“Don’t tell me!” Antonia barked, then sneezed.
“Sounds like you’re under the weather, matey.” Copper Mick grinned. “Is that what had you locked below decks yesterday?”
“Yeah, I was sick, so I stayed home.” She pulled out her handkerchief to blow her nose. “Mick, didn’t you say your pa is a detective on the force?”
“Yup! Detective Lynch! That’s him!” He fair puffed up with pride.
“Well, my aunt is in a real bind. We gotta help her. It has to do with a murder down by Long Bridge.”
That did it. His eyes almost popped out of his head. “What?”
“Yeah, it’s someone we know, uh, knew. Jamie Monroe. He played the piano and was really nice. And my aunt, Mrs. Stannert, but I call her Mrs. S, runs a music store, and we live above it, and Mr. Monroe, he was kinda sweet on the owner’s sister, but, well, maybe kinda got tangled up with some bad sorts in the unions, or maybe he just got jumped by hoodlums or—”
Copper Mick stopped and pulled on the back of her book strap to make her stop too. “Whoa, slow down there. You’re galloping like a runaway on a racetrack. Back up, and tell me what’s going on. One thing at a time and take a breath once in a while. Let’s just walk down Market a while, all right? Nice and slow.”
So, they walked down Market and then turned around and walked up Market while Antonia spilled out the story of poor Jamie Monroe, who loved Carmella, and played the piano and sometimes teased her, but he was always nice, not mean about it. And how it turned out he wasn’t Jamie Monroe at all but the son of a nasty toff named Gallagher who threatened to close the store, or ruin Mrs. S, or at least make life miserable for her, because he thought she knew all about how his son had taken up a different name.
Antonia didn’t tell him how she’d heard all this by eavesdropping. She also passed over the part when she spilled the beans to Mr. Gallagher at the Palace Hotel. And she didn’t mention Mrs. Sweet, because she wasn’t sure what Mick would think about her “aunt” rubbing elbows with the madam of a Colorado whorehouse, even though it was a pretty high-class whorehouse. But she did tell him that Gallagher had hired a detective, a real Pinkerton-type sneaky guy, to find out who killed his son. Antonia added it was really, really important her aunt find out who did the deed before the sneaky private detective, who had a strange foreign name that sounded like Brown so that’s what she called him, found out first.
“Criminy.” Mick was impressed. “It’s like a dime novel. Damsels in distress, a regular Simon Legree, a Pinkerton, and a mysterious murder.”
“It’s nothing like that,” protested Antonia, somewhat stung. “This isn’t some made-up story. It’s real. And I need your help!”
“Sorry, sorry. So, what can I do?”
“Well, your pa’s a police detective. Can you ask him about the murder by Long Bridge? Maybe there’s police stuff that’ll help us figure out who killed Mr. Monroe.”
“Wow. I dunno. He talks about his cases sometimes. Not to my ma or sisters, of course, but with my brother Daniel. You met him the other day when we crossed Market. Daniel’s a policeman too. And they let me hang around and listen, because I do want to join the force when I’m old enough, but I’m not supposed to say anything to anyone about what I hear. And, I dunno. It’s one thing for me to listen, but if I actually ask him about a case? I dunno.”
She wanted to stop and give him a shove, a little one, to make him shut up a minute.
“Look, Mick, just say that you heard some kids at school talking about how a body was found floating under Long Bridge just a couple days ago, and, and,” her mind spun wildly, “and they’re all scared about it, sayin’ it was a young fellow, like your age, and he’d been grabbed by pirates, and they tried to shanghai him, and he must’ve fought back because they cut off his nose and his ears and—”
Copper Mick held up his hands. “All right! All right! Yeah, sure, something like that’d probably work. He doesn’t like it when folks tell tall tales and spread rumors about police business, and he hates it when it’s the kind of stuff that scares little ’uns. All right. I can do that.”
“You have to do it tonight,” said Antonia sternly. “Because, here’s the other thing, we have to figure out who did this really fast. In less than a week. If we don’t,” she took a deep breath, “who knows? Maybe Mrs. S and I’ll have to move away, because we’ll get thrown out of where we live, and she won’t be able to hold her head up in San Francisco anymore.”
Antonia figured if he liked silly dime novels and damsels in distress, well, she’d give him a damsel in distress.
“Less than a week, huh?” They had reached the fountain where Antonia had seen Mrs. S and the lady with the veil just a couple days ago. Copper Mick leaned against it, staring at one of the lion’s-head spigots, apparently thinking, then straightened up and tugged his cap down.
Antonia thought he looked older and just like an officer just then. All he needed was a blue suit and a star.
“We’ll do it,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow after school and let you know what I find out. We’ll find the bad guys and see justice done.”
“Thanks, Mick.” Antonia spat into her palm and held
