Time of Fog and Fire: A Molly Murphy Mystery (Molly Murphy Mysteries) (16 page)

BOOK: Time of Fog and Fire: A Molly Murphy Mystery (Molly Murphy Mysteries)
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“What sort of business are you in, Mr. Douglas?” I asked.

“Land, lassie. Agricultural land. I’ve acre upon acre planted in the Central Valley. That’s where the wealth of California is going to come from. Not minerals, but crops. With the right management we can feed the nation.” He gave a satisfied grin. “This is the place of opportunity all right. Take me. I came with nothing and now I have a house on Nob Hill. And one in Sacramento.” He moved closer to me. “Take a look around the room,” he muttered. “Everyone you see here came to California and seized opportunity. The folks you see here are worth millions. That young man with his back to you is Mr. William Crocker, with his wife. He’s the son of our famous railroad baron, of course, and currently occupies that wee house on the top of the hill.” He grinned, sure that I’d had the Crocker mansion pointed out to me. “And that man he’s talking to is James Flood, son of the silver bonanza king. And the older man talking with Bella is Spreckels—you know, Spreckels sugar?”

I didn’t really know any of them but I nodded politely.

“You enjoy mixing with these people, do you?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Like I said, these musical evenings are not my cup of tea, but every time I’m invited to something like this I’m reminded of how far I’ve come from that little stone cottage in Scotland.”

I nodded with understanding. “I’ve had the same feelings in New York.” I glanced at the doorway as a short and dapper man sporting a neat little beard came into the room with an elegant woman in gray silk on his arm. He was wearing a uniform with a good deal of braid on it and in spite of his height he carried an air of confidence and authority. “Who is the man in uniform?” I whispered to Mr. Douglas.

“General Funston,” Mr. Douglas said in a low voice. “Head of the Presidio here. Also not the sort of man you’d expect to see at a gathering like this. He’s very much a no-nonsense sort—outdoorsman. More my type. But I gather his wife likes opera and there is to be a performance this evening. Probably that will be when I’ll make my excuses and leave. Can’t stand the row they make.”

I had to smile at this. I watched Bella come over to greet the general and his wife and I sensed the tension in the room as he shook hands with the mayor. So the army and the city were not all together happy neighbors. I had to admire the way Bella played the gracious hostess, drifting among the crowd, making sure everyone was introduced and having a good time. And yet I also noticed that her fists were tightly clenched, even though she appeared smiling and relaxed. So she too felt some strain this evening.

My Scottish gentleman had wandered off and I was standing there with that lost and embarrassed feeling one has at a party where one knows nobody, when Bella came up beside me again, this time with an older woman. “I’ve found someone else you have to meet, dear Mrs. Sullivan. This lady is the widow of Mr. Wheeler, a British gentleman who made his fortune in the shipping business. Trade to China, wasn’t it, Elsie?”

“It was.” The older woman nodded to me. “And now he goes and dies on me and leaves me in this godforsaken place.” She spoke with an accent that betrayed origins in the north of England. Although she was dripping with jewels she was wearing black and suddenly it hit me. I was now a widow too. I should be wearing black as well. Thank heavens the dress I had brought with me was dark green and not my more flamboyant blue one.

“And if I might whisk Mrs. Sullivan away for a minute, I’ve just spotted her fellow countrymen over there in the corner,” Bella said. She took my arm firmly. “Come with me.”

She steered me across the crowded room. A young priest rose to his feet as I approached.

“This is our dear Father O’Brien,” Bella said. “Such a talented young man. He has the loveliest tenor voice. In fact it was suggested that the opera house save its money and have Father sing instead of Caruso.”

Those around us broke into laughter. The young priest blushed with embarrassment.

“Really, Mrs. Rodriguez, you shouldn’t say such things,” he said. “My voice is good enough for a rendering of ‘Danny Boy’ at an Irish gathering, that’s all.”

“Too modest.” Bella shook her head. “And he’s also a whiz at amateur theatricals. You should have seen him in
The Pirates of Penzance
last year. He brought the house down.”

The young priest was still looking distinctly embarrassed. “Enough of this, Mrs. Rodriguez. Mrs. Sullivan, let me introduce you to someone who is really distinguished,” he said. “This is Professor Flannery from Dublin who is staying with us at the rectory at the moment. He is an authority on modern opera and has been sent by the Irish newspapers to report on Caruso’s performance.”

“How do you do, Professor Flannery,” I said, as the old man attempted to stand up. “Flannery is my mother-in-law’s maiden name.”

The young priest took his elbow and helped him to stand. “A good name, Mrs. Sullivan,” the professor said. He had a shock of untidy white hair and a bushy white beard. He peered at me through bottle-thick glasses. What’s more he was wearing a tweed jacket when the rest of the room was in evening attire. “I’m pleased to see a fellow countrywoman,” he said in a voice scarcely louder than a whisper. “And you’ll have to excuse me. I caught a devil of a chill on the train across the country and I’ve quite lost my voice.” He pulled a big handkerchief from his pocket and held it up to his face as he coughed.

“I’ll get you some water, Professor,” the priest said.

“Not necessary. I’ll survive,” the old man said. “But I wouldn’t say no to a whiskey.” He turned to me. “So which part of Ireland are you from, my dear?”

“From County Mayo.”

“Ah, the wild west,” he said. “So you’ve come from one wild west to the other. Quite a journey.”

“I don’t live in Ireland any longer,” I said. “I live in New York. I came out here to meet my husband but I don’t know if they told you. He was killed in an accident, before I arrived.”

“So I heard. What a shock for you,” he said, and then turned away again to cough. He tapped the priest on the arm. “Father, I’m thinking this might not have been a good idea, to come out in the night air. I’m thinking perhaps we should make our excuses and go if you don’t mind too much.”

Bella was passing and reacted to this. “Oh, no, Professor. You can’t go yet. We have some wonderful musical performances planned. Some of our local opera stars have agreed to sing for us. I wouldn’t want you to miss that for the world.”

“And I wouldn’t want to disturb their singing with my coughing,” he said. “No, it wouldn’t be right.”

The priest helped him to his feet. “I must apologize,” the professor said. “I have to make sure I’m over this before the great performance. I couldn’t disturb Caruso with a cough.”

“I do understand,” Bella said. “So good of you to come. You won’t have a little supper before you leave?”

“I think not. Good-bye, Mrs. Sullivan. I’m sure we’ll meet again soon.”

The priest assisted him from the room. He must have been a big man once but he was horribly bent over and shuffled out, leaning on his stick.

“He looks too frail to have undertaken such an arduous journey, doesn’t he?” someone commented.

“Ah, but he’s the authority on Bizet,” Bella replied. “He knew the composer when they were young music students together in Paris. It will be such a treat for him to hear Caruso sing
Carmen
.”

“A treat for us all,” one of the ladies said.

“If you happen to like opera,” Mayor Schmitz said and got a disapproving look from his wife. “Frankly I think it would be better without the singing.”

This produced a laugh from the crowd.

“You must watch what you say, Eugene,” Mr. Ruef said. “Visitors will get the impression that San Francisco has no culture.”

“You’re not drinking, Mrs. Sullivan,” the man standing next to me said. It was the Scot, Mr. Douglas. “Try the local champagne. It’s not at all bad. I think California has the makings of a good wine-growing area.” He reached at a passing tray and grabbed a glass for me. “It’s called Big Tree, but don’t let that put you off.” He grinned. “I’m thinking of planting grapes myself. There are certainly enough people in this city who enjoy their wine.”

I hardly heard him. I was suddenly feeling very unsettled, as if something had happened or someone had said something important but I hadn’t quite caught it. I looked around the room, trying to think what I might have missed.

“So where is the great man himself?” one of the men demanded. “Where is Caruso?”

Bella spread her hands in apology. “I tried to lure him here tonight. I told him there would be lobster and champagne and caviar, but alas he refuses to leave his hotel room. He is resting before the performance, so I’m told.”

“Maybe after the initial performance tomorrow night he’ll be more willing to mingle with us,” Mr. Crocker said. “You can invite that upstart Giannini to join us and he can talk with a fellow Italian.”

“Come now, Crocker,” Mayor Schmitz said. “Would you condemn a man just because of his ancestry? He is trying to make himself a fortune just like every man here tonight. Whether he will ever succeed in creating a bank only time will tell.”

“But I promised you opera and opera you shall have,” Bella said, stepping in to intervene between the two men. “After supper we’ll have the stars of our San Francisco opera performing for us. And between ourselves I think they are quite as good as these people they are bringing in from New York City. I can’t think why Caruso insisted on singing only with the Metropolitan Opera.”

“He is very temperamental, so I hear,” one of the ladies said. “He performed
Carmen
with them last year so he knows what to expect.”

“Great men always are temperamental, especially artistes like Mr. Caruso,” Bella replied. “But give him time. We’ll charm him with our friendly California ways.”

Now that I had been introduced I was forgotten and willingly shrank to the shadows at the edge of the room, looking for my chance to slip away. More guests arrived until the room was uncomfortably crowded and hot. I was interested to see that the police chief was among the newcomers and that Bella greeted him warmly. The police certainly did not mingle with the highest levels of society in New York. Beside him was a muscular young fellow, rather swarthy and arrogant in appearance. Unlike his chief, who was in tails, the younger man was in police uniform.

“I believe you know my young lieutenant Teles, Mrs. Rodriguez,” Chief Dinan said. “I thought it wise to have a police presence here, just in case the great man himself puts in an appearance. We can’t be too careful, can we?”

So he was taking my suggestion that an attempt might be made on Caruso’s life seriously. “Unfortunately Señor Caruso has turned down my invitation for this evening. Maybe tomorrow at the Crockers’, after the first performance?” she said. “But do make yourself at home, both of you.”

Chief Dinan looked around and nodded politely when he saw me looking at him. “I’m glad to see you’re getting out and about, Mrs. Sullivan,” he said. “Always better to accept things as they are and move on.” Then he moved through the assembly to chat immediately with Mr. Ruef and the mayor. Very thick together, I thought.

The champagne was going to my head as I had eaten very little and I was glad when a gong sounded and we were invited through to supper. A magnificent spread was laid out in the dining room, everything from lobster and oysters to cold chicken and poached salmon. There were great bowls of fruit and all kinds of salad. I helped myself to a little cold salmon and chicken as well as various salads. It seemed that no type of food was impossible to get here. In New York there was no lettuce this early in the year. Nor grapes or peaches! Even so I found it hard to do more than nibble. My stomach felt as if it was tied into knots. I found that I still couldn’t shake off that restless, uneasy feeling. Something had happened or was going to happen, I thought. Something very important. I looked around wondering if other guests had picked up my tension, but they were all drinking and laughing without a care in the world. I decided this might be a good opportunity to slip away before we were seated for the musical portion of the evening.

As I came out into the hall I saw that the front door was just closing and that several people had just arrived. Bella came flying out to meet them.

“Our opera stars are here. How wonderful,” she called toward the dining room. “Welcome, welcome. Everyone is so looking forward to this.” She held out her hands to them. “Madame Bernini—such an honor. And you, Mr. Richter.”

“And our pianist, Mr. Dupont,” the woman said. In speech she had a soft, low voice.

A thin man with a bald head and skull-like face stepped from the shadows at the front door and bowed to Bella.

Bella looked flushed. “Francis will show you where to put your coats and then we’ll have the drawing room arranged for you to perform. We are so excited. It’s so good of you to come. Will you not take a little refreshment first while the room is being arranged?”

As the three of them went off with Francis, Bella realized with surprise that a man still stood by the front door. He was dressed in a traveling coat and had black hair and dark eyes.

“You!” Bella said. “What are you doing here, Señor Garcia?”

“I had business to attend to in San Francisco and thought I should look up my dear old friend Señora Rodriguez,” he said in slow and heavily accented English.

“So kind of you, but as you can see, I am hostess for a big party tonight. We are about to hear some opera.”

“No matter. I can wait,” he said. “I can join your party if you like?”

“No,” she said brusquely. “I don’t think that would be the right thing at all. Why don’t you come back in the morning, then we can talk in peace?”

“About the old days on the ranch, no?” He smiled then. “Such happy memories.”

More guests were leaving the dining room. Some of them wandered into the hallway.

“Did the singers arrive, Bella?” one woman asked. “Should we go and take our places?”

“Yes. Please do.” Bella was clearly distracted. “The performance will start shortly.”

BOOK: Time of Fog and Fire: A Molly Murphy Mystery (Molly Murphy Mysteries)
10.72Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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