“And I plan to try to find out what was going on at Henderson’s that night.”
“You intend to…what, walk right in?” He didn’t try to hide his disbelief.
She looked him square in the eye. “Leave the hows and wherefores to me. I want to find out what they disagreed about. While I’m there, I’ll see if I can find out more about Frank Roney’s whereabouts and activities.”
“A tall order,” said de Bruijn.
“And you? What will you be doing?”
“I will attempt to find out from Mrs. Sweet if she has any concrete information I should attend to.” De Bruijn paused. “I also do not trust she will be particularly attentive to her obligations on this matter, so I will look into Mr. Poole separately. As you said, our list of suspects is growing, and in some cases, we do not have any specific names. I would like to determine if Mr. Poole is on or off our list. Sooner rather than later. As for the union angle, I plan to delve further into that.”
Inez leaned forward. “One person you might talk to is a newsman, Roger Haskell. The name of his newspaper, The Workingman’s Voice, indicates where he stands on union matters. If he shows up, I could take him aside and let him know you might be wanting to talk with him.”
Inez went to her desk, pulled a stack of business cards from one of the cubbyholes, and riffled through them until she found the one she wanted. She returned to the table and placed Haskell’s card, with newspaper name and address, next to his untouched brandy.
“Thank you. I appreciate you paving the way for me.” He picked up the card and tapped it on the table. “The other activity I have planned regards John Hee. He will be working here tomorrow?”
Inez nodded.
“When is his day over?”
“At six o’clock. He is very punctual in both arriving and leaving on time. Unless he and Nico…ah, Mr. Donato, are off on one of their errands.”
“Hmmm.”
That one non-remark caused Inez to examine him closely. “John Hee remains on your list?”
“Until I know more about him, I cannot discount that he has some part to play in all this. In any case, I intend to follow him tomorrow after work and see where he goes.”
He smoothed his beard. Inez noted he had no rings and his cuff links and shirt studs were plain. With his still face, his nondescript clothes, Inez realized he would blend in, disappear in the busy city streets. At least, most of the streets. But not all.
“He lives in Chinatown,” Inez said pointedly. “I should ask: have you been to San Francisco before? Do you know much about Chinatown?”
“I know enough.”
He pulled out his pocket watch. “I should be leaving. You no doubt want to get on with your evening and take care of Antonia.” He picked up his hat. “May tomorrow bring some revelations that strike some of the names off our list, and bring clarity to those areas where we, as yet, have no names.” He touched the brandy glass with the handle of his cane. “Perhaps when all this is over, and we have discovered who committed this crime, I will take you up on your offer of a brandy, Mrs. Stannert.” He actually smiled.
It was, Inez observed, a nice smile, and one couldn’t help but smile in return. He should do that more often.
“I shall go out with you,” said Inez. “Give me a minute to lock up.”
After securing the brandy and the back door, she extinguished the light and locked the office door behind them, taking de Bruijn’s untouched brandy with her. Once they had exited the store and she had closed and locked the front door, he said to her, “About Antonia. I did not mean to upset her as I did. I hope the token from her mother will comfort her, in the long run. If you would tell her I said so, I would be grateful.”
Inez watched him walk away, thinking he was one of the most opaque persons she had met in this city by the bay. I would not like to play a hand of high-stakes cards against him. She walked the dozen or so steps to the door that led to the apartment. Back in their living quarters upstairs, she sought out Antonia, who was sitting on her bed curled up under one of Inez’s old shawls. Inez sat beside her. “How do you feel?”
Antonia’s nose whistled as she attempted to exhale.
“Is your throat sore?”
Antonia nodded.
“Try this.” Inez offered her the brandy.
Antonia didn’t move. “You’re gonna let me drink that?”
“Just a few sips. It’ll warm your throat and loosen up the congestion. Why don’t you get ready for bed and I’ll prepare a hot-water bottle for your feet and a cup of tea.”
“That sounds good,” said Antonia.
The gratefulness in the girl’s voice did more to warm Inez’s heart than an entire bottle of brandy.
She went back into the little kitchen and puttered, getting things ready for Antonia. When she came back, Antonia had on her nightclothes and nightcap, and had slipped into bed. The little bedside lamp shed a circle of light in the dark. When Inez slid the cloth-wrapped copper hot-water flask under the sheets, she brushed Antonia’s feet and exclaimed in dismay. “Your feet are like ice! Did you take your stockings off when you came upstairs?”
The girl’s eyes were already closing. “Cold…on the floor.”
Inez looked at the braided rug on the bedroom floor and frowned. What was she doing on the floor when she could have sat in the kitchen where it was warm?
Children. There was sometimes no rationale behind their behavior.
Inez lingered for a moment, sitting on the edge of the bed, watching Antonia sleep, dark eyelashes still, her dark hair trying to escape the braids that neither of them had undone and combed out.
