He sat back. “Yes, I’m a lucky man. And it sounds as if you are bringing more luck my way, Mrs. de Bruijn. What can I do for you?”
Inez focused on her task. “I have some questions regarding the previous union, the one that foundered in the mid-70s.”
“Aye?” his voice sharpened, the tremble lessened. “Troubled times. I recollect well.”
His body was frail, but Inez guessed he still possessed his wits, which was what she needed.
She slid Jamie’s folded list from her pocket, and said, “I believe you were visited by a young man recently, name of Monroe. Although I am not entirely certain he would have called himself so.”
“Yes, young Monroe.” That was all he said, forcing her to continue.
She held up the folded papers. “I suspect he showed you this. I believe it is a list of the union members and the amounts they were to receive back once the union ceased to be. I am guessing that Mr. Monroe came and asked you some questions about that time.”
“Oh, yes, you have that right, Mrs. de Bruijn. All of it.” His gaze held hers.
Inez waited. Finally, she said, “I wonder if you would tell me what you told him.”
“Why not ask him yourself? Since you have the list, you must know him.”
“Alas, I would, but I cannot. You see, young Mr. Monroe died this past Sunday night. Brutally murdered.”
At that, Abbott lowered his eyes at last. “How? Who?” The question was barely audible.
She told him the story, adding, “I am investigating for his father, who is understandably grief-stricken and wants to know what happened and why. The local law has been less than helpful.”
“Aye, the police have their own priorities, and a poor musician in the wrong part of town would not be high on their list, I wager.”
“Can you help us? What did you and Mr. Monroe talk about?”
He nodded and hid his curled, deformed hands in his lap. “I remember when the union failed. We were heartsick, those of us who had fought hard to make it happen. As is only right, the funds collected were to be returned to the members. I had a wife, children. We needed that money. I was home and waiting the evening the treasurer arrived with his case.”
“The treasurer was Eli Greer?”
Abbott nodded again.
“He brought the funds in cash?”
“Paper money. I didn’t think any more about it after I got my share. Until I started hearing that the other fellows hadn’t got the same visit. Eli, he’d disappeared. Took off with the rest of the money. Oh, those were dark times.”
Inez tried to ignore the scent of old despair in the air between them. “You didn’t say anything to them?”
He shrugged. “What good would it have done to say I’d been paid when no one else received theirs? Would they think I had done something to Eli, since I was the only one to see him alive, him and his case of money? Besides, I needed the money. I had a family to feed. I kept quiet, all these years. And after a while the memories faded and went away, just as old friends and family do.”
“Did Mr. Greer seem the sort who would abscond with the funds?”
“No. That was the strange thing. At least, strange to me then. But, as I’ve learned over my long time on this Earth and in all my years in this city, you never really know what lies in the heart of a man or what he’s made of, until the desperate times. Or a woman, for that matter. Why, you probably think the fellow who runs the dance hall is a villain. But he has been like a son to me, gave me a roof over my head, food to eat, and his girls, they help me when I cannot help myself. While my friends, all of them, have long gone or drifted away. I told young Monroe that. I told him, if he was to start up a union again, to be sharp as to who they voted in as treasurer. Keep an eye on the one who guards the money.”
A silence hung between them until he said, “But ye’ve not asked the question he asked me at the end. Surely you, a lady private investigator, would have the same question.”
Inez reined in the urge to jump up, grab him by the front of his worn, stained shirt and yell, “Just tell me!” He’s toying with me, like the sphinx, “guess the answer to this riddle.” How often did he have company? He probably spent days, weeks, essentially alone.
Alone.
Inez asked, “Was there someone with Mr. Greer when he came to see you?”
His lined face creased into a smile. “Ah, you’re a quick one! Monroe asked that, too. It just took him longer to get there. Yes, a young fellow was with Eli. One of the junior members.”
“Who?” Her heart pounded so loudly in her ears she could hardly hear him speak.
He shook his head. “The names, I never remembered the names. They were all young, and I was old, even then. I remember he was ambitious. He had dark hair. Was the thin and hungry type.”
Welles. The description fit. She thought of the pianist, his black moods, the anger and resentments he nursed.
He claimed he hadn’t received any money back when the union collapsed. But could he have lied?
After all, Abbott had lied through silence. Abbott’s words came back to her: you never really know what lies in the heart of a man or what he’s made of, until the desperate times.
Could Welles have lied, all these years?
He claimed to have managed through those times because Nico had helped him.
Nico.
Suddenly she couldn’t breathe.
She almost missed it when Abbott added, “I never remembered their names, but I knew which instruments they played. The one who was with Eli that night, he played the violin, like the angels.”
Chapter Forty-one
That morning, Antonia heard the doorbell ringing and Mrs. S pounding down the
