“She didn’t just die,” Frank said. “She was murdered.”
Keith’s eyes widened and the blood drained from his face. “Who killed her?”
“I was thinking it might be the man who fathered her baby.”
Keith wasn’t a stupid man. “It wasn’t me!” he cried. “I never . . . My girls don’t get pregnant, because I don’t . . .
None of them do. If she said it was me, she was lying!”
How very interesting, Frank thought. “She didn’t say anything, Mr. Keith. I’m only trying to figure out who it might’ve been. I guess I’ll add you to my list.”
The color flooded back to his face. “It wasn’t me. I got a wife and family. I don’t need a lot of little bastards wanting money from me, too. I might have some fun with the girls, but none of them got a baby from it. I’d swear to it.”
Frank could find out easily enough what his reputation was. That wouldn’t prove he wasn’t the father of Nainsi’s baby, but at least it would give him an idea of the likelihood of it. “Thanks for clearing that up for me,” Frank said with just the slightest trace of sarcasm. “Now I’d like to talk to Brigit Murphy.”
“Why?” he challenged, assuming some of his bravado again.
“To find out more about Nainsi O’Hara,” Frank said. “If you’d like to point her out, I’d be grateful. If you don’t, I’ll have to start trying to find something illegal in your shop,” he added with a grin.
Keith looked like he wanted to punch Frank, but he pointed to a group of girls gathered in the back of the room.
“She’s the tall one with the curls.”
Frank didn’t thank him. He strolled down the length of the room to where the girls stood talking. One of them noticed his approach and motioned for the others to be quiet.
By the time he reached them, they were all staring at him in wide-eyed terror. They’d recognized him as a cop. People always did, even though he wore a suit just like any busi-nessman in the city. Maybe it was the way cops carried themselves. He’d never been able to figure it out, but people always knew.
“Hello, ladies,” he said as kindly as he could. “I’m Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy. I’m investigating Nainsi Ruocco’s murder.”
One of them made a little squeak, but the rest of them just stared.
“Miss Murphy,” he said, addressing the tall girl. Her hair was light brown and not so much curly as wild and frizzy.
She’d made an effort to pin it up neatly, but it was defiantly springing loose every which way. She’d be a handsome girl if she didn’t look like somebody was holding a knife to her throat at the moment. “Nainsi’s mother said you were good friends with her.”
Brigit nodded uncertainly.
“Did the rest of you know her, too?”
The other girls nodded reluctantly.
“You don’t have to be afraid. I’m trying to learn more about her so I can figure out who killed her.”
“Wasn’t it one of the Ruoccos?” the shortest girl asked.
Frank dearly hoped not, but he said, “I don’t know who it was yet. That’s why I’m trying to learn more about her—
and her friends.”
“Didn’t none of us kill her,” Brigit cried in alarm. “Why would we?”
“I didn’t think you did. I’m more interested in finding out about her . . . gentlemen friends.”
One of the girls snickered, then slapped a hand over her mouth.
Brigit glared at her, but the girl said, “Wasn’t none of them gentlemen.”
“But she did meet men at the dance houses,” Frank said.
“Well, sure, that’s why we go there,” Brigit said before any of the others could speak. “We all meet men there. That’s who we dance with.”
Frank knew the men would also treat them to drinks and cigarettes and even buy them gifts, in exchange for favors promised or actually delivered. “Did she have any special men that she met outside the dance house?”
“Antonio Ruocco,” the short girl said, making the rest of them giggle.
“This would’ve been several months before she met Antonio,” Frank pressed. “Last spring or summer.”
The girls exchanged puzzled looks. “That’s when she met Antonio,” Brigit said. “I don’t know when exactly, but it was early spring. The weather was just getting warm.”
“That’s right,” another girl agreed. “She’d just started wearing that straw hat. We told her it caught his eye.”
Brigit nodded. “She told us all about him, and he was her only special fellow all summer long. Some of the places, they don’t let the Italian boys in, so she’d go out with us, then slip away and meet him someplace.”
According to what Sarah had told him, that didn’t make any sense. He’d have to question Antonio and find out the truth. “When she found out about the baby,” Frank said,
“she must’ve talked to you about it.”
The girls looked a little embarrassed to be discussing such a delicate subject.
“She was real scared, and she cried all the time, even at work,” the short girl offered.
“Who wouldn’t be scared?” Brigit snapped. “She was scared at first, but we all told her not to be a goose. Tell him and make him marry her, we said. When she finally told him about the baby, he did, too, even though his mother didn’t like it.”
“Her mother didn’t like it either,” one of the other girls said.
“Who cares?” Brigit asked angrily. “They was in love.
That’s what matters.”
That wasn’t the picture Frank had of the union, but he didn’t want to distract the girls. “Could I speak with Miss Murphy alone for a minute?” he asked the others.
They couldn’t dare deny him, but they moved away with obvious reluctance and only far enough to give the illusion that they weren’t trying to listen in.
“Miss Murphy,” Frank said, still trying not to frighten her. It was a wasted effort, though. His mere presence was terrifying. “Mrs. O’Hara said she told you about Nainsi’s baby being born that night when you were coming home from work.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” she confirmed, puzzled by the question.
“Who did you tell?”
“Who . . . ? What do you mean?” she hedged.
“I mean, who did you tell that Nainsi’s baby was born?”
he said impatiently.
“I . . . The girls,” she said, gesturing to the group hover-ing nearby.
“Anybody else?”
Now Brigit looked truly frightened. She glanced toward the front of the room where Keith still stood, watching and glowering.
“Please, mister, I’ll lose my job. I gotta get back to work.”
The bell hadn’t rung yet, but Frank didn’t point that out. Plainly, she knew something she didn’t want to say in front of Keith.
“Go, then,” he said, and she scurried away, back to her seat.
He’d have to find Brigit someplace else and get the answer to his question, although he already knew it. For some reason, she’d told Richard Keith directly about the baby’s birth. But if Keith couldn’t possibly be the baby’s father, as he claimed, why would he have been interested?
*
*
*
When the baby started fussing again, Mrs. Ruocco took him downstairs while Sarah fixed a bottle in the kitchen, so his crying wouldn’t disturb Maria. By the time the bottle was ready, he was screaming lustily. Luckily, the luncheon diners were all gone, except for a few elderly men still gossiping over their grappa. The screaming had driven Joe, Antonio, and Valentina away. For some reason, however, Lorenzo stayed, even though
