Time of Fog and Fire: A Molly Murphy Mystery (Molly Murphy Mysteries) (5 page)

The first feature was a comedy in which some clumsy and hapless policemen chased a clever thief. The audience laughed and clapped. Beside me Bridie howled with laughter. Then came a scene shot at Niagara Falls. The cameraman must have been very daring because sometimes it looked as if we were about to fall over the edge and the audience gave a collective gasp.

Then the organ music changed to something more dramatic and the screen announced:
News from Around the World. Caruso comes to California. San Francisco awaits the arrival of the world’s greatest singer.
Then we were looking down from a hill at a city perched beside a great bay. We saw funny little trolley cars going up impossibly steep hills. Then we were passing mansions.

The most prosperous city in the West waits with anticipation for the arrival of Enrico Caruso, the famous Italian tenor,
said the words on the screen.
He will perform at the Grand Opera House on April 17.
The image changed to show an impressive building.
And he will be staying at the world-renowned Palace Hotel.
Now we entered a magnificent hotel with an opulent foyer. We moved to a dining room where elegantly dressed people were dining amid palm trees. A waiter crossed the screen, carrying a bucket of champagne.

Mrs. Endicott grabbed my arm. “There,” she hissed in a whisper. “See that table in the corner. That man with the long side-whiskers lifting a glass to his lips. That is Mr. Endicott.”

The picture was quite clear.

“It is definitely my husband,” she said. “No doubt about it.”

“Shhh!” someone behind us warned, tapping Mrs. Endicott on the shoulder.

I took in the big, powerful man, well dressed and looking rather pleased with himself as he said something to his table companions.

“That’s all I wanted to show you,” Mrs. Endicott said. She started to stand up. “We can go now. The scene will change in a moment.”

I was about to follow her and slip out of my seat without too much disruption when Bridie tugged my sleeve. “Look,” she exclaimed. “There’s Captain Sullivan.”

The camera had now moved from the dining room back to a rotunda area with a domed roof. Through glass doors we could see carriages and automobiles pulling up in a forecourt, disgorging smartly dressed people in evening attire.

Will Mr. Caruso be surprised to see the sophistication and elegance that is now San Francisco?
said the words across the bottom of the screen.
Here money is no object and champagne flows like water.
The foyer was already crowded and many people were holding up champagne glasses in a toast. Then through a gap in the crowd I caught a glimpse of him. He was standing at the bar, seemingly enjoying himself, but his eyes scanned the new arrivals. A second later the crowd closed in again and he was gone. Then the organist switched to music for the cancan dance and we were now not in California but in Paris and looking at scenes from the Moulin Rouge cabaret. As the rest of the audience leaned forward in their seats to better see the scantily clad girls kicking up their legs we made our way out of the theater.

My heart was still thumping in my chest. I had only been given the briefest of glimpses of my husband, but like Mrs. Endicott, I was absolutely sure it was he.

Five

“You see. I was right, Mrs. Sullivan,” Mrs. Endicott said as we came out into red rays of a setting sun that painted the lingering snow pink. “It was Mr. Endicott. I’d swear to it. So the big question is what is he doing in California of all places do you think?”

When I didn’t answer right away she looked at me. “Mrs. Sullivan, are you all right?” she said. “Are you going to faint? You look as white as a sheet.”

“You are not the only one who has had a shock,” I said. “I just saw my own husband in the Palace Hotel.”

“Mercy me. And you didn’t know he’d be in California either? Well, that’s a remarkable coincidence, isn’t it?”

“Indeed it is a remarkable coincidence,” I agreed. “I knew he was being sent on an assignment,” I said, “but California was never mentioned. I rather thought he would be closer to home, in Washington. That’s where he was when he last sent me a postcard.”

“You’re lucky to get a postcard,” Mrs. Endicott said. “My husband never bothers. Sometimes I don’t get a letter for weeks on end.”

“That must be very hard for you.”

She turned away, staring up Broadway where a trolley was now passing, its bell clanging loudly to scatter pedestrians. “I’m used to it by now. But yes, it is still hard.” Then she grabbed my sleeve. “You could go to California for me. Your excuse could be that you are missing your husband and wanted to surprise him, but while you are there you could seek out Mr. Endicott for me and let me know what he’s doing so far away.”

I shook my head firmly. “Oh, no. I couldn’t do that. For one thing I have children here who need to be looked after. And for another my husband is on some sort of clandestine assignment. The last thing he’d want is his wife arriving to spoil things for him.”

“That’s a pity,” she said. “Because you are a lady detective and I’d dearly like to know what Mr. Endicott is doing. I’d pay your way, you know. I’m a wealthy woman. You’d know how to stay hidden and could spy on both of them.”

I had to laugh at the absurdity of this. “I certainly couldn’t spy on my own husband,” I said. “If you want to spy on yours, then you take the trip to California.”

“I couldn’t do that,” she said. “The train would be too much for me. And Mr. Endicott would be furious with me. He’s rather alarming when he’s angry.”

“I’m sorry I can’t help,” I said, “but I’m sure he’ll be home soon and then you can tell him you spotted him dining at the Palace Hotel in San Francisco. Maybe he is like the rest of the world—curious to see the great Caruso in person.”

“Would you cross a continent to see a singer?” she demanded.

“I suppose not,” I agreed. “But what if your husband had business on the West Coast?”

“I’ve never heard of him going to the West Coast before. Why would he ever need to go there when he imports French wines and Cuban cigars?”

“I hear they are growing grapes for wine in California now,” I said. “Maybe he is looking into expanding his markets.”

“Yes. That might be it. You might have hit the nail on the head,” she said, sounding more cheerful. “That’s exactly the kind of thing he’d do. He has a great head for business, has Mr. Endicott.”

We walked on in silence while I considered the things that had not been said. I sensed that she was fearful that there was another reason for his trip to California. Maybe she worried that he might have a mistress out there.

“Why did we have to leave so quickly?” Bridie asked, taking my hand. “I didn’t get to see Paris. And there was supposed to be a movie about men going to the moon.”

“Mrs. Endicott wanted to leave,” I whispered back to her. “So we had to come out with her. You and I will try to go together another time so that you can see the men going to the moon.”

She nodded with satisfaction, slipping her hand into mine. “I was clever to spot Captain Sullivan, wasn’t I?” she went on. “What do you think he is doing in California?”

“I’ve no idea,” I said. In truth I wished she hadn’t spotted him. I’d rather not have known that he was so far away and in a place like San Francisco. It might have mansions and elegant hotels like the Palace but it also had areas like the Barbary Coast with a reputation for wild living and for danger.

We walked Mrs. Endicott back to her house, but then refused her invitation to come in for a cup of tea with the excuse that I could not leave Liam for too long with my friends. I retrieved him from Gus and Sid and we were about to go back across the street when Bridie blurted out, “We saw Captain Sullivan in a moving picture!”

I wished, of course, that I had warned her to say nothing, because then I had to tell Sid and Gus the whole story.

“Did you know he was going to California, Molly?” Gus asked me.

“I had no idea,” I replied.

“San Francisco,” Sid said, giving Gus a knowing look. “Yes, that would be the sort of place you’d send someone as a spy, wouldn’t it? Chinese opium dens and Japanese traders and Russians.”

I told them about Mrs. Endicott begging me to go out to California and spy on her husband. I expected them to laugh but instead Gus said, “What a perfect idea. We’ve been dying to see San Francisco, haven’t we, dearest? We could make a real trip of it.”

“Absolutely not,” I said. “If Daniel is doing something dangerous, we’d be the last people he’d want to see. We might even put his life in jeopardy.”

Gus sighed. “I suppose you’re right. Ah, well, we’ll sit tight and wait for the next missive from the elusive husband.”

“And you forget, dearest,” Sid said. “We will not be sitting tight. On Saturday we go up to the Adirondacks with Tig and Emmy. We must start sorting out our skiing clothes.” She paused. “Do we have any clothes suitable for skiing? We need stout wool trousers and waterproof jerseys, don’t we? And gloves and hats. We’ve a lot of shopping to do.”

And so they were off on another madcap adventure, fully engrossed in the procuring of ski clothing. Their shopping expeditions kept them fully occupied all week, as they returned to show me Tyrolean sweaters and padded gloves. On Saturday morning they came to say good-bye before they went to Grand Central Terminal and embarked on the train trip up the Hudson.

“They say this weekend is going to be positively springlike,” Gus said. “I hope we won’t roast in our Swiss wool sweaters.”

“And I hope the snow won’t decide to melt before I’ve had a chance to ski. It will be quite unfair if it turns to slush,” Sid added.

I noticed that the breeze was quite balmy. The last traces of snow were going to melt quickly in the city. We stood outside to wave them off in a hansom cab piled high with a ridiculous amount of luggage. After they had departed I took the children out to Washington Square. I suggested that Bridie take her hoop with her but she decided that someone who was almost twelve was far too old to play in public. So she sat on the bench beside me while we watched boys play Kick the Can and tag. Some of them recognized Bridie from school and called out to her. But she kept her eyes demurely down. It won’t be long before she has boys interested in her, I thought with a jolt. It was strange to think of her growing up. She had always been the little girl I had to protect.

Liam was thrilled to watch the big boys’ games, and equally delighted to watch the sparrows bathing themselves in the fountain. We stopped on the way home and I treated the children to liquorice bootlaces, Bridie’s favorite. Saturday ended with still no message from Daniel. On Sunday I took the children to church. I wasn’t exactly the most devoted Catholic but I felt that I needed to pray that Daniel would stay safe. It hardly seemed worth making our usual Sunday roast for just myself and two children so we settled for pork chops.

Then on Monday morning I heard the clatter of the letter box and the thump as something landed on the doormat. I rushed to find it was a letter from Daniel at last. I tore it open and sat at the kitchen table reading it.

My dear little wife,
it began.
I sit on a hilltop, surrounded by a sea of white fog and my thoughts race across the continent to you. How I wish you were here beside me so that I could share this moment with you. I know you would be astounded by such beauty and magnificence. I know the green hills and sparkling ocean would remind you of your Irish home. I only regret I
could not have brought you with me, but of course we both knew you were too frail to undertake such a long trip, especially with a baby to look after.

How I miss you, my darling girl. I miss your sweet soft voice, your gentle touch, your kind ministrations, and devotion to your loving husband. But rest assured that I am being well cared for here. Mrs. Rodriguez, at whose home, or rather mansion, I am staying attends to my every need. And in case you are feeling jealous at my mention of another woman, let me assure you that she is a widow of mature years and great fortune, an absolute pillar of the San Francisco community. She and her friends have taken it upon themselves to show me all that the city has to offer and I am never lost for entertainment or company. Have you heard that the Italian opera singer Caruso is expected in town within the month? Already the place is buzzing with excitement and my hostess is planning parties to welcome the great man. I anticipate that my work will keep me here until he arrives so look forward to seeing him for myself. I shall duly report on the momentous occasion for you—I know you will be sad that I will attend the opera for once without you and we shall not be able to enjoy our earnest discussions on the quality of the singing after the performance as we always do at home.

And so, my darling girl, I send a kiss winging its way to you, wishing that so many miles were not between us. A kiss too to my darling son. How is your embroidery progressing? I expect the cushion cover to be finished by the time of my return.

I remain forever your loving and devoted husband,

Danny.

*   *   *

I stared at the letter with my mouth open and the blood hot on my cheeks. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” I muttered. How dare he! The absolute rudeness of him to write such a patronizing, mocking letter. I presumed he had those San Francisco society women sitting beside him as he wrote and thus wanted to create an impression of his wife and his marriage that was quite untrue. My embroidery! My soft, gentle voice and touch! And too frail to travel! He had created a picture of a simpering idiot, of the kind of woman I despised so much. And what was that nonsense about our opera discussions? Daniel had never attended the opera in his life, at least not with me.

I slammed the letter onto the table and paced around. Liam watched my mutterings with big, worried eyes until I realized that I was scaring him. I went over and picked him up.

“Your daddy is an idiot sometimes,” I said. I jogged him on my hip and spun him around, making him laugh and beg for more, and by the time I had put him down again I was in a better mood. I stared at that letter, lying on my kitchen table. It went against everything I knew of Daniel. He was not cruel or insulting. Neither did he ever pretend to be what he was not. He would not have written such a letter to impress a society hostess, and he could easily have written to me in the privacy of his own room so that nobody saw what he was writing—unless … unless he feared that his correspondence would be seen by other eyes.