The Wife, the Maid, and the Mistress

Chapter Twenty-Five





LIBERTY NATIONAL BANK, THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 6, 1930



THE tan city cab took Ritzi on a zigzagging route through the one-way streets of Manhattan. She stared out the window, watching people and buildings and vehicles blur into a kaleidoscope of gray sky and sidewalk and wool coats and bright scarves.

“Wait here,” she told the driver when he rolled to a stop before Liberty National Bank on Broadway.

Ritzi lifted her chin and opened the bank door. It was cool and dark inside, and her heels clacked against the tile as she approached the first window. The teller was about her age, but she looked as though she’d been wrung out and left to dry.

“Can I help you?”

“I’d like to make a withdrawal, please.”

“Certainly.” She slid a withdrawal slip across the counter. “Fill this out. Name?”

Even though she’d used the name for three years, the fabrication still felt strange on her lips. “Sally Lou Ritz.”

The teller stepped away from the counter and ran a finger along the black-spined ledgers that lined the wall behind her. Three of them were labeled R, and she pulled the last from the shelf and heaved it onto the counter.

Ritzi’s account was filed toward the front of the ledger, and the teller took the withdrawal slip and checked her name and account number. The tip of one index finger rested beneath the amount Ritzi wanted to withdraw and the other on the balance of her account.

“Are you closing your account with us today?”

“No.”

“But you’re emptying your account.”

“Yes.” She did not explain further.

“I’ll have to get the manager since it’s over two hundred dollars.”

“That’s fine.”

Bill Watson, general manager of Liberty National Bank, was far less amiable than the girl he’d hired to tend customers. It would seem that Ritzi’s desire to leave with $250 in cash was considered a personal affront. He thumbed through the bills with a twitch, glancing at her occasionally as she counted along with him.

He tapped the stack of bills together and evened them into an orderly pile. “This is a considerable amount of money, young lady.”


“Yes.”

“Are you sure that you can handle it? Would you like me to hold it until you’ve brought your husband in?”

She bristled at the questions and clenched her left hand into a fist where it lay on the counter. The words were like sawdust in her mouth. “He’s not around.”

“Your father, perhaps?”

“Just an envelope. And a receipt.”

He snorted his disapproval and then explained that the bank would not be responsible for anything that happened to this money once she left the premises. Did she understand that?

Ritzi propped her elbows on the counter. “Is there a problem, Mr. Watson?”

“What do you mean?”

“You seem awfully reluctant to give me my money.”

“I am not.”

The teller offered Ritzi a smile over his shoulder, her crooked teeth beaming a vindicated thank-you.

“Great. On second thought, I’ll take it tied in one of those little black fabric bags, if you don’t mind.”

He cut a small piece of twine and tied the bills before slipping them into the bag. “Not responsible, hear?”

She put the money in her purse. “That’s what all the men tell me.”


“FIRED?” Jude asked.

Maria handed him the letter she’d taken from the Craters’ mailbox several hours earlier. “I believe let go was the phrase she used. That’s my last paycheck. A whole twenty-eight dollars.”

Jude led her toward a small table at the back of the diner. He pulled out her chair and then sat across from her, anger stretching his mouth tight. He pressed the letter flat, smoothing out the wrinkles with the palm of his hand, and read the two-page apology. “How can she be out of money?”

“I think her definition of broke is vastly different from ours.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Jude said, pointing at the postmark on the envelope. “She sent this from Portland, Maine.”

“So?”

He tapped the logo printed on the linen envelope. “So that’s a resort town. And she’s staying at the Hotel Eastland, no less. Right on the god—” Maria gave him such a look that he snapped his mouth closed. Cleared his throat. “Right on the water. You tell me she can’t afford to pay her bills?”

She wiped a few stray crumbs from the table and onto the floor. “Don’t be so hard on her. She just lost her husband.”

“Why are you defending her? The woman just fired you!”

“I’ve still got my work at Smithson’s. Things will be a bit tighter. But we aren’t destitute.”

Maria watched him lift Stella’s letter from the table. He folded it in thirds and tucked it in his suit pocket. “What are you doing?”

“Her little act of cowardice is an unexpected gift. She let me know exactly where she’s hiding. It seems your boss skipped out on her grand jury summons and didn’t bother to let anyone know.”

Unease seeped into her voice. “So did I.”

“That’s different!” The couple at the next table looked up in alarm. Jude cleared his throat again. Lowered his voice. “You can’t get involved in this. And they can’t know my wife worked for the Craters. There’s no way I would have let you testify.” His smile was conniving. “Amedia Christian will have to do that, but since no one can find her, I guess the district attorney is out of luck.”

Maria let it go, but she looked at his suit pocket where he’d tucked the envelope. “What are you going to do with that letter?”

“Flush her out of hiding.”

“Jude—”

“Let me take care of it.” He handed her the menu. Smiled. “Why don’t you order something?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You hardly eat anymore. You’re tired all the time. I’m worried about you.”

It was true. The fear had gotten to her, eating away at her appetite and her energy. Maria glanced at the menu but didn’t take it from him. She shook her head. “I can’t. I’ll eat later. Smithson wants me to come in early today. I’m making the final adjustments to Owney Madden’s wardrobe.”

“Has he been any trouble?”

“No. I’m invisible.” She smiled through the lie. “Just the girl who sews his suits.”

Jude ordered pastrami on rye, and Maria dutifully ate a few bites when he forced it on her, all the while watching the clock above the cash register. At eleven, she stood and kissed his forehead. She lifted her paycheck from the table.

Jude gulped down the rest of his sandwich, paid the bill, and walked her to the nearest subway station. “I’ll try and get off early tonight.” He looped his arms around her waist and buried his face in her neck. The warmth of his breath tickled the skin beneath her ear. “How about I cook for you?”

“Sounds perfect.”

Maria wanted to linger in his embrace, but she would be late. So she settled for a hasty kiss and the promise of a meal together later that night. But instead of going to Smithson Tailors, Maria caught a train at Fulton Street, made a quick detour by their apartment for Ritzi’s trunk, then went north toward Grant’s Tomb on Riverside Drive.

FIFTH AVENUE, TUESDAY, MARCH 25, 1930

Maria reached under the bed, straining forward on her knees, chest brushing the hardwood floors. It was dark beneath the bed, and she could see nothing but dust and the heavy bed skirt. “I don’t see your watch, Mr. Crater.”

“Look again.”

She realized this was a game to him when she felt the sharp pinch on her bottom. Maria lurched sideways, out of his grasp, with a startled scream.

“You didn’t do Jude any favors by not telling him how you meddled to get him that promotion.” Joseph Crater stood behind her, eyes bloodshot and belligerent. “He’s under the impression that he earned his place on the unit.”

Maria scrambled away from him. Stood up. Folded her arms across her chest and pressed her back to the wall. She looked over Mr. Crater’s shoulder.

“Don’t bother. Stella left five minutes ago. Shopping. Or some such foolishness. Pity she can’t buy a new pair of tits. That’s what I’d really like her to wear around the house.”

“Mr. Crater, I don’t think this is appro—”

“I don’t care what you think. I care that your husband doesn’t make me look like a fool. Ever again. When the police commissioner comes to me and says that my recommendation questions orders, that looks bad on me. Do you understand?”

“I’m sure he didn’t—”

“So protect his ego if you think it’s that fragile, if he can’t handle the fact that you had to pull strings for him. But hear me on this.” Mr. Crater lifted his jacket from the bench at the end of the bed. He slid his arms into the sleeves and shrugged it over his shoulders. Smoothed the lapels. All the while, he stared at Maria, seeming to delight in her discomfort. “He’s expendable. A detective who rats out my friends is better off dead. And that’s a call I won’t hesitate to make if he doesn’t learn—and I mean quickly—to follow orders when they’re given. Even if they’re orders he finds distasteful.”

Maria was reluctant to look away for fear he would assume she didn’t take him seriously. She could not find her voice, so she tried to communicate with her eyes and a short, panicked nod that she understood.

“I’m a generous man, wouldn’t you agree?”

A hoarse whisper. “Yes.”

“I didn’t have to give this warning. Could have called in a favor and had the problem taken care of. But I didn’t think that would be fair, considering how long you’ve worked for us.”

“Thank you.”

“See to it that he understands. Because my associates are not as patient as I am, and the next warning will be the last.”

He asked the impossible. Maria knew she could never tell Jude how he had gotten his promotion or ask that he accept the strings attached. She would find another way to undo this mess.

Mr. Crater adjusted his cuff links, collected his money clip and handkerchief from the bureau, and stuffed them in his pocket. Then he crossed the room and set his hand under Maria’s chin. Ran a thumb over her lips. “I wonder what would happen to a pretty girl like you if there was no one around to protect her?”


RITZI sat on the marble steps of the mausoleum that held the remains of Ulysses S. Grant. Her ankles were crossed and her hands were folded in her lap. She turned her face to the sun and drank in what little warmth November had left to offer. She kept her eyes closed as the timid footsteps and rattle of the wardrobe trunk approached.

“I’ve never been here before.” Maria settled on the step next to her, breathless.

“Me either.”

“Then why here?”

“It was the first place that came to mind.” Ritzi opened her eyes and turned to the side, taking in Maria’s nervous expression. She was perched on the edge of her step, like a bird ready for flight. “I was going to tell you no.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“George Hall showed up.”

Maria fiddled with the clasp on her purse. “I’ll make sure to thank him for the interruption.”

Ritzi stiffened. “You can’t.”

“I wasn’t serious. I just …” Maria paused. She wouldn’t meet Ritzi’s questioning gaze. “This is hard. I’m sorry.”

A shipping barge inched up the Hudson River, and the two women watched it with exaggerated interest for several moments.

“It won’t be as easy as you think,” Ritzi said after a long stretch of silence. “Especially when I really start to show. But I’ll try.”

“The adjustments I made to your costumes will buy you at least three months. Longer with a corset.”

“I’ve got one already. It hurts like hell.”

Maria lifted a white envelope from her purse. She placed it on the step between them. “Five hundred dollars. Just like I promised.”

“Where did you get that much money?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Listen, I don’t need any more trouble, okay? If that’s dirty, I’m not taking it. Deal’s off.”

Maria did her best to smile. “It’s not dirty. But it’s not exactly mine either.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Let’s just say the owner is missing.”

Ritzi lifted the envelope and felt the weight in her hand. “Crater?”

Maria shrugged noncommittally.

Somehow that knowledge made the exchange feel less like extortion. More like poetic justice. “Did you ever imagine yourself doing something like this?”

Maria gave a short, startled laugh. “No.”

“For what it’s worth, I never thought I’d be the kind of woman who’d sell a bastard child. Because call it what you like, that’s what I’m doing.”

“I never thought I’d have to buy one.”

“We’re quite a pair, then.” Ritzi stuffed the envelope in her purse. “I’ll do my best.”

“Will you let me know?” Maria asked. Her eyes were round and hopeful, and it hurt Ritzi to look at them. “When you feel the baby moving? My phone number is on the envelope.”

“Yes.”

Maria stood and wrapped her dark wool coat around her chest. She angled the trunk handle toward Ritzi. “Thank you.”

Ritzi worried that Maria would reach out and try to touch her stomach. But she kept her fists balled at her sides, as though restraining herself. Maria nodded once in that polite way of hers and then walked away. Ritzi watched her walk down Riverside Drive until she was out of sight.