Murder She Encountered Page 3

  They crossed over World’s Fair Boulevard heading back toward the Aquacade. A mother with two children—a gangly looking boy of about thirteen and a younger boy still in knickers and with a shock of carrot-red hair—walked in front of them. Both boys clutched cones in their hands, the quickly melting ice cream dribbling down their arms.

  The younger boy—the redhead—caught his toe on a bit of uneven pavement and stumbled, sending his globe of ice cream flying in the air. It landed on the sidewalk with a plop and immediately began to melt into a sticky puddle.

  The young boy let out an ear-piercing yell and continued to wail loudly, rubbing his knuckles into his eyes, his mouth wide open, despite his mother’s promises to buy another cone.

  “Come on.” Kaminsky took Elizabeth’s arm and they scurried around the mess of vanilla ice cream, although they could hear the boy bawling behind them until they’d nearly reached the Aquacade.

  “What did you think of our friend Dotty?” Kaminsky said.

  “I thought there was something odd about her reaction,” Elizabeth said. “It didn’t ring true.”

  “I’m with you on that—all that crying and fluttering of her handkerchief. She ain’t no Bette Davis, that’s for sure.”

  “She also said something odd.”

  “Oh? What?”

  “It was when you told her about finding the body with the stocking around her neck. She immediately said ‘I don’t know anything about it.’ ”

  “What’s odd about that?”

  “I don’t know. It’s hard to explain. But it seems to me most people would ask a question—whose body or what happened. She sounded awfully defensive to me. As if you’d accused her of having had something to do with it.”

  Kaminsky rubbed his chin. “You’re right. That was an odd reaction. I’m beginning to wonder if our friend Dotty might have had something to do with Flo’s death.” He smiled at Elizabeth. “I guess we’ll find out.”

  * * *

  —

  A small group was still clustered around Flo Grimm’s body, although now she was covered with a cloth and the mortuary van attendant was hovering nearby.

  Marino watched as they approached, a smile lighting his face as Elizabeth got closer.

  Kaminsky poked Elizabeth with his elbow. “See if you can get your paramour to spill some details.”

  Elizabeth was about to protest that term, but they were now within earshot of the men standing by the body.

  “Cara,” Marino said to Elizabeth, causing one of the policemen to smirk and jostle his colleague.

  Elizabeth nodded rather primly. She felt her face get hot.

  “Was she strangled or did she drown?” Kaminsky said.

  “The ME said it could go either way. He won’t know until he does the autopsy. If she drowned, they’ll find water in her lungs. If she was strangled before she was tossed in the pool—they won’t.”

  “We’ve got a name for your corpse,” Kaminsky said.

  “You don’t say.” Marino’s eyes lit up.

  “Florence Grimm. She worked at the DuPont exhibit. We talked to one of the gals there.”

  “What else did you find out?”

  “She has a beau named Earl Miller. Works in a bank apparently.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I’m afraid not.” Kaminsky looked at Elizabeth. “We need to get back to the newsroom so we can file the story.”

  Elizabeth smiled at Marino and turned to follow Kaminsky.

  * * *

  —

  A wave of sadness washed over Elizabeth as she developed the photographs she’d taken that afternoon at the World’s Fair. Flo had been young—close to Elizabeth’s own age. Elizabeth pulled the last picture from the stop bath and moved it to the fixer.

  Flo’s face stared up at her—being submerged in the liquid gave it an otherworldly appearance. Elizabeth shuddered. She wondered if that was how she had looked floating under the water in the pool at the Aquacade.

  Kaminsky was at his desk banging away on his typewriter. He reached for the mug on his desk and took a glug of what Elizabeth was quite sure was most likely cold coffee. She shuddered.

  She hovered nearby, and when he reached the end of a line, he looked up.

  “Got some photographs for me?”

  Elizabeth pushed aside some papers and put the pictures down on his desk.

  “What do you think?” she said.

  Kaminsky studied the four she’d selected, rubbing a thumb across the bristle on his chin.

  “I’m going to see if the editor will give us space for all three.” He glanced at the clock. “It’s getting late. Why don’t you head on home?”

  Elizabeth was shocked to see the time. She’d have to hurry if she was going to have an opportunity to freshen up before dinner.

  She said good night to Kaminsky, grabbed her hat and purse, and headed out the door of the newsroom.

  She checked the seams in her stockings while she waited for the elevator, which arrived with a loud ding that made her jump. Elizabeth got on, and David, the young elevator operator, grinned at her cheekily.

  “Say, are you going to watch the fight tonight between Lon Nova and Max Baer?” he said as he pulled the elevator door closed. “It will be broadcast on television. We don’t have a set, but they have a couple of them in Macy’s window. My pal Samuel—he works there on the loading dock—said they would be turned on and tuned into the fight. A bunch of us are going over there to watch it.”

  “Who are you betting on?” Elizabeth said.

  A determined expression came over David’s face. “Max Baer has got to win.” Ever since he beat Max Schmeling, I’ve been a fan.”

  “Oh? What do you have against Schmeling? Does he cheat?” Elizabeth had never watched a boxing match in her life and knew nothing whatsoever about the sport.

  “He’s one of them, isn’t he? A Nazi? We still have family over there. We got word that my father’s cousin’s shop was destroyed—the windows all broken, and then they set fire to the place. His wife was bedridden—they lived above the shop—and didn’t make it out.” He clenched his fists. “I’d like to beat up every single one of them.”

  “I’m sorry,” Elizabeth said. That felt inadequate, but she didn’t know what else to say.

  The elevator reached the ground floor, and she got out. A feeling of sadness trailed after her as she walked out the door and joined the people rushing toward the subway. She’d read about the war in Europe and had been horrified by Hitler’s actions, but it hadn’t touched her life the way it had David’s.

  She wondered if the United States would get involved in the conflict. Up till now President Roosevelt had assured them that it wouldn’t.

  The air was slightly cooler than it had been earlier, but the subway was hot and airless, and by the time Elizabeth arrived home she was longing for a shower and a change of clothes.

  “Darling,” her mother Helen greeted her when she opened the front door of their apartment, “we have a guest for dinner tonight.” She looked Elizabeth up and down. “You might want to freshen up a bit and perhaps change your clothes.” She waved a hand at Elizabeth’s wrinkled shirtwaist dress.

  “I was planning on it,” Elizabeth said, kissing Helen on the cheek. “It’s beastly out—not even the breath of a breeze.” Elizabeth took off her hat and ran a hand through her hair. “Who is this mysterious guest we’re having?”

  Helen gave a conspiratorial smile. “It’s a young woman your brother has invited.”

  Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. Her brother James was home from Yale for the summer, and while he had squired any number of girls to parties, dances, and debutante balls, this was the first time he’d invited anyone home for dinner.

  “She must be special,” Elizabeth said.

  Helen looked pl
eased. “I think she might be.”

  Chapter 4

  Elizabeth watched as James tilted his head and listened intently to a story his date, a girl named Cecilia Perkins, was telling. She didn’t find the girl to be particularly impressive—she was pretty enough with fine pale skin, wavy blond hair, and big blue eyes—but the sort you forgot as soon as she walked away.

  You’re jealous, Elizabeth chided herself. James was her baby brother, and up till now they’d had him all to themselves. She had to face the fact that soon enough he would graduate from college, marry, and start a family of his own.

  Something Cecilia said caught Elizabeth’s ear.

  “I heard they were going to let that boat dock here and allow all those refugees to come ashore,” Cecilia said.

  George, Elizabeth’s father, looked up from the veal chop he was cutting.

  “You mean the SS St. Louis? I saw a story in The Times today explaining that that was just a rumor.” He patted his lips with his napkin. “They say it was meant to avert suicides.”

  “Suicides!” Elizabeth’s younger sister Rose exclaimed. “Why on earth would they want to commit suicide?”

  George laid down his knife and fork and turned toward Rose. “The boat is coming from Germany. The passengers are Jews fleeing Hitler and they want to be let into this country where they will be safe.”

  Rose’s eyes grew round. “They will let them stay, won’t they, Father?”

  Helen laughed. “Surely we don’t want those people here. Who knows what harm they might cause.”

  “It won’t happen,” George said. “They have to be put on the waiting list like everyone else.”

  Elizabeth felt herself growing hot with anger. “But really, what harm would it do?” She thought of her conversation with David. “Things are horrible over in Germany. The Jews are being persecuted.”

  “I don’t see why that should be our problem,” Cecilia said, looking at James.

  “I don’t think you need to worry.” George nodded at Cecilia. “The government has decided that we need to put America first.”

  “That’s right,” Helen said. “We have enough to worry about, what with taking care of the needy and the homeless here. Just the other day when I was on my way to Bergdorf Goodman, the taxi passed a soup kitchen, and you wouldn’t have believed the line. It was more than a block long.”

  Elizabeth opened her mouth but then shut it again. It had been drummed into her since she was a child that you did not bring up unpleasant subjects or have arguments during dinner—especially not when you had a guest.

  * * *

  —

  Elizabeth was up early the next morning even though it was a Saturday and she normally liked to lounge in bed and read for a bit before breakfast. She’d promised Kaminsky she would meet him at the World’s Fair to follow up on the story of Flo Grimm’s murder. There were still a number of people to be interviewed, and Elizabeth hoped that one of them would hold the key to the mystery of who the killer was.

  She didn’t believe that young hot dog vendor was the culprit. She couldn’t say why—it was the look she had seen in his eyes—the pain, the desperation. Even now, recalling it, Elizabeth felt a sense of urgency to prove that her hunch was right and he was innocent.

  “You’re up bright and early for a Saturday,” Helen said when Elizabeth joined her at the breakfast table. “Do you have plans with some friends? Your sister has already eaten and gone off to the Metropolitan Museum for the Vermeer exhibit.” Helen carefully eased out a section of grapefruit with her spoon. “You used to see a lot of Constance Walker. Such a lovely girl. I heard she’s on the fundraising committee for the March of Dimes. I should think that would interest you, given that they are raising money for a cure for polio.” Helen popped the piece of grapefruit into her mouth. “So where are you off to today? You haven’t said.”

  Elizabeth sighed. “I’m working today.”

  Helen put down her spoon and it clattered against the plate. “But, darling, it’s Saturday. You ought to be spending the day with friends at the museum or a play or whatever it is you young people enjoy these days.”

  “My job isn’t nine to five and Monday through Friday,” Elizabeth said, stirring some sugar into the coffee Mrs. Murphy had just poured for her. “Crimes happen every day of the week, I’m afraid.”

  Helen shuddered. “I don’t see why you have to stay in that dreadful job. Your brother is spending the summer working in your father’s firm and still has plenty of time for tennis and house parties and dances. If you insist on working, I know your father said that they are looking for someone to type letters.”

  Elizabeth took a deep breath and decided to change the subject.

  “What did you think of Cecilia?”

  Helen broke into a smile. “I thought she was simply lovely, didn’t you?”

  Elizabeth bit her tongue. “Yes,” she said quietly.

  She took a piece of toast from the toast rack and buttered it. She ate quickly, dabbed at her lips with her napkin, and pushed her chair back.

  “Good heavens,” Helen said when Elizabeth stood up. “Are you wearing that?”

  Elizabeth glanced down at the wide-legged navy trousers she’d paired with a white blouse with a sailor collar.

  “Yes. We’re going to the fair to interview some people.”

  “I suppose it’s all right then.” Helen sighed. “I never thought I’d live to see women going about wearing trousers.”

  * * *

  —

  Elizabeth arrived at the fair early. She wasn’t due to meet Kaminsky for almost an hour. She didn’t mind—it would give her time to stroll around and take in some of the sights.

  She paused in front of the Perisphere—a two-hundred-foot globe—the equivalent of eighteen stories—that housed Democracity, an exhibit depicting the world of tomorrow.

  No less impressive was the Trylon—a pointed tower that was the tallest structure at the fair. Elizabeth tilted her head back and looked to the very top—nearly seven hundred feet in the air.

  Both structures were so large that they could be seen from midtown Manhattan. But now, standing in front of them, she was even more awed.

  She passed the Westinghouse exhibit building where Mildred had said there was a talking seven-foot-tall robot named Elektro who was known for smoking cigarettes and making flirtatious comments to the ladies. Mildred said he’d looked straight at her and called her toots and had then looked at Mildred’s fiancé and said, My brain is bigger than yours. Elizabeth looked forward to coming back and seeing the spectacle for herself.

  She now had five minutes to get to the spot by the subway entrance where she and Kaminsky had planned to meet. Visitors to the fair had been arriving in a steady stream, and Elizabeth found it slightly difficult to make her way through the crowd. She glanced at her watch again. Hopefully Kaminsky would be late.

  Suddenly there was a noise behind her, and she turned around to see five policemen running toward her.

  “Excuse me, miss,” one of them said as he rushed past.

  Elizabeth decided to follow them. They headed into the amusement zone of the World’s Fair and made their way around Fountain Lake. Elizabeth’s leg was beginning to fatigue, but she forced herself to keep going.

  The policemen came to a stop in front of the Cuban Village. After a whispered consultation, two of them entered the building.

  Elizabeth went up to the three men remaining outside and flashed her press card.

  “Daily Trumpet,” she said, feeling a slight thrill at the words.

  “What can I do for you, miss?” The cop pushed his hat back and wiped a drop of sweat off his forehead.

  “What’s going on?” Elizabeth said.

  He jerked a thumb toward the entrance to the Cuban Village.

  “We got a complaint from so
meone claiming there were naked ladies in there.”

  Kaminsky was going to be sorry to have missed this, Elizabeth thought as she took her camera from the case.

  Moments later, the two policemen returned, shepherding a young woman between them. She had long dark hair trailing down her back and had a man’s jacket thrown around her shoulders. Her legs were bare and she was protesting loudly.

  She glared at Elizabeth as Elizabeth’s shutter clicked. It was the perfect picture. Elizabeth could already see it plastered across the front page of the Trumpet. She and Kaminsky could come back later and get the whole story.

  “Come on now,” one of the cops said to the crowd that had gathered. “Break it up. Nothing more to see here.”

  Elizabeth hurried away. When she arrived at their meeting spot, Kaminsky was leaning against a pole by the entrance to the IND subway. He had a buttered roll wrapped in waxed paper in his hand.

  “I hope you haven’t been waiting long,” Elizabeth said when she reached him. “I stopped to get some pictures at the Cuban Village.” She pointed behind her. “They’d had a complaint about naked ladies performing.” Elizabeth felt herself turn slightly pink. “I got a picture as they led one of the performers away.”

  “Good work, Biz. We’ll follow up on that later.”

  Kaminsky shoved the last bite of his roll into his mouth and tossed the waxed paper into a nearby trash can.

  “What first?” Elizabeth said, hastening to keep up with him.

  “I thought maybe we’d go back to the DuPont exhibit. Now that the shock has worn off a bit, perhaps we can get more out of Miss Howard. And who knows? Some of her colleagues might be even more forthcoming.”

  “You know what I was thinking?” Elizabeth said as they headed toward the pedestrian bridge that would take them over World’s Fair Boulevard. “How did the murderer get Flo Grimm’s body from the DuPont exhibit all the way over to the Aquacade? He couldn’t possibly have carried her that far—even if he was strong enough to do it—without someone noticing.”