“Perhaps it was completely random,” said Inez. “He was down by the waterfront, in a part of town where he had no business being.” Jamie’s note, the words in a strong angular script, appeared in her mind’s eye. “Or maybe it was connected with his union activities. He was trying to form a professional musicians union. I gather there were threats.”
Flo said tentatively, “Any chance you’re wrong, that this Jamie isn’t Robert?”
Inez shook her head.
“So, you did know him.” Flo looked troubled. “This is very bad. What will Harry think? Was it just a nodding acquaintance? Maybe Robert came through your store once or twice, with others. You could hardly be expected to recognize him from a photograph then.”
“Jamie—that is, Robert—was secretly engaged to the sister of the owner of this store.”
“Mr. Donato has a sister?”
Inez nodded. “And he was none too happy about the two of them even conversing. Nico should have known better,” she said under her breath. “The more he tried to push them apart, the closer they became.”
Flo finished off her brandy, poured another, and tipped the bottle toward Inez. Inez held her empty coffee cup up for a refill.
“So,” said Inez. “How are we going to explain to Harry?”
“We? Oh no, Inez. I can’t. It has to be you. You’re the one who figured it out. You’re the one who found him.”
“Found him too late. Jesus.” Inez set her cup down hard, sloshing brandy. “Telling Harry is going to be difficult. And I can’t today. I’m alone in the store, I have pupils coming in, meetings lined up. I have to consider how to break the news so he won’t turn on me when I do.”
“Why would he do that?” Flo asked. “You didn’t know you knew Robert. And you did find him. Too late, but still. Harry has to know that you did what he asked you to do. It’s the only way we’ll get out of this mess. It’s probably best not to bring up the fiancée. You should mention the union involvement, though.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Inez said bleakly. “I’ll have to tell Harry that his son, Robert Gallagher, was going by the name of James Monroe. He was following his dream to be a musician and was involved in the labor movement. The information should come from me. Not the detective he’s got sniffing around, nor anyone else. It has to be me.”
Chapter Sixteen
Kneeling upstairs in the storage room at her “listening post,” Antonia nudged the wooden knot back into the hole in the floor. She sat back on her heels, and pinched her nostrils shut to stop an explosive sneeze.
That was a close one.
She hated to think what would’ve happened if Mrs. S and Madam Flo had heard a big ah-choo! blast through the ceiling above their heads.
But that worry was overshadowed by what she’d heard.
And she’d heard everything.
So if High-and-Mighty Gallagher was in a position to “ruin” Mrs. S and Madam Flo, why weren’t they both hightailing over to the Palace Hotel right now to spill the beans to Gallagher about his son being Jamie Monroe and being dead as well?
Jamie.
Dead.
And he and Carmella were engaged? And Mr. Donato didn’t know?
Antonia tiptoed to the storeroom door and leaned against it. She pulled out a handkerchief and blew her nose, trying to be quiet about it and thinking about Carmella and how sad it all was.
Did Carmella know about Jamie being dead and a Gallagher and all? Mrs. S didn’t say.
Antonia stuffed the handkerchief back into her pocket. It sounded like others were on the prowl, and Mrs. S was worried what would happen if they found out what’s what and told Mr. Gallagher first.
Mrs. S said she had to think about what to say and that she couldn’t get away from the store. And Madam Flo was too chicken.
So she, Antonia, had to do something to help Mrs. S get out of trouble with Mr. Harry Gallagher. Make him leave them alone and go back to wherever he came from.
There was only one thing to do.
She’d have to go tell Mr. Gallagher herself and make sure he understood that Mrs. S hadn’t been keeping anything back from him.
It was up to her.
She had to help Mrs. S out of this jam.
Antonia tiptoed into her room, wary of the creaky floorboards in the hall, and watched from the window until she saw Flo leave. The whorehouse madam got into a hack and headed toward the Barbary Coast. Antonia wondered if the madam was really as desperate as she made out to be. Maybe she just fed Mrs. S nonsense to get Mrs. S to do all the dirty work.
Antonia waited a bit, watching to be sure that Mrs. S wasn’t coming out for any reason.
After that, sneaking down the stairs, out the door, and around the corner was easy as pie. Once out of sight of the storefront, Antonia relaxed. She made a beeline for the Palace Hotel, and walked in like she lived there. Which she had, at least for a while.
When she and Mrs. S had first come to the city, Mrs. S had set up shop in the Palace and Antonia had the run of the place before she was forced to start school. And the Palace Hotel was huge, the biggest building Antonia’d ever seen. A bellboy had told her there were more than eight hundred rooms and more than four hundred bathtubs! And it was built with more than thirty-one million bricks! Antonia thought maybe he was trying to pull the wool over her eyes on that last figure. For one thing, who’d count all those bricks?
Entering now, she was again struck by the courtyard where the carriages drove up. The courtyard was surrounded by floor after floor of arcaded galleries, all looking down on who was coming and going. Antonia remembered the days when she’d spend hours peering over the railing outside their room, watching the activity far below.
She’d
