Murder Under a Full Moon Read online

  Mona asked the desk clerk if there were any messages or telegrams for her. There were none.

  Violet and Mona rode the elevator in silence while Mona took note of who got off on which floor. They were the only ones to ride to the fourth floor. As the elevator doors slid open, Mona knew instantly that something was wrong. There was no Pinkerton guarding the west wing.

  Mona pushed Violet behind her and pulled out her gun. She banged at the first door on the right. When no one answered, she gingerly turned the doorknob and swung the door open. All four Pinkertons were passed out on the floor.

  Suddenly, the stairwell door opened and Mona swung around with the gun.

  “Whoa, it’s us,” Samuel said, looking pointedly at the gun.

  “Where is everyone?” Jamison asked, carrying a greasy bag of glazed donuts.

  Mona motioned to the Pinkertons’ room. “Passed out it seems.”

  Jamison asked, “Sure they’re not dead?”

  “I see their chests moving,” Samuel said, peering into the room.

  “Go check your rooms,” Mona ordered.

  Samuel checked the servants’ rooms, turning on all the lights with Mona following him. “Seems okay. Have you checked your suite?”

  “Not yet. I didn’t want to go into it without some backup.”

  “I’m your man.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Samuel swung open Mona’s suite door. He was half expecting someone to shoot at him. When nothing happened, he reached in and turned on the lights.

  Mona stepped inside with her gun drawn.

  Jamison drew up behind her. “Lordy, what a mess. I knew I should have brought my shotgun from home.”

  Mona’s suite had been turned upside down and ravaged.

  Violet peeped inside. “Oh!” she said, clamping her hand over her mouth.

  “Wait out in the hallway with Jamison, Violet. Samuel and I will take care of this.”

  Samuel and Mona searched each room, peeking under the beds, in the wardrobes, balconies, and even the bathtubs. Satisfied that no one was still around, Mona put her gun away and plopped down on her bed. “Gee, they took all my silk stockings and even my extra garter belt.”

  “They must have a girlfriend,” Samuel said, picking up pillows and scattered clothing.

  “You said ‘they.’”

  “Surely one man didn’t do this.”

  Almost in tears, Violet asked, “Shall I call for the house detective, Miss Mona?”

  Mona shook her head. “Not now, but I’m having those Pinkertons replaced—the oafs.” Seeing Violet so distressed, Mona went over and put her arms around the shaking girl. “Violet, I think you should go home on the next train. I wasn’t expecting all this drama, and this is too much for you. I want you to be safe.”

  “I’m not crying because I’m frightened. I’m crying because my new polka-dotted church-going dress is ruined. They stepped on it and got it dirty. I’ll never get that filth out.”

  “Well, don’t clean the dress yet. It may be a clue. We’ll deal with this mess in the morning, but tomorrow you are going back to Lexington. Samuel will escort you home.”

  Violet looked defiant. “No, Miss Mona. I will not. If Samuel and I return home, that leaves just you and Jamison—and those Pinkertons are no-accounts. You can have a hundred of those men on your payroll, and they still couldn’t put the lid on the tooth powder tin between them.”

  Jamison spoke up, “Miss Violet is right. You need all three of us. At least, until we get more guards.”

  “What do you think, Samuel?”

  “I think we should all pack up and go home. I know you won’t because you are not telling us everything. We are working in the dark. Not nice, Miss Mona. Not nice to do to us, especially after this.”

  “I see I’m outvoted. Let’s go to bed and deal with this in the morning. I’m exhausted and know you must be too.”

  “If that’s the way you want to play this,” Samuel said disapprovingly.

  “It’s the way I must play it. I’m sorry, but I can’t say more. At least at this time.” Mona motioned to the hallway. “Lock the Pinkertons in their room.”

  “I think I should call a doctor for them,” Samuel said.

  “I think they were given a Mickey to make them sleep, but probably a good idea. The hotel should have a doctor on call. Can you take care of it?”

  “Yes, miss. Now, you and Miss Violet go on to bed. I’ll handle the Pinkertons.”

  “Thank you, Samuel. Thank you, Jamison. You both have been a big help.”

  Both men nodded and left, closing the suite’s door behind them.

  Violet ran over and locked the door. “Miss Mona?”

  “Yes?”

  “May I sleep with you tonight?”

  Mona smiled. “Of course, you can. I was thinking company might help the rest of the night seem more peaceful.” Mona looked out the window. “What’s left of the night.”

  As Violet rushed off to change, Mona couldn’t help but think she really wanted Robert with her. She needed to fall into his arms, smelling his woodsy cologne, the horse sweat on his tweed jacket, and his sweet breath after he chewed on peppermint. Oh, how she missed him. He would know whom to call and what to do. Why hadn’t she heard from him?

  It wasn’t long before Violet hurried back into Mona’s bedroom, locking the door.

  She turned and shot Mona a beseeching look.

  As though she knew exactly what Violet was thinking, Mona jumped up and ran over to the door. Without uttering a word to each other, Mona and Violet pushed a small bureau in front of the door.

  Satisfied that no one could reach them while they slept, they still left the bathroom light on to illuminate the room. Exhausted from the tiring day, they both quickly fell asleep.

  That’s why they didn’t hear the telephone ring and ring and ring in the suite’s drawing room.

  Somebody was desperately trying to get hold of Mona to inform her that Lawrence Robert Emerton Dagobert Farley’s father had died, and Robert was now Duke of Brynelleth.

  God save the King!

  14

  Mona learned the next day that the Pinkerton men had been sedated via their dinners or the wine ordered from the Willard main kitchen. The hotel manager was apoplectic when he saw the state of Mona’s suite, but could not give any answers as to the identity of the culprits, how the sedative got into their food, or who even delivered the room service orders.

  Although he apologized profusely, it was evident he wanted Mona and her entourage to leave. He couldn’t handle any more crises at the hotel as his nerves were being pushed beyond their limits. Even in Washington, this amount of higgledy-piggledy mischief was unusual.

  Seeing that the manager was not going to help further, Mona dismissed him and pulled out a business card from her purse. Dialing the number on the card, she said, “Tell Scott I want to see him,” and hung up.

  Overhearing the abrupt message, Violet asked, “Why do you want him, Miss Moon?”

  “I want to see if he had anything to do with this. He could be putting pressure on me, Violet.”

  “Then let’s go home and let Mr. Deatherage handle this.”

  “These men would just follow me to Lexington and try every trick in the book to have access to my copper. They would ruin you, me, Mr. Thomas, our friends, Lord Farley—anyone we know and love to put pressure on me. I need to stop this here and now.”

  “I wish you’d tell me what is going on. Jamison, Samuel, and I are working in the dark. Everything has us frantic. It’s not right to send us out on tasks for you when we don’t even know if we are in danger.”

  Before Mona could respond, there was a knock and the door opened. Abraham Scott walked in with hat in hands flipping it nonchalantly, looking about the torn up suite. He whistled and said, “Boy, oh, boy, they did a number on you. Look at this mess.”

  Mona bristled. “How did you get here so fast? I just called.”

  Scott snickered. “I knew
about this last night.”

  “Really?”

  Violet clutched Mona’s arm. “Who is this man really?”

  “He’s an agent working for President Roosevelt.”

  Scott looked disgruntled. “You shouldn’t have told the little girl that, Miss Mona. We had a deal.”

  “Actually, we didn’t.” Mona moved some ripped up sofa pillows and sat down. She motioned for Scott to sit down as well.

  He chose an armchair that had been cut apart and the stuffing pulled out. “Does she have to be here?” he asked, staring at Violet.

  Violet defiantly moved behind Mona’s chair.

  “I would like for her to stay.” Before Scott could reply, Mona asked, “How did you know about this last night?”

  “My man saw the men who did it.”

  “You sure it wasn’t your men or even you?”

  “Why point the finger at me?”

  “I think you are creating chaos to reel me in.”

  He twisted his lips, saying, “My men didn’t do this.”

  “Who was it?”

  “Ambassador Lindsay’s lads.” He studied Mona to see her reaction to the news.

  Mona didn’t blink.

  “Now, what I can’t figure out is why Ambassador Lindsay would search your apartment at the Willard and cause so much damage. This type of thing is usually done with a little bit more finesse.”

  Mona stood. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Scott. You gave me the information I needed.”

  Scott grinned and rose from his chair. “I get it. You only wanted to know who did this.”

  “I am grateful you were honest with me.”

  “How can you tell? I could be lying.”

  “I usually know when men are lying. Tell me, Mr. Scott, do you like jazz?”

  Scott drew back. “How did you know?”

  “I saw you last night at the club.”

  Scott whistled again. “You sure do get around, Miss Mona. I didn’t even see you. I take it you were there.”

  “The German agent who was killed by your man was also a jazz enthusiast. I know that he and the lovely nightingale were intimate friends. Are you intimate friends with the nightingale as well, Mr. Scott?” Mona took a chance and lied, “I saw you go backstage when she finished her set.”

  “Let’s say the pretty songbird looks out for our interests.”

  “I see. I appreciate you coming.”

  Scott paused before walking out the door. “Tell me one thing—what were they searching for?”

  “I can only tell you that they didn’t find it.”

  “Was it bigger than a bread basket?”

  “Good day to you, sir,” Mona said coldly.

  Scott put on his hat and tipped the brim. “Until we meet again, Miss Mona.” He nodded to Violet. “Miss Violet.”

  As soon as he closed the door, Violet ran and locked it.

  “I don’t think locks will keep these people out.”

  “It will sure slow them down.”

  Mona laughed. “I think a furniture barricade each night might be the answer.”

  “Miss Mona, please let us go home.”

  “I explained why we can’t. I don’t want to bring this trouble back to Kentucky.”

  “Can you tell me what they were looking for?” Violet said, picking up pieces from a broken lamp.

  “They were looking for a file.”

  “What file?”

  “Believe me, if I could tell you, Violet, I would. Now go get Jamison and Samuel. I will explain what I can, but you are just going to have to trust me.”

  Violet hesitated for a moment and then decided that Mona must have her reasons. She did as bidden and went for Jamison and Samuel.

  Mona took the free moment to go out on the balcony and breathe in the fresh air. She noticed a man hanging about a street lamp across the boulevard, smoking a cigarette. Mona knew instantly that he was watching her suite. No doubt there were several men watching the hotel, but were they the good guys or the bad guys? And were the good guys really good?

  All Mona knew for sure was that everyone was upping the ante and starting to play rough.

  Well, she could play rough, too.

  15

  Rupert Hunt knocked on the door of Miss Nasha Martin.

  Miss Martin answered the door in a powder blue dressing gown hanging off her left shoulder. Her hair was not combed and lipstick was smeared across her face. Leaning lazily against the door jam, she yawned and asked, “What do you want, pal?”

  “My employer would like to speak with you.”

  “Not interested,” Martin said as she tried to slam the door shut, but Hunt put his foot in the door.

  “I’ll scream,” Martin hissed, her eyes opening wide with fear.

  “Would this help ease your anxiety?” Hunt asked, holding up a crisp fifty-dollar bill.

  “Is it for real?” Martin asked, grabbing at the bill.

  Hunt pulled the money out of her reach. “Sure is.”

  “Not counterfeit?”

  “Genuine money. Now will you see my employer?”

  “Sure,” Miss Martin said, seizing the bill and sticking it down her gown between her cleavage. “Whatcha want?”

  Hunt stepped back, allowing Mona Moon to enter the apartment. He then stepped inside and closed the door.

  Mona quickly took in a neat apartment which was in contrast to Miss Martin’s disheveled appearance. The sofa and chair were newly upholstered in cheerful chintz and an expensive Philco radio console sat in the corner. There were several worn books on the end tables, even Emily Post’s book on etiquette. Martin was a woman who was hell bent on improving herself. Besides a few empty gin bottles and two dirty glasses, everything looked neat, tidy, and in good condition. Rare for apartments now-a-days when most abodes were peeling paint from maintenance neglect due to the Depression.

  Miss Martin put her hands on her hips and declared, “Didn’t expect someone like you.”

  “May I sit?” Mona asked.

  “Please yourself, honey.” Martin lit a cigarette and looked around for a glass with stale gin. Blowing smoke into the air, she said, “Sorry, I don’t have anything to offer besides water and milk. Looks like all the gin is gone. Had a small party last night.”

  “That’s quite all right. I shan’t be here long.”

  Martin gave Mona’s smart gray tailored suit and a hat sporting a veil a quick once-over. “Listen, let’s cut to the quick. Okay, honey? I didn’t know your man was married.”

  Lifting her veil over the hat, Mona smiled. “I’m not here about that, but I do have some questions for you.”

  “Fifty dollars got you in the door. Want information? That will cost you more.” Martin folded her arms and gave Mona a defiant look.

  Mona glanced over at Hunt and nodded.

  He stepped forward with another crisp fifty-dollar bill, which Martin snatched from him.

  Feeling slightly embarrassed at her greed, Martin explained, “Times are hard for black gals. Gotta do what you can.”

  “Times are hard for women everywhere—not just black women. Listen, I’m not here to talk politics per se. I need to know if you know a man by the name of Abraham Scott.”

  Miss Martin pulled her dressing wrap tighter and sat down in a chair across from Mona. “Maybe. What’s it to you?”

  “I need to know if he is capable of murder.”

  “He’s got you in a jam, has he? Who are you exactly?”

  “You don’t need to know my name. I just want information, and then I’ll be out of your way.”

  “I know who you are. You can’t fool me with that black wig and veil. It’s them yellow eyes that betray you. I’ve seen your picture in the papers. Read that you have golden eyes. You’re Mona Moon. You’re rich. You can do better than a lousy hundred. I’ve got rent coming up.”

  “If you think that I am Mona Moon, then you know that I am a woman who can help you. What do you desire?”

  “You can’t do noth
ing for me, lady, besides give me more money. I suggest you leave if you know what’s good for you.”

  Undeterred, Mona continued, “I know your real name is Lillyrose Strum from North Carolina.”

  Martin looked surprised. “I thought Nasha Martin sounded more refined.”

  “You have a mother sick with consumption and a brother in prison for stealing food from a local grocery store. Now what is your great desire?”

  Martin took in Mona from her tailored day suit to her silk stocking that showed no sign of mending. “I want to retire by the age of forty, have a place in Harlem for my mother and me, and have my own car.”

  “I can arrange for you to record your own music like Bessie Smith does. Since you know who I am, you know I can deliver.”

  “How can I trust you to keep your word?”

  “You can’t, but you have nothing to lose if you do so.”

  “Perhaps my life.”

  “You’re playing a game now. Let’s not be so dramatic.”

  Martin thought for a moment. “You’re right. I have nothing to lose.”

  “Who is Abraham Scott to you?”

  “He is my handler. I pick up men from various embassies at the club. They all come to see me. They think I’m exotic, especially those from Europe. I listen to their drunken ramblings and report to Scott, but he’s cheap. Only pays me five dollars per tip. I can’t get to Harlem on that.”

  “And what have you told him?”

  “Everyone is talking about Gloria Vanderbilt.”

  “What else?” Mona asked, not interested in Little Gloria’s custody case between her mother, Gloria Morgan Vanderbilt and aunt, Gertrude Vanderbilt Whitney.

  “The Americans talk about the dust storms in the Midwest and the bad economy. The French talk about French-Indochina, and the British talk about the Prince of Wales.”

  “What do the Germans talk about?”

  “They talk about power and how to use it. They make bold predictions.”

  “What kind of predictions?”

  “Some nonsense about the Third Reich lasting for a thousand years. I don’t even know what that is. They are always boasting.”