“The Mendelbaums can wait,” Daniel said airily. “This is the crucial moment in this case. You said you wanted to learn pointers from me about how a detective handles things and one of the rules is to always follow up on the vital clues yourself. I don’t mind going to New Haven alone, but . . .”
He left the rest of the sentence hanging. I was now absurdly out of sorts. In fact I almost considered saying that I had changed my mind and nobody was going to New Haven. It was only the knowledge that Annie was lying upstairs that brought me back to reality and logic. Nothing mattered except getting that girl safely back to where she belonged.
“You’re right,” I said. “The Mendelbaums can wait. It’s not as if the wedding is to take place tomorrow. But I do want to speak with Blanche so I have to be at the theater early. After what happened last night I want to double-check everything before the curtain goes up. And maybe persuade the stage manager to station men at all viewpoints backstage. We’ve got to stop this nonsense.”
“And if it turns out to be a ghost?” Daniel grinned.
“Then I’ll call in the exorcist from the church, and leave them to it,” I said.
“You’d give up the chance to be a star?” Daniel was still teasing and, I suspect, a trifle annoyed that I was currently doing something so frowned upon by polite society.
“If you knew how terrifying it is to go onstage in front of hundreds of people,” I said. “All right, Daniel. I suppose I can fit all this into one day if we leave right away. Can you stay on, dear Mrs. Tucker?”
“I suppose I could,” she said grudgingly. “You certainly can’t leave that precious lamb alone.”
“Then run upstairs and get your hat and coat, Molly. We’ve a train to catch,” Daniel said.
TWENTY-NINE
You seem out of sorts today,” Daniel commented as the train pulled out of Grand Central. “I’d have thought you’d be excited. Case with Mr. Roth concluded and now we’re about to ascertain the true identity of our mystery girl.”
“I suppose I’m tired,” I said. “It’s no picnic being up until all hours at the theater and then trying to lead a normal life.” I couldn’t tell him the real reason for my displeasure was that he was acting like a typical male—trying to give the orders in what was my case and my detective agency. I know it sounds petty but I couldn’t help feeling that if I didn’t draw the line now, it would never be drawn.
“That’s quite understandable,” he said. “And of course that near accident at the theater last night must have played on your nerves.”
“You wouldn’t have said to a male detective that something dramatic must have played on his nerves. You’d never have told a superior officer to go upstairs and put on his hat and coat.”
Daniel looked at me and laughed. “You’re being silly.”
“No, I’m struggling with the fact that you don’t take me or my detective agency seriously. It’s my case and you’re helping me, and yet you’re the one who asks the questions and acts as if you are in charge.”
“Only because most men wouldn’t feel comfortable answering questions from a woman.”
“And you told me to go and put on my hat and coat, as if I was five years old.”
“Because we’re in a hurry. If I’d been at police headquarters I’d have said the same to a fellow officer, only not in such polite phraseology. And if you want me to forget that you are a woman, stop being so damned sensitive.”
“Hmmph.” I turned away and glared out of the window. The sight of my reflection, a picture of righteous indignation, made me smile. “You’re right,” I said. “It’s just because it’s you, Daniel, and because I’m thinking things through for the long term. I want to make sure I’m seen as an equal partner. I don’t want to be trodden on.”
“Oh, I don’t think anybody would manage to tread on you,” Daniel said. “At least not without getting their ankles bitten.” He stood up. “Let’s see if there is a dining car on the train and we can have a cup of coffee and a bite to eat. I left without breakfast and I suspect you did, too.”
Thus fortified, we arrived in better humor in New Haven. It was a gray, cold, blustery day and I held my scarf around my face as we battled the wind up Crown Street to the theater. The box office was open and we were taken through to the office of the theater manager, a Mr. Tweedie.
“So you’ve managed to find our Annie, have you?” he asked. “That is good news. She was our star dancer, you know. We miss her sorely. There—that’s a picture of her on that playbill.”
He pointed at the wall and a big poster affixed to it.
Come in to the Garden, Maude was apparently the name of the show. There were various photos of pretty girls with parasols and, in the center, a group photograph of several girls peeping around giant fans.
“There. In the center photograph,” he said. “The one in the middle.”
He was pointing to a pretty fair girl with wide eyes like a china doll and hair in golden ringlets.
Tell Me, Pretty Maiden (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #7)
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