A Grave Welcome Page 14

  “Follow me,” she whispered, her thin brows pulled together. She reached for my hand and I let her pull me down the street in the direction of the club. However, just as the front doors of The Chesney came into view, Everilda took a hard right into the building next door.

  “Where are we going?” I asked as Everilda pushed open the creaky front doors and stepped into the dark space. The light from the street illuminated a snowstorm of dust in the air. It was obvious the building had been in disuse for quite a long period of time.

  “Tom owns this building, too,” Everilda said, letting go of my hand, but still ushering me inside.

  I hesitated in the doorway. “Why can’t we just go into the club?”

  “Everyone in the club has been given explicit orders not to discuss Frederick’s murder. Tom says it is bad for business. I don’t want him to hear me talking about it with a customer and lose my job,” she said.

  “Would he really dismiss you for talking to me?” I asked, taking a few tentative steps inside, clearing the doorway.

  Everilda nodded. “Especially for talking to you. You’ve got a reputation for asking a lot of questions.” She offered a reassuring smile, her teeth glinting for a moment before she closed the door and plunged us both into darkness.

  “Are there any lights in here?” I asked.

  “None that work. Tom bought this place when it went up for sale a few years ago hoping to expand the club into this building, but he never got around to it. Now it just sits here empty. I sometimes come in here to take my breaks.”

  I tried to imagine Everilda—luminous, glamorous Everilda—sitting in this dark, dusty space. Somewhere in the depths of the building I could hear water dripping in a constant rhythm. The wind from outside whistled through the cracks in the walls and around the grimy windows. I couldn’t understand why she’d rather be in here than in her dressing room, but there were more important things to consider.

  “I came to speak with you,” I said, beginning the conversation in a much calmer, more rational manner than I had the first time.

  Everilda laughed. “I gathered that from your tirade on the street. This has something to do with Frederick?”

  “Yes. Frederick and you. I believe you may be in danger,” I said.

  She reared back, head tilted. “How so?”

  “I believe the man you were speaking to the night before Frederick’s murder, George Hoskins, is Frederick’s killer.”

  “What evidence do you have?” she asked calmly.

  I explained the blood on the door handle, the burnt gloves, and what I’d seen that very morning. “He was caressing a scrap of your dress between his fingers, staring at it as though it were the most important thing in the world,” I said.

  “He had a piece of my dress? The gold one?”

  I nodded, and Everilda turned away from me, pacing into the shadows of the building, running her hands down her body as though checking to make sure all of her limbs were present. Then, she turned back to me, smiling.

  “I don’t see what there is to smile about,” I said truthfully. “This man is clearly deranged and you are the object of his delusions. I only wanted to warn you of his feelings before going to the police. It seemed like the right thing to do. I do hope you will take the necessary precautions to protect yourself and others from him. If he was willing to kill Frederick, he may very well be willing to kill any man who dares to stand between the two of you being together.”

  “Taking care of myself has never been an issue for me,” Everilda said, tilting her head to the side, looking me up and down, assessing me.

  Suddenly, I realized how little I knew Everilda. I’d spoken to her once, but otherwise we were perfect strangers. I hadn’t told anyone where I was going. In fact, it was unlikely anyone in the Beckingham household had even realized I was gone.

  “Well,” I said, nodding my head slowly, “Good. I hope the police will apprehend George and he will be no further trouble to you, but I thought it best if I delivered the news to you first.”

  Everilda moved towards me, nodding. “Yes, that was definitely best. I do appreciate it so much. I can hardly tell you.”

  She brushed my shoulder and then moved past me, standing between me and the front door. I couldn’t say why exactly, but I took a step backwards, wanting to put space between myself and Everilda. Perhaps it was her smile. The way her lips barely moved, yet her entire face glowed with something cheerfully menacing. Her eyes were wide and half-crazed. I began to wonder whether I shouldn’t have warned George about Everilda. No sense killing anyone over her. She’s loony.

  “I ought to get going now,” I said, the words sticking in my throat.

  Everilda shook her head. “I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere, unfortunately.”

  Then, the hand I hadn’t realized was behind her back came into view, a silver gun clutched in her painted nails. She must have withdrawn it from her purse earlier.

  I wanted to gasp in shock, stumble backwards in surprise. But I couldn’t. Somehow, the moment she’d pulled me into the abandoned building, I’d known something was off. I couldn’t say I’d expected it, because if I had, I would be insane to have followed her. But something about the interaction had left me uneasy. I’d chalked it up to the excitement of the morning and nerves about telling Everilda the truth about Frederick, but now I knew it had been my survival instincts prickling, begging me to stay in the sunlight.

  Her wide eyes narrowed as she looked at me, the gun blocking my view of her lips. “You do not seem surprised, Rose,” she said.

  “Sorry to disappoint you.” My heart had climbed into my throat and with every passing second, panic seeped into my arms and legs. I felt cemented in place, unable to move. While my body stood frozen, my mind whirled, rearranging the evidence into a different picture. Everilda had made it clear she didn’t want to lose her job, and Frederick’s possessiveness was a threat to her position. She had been welcoming to me the first time we’d spoken, but she had practically shunned me when she saw me lurking around The Chesney Ballroom again. And the dress. I’d seen George holding a piece of her dress, but I’d also seem him digging in the bush just outside the Beckingham’s house moments before. I’d assumed he had taken it from her in the past as a token, but he had actually found it in the bush. Her dress had likely caught on one of the branches of the shrubbery when she’d fired her gun at me and then run off to blend in with the panicked crowd on the street. George had probably only picked the fabric up to puzzle over the clue. I had made too many incorrect assumptions.

  Everilda let the gun fall to her side. “You haven’t disappointed me. Far from it. You’ve been a good little detective. Much more impressive than the police. Unfortunately, it seems you came to the wrong conclusion.”

  “Then why reveal yourself?” I asked, voice strong despite my trembling fingers. No matter how many times I found myself on the bullet end of a gun, the sense of panic and terror never went away. “I had pinned the crime on the wrong man.”

  “But for how long?” Everilda asked, shrugging her thin shoulders. “You have been relentless. It was only a matter of time before you discovered the truth. And, if not you, then the police certainly would have pieced it together eventually. Granted, I could have packed up and run away, started over somewhere else, but I’m tired of running and hiding. I like working at The Chesney, and I refuse to let Frederick or anyone else ruin it for me, you included.”

  “How was Frederick ruining things for you?” I asked, genuinely curious, though I also knew my best chance at survival rested on my ability to keep Everilda talking. If she was talking, she wasn’t pulling the trigger.

  Everilda groaned, her painted lips pursing in annoyance. “Speaking of being relentless,” she said, using the gun to gesture at me and rolling her eyes. “Frederick insisted we were a couple. He helped make the schedules and he always scheduled us to work together so he knew all of my days off. He would show up at my house to walk me to work, wait for me
outside of the club so he could walk me home, and he practically assaulted any man who even looked at me.”

  Everilda paced back and forth in front of the door, the gun dangling at her side like a cold metal accessory. “Tom made it clear when he hired me that he wouldn’t stand for romantic relationships between his employees, and I agreed. But Frederick didn’t give me a choice, and with the way he was behaving, it wouldn’t have been long before Tom found out and fired us both.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell Tom what was going on?” I asked. “You could have told him Frederick was pursuing you, but you were not interested. He wouldn’t fire you over another employee’s indiscretion, surely.”

  She stopped pacing for a moment and looked at me, one eyebrow raised in clear disbelief at my naiveté. “Do you believe I would be in this situation if the solution was that simple? Do you think I would have killed Frederick if there was any other way?”

  I opened my mouth and then closed it, unsure what to say. I found it hard to believe killing someone could be the only plausible solution to a problem, but it seemed reckless to say something like that to Everilda, especially while she was holding the gun.

  “When we first spoke, I told you Frederick liked to blackmail people,” she said, her annoyance falling into a defeated exhaustion.

  “He was blackmailing you?” I asked.

  She nodded but didn’t move to say anything else. I hesitated, unsure whether it was wise to push her to say more. However, if she decided to stop talking now, I knew it wouldn’t be long before she decided to start shooting.

  “What information did he have on you?”

  “I made a few poor decisions,” she began with a sigh.

  I wanted to feign shock. Everilda make a poor decision? The woman threatening to murder me? Surely not. Thankfully, I bit my tongue and let her continue.

  “Singing at The Chesney Ballroom is everything to me. It’s how I support myself and it is the only way I make money. But, I still struggle. I confided in Frederick not long after I started that I would need to find a better paying job eventually, and he let me in on his secret.”

  Everilda hesitated for dramatic effect and I held my breath, waiting.

  “He swore me to secrecy and then admitted that he had been skimming money from the club to supplement his income.”

  I deflated. Tom had already told me this. He had known Frederick was stealing from him and planned to fire him before he’d been murdered. If Everilda was afraid of losing her job, it could very well be too late. “Tom knows about Frederick stealing money and planned to fire him,” I said, hope ballooning in my chest. “It is likely he knows about you, as well. So, there is no need to kill me.”

  I knew my attempt at persuasion was flimsy, but all I could do was suggest the idea and hope it stuck. If Everilda thought she would lose her job anyway, perhaps killing me would become useless. Perhaps, I would escape the abandoned building and live to see another day.

  Everilda lowered her head and shook it. I didn’t understand the meaning behind the gesture until she looked back up at me, a smile stretching her lips. “Frederick had been stealing money from Tom for years, and Tom only just found out. Who do you think alerted him?”

  She raised an eyebrow and my hopes shattered. “You told him?”

  She nodded. “I told Tom the night before…Frederick died,” she said, stumbling over the inaccurate phrasing. “He thanked me for alerting him and called me a trusted member of the team. It was for added security.”

  I must have looked confused because she sighed and explained. “The moment I agreed to take a cut from the money Frederick was stealing, I’d unknowingly bound myself to him. He was convinced I was his and even a mumbling of discontent from me had him threatening to reveal the whole plot to Tom. Frederick had me under his thumb. The trouble was, even if he didn’t tell Tom, as time went on I knew it wouldn’t be long before Tom found out on his own. Frederick wasn’t exactly known for his subtlety. If I told Tom about Frederick thinking we were a couple, Frederick would tell Tom about the money I’d stolen. If I stopped taking my cut of the money, then Frederick would realize I was trying to pull away from him and he’d tell Tom. I was trapped in a circle of lies and deceit and I needed to find my way out.”

  “Through murder,” I said, my words free of judgment.

  She nodded slowly. “Murder wasn’t always the plan. Before Frederick, I’d never even hit another person. Violence had never been my response to problems, but then I saw the way Frederick unleashed himself on George at the bar that night. He thought George was flirting with me, and maybe he was,” she said, shrugging as though she didn’t care, though I noticed a flash of wistfulness in her eyes as she spoke. “Either way, Frederick lost it. He tipped over a table and spilled drinks as he stomped around the club, shouting and causing a scene. Thankfully, Tom wasn’t working that night, otherwise he would have heard Frederick going on about his love for me and how he would kill George for interfering. The whole situation was unbelievable, and at that moment, the idea struck me. I could kill Frederick. His death wouldn’t be a surprise to anyone who knew him. Frederick had a penchant for getting into fights regularly and biting off more than he could chew. He had come to work on more than one occasion with a swollen lip and bruised eyes. It wouldn’t be too far-fetched to think he got himself into a fight that he couldn’t walk away from. Once I decided on my course of action, I only had to choose my moment.”

  Everilda adjusted the gun in her grip, her long fingers wrapping around the handle of the gun, and I could almost see my time slipping through the neck of an hour glass. Each grain of sand representing a minute of my life, their number growing smaller and smaller as my opportunities for escape also began to shrink.

  “George was thrown from the club, but Frederick couldn’t let the incident go. Getting rid of George wasn’t enough. He wanted to teach him a lesson. I remembered George mentioned that he would be near The Chesney Ballroom the next morning to pick someone up from the docks. If truth be told, I think George wanted me to meet him there. Instead, I passed this information along to Frederick and watched as my plan began to take shape. I knew Frederick wouldn’t be able to pass up the opportunity for another altercation with George, so all I had to do was plant myself near the scene of their fight and wait for my moment. As you already know since you were present for that portion of the morning’s events, the argument only lasted a few minutes and then George left, though not before giving Frederick a rightfully deserved blow to the nose. As soon as George left, I crept out from my hiding place behind a few dumpsters.”

  Listening to Everilda’s story brought the scene from the alley into sharp focus in my mind. I imagined myself still in the alley, seeing the events unfolding from my vantage point. Everilda moving deftly from behind a garbage can while Frederick wiped at his bleeding nose, distracted and embarrassed after his fight with George. The woman’s long, lean legs stepping over the debris lying behind the club, moving ever closer to her target.

  Would I have called out to warn Frederick when Everilda pulled the gun from her purse, or would I have stood there, frozen and bewitched by the events transpiring in front of me? Would I have gasped when she pulled the trigger? Screamed? Would Everilda have heard me and killed me, too?

  “I think he heard me moving behind him at the very end,” Everilda said, her voice distant and cold. “He tilted his head to the side to pick out where the noise was coming from, and I pulled the trigger, shooting him in the back. I didn’t want him to know it was me.” There was a slight tremble in her voice, the only sign that her actions had any kind of effect on her emotional state. Her eyes were round and clear, her lips relaxed and flat.

  For some reason, it comforted me to know Frederick had been shot from behind. After being shot at myself, I felt it was much better to not know it was coming. Even if he was as bad as everyone said he was, no one deserved to be shot dead by the person they loved.

  “The shot didn’t kill him immediatel
y, though,” Everilda added after a few seconds of silence.

  My breath caught in my throat, a strangled kind of cough.

  “He fell to the ground, clutching at the wound that had passed through his chest as he looked up at me. I watched his features shift from shock to anger to helplessness. I watched him grapple to understand why I had a gun in my hand, why his chest hurt so badly, why he was finding it difficult to breathe. And then, I watched as the pool of blood around him grew larger and his skin went pale. I watched him die.”

  My skin prickled with fear and adrenaline. Everilda would kill me. I understood that now. In the first moment I saw her with the gun, there had been a thought in the back of my head that she wouldn’t be able to do it. That I would be able to talk her down. Looking in her eyes now, though, I saw the truth. She would kill me as surely as she’d killed Frederick. She would watch me die and then go to work, singing songs for the customers in the club who had no idea the horrors she had wrought in the abandoned building next door.

  I steeled myself for the fight. I wouldn’t go easily. Not the way Frederick had. Everilda wouldn’t surprise me. My eyes were wide open, and I was ready for whatever would come next.

  20

  “You had a good plan, Everilda,” I said, breaking the silence that had fallen over us and pulling Everilda from the memories of the fateful morning she killed Frederick. “All signs pointed to George. He had a motive and was present at the crime scene. It was a very good plan.”

  She looked up at me, a darkness in her eyes. “Not good enough, apparently. You were about to unravel it, which is why I had to discover where you lived and take that shot at you in front of your fancy house.”

  I shrugged, trying my best to hide the nervous trembles moving up my body. “This isn’t my first time solving a mystery,” I said by way of explanation. “And I have a good many secrets of my own. Perhaps that makes it easier for me to see through other’s lies.”