A Dying Note Read online

  She must’ve made a sound because the two women—one must’ve been Patrick’s maman because she was all in hysterics—turned to look at her, and Mrs. S ordered her back to her room. She’d heard enough to know that Patrick had disappeared when the police showed up, and no one knew where he was.

  But she knew.

  Once Mrs. S had left, after telling her to do her homework and adding that she’d be back in time for dinner, Antonia reached under her bed and dragged out the stinky clothes she’d worn to Chinatown just a couple days ago. They were pretty filthy, but that was perfect for where she was headed: the dump by Mission Creek, to see if Patrick was hiding out with his friend Black Bill.

  She had to talk to Patrick, find out what happened, and see if she could help. Maybe she could learn something from Patrick to prove it wasn’t him, and maybe she could convince him to talk to Mrs. S.

  Antonia threw on the menswear, wrinkling her nose as she did so. Well, at least she’d look and smell like she fit right in with the rag-pickers and garbage-sorters. She grabbed her maman’s folding knife, checked the locking blade, and stuffed it in her trouser pocket.

  It didn’t take long to walk there. The only parts of her journey that set her nerves on edge were slipping out of the apartment—she hoped no one she knew, like Mr. Welles or Mr. Donato or Mrs. S, happened to come by just as she slid out and locked the door—and walking past Copper Mick’s home. She supposed she didn’t have to walk that way, she could’ve gone down a different street. But she half hoped maybe he’d be outside, and she could talk him into joining her on an adventure to Dumpville. Then again, after their adventure in Chinatown, maybe he’d not be keen on tracking down someone who the police pegged a killer. And his pa was a detective. So, all in all, she was glad when she didn’t see him as she slouched past on the other side of the street, her cap pulled low.

  When she reached Berry, she turned right and kept walking. The farther she walked, the more invisible and more comfortable she felt in her shabby, dirty clothes. And once she reached the first garbage wagon unloading its trash onto the ground, she fit right in. The dumps were bigger than she expected. Humps and hillocks of reeking garbage stretched out along the water, going on for at least a block, maybe two or three, with more full wagons lining up to get rid of their loads. She dodged the wagons and their fresh leavings, skirted the men and the few women who were wielding pitchforks, sticks, and shovels, poking each reeking load as if hunting for buried treasure. The sort of treasure that Antonia saw them pounce on included not only old bottles, scraps of iron, old sacks, bricks, and rags, but also bruised and decaying fruits and vegetables.

  Antonia thought back to when she and her maman lived in Leadville’s Stillborn Alley. They didn’t have much food then, but Antonia’d managed to bring hard-boiled eggs, bread, and cheese home from some of the work she picked up cleaning the saloons late at night, back when she’d worn the same clothes as she wore now and called herself “Tony.”

  But…this stuff.

  Did people really get so hungry they’d eat a head of cabbage that was all brown? Or did they sell the food? If this was what the rag-pickers had for supper, no wonder Patrick brought food when he came to visit them.

  Antonia finally gave up and asked a woman, who was adding to her apron full of oyster shells, where Black Bill might be.

  “Over yonder.” She pointed away from the waterfront. “In a tent wi’ a little flag.”

  Antonia thanked her and headed in that direction. Farther away from the channel, the garbage lessened and a welter of tents and shacks took the place of trash piles and heaps. She was glad to spot a canvas shelter, sides bowed in and flapping in the breeze, with a small stars and stripes flag on a short stick stuck outside in the dirt. She went up cautiously and called at the closed entrance, “Is this Black Bill’s place?”

  The tied-down flaps twitched a bit. “Who wants to know?” asked a growly voice.

  “I’m looking for Patrick May.” She hoped she wasn’t going to get in trouble for asking for Patrick by name.

  The flaps parted, displaying the head of a man with a long cottony beard and a face dark and glowering as his name. “That don’t answer the question of who you are or what you want.”

  “I’m a friend of his. I know he’s in danger and I’m here to help.” She raised her voice, but not too much. “Patrick, are you there? It’s Antonia. I’ve got to talk to you.”

  “Antonia?” Patrick’s voice came out of the darkened interior. Black Bill’s face disappeared at the entrance and some shuffling around sounded inside. “It’s all right, Bill,” said Patrick. “I know her.”

  “Ain’t a ‘her’ out there,” growled Black Bill.

  Patrick poked his head out between the flaps. His eyes widened. “Antonia?”

  She nodded.

  He pulled back one of the canvas wings and settled cross-legged in the entrance. “I’m sure glad to see you. Hardly recognize you, though. I was tryin’ to figure out a way to get word to Mrs. Stannert, and here you are. As my ma would say, ‘A blessing.’” He added, “I’m not gonna stand, because I don’t want anyone to see me. I’m not going out until nighttime. Safer that way.” His voice broke into a squawk. “The police, I heard them say they think I killed Jamie Monroe. I didn’t! So, I figured I’d best sneak out the back way. I wasn’t going to wait for them to walk in and put me in jail.”

  Antonia squatted down. “I know you didn’t kill anybody. But they found a bloody brick at the laundry. Did you know that?”

  He shook his head.

  “Your ma and aunt came to see Mrs. S and I heard them talking. Mrs. S, she’s trying to track the real killer. I came here to see if I can help you. Maybe I could bring Mrs. S out here and you and her could talk.”

  “No!” he sounded alarmed. “But if she’s looking for who did it, I have something I want you to take back to her. Maybe it’ll help.”

  He crawled back into the tent. Antonia heard him say, “Where’d you put it? The fancy collar I gave you.”

  “You’re not gonna give it to that girl-boy?” demanded Black Bill. “I can get a lot for that one. At least a dollar. Maybe more.”

  “Look, I trust Antonia. She’ll make sure you’ll get paid for it.”

  “Well, since you gave it to me in the first place…” Some more inarticulate mumbling ensued and eventually Patrick reappeared, a bedraggled something clasped in one hand.

  He held it out to her. “Carry this someplace really safe.”

  Antonia stared at the item dangling from his large hand. It was limp, like a dead animal. Then Antonia realized it was a fur collar, once white with black fur slashes. It would’ve been regal, if not matted with dirt, brown gunk, and blobs of dried…something.

  There was only one person she’d ever seen wearing a collar like this.

  A little faint and a lot queasy, she asked, “Where’d you get this?”

  “Tell Mrs. Stannert I found it the night of the murder in the spot I showed her. Tell her that on that night, after the ruckus died down and everyone left, I went back and found it there. Tell her I’m sorry I didn’t mention it before. I didn’t say anything to her because I didn’t know it meant anything. I just thought it was a rag that might be worth something to Black Bill.”

  “Oh, it’s worth more’n the dollar Black Bill talked about,” said Antonia, gingerly taking the fur—was that dried blood all over it?—and stuffing it into her oversized jacket pocket. “This here rag is worth your life, Patrick. It’s gonna prove you didn’t kill Jamie Monroe.”

  Chapter Forty-two

  It was getting toward dusk, but Inez had one more stop to make.

  She had to be sure that her growing suspicion had some basis. That there was motive. To kill a young man because he is enamored of your sister, is that enough? Penny-dreadful novels might be littered with even more improbable tales, but this was a real murder
. Inez thought such a motive was pretty thin. There were many ways to discredit a penniless musician and drive him out of town. All Nico would have had to do was whisper to people he knew, and doors would slam in Jamie’s face. It just seemed if Nico was the killer, there had to be something more.

  So that is why she directed the hack driver, Joseph Lynch, to Carmella and Nico’s home out in the newly minted Western Addition. An elegant three-story, it sat cheek-by-jowl with neighbors to either side without losing its dignity. Inez paid the driver, thanked him for his time, and made certain to add a generous tip for the Barbary Coast portion of the journey. She mounted the steps and rang the bell, fervently hoping Nico would not be in.

  If, God forbid, he was, and they ended up face to face, it would be an exceedingly awkward meeting on several levels. However, she at least had a ready explanation for her unannounced visit. Since Welles had volunteered that he would tell Nico of Jamie’s death and Nico would then tell Carmella, Inez guessed Carmella would have been “informed” by her brother by now. This provided the rationale for Inez to drop by and see how Carmella was faring.

  The door flew open. Much to Inez’s relief, Carmella stood there, an apron over her housedress, flour up to her wrists. White splotches along a cheekbone revealed where she must have absent-mindedly rubbed the back of her hand.

  Carmella grabbed both of Inez’s hands, effectively powdering her kid gloves. “Oh, Mrs. Stannert! I am so glad to see you! Come!” She pulled Inez inside. “I sent the housemaid and cook home early today. They have been hovering and driving me mad. This means we can talk without worrying about their overhearing.”

  She led Inez past a formal parlor to the right and a music room to the left, its bay window facing the street. In the music room Inez glimpsed a parlor grand piano, comfortable chairs, a cluster of music stands holding sheet music, and a few paintings on the walls, before she was whisked further into the house.

  “Thank you so much for your message,” Carmella added, herding her toward the rear of the house. “The boy was very precise. He obviously thought it was a strange warning to deliver, but he was very polite and waited for me to pen a response to you. Did you get it?”

  “Yes, I did. I take it that Nico told you of Jamie’s death?”

  “Ah, sì. And hearing it broke my heart all over again. It was terrible. I couldn’t say anything, I just cried. I think Nico now feels sorry for how he treated Jamie in the past.”

  Sorry or guilty? Inez wondered grimly. “Well, thank you for sending a note back. Otherwise I would have been on pins and needles, worrying about you being taken by surprise.”

  “And I’ve been on pins and needles myself, wanting to know how last night went. Nico left early this morning, before I was even awake, or I would have asked him.”

  Inez, startled, wanted to pursue this pronouncement, but Carmella hurried ahead. The aroma of fresh baked pastries and bread in the oven grew stronger until Carmella pushed a door open and ushered Inez into a warm and homey kitchen.

  “Sit! Sit!” She grabbed a cloth and whisked it across a wooden chair by a table burdened down with what looked like a full day’s worth of baking.

  Inez sat, surveying the edibles. “So, this is what you did today?”

  Carmella flitted about, making tea. “Yesterday and today. I could not go out and about. I just could not.”

  She collapsed into the chair next to Inez. “All I can think of is Jamie. Baking has been my solace. And I am so glad you came! Now, tell me everything. What did he say? How did he say it?” She sat back, bright with anticipation.

  “How who said what?” Inez wondered if she meant Nico’s invitation to attend the previous night’s performance. It was the only connection she could make.

  Carmella’s face began to dim. “He didn’t…Nico said he would…He didn’t propose?”

  It was Inez’s turn to stare. “Propose? Gracious, no! He escorted me to a concert last night, a performance in the Palace Hotel.” The scene in the music store flashed through her mind, but Inez added, “That was all.”

  Now Carmella began to blush. Her flour-covered fingers rose to her cheeks. “Oh. He promised.”

  “What is this about?” Now Inez was getting irritated, firstly, because it sounded as if there had been a certain amount of plotting going on behind her back, and, secondly, because the conversation was veering in directions that had nothing to do with her current visit.

  Carmella looked away, as if unwilling to meet Inez’s eyes. “Nico has been saying forever that I should be more willing to consider the young men he shoves under my nose and not encourage the ones who, as he says, are ‘destitute dreamers, nobodies without a future.’ And I tell him he should turn away from those women who fall all over him, the married women who throw their husbands aside to chase after him, the loose women who keep him out all night, the debutantes he flirts with and who he risks ruining. I tell him he should be considering eligible, appropriate women who are under his nose. One in particular.” Now, those fingers moved to cover her mouth.

  Inez sat for a moment, examining her own slightly bruised pride. Had the invitation and the jungle of flowers been nothing more than Nico’s attempts to assuage his sister’s sadness, or perhaps add Inez as an appropriate “cover” for any affairs he had going on? But she had approached him the same way, with a certain amount of cynical manipulation. And of course, any chance of a legal union between them had disappeared once her former marital status was exposed.

  She shook her head. The tangled webs of emotional motive behind last night’s embrace were inconsequential. There were other matters to discuss far more important than her wounded vanity. Inez lifted the teapot lid, and the scent of bergamot assailed her. “I believe the tea is ready.” She poured for them both, saying. “Carmella, I am flattered you think me a worthy partner for your brother.”

  Although I would argue that I am not to be shoved around like a chip in a game of cards.

  She kept that thought to herself, continuing, “But nothing of the sort has transpired. I came here for two reasons. One, to see how you were doing after this week’s sad events.” Inez glanced at the table of baked goods. “And two, I wanted to ask you some questions about the time of the previous musicians union.”

  Without mentioning Nico, Inez explained how Jamie had been interested in what brought down the union and transpired after that. “I wonder if his inquiries in that direction had anything to do with his death. I am grasping at straws, I know.”

  Carmella drew a finger through a scattering of flour on the table, frowning. “I was about Antonia’s age when the union dissolved. Nico would be the one to ask.”

  And he is exactly the one I do not want to ask. “But I am curious as to what you recall. What was life like for you and Nico back then?”

  “Oh. I remember that.” She crossed her arms, hugging herself. “Our parents had died about four years before. I was so little. It was just Nico and me, and he had to take care of me. He was about the age I am now. Our father had wanted him to become a fruit peddler, like himself. Nico always wanted to be a musician, play his violin. They fought about it. After our parents passed, Nico threw himself into music. But it did not go well, for a long time. We moved again and again, each place worse than the one before, as he tried to make a living.” She lowered her eyes. “It was bad. But even then he insisted I continue my schooling.”

  “What was it like when the union collapsed?” Inez held her breath.

  Carmella unfolded her arms and picked up her teacup. She looked at Inez. “Do you want sugar?”

  Inez shook her head.

  Carmella sipped some of the fragrant black tea. “It was a crazy time. Nico was gone frequently. Sometimes he brought me with him, if it was a meeting with others. I remember them saying the money had disappeared. Everyone was afraid and angry. ‘How could the treasurer do this?’ they asked over and over. No one had any
answers, except that the money was gone and the treasurer with it.”

  Inez nodded. So far, she had heard nothing new. “But luck finally turned your way, did it not? I am sure it was a relief to you. When did things begin to improve?”

  “It was a while after the union was gone. I remember, because Nico came home one day, very excited. He had an opportunity, he said, to play for someone important. I asked who, and he teased me, saying it was a private party, one that little girls had no business knowing about. I wondered at the time, but now I believe it must have been for a wealthy man who was entertaining ‘friends’ of a certain sort.” She shrugged. “I’ve not asked Nico. It was long ago and doesn’t matter. I do remember he immediately went out and bought a new suit of clothes to wear for the performance, including the cape he likes so much, the one with the ermine collar.”

  “And after that?”

  “Oh, after that, it was as you said, fortune smiled. Nico was gone most evenings but always came home smiling. He finally began talking about some of his performances. We moved to better and better places. It was like a dream. I had no idea one could make so much money from music! Papa would have been astonished and proud, if he had been here to see his son.”

  The timing was right, Inez thought. What Carmella and Abbott had told her wasn’t hard proof, but maybe enough. She felt a modicum of guilt for leading Carmella in this direction, inadvertently betraying her brother, as it were. But then, Carmella had clearly been doing some maneuvering of her own, so Inez shushed the small voice of conscience, finished her tea, and stood.

  “Thank you, Carmella. I should go. I promised Antonia that I would be home in time to take her to dinner.” Inez added, “I have always thought of you as a friend, Carmella.” The words just popped out, and Inez realized that even given all that had occurred, she still had a soft spot for the young woman. “So, your brother hasn’t been home today?”