Kane and Abel/Sons of Fortune Read online

  “Matthew, I need your help,” began William as he put Alan’s letter back into its envelope.

  “You’ve had a letter from my sister and she thinks you’ll do as a replacement for Rudolph Valentine.”

  William stood up. “Quit kidding, Matthew. If your father’s bank were being robbed, would you sit around making jokes about it?”

  The expression on William’s face was unmistakably serious. Matthew’s tone changed. “No, I wouldn’t.”

  “Right. Then let’s get out of here and I’ll explain everything.”

  Anne left Beacon Hill a little after ten to do some shopping before going on to her final meeting with Glen Ricardo. The telephone started to ring as she disappeared down Chestnut Street. The maid answered it, looked out the window and decided that her mistress was too far away to be pursued. If Anne had returned to take the call she would have been informed of City Hall’s decision on the hospital contract; instead she bought some silk stockings and tried out a new perfume. She arrived at Glen Ricardo’s office a little after twelve, hoping the new perfume might counter the smell of cigar smoke.

  “I hope I’m not late, Mr. Ricardo,” she began briskly.

  “Have a seat, Mrs. Osborne.” Ricardo did not look particularly cheerful, but, thought Anne to herself, he never does. Then she noticed that he was not smoking his usual cigar.

  Glen Ricardo opened a smart brown file, the only new thing Anne could see in the office, and unclipped some papers.

  “Let’s start with the anonymous letters, shall we, Mrs. Osborne?”

  Anne did not like the tone of his voice at all. “Yes, all right,” she managed to get out.

  “They are being sent by a Mrs. Ruby Flowers.”

  “Who? Why?” said Anne, impatient for an answer she did not want to hear.

  “I suspect one of the reasons is that Mrs. Flowers is at present suing your husband.”

  “Well, that explains the whole mystery,” said Anne. “She must want revenge. How much does she claim Henry owes her?”

  “She is not suggesting debt, Mrs. Osborne.”

  “Well, what is she suggesting then?”

  Glen Ricardo pushed himself up from the chair, as if the movement required the full strength of both his arms to raise his tired frame. He walked to the window and looked out over the crowded Boston harbor.

  “She is suing for a breach of promise, Mrs. Osborne.”

  “Oh, no,” said Anne.

  “It appears that they were engaged to be married at the time that Mr. Osborne met you, when the engagement was suddenly terminated for no apparent reason.”

  “Gold digger. She must have wanted Henry’s money.”

  “No, I don’t think so. You see, Mrs. Flowers is already well off. Not in your class, of course, but well off all the same. Her late husband owned a soft-drink-bottling company and left her financially secure.”

  “Her late husband—how old is she?”

  The detective walked back to the table and flicked over a page or two of his file before his thumb started moving down the page. The black nail came to a halt.

  “She’ll be fifty-three on her next birthday.”

  “Oh, my God!” said Anne: “The poor woman. She must hate me.”

  “I dare say she does, Mrs. Osborne, but that will not help us. Now I must turn to your husband’s other activities.”

  The nicotine-stained finger turned over some more pages.

  Anne began to feel sick. Why had she come, why hadn’t she left well enough alone last week? She didn’t have to know. She didn’t want to know. Why didn’t she get up and walk away? How she wished Richard were by her side. He would have known exactly how to deal with the whole situation. She found herself unable to move, transfixed by Glen Ricardo and the contents of his smart new file.

  “On two occasions last week Mr. Osborne spent over three hours alone with Mrs. Preston.”

  “But that doesn’t prove anything,” began Anne desperately. “I know they were discussing a very important financial document.”

  “In a small hotel on La Salle Street.”

  Anne didn’t interrupt the detective again.

  “On both occasions they were seen walking into the hotel, holding hands, whispering and laughing. It’s not conclusive, of course, but we have photographs of them together entering and leaving the hotel.”

  “Destroy them,” Anne said quietly.

  Glen Ricardo blinked. “As you wish, Mrs. Osborne. I’m afraid there is more. Further inquiries show that Mr. Osborne was never at Harvard, nor was he an officer in the American Armed Forces. There was a Henry Osborne at Harvard who was five foot five, sandy-haired and came from Alabama. He was killed on the Maine in 1917. We also know that your husband is considerably younger than he claims to be and that his real name is Vittorio Togna, and he has served——”

  “I don’t want to hear any more,” said Anne, tears flooding down her cheeks. “I don’t want to hear any more.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Osborne, I understand. I am only sorry that my news is so distressing. In my job sometimes——”

  Anne fought for a measure of self-control. “Thank you, Mr. Ricardo, I appreciate all you have done. How much do I owe you?”

  “Well, you have already paid for the two weeks in advance. There are two additional days and my expenses came to seventy-three dollars.”

  Anne passed him a hundred-dollar bill and rose from her chair.

  “Don’t forget your change, Mrs. Osborne.”

  She shook her head and waved a disinterested hand.

  “Are you feeling all right, Mrs. Osborne? You look a little pale. Can I get you a glass of water or something?”

  “I’m fine,” lied Anne.

  “Perhaps you would allow me to drive you home?”

  “No, thank you, Mr. Ricardo, I’ll be able to get myself home.” She turned and smiled at him. “It is kind of you to offer.”

  Glen Ricardo closed the door quietly behind his client, walked slowly to the window, bit the end off his last big cigar, spat it out and cursed his job.

  Anne paused at the top of the littered stairs, clinging to the banister, almost fainting. The baby kicked inside her, making her feel nauseous. She found a cab on the corner of the block and huddled into the back; she was unable to stop herself from sobbing, to think what to do next. As soon as she was dropped back at the Red House, she went to her bedroom before any of the staff could see her distress. The telephone was ringing as she entered the room and she picked it up, more out of habit than from any curiosity about who it might be.

  “Could I speak to Mrs. Kane, please?”

  She recognized Alan’s clipped tone at once. Another tired, unhappy voice.

  “Hello, Alan. This is Anne.”

  “Anne, my dear, I was sorry to learn about this morning’s news.”

  “How do you know about it, Alan? How can you possibly know? Who told you?”

  “City Hall phoned me and gave me the details soon after ten this morning. I tried to call you then, but your maid said you had already left to do some shopping.”

  “Oh, my God,” said Anne, “I had quite forgotten about the contract.” She sat down heavily, unable to breathe freely.

  “Are you all right, Anne?”

  “Yes, I’m just fine,” she said, trying unsuccessfully to hide the sobbing in her voice. “What did City Hall have to say?”

  “The hospital contract was awarded to a firm called Kirkbride and Carter. Apparently Henry wasn’t even placed in the top three. I’ve been trying to reach him all morning, but it seems he left his office soon after ten and he hasn’t been back since. I don’t suppose you know where he is, Anne?”

  “No, I haven’t any idea.”

  “Do you want me to come around, my dear?” he said. “I could be with you in a few minutes.”

  “No, thank you, Alan.” Anne paused to draw a shaky breath. “Please forgive me for the way I have been treating you these past few days. If Richard were still alive,