The room was filled with hundreds of diners, and the ensuing din made conversation difficult. The clash of cutlery and china, mixed with the loud voices, was not conducive to meetings of a sensitive sort.
He leaned forward. “I propose that our next meeting take place elsewhere. Some place private.”
“Up in the suite, perhaps?” suggested Flo, sending a flirtatious sideways glance to an impressively mustachioed gentleman two tables away who, de Bruijn noticed, didn’t seem to mind in the least.
“I have to keep my time away from the store to a minimum,” said Mrs. Stannert. “If you insist we meet daily—and given the paucity of time we have for our tasks, I agree we should—may I suggest the music store? I have an office area in back.”
“Little pitchers have big ears,” countered Flo. “Isn’t that what got us into this mess to begin with?”
“Antonia will be at school all the rest of this week,” said Mrs. Stannert. “Trust me, she won’t be listening at the keyholes again.”
De Bruijn found himself thinking that he hoped to see Antonia again. He hoped to have the opportunity to explain what had happened in Leadville and convince the girl he was only here to help her, and not destroy the life she and Mrs. Stannert had built together.
“Since you are the one with a schedule, then we shall meet as best works for you, Mrs. Stannert,” said de Bruijn. “If anything of an immediate nature arises, you can send a messenger.”
“She can call on the exchange,” broke in Flo. “The hotel is on the telephone exchange and so is her store. Can you imagine? Why a music store? My boardinghouse in Leadville is on the exchange, but that makes perfect sense.” She batted her eyelashes. “One never knows when there might be an urgent need for an expert trouser-serpent tamer.”
Mrs. Stannert set her coffee cup down forcefully on the saucer. De Bruijn was intrigued that despite her proper appearance, she seemed familiar with the crude slang for unmentionable parts of the male anatomy.
De Bruijn folded his napkin and placed it beside his plate. “A busy day is ahead of us, then. Mrs. Stannert is going to try to find and talk with the longshoreman, Sven Borg. Mr. Borg recognized the body and seemed to know something of what the young Mr. Gallagher might have been up to. However, if the wharf environment proves too difficult to penetrate—”
Flo snickered. De Bruijn ignored her.
“—let me know as soon as possible, say, by this evening, and I will turn my attention in that direction. Meanwhile, Mrs. Sweet claims she can find a way into good graces of Mr. Poole, whose daughter was affianced to young Mr. Gallagher in Leadville before he came here to San Francisco.”
Flo shrugged a shoulder, and dabbed at her lips daintily, before giving her napkin a little toss onto her crumb-scattered bread plate. “It should be easy. We know each other from Leadville. He knows I’m here. He and Harry almost had a pissing contest when they crossed paths at the hotel entrance when he arrived, and I was there to see it all. Poole has balls of brass, following Harry like that, and threatening him. In any case, with Harry gone, I’ll arrange to call on Poole today. I’ll weep a river about Harry’s mistreatment and claim how I fear for my safety. He’s always been a soft touch for a weepy woman or fainting female in distress.” She rolled her eyes. “If he has anything to do with Robert’s death, I’m certain I can pull it out of him.” She wiggled her shoulders seductively, lest they misunderstand her meaning.
“I do not question your methods, Mrs. Sweet, if it is your choice to deploy them and you believe they will gain results,” said de Bruijn. He glanced at Mrs. Stannert, who had folded her napkin and slipped it under her saucer and now empty cup. “As for me, I shall begin with the police. Mr. Gallagher has assured me he spoke with the police chief, and they will cooperate fully with me. I shall gain the coroner’s report, see if the police intend on following up with an investigation. I will also make some inquiries as to whether Monroe had any brushes with the law.”
De Bruijn noticed the waiter hovering, as if he was ready to pounce and clean their table. “Ladies,” he stood, and they did as well. “It’s time we begin our respective tasks. Wishing you the best with your endeavors, and I shall look forward to hearing from you at the end of the day.”
He gazed at his co-investigators—a madam of an exclusive house of ill-repute and a saloon-owner-turned-music-store manager—and privately despaired. It would most likely fall upon his shoulders to solve the case while keeping Mrs. Sweet and Mrs. Stannert out of trouble and from harm’s way. At least Miss O’Connell was available and willing to lend an expert hand if called upon. That was a saving grace.
Chapter Twenty-two
When Inez returned to the store, she found Nico and Thomas Welles in deep conversation. Nico turned to her and said, “Everything is settled. Thomas and I are working out the details. He will be here this afternoon. You are free for now.” He waved her away and returned his attention to Welles.
“I may not be back until suppertime,” she warned.
“No problem, no problem,” said Nico, distracted.
Inez went upstairs to change into a well-worn, no-nonsense walking suit and a sturdy pair of boots. If she was to walk around the wharves by the Mission Creek
