau and the Service about who will be in charge.”

“So you're battling Justice?” Kitty said.

“When you put it that way, it sounds awful.” Soames laughed.

“What are you two lovebirds going on about?” Booth yelled from up ahead.

“Tying up some loose ends,” Soames called.

“May I ask
you
a question?” Kitty said. “Had you heard of Mr. Cole before I mentioned him?”

“We hadn't, but I went over your story.” Soames dusted his hat and put it back on. “While I couldn't find any evidence that Mr. Cole had a connection to Dr. Albert, I did learn that, before they married, Mrs. Cole worked for one of Dr. Albert's associates, a Mrs. Martha Held. Mrs. Held was at the concert where we first met. She was standing right beside you, in fact.”

“The beautiful woman wearing sapphires?” It had to have been the same woman she'd heard speaking in German to her companion.

“I didn't notice what she was wearing,” the Secret Service man said. “At that moment, it wasn't her I was looking at.”

“Are you coming or not?” Booth yelled, honking the horn from inside the car.

“Just a minute,” Soames called back. “Can we drive you to the
Sentinel
, Miss
Weeks?”

“I don't work there anymore. I lost my job.” Kitty hoped Soames hadn't noticed her blush.

“Any particular reason?” They made their way out onto the street.

“I was busy. I couldn't stay late like they wanted.”

He turned to face her. “Did that have anything to do with us?”

“Your partner is waiting, Mr. Soames.”

“If there's anything you need”—Soames climbed into the driver's seat of the agents' parked vehicle—“please don't hesitate to telephone me at the Customs House.”

Kitty watched the car drive away and walked home. As hellish as the worst moments of her encounter with the agents had been, life would seem empty now that they were gone.

• • •

Julian Weeks opened the front door. “All done?”

“All done,” Kitty replied.

He enveloped her in a hug. “Thank you. I'm so proud.”

She enjoyed his closeness, the familiar scent of his birch hair tonic, and then pulled away, smiling. She hadn't realized that something between them had broken when she went away to school, and now, a decade later, they were moving forward again, not just in tandem this time but in trust.

“So what's next?” he said. “Now that you don't have the
Sentinel
to go to, should I expect to have a daughter who spends every morning at Altman's?”

“I doubt it.” Kitty laughed.

“Take the day off at any rate. Do something nice for yourself.”

“I think I will.”

Kitty decided to go riding at Durland's to work off some steam. At this time of the day, the trails would be quiet. Afterward, she could come home and take a shower, and then she would see if Amanda would join her for lunch.

Kitty telephoned the Vanderwells, but Mrs. Vanderwell informed her that Amanda had left for the YWCA and wouldn't be back until three.

That was quite the reversal, Kitty thought. Amanda working while she prepared to while away time.

“Thank you for your help, Miss Weeks,” the usually grudging Mrs. Vanderwell went on. “I do appreciate your listening to my friend, Mrs. Basshor.”

“How is she faring?”

“No better and no worse, I'm afraid. Still mourning her secretary.”

“Did you know him well, Mrs. Vanderwell?” Kitty said.

“Not really,” Mrs. Vanderwell replied. “He seemed a bit outspoken and overly familiar, but I will admit I would never have pegged him for the murdering type.”

Kitty changed into her riding ensemble and drove herself to the stables. A groom saddled Damsel, and with a leg up, Kitty hoisted herself onto the animal's back. She cantered around the park for about half an hour but found she couldn't relax. Too many thoughts crowded her mind. At first, it was Soames, then from Soames, she drifted to the concert. Then to Martha Held, the buxom beauty with the sapphires cascading from her ears. Soames had said that Aimee Cole worked for Mrs. Held, who was an associate of Dr. Albert's. How did it all add up?

Kitty felt certain that Hunter Cole had met Dr. Albert more than once. He had told Poppy Clements so, and Dr. Albert wouldn't have recalled him or launched into the lengthy diatribe justifying his desire to keep their meeting quiet if Mr. Cole had only been a casual acquaintance. The murdered man had kept a syringe and vials, filled with some substance, in his toiletries case. He had been shot in a stable where, less than a week later, one of Mrs. Basshor's ponies had to be put down. Kitty recalled the singing stable hand, Turnip, and his indignation at the thought that Breedlove could have stepped on a rusty nail.
Sister Susie's sewing shirts for soldiers
—she heard the song as though he were humming it right beside her.

She screwed up her face in concentration:
syringes—vials—a sick horse—Hunter Cole—stables—Dr. Albert
. Could they all be connected?

She came to the end of her ride and waited for one of the grooms to take Damsel's reins.

“Frank,” Kitty said, sliding to the ground. “Do you know of a disease that would make it necessary to put a horse down quickly, without any questions asked?”

“I don't understand, Miss Weeks.”

“Is there something that could go wrong with a horse that the stable wouldn't want even the lads to know about?”

The groom stroked Damsel's sleek, dark neck. “Something that would scare the boys, you mean.”

“Perhaps.”

He bit his lip. “It would have to be something that they thought would make them sick too or infect the other horses fast.”

“Exactly.” Kitty nodded.

“Glanders,” he said finally. “If one of our animals had glanders, we'd put it to sleep and wouldn't want anyone to find out.”

Glanders
. Kitty's pulse raced. Where had she heard about it before? Oh yes, that's what had killed Mrs. Stepan's pony, Zsa-Zsa.

“It spreads like wildfire,” Frank continued. “You get fever and chills, sores all over your body, and then, in a few days”—he snapped his fingers—“you're gone. If the boys thought we had glanders at this place? Forget it, they'd disappear in a minute.” He looked at Kitty. “But not to worry, miss. There's nothing like that here.”

“I know,” Kitty said. “I was just curious.”

She stopped off at the library on her way back home to look it up. “Glanders,” she read to herself, “one of the most loathsome diseases known to mankind… Almost always fatal to humans. Death may come rapidly or gradually. Victims undergo terrible sufferings… Disease common to horses… Transmitted through cuts in skin. Not harmful if swallowed with food or water.” Kitty thought of the pharmacist, Mr. Murray, and felt thankful. “Germ known for twenty-five years but still no cure has been found.”

“What kind of stories are you writing these days, Miss Weeks?” the librarian asked as Kitty returned her book.

“I hardly know myself,” Kitty replied.

It didn't make sense. Even if it were possible to bottle glanders germs in a vial, why would Hunter Cole—of all people—want to harm a horse? And if Dr. Albert was behind it, why would he want to cause an outbreak at the Sleepy Hollow Country Club?

Just in case, as soon as she arrived home, she put a telephone call through to the Customs House. Soames would think she was crazy to call him just hours after they parted, but Kitty didn't care; she needed to be certain. The man on the other end of the line, one Agent Burke, told Kitty that Soames wasn't in, so she left a message for him to call her when he returned.

She rummaged through the bureau drawer in her bedroom, but she couldn't find Hunter Cole's vial. She ran into the pantry.

“Grace.” The maid stopped folding linens. “Did you see a small glass tube that I kept in my bureau drawer? I had it beside my camisoles.”

“Oh yes, Miss Kitty. The one with the cork stopper? I thought it might leak and soil your delicates—”

“What did you do with it?” Kitty said, panicked.

“It's right here.” Grace opened the cabinet below the kitchen sink. She had wedged the vial upright between bars of soap and a lamb's-wool duster. “It looks like one of those chemical tubes they show in the movies, doesn't it?” She handed the vial over. “I even thought it might be dangerous.” The maid laughed.

Sunlight streaming through the kitchen window hit the tube at just the right angle. The liquid inside seemed as clear and unclouded as before.

“Do you have a handkerchief, Grace?” Kitty said.

Grace handed her one from the linen pile, and Kitty wrapped the glass vial before sliding it into her pocket.

“Tell Mrs. Codd I may be late for lunch.” Still in her riding gear, she ran downstairs and hopped back into the Bearcat.

Chapter Thirty-Two

“Can I help you?” Aimee Cole's dwarfish maid peered out from behind the door.

“Is Mrs. Cole in?”

“She's gone for the day.”

“When will she be back?” Kitty peered past the woman and noticed sheets draped over the living room furniture.

“Later this evening. I'm not sure.” The maid didn't budge an inch.

“Is she traveling somewhere?”

The servant shrugged and started to close the door.

Kitty put her foot in the way. “May I come in for a moment?” She smiled apologetically. “I'm a bit far from home, and I need to…well, I need to powder my nose.”

The maid stepped aside.

Kitty entered and was struck at once by the state of the apartment: sheets had been draped over every surface, even the lamps had been wrapped, and two large trunks stood in one corner.

This wasn't some temporary move; Aimee Cole would be gone for a long time.

“So, Mrs. Cole plans to move back to Brooklyn?” Kitty asked.

“This way please.” Without answering the question, the servant escorted Kitty directly to the bathroom and closed the door with a click.

“I'll just be a minute,” Kitty called. She opened the medicine cabinet. Half of it was empty, but Hunter Cole's toiletries case remained, and Kitty pulled it down.

She undid the clasp and peered inside. Almost everything in the case was as it had been previously—but the vials were gone. Kitty replaced the case, pulled the chain to the toilet, and washed her hands.

She opened the door to the bathroom to find the maid waiting outside.

Passing through the dining room, she caught sight of a large envelope propped on the mantelpiece. She recognized the name of the rail company.

“Travel tickets?”

“Mrs. Cole is going to be Pequeñita Mary.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“She will be Mexico's Mary Pickford. She's leaving tomorrow.”

“You're going with her?”

“No.” The maid looked sullen.

“Well, please congratulate her on my behalf. I'd love to say good-bye before she leaves town.”

“You won't find her here. She wouldn't want me to tell you, but I suppose it doesn't matter anymore.” A look of disgust spread across the maid's face. “She's gone off to spend the day in Van Cortlandt Park with some foreigner.”

“A man?”

She nodded.

“Could you describe him to me?”

“I only saw him for a minute. He was a small, dark fellow. Not a gentleman.”

That didn't sound like Dr. Albert.

“It's shameful.” The maid pursed her lips. “And it's been barely a week since Mr. Cole passed.”

• • •

Kitty called the Customs House again, this time from a telephone at a candy store around the corner.

“May I speak to Agent Soames?” she whispered into the instrument, trying not to be overheard by the shopkeeper. “This is Capability Weeks.”

“Ah, it's you again. Well, you're in luck, Miss Weeks. Soames just walked in. I'll put him on.”

Kitty flashed a smile at the shopkeeper while she waited. She'd already purchased a full bag of peppermints and paid him an extra quarter to use his line.

“Is something the matter, Miss Weeks?” Kitty could hear the worry in Soames's voice.

“I'm fine, but I'd like your help.”

“Can we speak later today? I'm a bit rushed at the moment.”

“I'm afraid it can't wait. I'm sorry, but it's difficult to explain on the telephone. I can come meet you—I won't take much of your time, I promise.”

There was a pause. “I'll take a break for lunch.” He gave Kitty directions to an eatery downtown.

She hung up the telephone, thanked the shopkeeper, and ran outside to her car.

Soames would help her. Soames would be able to make sense of all this. And then, if she needed to, Kitty could speak to Aimee Cole before she left town.

Kitty wove her way through the traffic, one hand on the horn like a taxi driver.

Who was Aimee with, and why, the day before her departure, would she be going to a park all the way up in the Bronx?

Some fool with a golfing cap on his head and a cigarette clamped between his teeth thought it amusing that Kitty was in a hurry and drove alongside in his roadster, winking and trying to get her attention.

When she didn't respond, he retaliated by attempting to cut her off at an intersection, but she stepped on the gas, and the Bearcat leaped forward.

Take that
. Kitty arrived at her destination faster than she thought.

She hopped out of the car, passed a tobacconist's scowling wooden Indian, and pushed open the door to the luncheonette.

Soames waited for her at a table right in front. Kitty took the seat beside him and pulled out the vial from her pocket.

“What this?” he asked.

“Don't laugh, but I think it might contain the germ that causes glanders, and I found it in Hunter Cole's medicine cabinet.”

• • •

Soames folded his arms across his chest. “This is all very far-fetched.”

“I know, I know,” Kitty said. “But Mrs. Cole leaves tomorrow, and this may be my last chance to find out whether I'm correct. And if I am, don't you want to know where those other vials are?”

“It could be something else that affects horses.”

“It could be nothing,” Kitty said. “Just water. Whatever it is, I want to know for sure.”

“We'd need to bring it to a lab for analysis. But that would take days, not hours.”

“Can we do it though?” Kitty persisted. “If you give me an address, I'll take it across myself. You have work, but I have time.”

A newsboy came through the restaurant, waving a copy of the afternoon paper and calling in a singsong voice, “‘Ambassador von Bernstorff to Explain German Note Today! May Offer
Lusitania
Disavowal.'”

“They won't open the door to you.”

“Come with me then.”

He checked his watch and placed a couple of coins on the table. “Let's make it fast.”

• • •

“Do you always drive like this?” Soames held on to his hat with one hand while the Bearcat careened along. He glanced at the road flying beneath their wheels. “There's nothing to hold you in place. You could fall right out of this thing.”

“That's what I like about it,” Kitty said, enjoying his look of alarm.

He motioned her to stop in front of a row of ramshackle garages on Eleventh Avenue, jumped out of the Bearcat, and rapped on one of the metal shutters that stretched from the roof to the ground. “It's Soames,” he called.

Moments later, the shutter slid up a couple of feet, and a freckled fellow with curly hair ducked out. He let out a long, low whistle. “Nice wheels, Soamsie. And who might this be…a girlfriend?”

“Miss Weeks is a reporter,” Soames replied dryly and introduced Kitty to Evan Monroe. “We'd both be most obliged if you could look into something that she's brought along.”

“Any friend of yours, Soames, is a friend of mine.” Monroe lifted the shutter all the way and led Kitty inside with exaggerated gallantry. “This way please, miss.”

The garage was outfitted with rows of burners on stone counters, mazes of interlocking glass tubes, and a profusion of tongs and flasks and water baths. A fan at the rear rattled feebly as it blew away some of the noxious odors.

Soames turned to Kitty. “Would you like to explain?”

Kitty showed Monroe the vial. “I think,” she said, “but I'm not sure, that this might contain some sort of virus or bacteria—the one that causes glanders, perhaps?” She suddenly felt foolish speculating in the presence of a professional. “Is it even possible to bottle a disease?”

“Glanders.” Monroe tilted his head. “I'm afraid I can't help you. I'm a chemist, and what you need is a pathology lab.”

“Oh dear.” Kitty tried to control her disappointment.

Monroe returned the tube. “But I can tell you that the vial is top quality. I'll bet you five dollars that it's made by the Krauts.”

“How can you tell?” Soames asked.

“They have the best scientists, the best equipment, and the best labs. If you speak to any chemist worth his salt, you'll find that he studied in Deutschland or trained under someone who has.”

“Do you know any pathologists, Mr. Monroe?” Kitty looked around at all the scientific paraphernalia. Surely all he needed to do was examine the liquid under a microscope or something like that.

The shutter opened with a rumble.

“Bloody furnace out there.” One of Monroe's associates entered, wiping his forehead with a rag. “Beg your pardon, ma'am. I didn't know we had ladies about.”

“That's all right, Tuttle,” Monroe told him. “I'm sure Miss Weeks has heard worse—she's a reporter.”

“Doing a chemistry story? I could tell you about the time that Mr. Monroe spilled sulfuric acid on me and nearly melted my shoes off—say, what's this?” He picked up the vial from the stone-slab counter and turned to his boss. “Have the post office inspectors been back?”

“Post office inspectors?” Soames perked up.

“They brought in two tubes exactly like this a month ago.”

Soames turned to Monroe. “And you didn't think to tell us?”

“I didn't know myself, Soamsie.”

Soames seemed rattled. “How are we supposed to get anything done if one hand doesn't talk to the other? You know you're supposed to keep me informed about any inquiries that come your way—I don't care whether they're from the post office, the Bureau, or even Naval Intelligence. Whatever it is, we need to know
immediately
. Those are Treasury Secretary McAdoo's orders.”

“It won't happen again.” Monroe shot his employee a baleful glance.

“Damned right it won't, or you won't see any more of our business.”

“Pardon me,” Kitty interrupted, turning to Tuttle. “Did you happen to find out what was in the post office inspector's vials?”

Tuttle beamed with pride. “It took a few days, but I did, at last.”

“And you didn't say anything?” His boss looked furious. “Did you even write it in the ledger?”

“I may have forgotten,” he admitted. “We were busy, and I didn't think we were interested in bacteria.”