A Charm of Powerful Trouble (A Harry Reese Mystery Book 4) Read online

  “We’d like to look through the registration cards.”

  “Only the cops are allowed to see those.”

  “I’m working with Detective Sergeant Tibbitts. If you’d like, I can call him over. But I’ll tell you right now, he’ll be annoyed.”

  The Cosmopolitan had once been a fine hotel, but like myriad others in their dotage its attention to propriety had slackened. It was now a place of assignation, with many guests never spending a night. And among the ones that did, more than a few were likely to be known to the police. In short, it couldn’t afford to annoy detective sergeants. He took us to the desk and handed us a box of about a hundred registration cards, the oldest being about sixty days.

  “I’d like you to look through these and see if you find any other matches to either Twinem or Joy,” I told Mahar.

  He sat down on a stool and got to work while I spoke with the clerk.

  “The woman who left just before we came in, she showed you some photos?”

  I handed him a dollar.

  “Yeah, a man and a woman.”

  “Did you recognize them?”

  Another dollar.

  “No, never saw either.”

  “The night of the shooting here, didn’t you see the woman?”

  Another dollar.

  “Which shooting?”

  “The night of the Tuesday after Labor Day, the 2nd. A fellow named Twinem was shot dead. Did you see his wife?”

  “I leave at seven. That was the night man on then.”

  “Does he stay here?”

  “Yeah, he’s upstairs. Room 612.”

  “Here’s one,” Mahar announced. He handed me the card. It was from Tuesday, July 23rd. Mr. and Mrs. Peaseblossom, of Athens, Georgia.

  “This matches Ernie Joy’s?”

  “No, Twinem’s.”

  “Do you remember a Mr. and Mrs. Peaseblossom?” I asked the clerk.

  This was two dollars.

  “Who could forget a name like that? Mostly we get Browns. And Smiths. And Joneses.”

  “Had you seen them before?”

  Another two.

  “Three or four times, I’d bet. Check the older cards. Afternoon guests.”

  He gave Mahar another box of cards to look through.

  “So the night man wouldn’t have seen them?”

  “I’d reckon he saw them leaving now and then. They weren’t as quick about it as some. She wasn’t a working girl.”

  “So you saw Mrs. Peaseblossom?”

  “Oh, yes. I wouldn’t forget her.”

  I showed him Ernie’s photo.

  “Ever seen him before?”

  “Not to remember, but that doesn’t mean much.”

  I went up to 612 to find the night clerk getting dressed. I showed him Ernie’s photograph.

  “Is this the fellow who checked in the night of the shooting, under the name Twinem?”

  “The dead fellow?”

  “No, that really was Twinem. You told the police that you recognized Twinem as having checked in.”

  “I’m sure I recognized him. He’d been here before.”

  “Perhaps under the name Peaseblossom?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. Who the hell would call themselves that?”

  “Could the fellow in this photo be the man who checked in as Twinem?”

  “Impersonating him, you mean?”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  “Could be, I suppose.”

  “Did you mention to the police you’d seen the dead man before?”

  “They didn’t ask.”

  “You didn’t think it might be pertinent?”

  “How should I know? Listen, if we started telling the cops half of what goes on around here, we’d all be looking for work tomorrow.”

  “Yes, I can see how your clientele might be sensitive on the subject,” I agreed. “How about Mrs. Twinem—had you seen her before that night?”

  “No. She came to the desk, maybe a half hour before the shooting. Asked for the room Mr. Twinem was in.”

  “Was she carrying anything?”

  He thought a minute. “Yeah, a bundle. She dropped it right as she came up to the desk.”

  “Did it look like a stack of papers bundled up?”

  “Could have been.”

  I went downstairs, where Mahar had found several more Peaseblossom cards dating back to the spring.

  24

  About five I arrived home to find Xiang-Mei busily making more moon cakes. When the thespians arrived, Thibaut headed into the kitchen to prepare dinner, Nell went off for a bath, and Ainslie helped himself to another bottle of our wine.

  “How are preparations coming for tonight’s rendezvous?” I asked.

  “It’s a cinch. All I need from you is $150.”

  “I can spare twenty.”

  “Now listen, Harry. You want me to produce a half dozen Chinese girls in the middle of Brooklyn for twenty dollars!”

  “Forty.”

  “These girls are perfect—almond eyes, tiny feet….”

  “Fifty. And that’s final.” I gave it to him.

  “All right, but don’t blame me if they come up short.”

  “They should be short.”

  “They’ll be short, don’t worry.”

  We had dinner, sans Emmie, and then at about half past seven I went around to Mrs. de Shine’s boarding house and asked for Bauman. The matron of the house answered and informed me he’d joined another fellow in a “rube and Hebrew” act at Hyde & Behman’s, a vaudeville house back in Brooklyn.

  I got to the show just as they were coming offstage. Bauman recognized me and came over.

  “Could Ernie have been seeing another woman without you knowing? Recently, I mean.”

  “He’d been seeing that Twinem dame the last week or so.”

  “But you never saw her?”

  “Sure I did, in New Jersey.”

  “But never with Ernie?”

  “No, just caught the name,” he said. “Wait. I did see him talking to a woman, outside the stage door. That might have been her.”

  “Might have been?”

  “I was talking to the doorman, on the inside. They were in the alley. I just caught a glimpse of her as she was leaving. But I’d say it was her all right.”

  “When was that?”

  “During the matinee, that last day.”

  “Did they part as lovers would?”

  “What?”

  “I mean, did they embrace, or did one give the other a kiss?”

  “No. No, I guess not.”

  “Did she look to you like the type of woman Ernie’d go for?”

  “No, but I definitely saw her name on a letter that told all.”

  “When was that?”

  “About a week before he was shot. He let me read it and then burned it. He didn’t want his girl at the boarding house to see it.”

  “And it was signed ‘Isabel’?”

  “‘Isabel Twinem.’ And how many Isabel Twinems are there?”

  Even rarer is the married woman who’d sign a note to her lover with her full name.

  I got back to the apartment about ten. An hour later, Emmie arrived.

  “Where have you been?” I asked.

  “Preparations for tomorrow evening.”

  “What sort of preparations?”

  “Mme. Sahlumie has agreed to conduct a séance.”

  “Where?”

  “She has a new studio in Manhattan. All the Twinems will be there.”

  “They’re going along with this?”

  “Oh, yes. I told you old Mrs. Twinem was already a client. All that was necessary was to have Mme. Sahlumie contact her saying she’d heard from her son. Then she explained that the rest of the family would need to be there as well. And Professor Rhodes, whom the late Mr. Twinem requested specifically.”

  “So, Twinem is going to confront his widow and her lover, Rhodes?”

  “Yes. Mme. Sahlumie has a man very adept at pla
ying these roles, but he’s taken to his sick bed. I was thinking you could take on the part, Harry.”

  “Your undying faith in my talents at impersonation is gratifying, Emmie.”

  At half past eleven, she and I went downstairs to await the rendezvous on the plaza. Jimmy Yuan was already there, standing before a carriage.

  “Where are the girls, Harry?”

  “Should be here soon. You said midnight.”

  “My associates are rather anxious.”

  It was then he realized Emmie was standing beside me.

  “It seems the tong mistook my cousin Carlotta for Emmie,” I explained.

  “I see,” he said. “But you’re still willing to bargain?”

  “Oh, yes. Where is Carlotta?”

  He motioned toward a second carriage.

  “I don’t suppose I still get the five hundred, too?”

  “I suggest you not broach the matter.”

  Just then, a train of three cabs arrived. Ainslie, Thibaut, and Nell hopped out of the first.

  “Here they are, Harry. And they’re beauts!”

  I should probably have guessed his source for young girls would be the Dainty Paree Burlesquers. He’d taped their eyes into almond shapes and dressed them in kimonos. Given the dim lighting, there might have been some chance of pulling the thing off. Provided they’d been anything remotely like dainty. In fact, they had the physique of wrestlers, and any one of them would have outweighed three of the Chinese girls we’d liberated.

  Jimmy inspected them and then looked at me quizzically.

  “Don’t you realize these people are very serious, Harry?” Then he started back to his carriage.

  It was still well before midnight. I needed to stall until Tibbitts arrived.

  “Wait,” I called after him. “I have Xiang-Mei.”

  Jimmy turned about.

  “It better not be another stunt, Harry.”

  “No, she’s the real McCoy.”

  He looked at me warily for a moment or two, then went over and consulted with the fellow in the carriage.

  “Bring her, but you have just five minutes.”

  Emmie stopped me. “Harry, you can’t be thinking of turning over Xiang-Mei. No matter who she is, she clearly doesn’t want to be found by these people.”

  “We don’t have a choice, Emmie. Besides, Tibbitts should be here any minute.”

  I went on my way and she followed. Upstairs, Xiang-Mei was just taking another pan of moon cakes out of the oven. I explained the situation to her. Instead of acting frightened, she scolded me.

  “Silly man. Why did you not tell me they took Carlotta?”

  “I assumed your sympathies were with them.”

  “Silly man.”

  She put on a jacket and preceded us downstairs. I pointed out Jimmy Yuan. She approached him and then shouted something in Chinese. Jimmy looked decidedly discomfited. Then the tong boss fellow I’d met the other day came out of the carriage, gave Xiang-Mei a little half bow, and was shouted at in his turn. He gave a command to someone in the second carriage and Carlotta emerged.

  “HarRY, thank GOD! I was kidNAPPED by a TONG!”

  “Yes, I heard a rumor to that effect. But you’re safe now. Why don’t you go on up to the apartment? Emmie will explain everything.”

  As Emmie and Thibaut led her away, the tong fellow got in his carriage and drove off. Xiang-Mei smiled at me and then went upstairs with Nell.

  “What was that all about, Jimmy?”

  “Xiang-Mei is the daughter of the very big boss, in Hong Kong. She left home without his permission and he sent out word there would be a big reward for finding her. But that if any harm came to her, well…. Where has she been?”

  “Staying with us. When’s your show reopen?”

  “Never. Not here, at least. I have a better idea. I can create a Chinatown where there isn’t one. In Paris, say. Or Berlin.”

  “That ought to cut down on the competition.”

  “Yes, exactly. We’ll tour Europe, just like Buffalo Bill. Good night, Harry.”

  Before I could respond, an ugly mutt of a dog bounded up and leapt into Jimmy’s arms. It was obvious they wanted to be alone.

  I turned to see Ainslie surrounded by six not at all dainty burlesquers and three angry cabbies, all insisting on payment. He shouted to me, but I pretended not to hear. Just then, Tibbitts arrived with a couple other fellows and they were all drawn into the melee.

  Upstairs, I found Carlotta collapsed on the couch. Thibaut was very wisely weeping at her feet, while Nell and Emmie attended to the petting and cooing. She seemed to be recovering from her ordeal, and to help things along I mixed her a whiskey sour, her favorite cocktail. Then she and Thibaut had a little exchange in patois.

  “Thibaut and I are getting married tomorrow,” she announced.

  About five minutes later Ainslie staggered in. I handed Carlotta the bottle of Old Harper No. 4 and she once again demonstrated her skill as glassware markswoman. Then she went off for a bath.

  Ainslie was out cold. The mob below had given him a pretty adequate beating but Carlotta’s handiwork with the bottle drew the most blood. It took a while for even Nell to voice any concern. But eventually she had me drag him off to their room so she could minister to him.

  I went back out to find Tibbitts pouring himself a drink. We sat down with Emmie.

  “You were late, Sergeant,” Emmie told him.

  “We were here at ten to. You must’ve got started early. Besides, your cousin got home all right. How’d you get them to give her up?”

  “It’s a long story,” I said. “Let’s save it for later.”

  “All right,” he agreed. “Hey, what are you two doing in the morning?”

  “I had feared we’d be attending Carlotta’s funeral, but now it seems it may be her wedding. Why?”

  “I’m taking the bull by the horns. Elizabeth still expects me to show up on the boat tomorrow morning.”

  “But you have other plans.”

  “No, I’ll be there, all right. I’m throwing a little party before the boat sets sail. I’ve got a couple dozen people coming. It should be fun. See, I told everyone I ordered her to go to Europe.”

  “Very clever,” Emmie said. “But certain to elicit a wrathful response.”

  “Yeah. But not while everyone’s there. And I even arranged a cabin-mate for her. The wife of a fellow I work with was heading over next week on a second-class ticket. Bridget. Wait ’til you meet her.”

  When he finished his drink, he went off to make last-minute arrangements for his affair on the boat. Now that we were alone, I told Emmie what Jimmy had told me about Xiang-Mei.

  “I suppose that explains the money.”

  Xiang-Mei, having overheard us, came out of the kitchen and offered us each a moon cake.

  “Does Lou know who you are?” Emmie asked her.

  “Lou is a farm boy. He wouldn’t understand. But you won’t tell?”

  “No, of course not. So you plan to stay with him?”

  “Oh, yes. But now we can’t stay here. Sorry, but you need to find a new maid.”

  “That’s all right. Where will you go?”

  “Buy a farm. Special cricket farm. Lou has a plan.”

  “To corner the cricket market?”

  “Yes. But must be away from New York now. My father will come looking.”

  “I know a farm upstate that needs some help.”

  “Far from New York?”

  “Hours away. No one would think to look there.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea, Harry. You could help with the girls, too, Xiang-Mei.”

  “You left the Chinese girls at this farm?”

  “Yes. We were thinking we could find suitable husbands for them.”

  “Would have to wait long time. Tong would hear about it. But they can help on the farm. They are all good peasant girls.”

  When we came into the hall the next morning, Ainslie was on the phone with Nell at his si
de. He finished his call and hung up.

  “It’s on for today, at noon,” he told her.

  “Cliff has arranged for Carlotta and Thibaut to be married this morning. And luncheon afterward,” Nell told us.

  “Who’s footing the bill?”

  “We are, Harry. Cliffie insisted. You just need to be at the church at noon.”

  “Which church?”

  “Church of the Transfiguration. On 29th Street, just off Fifth Avenue,” Ainslie added. “Then on to Sherry’s!”

  We had some coffee and a quick bite, then headed off to the car stop.

  “Where’d he get the money for that?” I asked Emmie.

  “Aunt Nell was wired some yesterday from home.”

  “She could have used some of it to save him a beating last night.”

  “I think she has a plan to reform him.”

  “A plan that incorporates periodic beatings?”

  “Yes, I imagine so. But only at the hands of others. Aunt Nell has always stood firmly against any form of violence.”

  It was half past nine when we found Elizabeth’s cabin. Tibbitts was there with a dozen others, and he was uncorking bottles of champagne with a liberality one appreciates in a host. Elizabeth herself was in a corner giving everyone a sort of frozen smile. Beside her sat Bridget, her traveling companion, reading from a brochure that extolled all the exciting attractions the ship had to offer. When she saw us, Elizabeth hopped up and led us into the passageway.

  “Was this your doing, Emmie? I don’t believe Tibbitts came up with it himself.”

  “It was Harry who lent him Shakespeare’s shrew-taming manual.”

  “And was it Harry who had me in a harem in Bangkok?”

  This obscure reference needs explanation. Earlier that year, Emmie had tried to resurrect a defunct literary journal. And for want of content, she had included a “Letter from Bangkok” purported to have been written by Elizabeth, who had led us to believe she was going to that city. It was a colorful little tale describing Elizabeth’s abandonment by the fiancé she’d gone to meet and her subsequent sale into the king’s harem. Emmie then distributed the few copies she’d managed to print to former classmates of hers and Elizabeth’s.

  “That was your own fault,” Emmie answered. “I’d have had no need to turn to the magazine if you hadn’t foiled the publication of my biography of the countess.”