Persephone Cole and the Christmas Killings Conundrum, Book Tw Page 4

  Percy glanced at the girl. “How’d you get home if you couldn’t find your purse? Weren’t your car keys in there?”

  “No, I always leave them in the ignition. Otherwise, I lose them.”

  “You could lose your car that way.” Once again, the school marm came out in Percy. She’d have to watch that.

  Lily didn’t reply but shrugged and huddled against the door again.

  “Lock that door, will you? I don’t want it springing open and you falling out. I don’t have time to go back and pick you up.”

  A small smile crossed the girl’s lips.

  “That’s better. So who do you think did it, Lily? If it wasn’t you, who was it?”

  A look of fear sprang up on Lily’s face again, but she remained silent.

  “So you think it was your father.”

  Lily nearly jumped out of her seat. “I didn’t say that! No, no!”

  “Relax, kid. You think your father did it, he thinks you did it, both of you are scared the other one killed the elf.”

  “Connie, his name was Connie.” Her tone was quarrelsome, challenging.

  “All right. Connie.”

  “And I really liked him,” she said in a simple, child’s voice. “Do you think my father… killed him?”

  “He seems to have an airtight alibi, but I don’t know yet. When I find out for certain, you’ll be the first person I tell. Try to get some sleep. We’ve got another hour’s worth of travel.”

  Chapter Six

  The rain didn’t let up and the ride took closer to an hour and a half. Percy pulled up to the corner of second and Houston. She parked in her usual spot, directly across the street from her apartment stoop, and rolled down the fogged up window. Looking around, she saw there was no one out in this downpour, not even the usual venders. Too bad, she would’ve liked a hotdog about now, about the only meat she saw these days, but this way their entrance into the building was unobserved.

  “Hey, wake up, Sleeping Beauty.” She tapped Lily on the shoulder.

  The girl had dropped off instantly and hadn’t stirred once during the trip back to Manhattan’s lower east side. Percy hustled the groggy girl out of the car, and up three flights to her family’s apartment. Lily was silent the entire time. Percy couldn’t figure out if she was still half asleep or shocked to see how the have-nots lived. This time of day the hallways and landings, often filled with children spilling out into them from their apartments, were eerily quiet.

  Percy tried the handle and opened the unlocked apartment door, clucking to herself. No matter how many times she and Pop told everyone to be sure to lock up after themselves, they rarely did. She threw the door wide open. It, too, was eerily quiet. She did a mental rundown. Sera, working; Oliver, school; Mother, shopping; Pop no doubt napping. He slept a lot these days.

  “Come on in, but try not to drip on anything.” she said to Lily in a muted voice. Wordless, Lily followed her inside. “Let’s try to keep it down. My father is probably sleeping. Take off your hat and coat and leave them there.” Percy pointed to a rack nailed to the wall above an empty umbrella stand.

  Lily unbuttoned her coat, removed it along with the hat, while Percy hurriedly took off her wet things, shook them vigorously and threw them on the rack, talking in hushed tones continually.

  “This is the place I’m sharing for the time being with my family. That would be my mother, father, son, and God help me, my kid sister, who’s a year or two older than you. You’ll stay here for now. It ain’t the Ritz, but nobody will be looking for you here.”

  She picked up the suitcase and walked down the long hallway, trailed by a docile Lily. With a cautious glance at the girl, Percy wondered what was going on in her mind.

  Exhausted? Shocked? Planning an escape? I need to be ready.

  Pointing to doors shooting off to the left and right she said, “That’s my office slash bedroom. The parlor is opposite. You’ll be in Oliver’s room; he’ll bunk with me.”

  Percy pushed open the door of a ten by twelve room, containing a single bed and dresser drawers. A small desk and chair were strewn with comic books. Happy, yellow curtains and a matching bedspread stood out against light blue walls. Posters of different types of World War I and II warplanes were taped or nailed here and there. Three miniature wooden model airplanes swung from the center of the ceiling on strings. All in all, it was a warm and inviting small boy’s bedroom.

  A smile flickered on Lily’s face as she looked around, her first reaction to anything. The older woman dropped the big suitcase next to the dresser and went to the head of the neatly made bed. She reached under the pillow and pulled out her son’s green and white striped pajamas then went to the top drawer of the dresser and removed her child’s neatly folded underwear.

  Lily took a few steps, placed the small overnight case at the foot of the bed and sat heavily on the mattress next to it, feet dangling off the floor. While Lily looked around at her new surroundings, Percy observed her. The detective still wasn’t sure about the girl’s character, but was relatively sure Lily didn’t kill the elf. That’s all she cared about.

  That and five-thousand buckaroos.

  “Bathroom’s across the hall,” she stated. “Fresh towels in the linen closet – one a week is the allotment. Kitchen is at the end of the hallway.” She came and stood in front of Lily. “Here are the rules. You can’t leave this apartment and you can’t call or write anyone to tell them where you are.”

  “But my father--” Lily began to protest.

  “I’ll take care of your father.” Lily didn’t look convinced. “I mean it, kid, you don’t call anyone or go out, and you need to promise me that. You stay inside the apartment, preferably this room, except for meals. And when you finish eating, you clear your plate from the table and you take it to the sink, just like you pick up after yourself in the bathroom. As Mother says, ‘it’s the maid’s day off’. You got me?”

  “Yes, I got you.” Lily repeated. She looked up at the older woman. “Thank you, Miss Cole.” Lily stared at Percy with clear brown eyes, flashing her own acceptance at being odd man out. “You don’t like me much, do you?”

  “Jury isn’t in yet. But I think you’ve got the perfect name. ‘Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin.’”

  “‘But I tell you, not even Solomon in all his glory clothed himself like one of these.’” Lily completed the Biblical phrase, her voice ringing out in the small room. She glanced up at Percy. “My father and I used to go to Sunday School together. That was before my mother died. I can’t help it if I’m rich.”

  “No, I suppose you can’t, but try not to flaunt it around here.”

  Lily flushed and turned away. “I’ll try to be as little trouble as possible. What are you going to do now?”

  “I’m going to make a few calls, but first I need to ask you a question. This Connie, did he have any enemies?”

  Lily shook her head. “Not that I know of. Everyone likes…liked…Connie. But I didn’t know him that well.”

  But you knew him well enough to have sex with him in the middle of a fifth Avenue store window? Whoops! Watch that school marm crap, Percy.

  Lily went on, “I only met him at Santa Land a few weeks ago.”

  “Well, I’ll check that place out, too. You hungry?”

  Lily nodded, almost ashamed of the admission.

  “We don’t have much fancy stuff around here, but the icebox has some Spam in it and probably leftover oatmeal. Unless you want some pistachios. I got some here.” She reached inside her trouser pocket.

  Lily’s face lit up. “I love oatmeal. With butter and brown sugar?” She added the request, hopefully.

  Percy pulled her empty hand out and shook her head. “We got armored cow, sister. That’s canned milk. No butter, no brown sugar. Maybe a little regular sugar. I’ll see. Meanwhile, settle in, unpack – use the top drawer of the dresser -- and come on down to the kitchen in about five minutes. We don’t do room service here.”


  Percy shut the door behind her, went to her own room, tossed Oliver’s clothes on the bed, towel-dried her damp hair, and headed out to the kitchen. She pushed the door open, expecting the room to be empty and was surprised to see her father sitting in his wheelchair staring out at the rain from the four-paned window. His face looked worried and grim.

  Her voice broke the silence. “Pop, what’s wrong?”

  With a start, the silver-haired man turned to his eldest daughter, a smile crossing his face.

  “Persephone, I didn’t hear you come in.” He turned the wheelchair from the window and wheeled himself across the large room and toward her.

  She hurried forward and dropped to her knees, coming eye to eye with her father.

  “What is it, Pop? I can tell something bad has happened.”

  “It’s not that much,” Pop said in a dismissive manner. He touched her face with gentle fingertips then turned and wheeled himself a few feet away from his daughter. “The doctor was here a while ago and--”

  “And what, Pop?”

  “He wants to put me back in the hospital. Seems this old leg still isn’t healing right.” Pop gave out a short bark of a laugh. “I could have told him that.”

  Percy waited, saying nothing. She knew there was more.

  “He might have to take it.” While his voice was light, his body sunk into itself in defeat and resignation.

  Percy swallowed the scream rising in her throat and said nothing.

  Her father went on, “He says I’ve got an infection in the bone, called Osteomyelitis or something like that.” He shrugged. “This old thing’s not much good to me now, anyway. I’ve seen plenty of men get by with one leg.” He almost broke down but rallied. “Frankly, I’m glad to lose the leg if it means I lose the pain. Don’t tell Mother. I’ll tell her when the time is right.”

  “Pop, isn’t there anything? Anything else they can do? There must be something!”

  “Well, there’s this new stuff called penicillin, and he wishes he could try that. But it costs a fortune.”

  Percy thought about the two hundred and ninety-five dollars resting in her pocket. “How much?” Christmas will have to wait.

  Pop smiled and shook his head. “Fifty dollars a shot. Fifty! And he said I’d need at least eight of them. Even then, there’s no guarantee.”

  “But he could try that, right? If it could kill the infection, maybe you could keep your leg, right?”

  “Persephone.” His voice radiated exasperation and defeat on the single word. “Where am I--”

  “Here, Pop,” she said standing up. She thrust a hand into her pocket and pulled out the roll of money. “Here’s, two hundred and ninety-five bucks. We’re a hundred and five bucks short but at least this’ll get us started. Maybe he’ll float you the rest until I get it. And I’ll get it, I swear.” She rolled the money up, dropped down and, taking her father’s hand, forced it into his palm. She closed his fist and wrapped her hand around his. “Take it, Pop, it’s the only way.”

  If Waller wants any of it back, tough shit.

  “Where’d you get all that money?” Her father’s face was clearly astonished. “You didn’t do nothing dishonest, did you? The name of Cole has never been--”

  “No, no, Pop. All above board.” She stood up again. “Mr. Waller, the new client, gave it to me as an advance. It’s the dead elf job. That reminds me, Pop, I’ve got his daughter in Oliver’s room.”

  “The dead elf’s daughter?”

  “No, no, Pop, Lily Waller, the jeweler’s daughter. It was her gun that shot the man, but I don’t think she did it. She’s going to stay with us for a few days until I find out who killed Connie.”

  “I thought it was a man who got shot.”

  “It is. It was. The dead elf’s name was Conrad Barnes. They called him Connie.”

  Pop slammed his hand down on the armrest in frustration. “What is this world coming to, Persephone? People call you, a girl, Percy. Then they call a man Connie. I don’t--”

  “Pop, Pop, stop.” She burst out laughing. After a moment, so did her father. “I think I know why you and Mother have lasted this long.” Sobering, she added, “Pop, go call the doctor. Tell him you want to start those shots right away. You got the money now or most of it. Okay? There’s no better use for it.”

  Pop opened his hand and stared at the wad of bills. “I can’t take this. Take money like this from one of my children? What have I come to?”

  “Come on, Pop. It’s only money. That’s what it’s for.”

  He searched her face. “Persephone, Persephone, Persephone, you’re such a sweet girl, always were. The outside is Norse, like your ancestors, but inside pure angel --” He reached out and tried to fold his arms around her.

  “Ah, Pop, stop already.” She pretended to fight his affection off. “I love you, too, but don’t go all mushy on me.”

  “Just one little hug, Persephone? What could it hurt?”

  “Okay, but you got to take the money, Pop.” She gave him a quick hug and broke free. “Okay?” She searched his face.

  Pop nodded then looked down. “Okay.” He held the bills, looking down at the wad then thrust them into his shirt pocket. “I liked it better, though, when you were my secretary, being safe. Not out there doing investigating, like the killing of an elf. It isn’t right; you could get hurt. If only I could get out of this chair….” He stopped speaking and shook his head slowly.

  “I want you out of the chair, too, and you will be soon. But I like this better, Pop, and that should count for something.”

  Pop pushed away, still shaking his head. Percy went on.

  “Even when you get well, I don’t want to go back to being your secretary. I’m a detective now. I even got a license. It’s been hanging on the wall for months. Why can’t I be your partner, the same as Uncle Gill?”

  Pop whirled his wheelchair around to face his daughter. “Gilleathain was my elder brother and a man. We were both on the police force before the Depression laid us off. Then he got us the jobs for the meat packing industry down on Fourteenth Street fighting illegal drinking, but we worked our way up and started our own business.”

  The same old story again and again.

  In frustration, Percy rolled her eyes. “Uncle Gill’s been gone for two years. Liquor’s legal and we got to make a living with the cases that come along. I’ve been doing this with you side by side, especially after your fall from that catwalk. You remember all the work I did on Macbeth.”

  “Course I do. I was side by side with you much of the time.”

  “That’s right. I solved the case when nobody else could. And I worked hard to get my PI license. I want a future that means something; I don’t want to be a secretary for the rest of my life. Please, Pop.”

  She watched him study her face for a moment, unsure which way this argument would go. Pop, for all his pleasantness was a man who made up his mind fast, and when he did, few could change it. She sucked in a breath and didn’t expel until he spoke.

  “Yes, you did solve that case and I’ve never been prouder. And you worked harder and have been a better partner than pretty near anyone I ever knew.” In almost a 180 degree turn, he smacked his hand down on the armrest of the wheelchair. “Things have been changing and we got to go along with the changes.” He laughed his warm loud laugh, a laugh Percy loved since she could remember. “You know, they’re talking about taking women on the force? Next they’ll be putting them in the fire department.”

  “And Brinks hired women to be detectives, Pop, last year. Three of them.”

  “Well, why not? Many’s a woman that can hold her own with a man, but especially you, Persephone,” he added with pride. “Ninety-five percent of detective work is done in the old noggin,” he said, tapping the side of his head. “And you got a better noggin than most.”

  “Thanks, Pop. Coming from you, that means a lot.”

  There was a tentative knock on the swinging door.

  “That
’s got to be Lily,” Percy said. “Where’s Mother, anyway?”

  “Picking up a prescription for me at the drugstore.” He called out in a louder voice. “Come on in, young lady.”

  Lilly pushed the door open slowly and stuck her head in. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean --”

  “Come on in,” Pop repeated, in his usual, genial manner. “We don’t stand on ceremony around here.”

  “Right.” Percy crossed her arms and looked at the girl. “There’s no need to knock on the kitchen door. Now the bathroom door…”

  “Persephone,” her father chastised, “As your mother would say, let’s not be crude.”

  Puzzled, Percy looked at him. “That was crude?” She turned back to Lily, who still stood in the doorway, ill at ease. “Sit down, Lily, and I’ll get you that oatmeal.” Percy moved to the icebox and took out a large bowl covered with a moist cloth.

  “We’ve got some dried apricots left over from last Christmas you can cut up and put on it, if you like,” the older man offered.

  “Thank you, Mr. Cole, but just the oatmeal.” Lily came to the table taking small, hesitant steps.

  “And it’s not Mr. Cole. It’s Pop. Everybody calls me Pop.”

  “Gee, and here I thought I was the only one that could do that, Pop.” Percy grinned and gave her father a wink. She struck a match, lit a burner then took out a large helping of oatmeal and dropped it in a small saucepan. “Lily, if you want milk, there’s canned in the icebox. Pop, we got any butter or brown sugar?” He shot her an incredulous look. She, in turn, gave a knowing look to Lily. “Just checking.”

  “I don’t need anything else, really.” Lily’s reply sounded guilty and tentative.

  “Hey, it never hurts to ask, that’s my philosophy.” Percy went to the pantry, tugged at the overhead pull-chain, and stepped inside. “Aha, just like I thought. Mother’s been saving up sugar to make Oliver a birthday cake. I’m sure she won’t mind if you have a teaspoon or two.” She brought out a jar filled with white sugar and set it next to the stove.

  “Thanks.” Lily crossed over to the stove. More assertive, she said, “If you want, I can take over.”