Murder by Installments

Episode 2

For Episode 1, click here.

Episode 2

I staggered up the drive to the Brazelton mansion, on tycoon's row, just off North Broad. I was late for tea. I'd had Tullamore Dew. For lunch, too. I leaned on the bell, and a black and white clad butler opened the door to sneer at me.

I handed over Brazelton's note, asking his people to talk to me. The sneer didn't change, but he brought me inside. Didn't offer to take my coat or hat, but led me to a small office.

Smoky saxophones would've split my head, but even in my state I could appreciate the dame inside. She was crouched at a filing cabinet in the corner, her back to me. When the door opened, she stood up. And up. Long and lean, with gently curling hair that matched the mahogany filling the rich house, her slim skirt clung to hips and thighs, but a loose silky blouse left just enough doubt to make things interesting.

"Miss Woodridge? Bianca Woodridge? You're Brazelton's secretary?"

"I'm Mister Brazelton's executive secretary. And you are?"

"Matt Slade. I'm an investigator. Mr. Brazelton hired me to look into a few things for him."

"What things?"

That's what I was afraid of. How was I supposed to tell her he wanted me to find out who murdered him, when the old boy was having a drink right up the hall?

"He believes he is dying, and he wants to know who, if anyone, had anything to do with it. He told me you could help, that you probably know who might wanna do him in."

Her face colored and she looked down. Her eyes lost some of their combative gleam.

"I don’t think anyone could really wish Mr. Brazelton harm. Not like that, I mean."

"Really? The way he talked, half of Philly might want him out of the way."

"Oh no. Nothing like that. Mr. Brazelton is a wealthy philanthropist. People love him for the good—"

I cut in. "Wealthy I got, sister. But philanthropist? Brazelton?" Not the tycoon I remembered.

"Phil-anthro-pist," she said, speaking very slowly. Her eyes swept my rough clothes. "You wouldn't know, but a philanthropist is someone with the good of mankind at heart. He gives of his wealth to move society forward, and lift up those in need."

"I can't argue with that," I said. "I suppose Mr. B lifted me up this morning."

"You look like you could use some more lifting, Mr. Slade."

"You ain't—excuse me—aren't wrong." I brushed one of the stains on my suit coat. It didn't help. Oh well. Audacity. Always audacity. "You offering, Miss? You a philanthropist, too? Or are you the kind who only lifts up one man?" When she sputtered, I asked, "How do you feel about Mr. Brazelton? You said everyone loves him… Does that include you?"

"Mr. Brazelton is a very fine man," she said, back to glaring at me. "I admire him greatly, but I wouldn't say I love him."

Too quick. That sounded like a stock answer.

"You wouldn't? Your rosy cheeks might—"

She blushed harder. "I…"

"Listen, doll. I don't care who gets up to what. All I gotta know about is who doesn't like him. Since you obviously do, that lets you off the hook, don't it?"

"Well, to be honest Mr…"

"Slade."

"Mr. Slade, I do like him. Very much."

I put on my best encouraging smile. "There, was that so hard?"

She relaxed, just a little. "No, I suppose not."

"So what can you tell me about who doesn't? Is there a Mrs B with her nose out of joint, maybe?"

"They… have an understanding."

"That's very modern of them. What kind of understanding is it? He does what he wants and she buttons her lip or gets tossed on her ear?" That's the kind of understanding I knew.

"That's…"

"Not far off, huh?"

She sat silently a few moments. "Oh, I know she doesn't approve of me, not really. She's always trying to win him back. But I can't imagine she'd want to hurt him."

"I won't tell you not to hire a taste tester yourself, Miss, but you might be wrong about that. You never made any vows to her, did you?"

"No, of—oh. I see."

"Doll, I think I need to talk to Mrs B. Can you arrange that?"

"I doubt she'd see you; she's most particular."

I rasped my hand across my chin, and glanced at my sorry suit. "Well, we can ask, right?"

"If you wish." She raised her voice. "Amelia?" A plump young girl in one of those black and white uniforms, like you or I'd only see at the pictures popped into the room like a cork from a bottle. So fast I had certain doubts about the privacy of our conversation.

"Yes, Miss Woodridge?"

"Ask Mrs Brazelton if she will see this gent—"

"Eh, never mind that. Just take me to her, Amelia," I broke in.

"But why?"

"Her husband hired me to look into a few things. It won't take long, I promise. Just a few questions."

It worked. In a few minutes, I followed the plump little thing through what seemed like a mile of twisting hallway. I couldn't begin to guess how many acres of forest someone had slaughtered to panel this joint. I'd have gotten worn out wading through all that carpet all the time.

"So, Amelia, what's it like to work in a place like this? I ain't never been in a joint this fancy." That made my third or fourth crack at getting her to open up. It didn't work any better than the first three. At least not at first.

"If a girl can stay out of the line of fire, it's a good place to work." She sniffed, but that's all she would say. A few minutes later, she opened a set of heavy double doors. "Mrs Brazelton is in the library."

To be continued…

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