The Sporting House Killing by G. Powell (best non fiction books to read .TXT) 📕

school here. Her family was in town visiting friends and taking the waters. I met her at the Natatorium. She lives on the east coast somewhere, maybe South Carolina.”

“Do you have her address?”

Mr. DeGroote nodded and left the room. He returned with her family’s address.

Ink seeped through the joint in Harley’s fountain pen. He screwed it tighter and wiped his fingers with his handkerchief. “Have you seen her since that day?”

“Yes, sir. Once or twice, but not after they went back home.”

“Thank you, Peter, you’ve been very helpful.”

“I’m sorry to get involved in this,” Mr. DeGroote said, “but your father is my friend, and I thought he should know. Maybe the county attorney will let Cicero plead guilty to something less than murder.”

Papa would have to reconsider once he heard what Peter had to say. It was a side of Cicero he hadn’t seen. Did Mr. Sweet know?

“Yes, sir. We appreciate your friendship.”

Harley packed his copybook and pen into his briefcase. Papa’s friendship with Mr. Sweet had gotten them into this fix, but a true friend wouldn’t expect him to win an impossible case. Papa would see.

Chapter 10

He met Harley on the street corner across from Miss Jessie’s two-story brick sporting house. Catfish puffed on a cigar, with the colonel at his feet, while a string of wagons rolled past on First Street from the suspension bridge. He waved at the teamsters as if he knew them. As he told Harley often, today’s passerby could be tomorrow’s juror.

Harley had been busy on the case, and Catfish wanted to hear his report before they met Miss Jessie. Harley arrived with a look that said he’d pinned down all the answers. He revealed his conversation with the DeGrootes in professional detail, consulting his notes. But Peter DeGroote’s story about Cicero didn’t ring true. It was out of character.

“I expect he’s exaggerating what happened,” Catfish said. “Likely they just bowed up to each other like boys do in front of a pretty girl.”

Harley kicked a rock on the sidewalk. “Peter was sincere. I’m sure it happened like he said.”

“Peter’s not gonna run tell Blair about it, is he?”

“No, sir.”

Catfish crossed his arms. “Well then, let’s not worry about problems we don’t have yet.”

“I got the girl’s address. I could send her a wire.”

Catfish let out a sigh. They didn’t have time for any wild goose chases. “Got more important things for you to do. She won’t be here just to testify anyway.”

Harley stared off toward the bridge.

A surrey came rattling along through the gravel pavement on First Street. A teenage boy had the reins, and a gray-haired grandmother and two young girls sat in the back. They were darling, dressed in frilly skirts and flowery bonnets. Martha had always wanted a girl. When they spotted Colonel Terry, they broke into giggles and waved as if he were a long-lost friend. The colonel’s head popped up, but he stayed sphinxlike on the street edge. Good dog.

“How do, ladies,” he called. “Beautiful day for a ride.”

Their surrey turned the corner, the girls watching the colonel over the back seat, giggling all the way.

Catfish turned back to Harley. “What’d Jasper have to say?”

Harley took a deep breath and slowly let it out as he flipped through his copybook. “Jasper said a fellow came downstairs with Miss Georgia and then left. All he could say was he looked pretty young and Georgia liked him.”

“No physical description other than that?”

“No, sir.”

“All right, there’s a man to find. What else did Jasper say?”

“Another man came in just as he went out, older and bald.”

“Dress?”

“He didn’t remember.”

“Did he say anything?”

“No, sir.”

Catfish wagged his head and grinned. “Sunday night’s a busy one for Miss Jessie.”

“One last thing,” Harley said. “Jasper remembers a hack parked across the street, but he didn’t see a driver anywhere.”

Now there was something. Catfish studied the place where the hack must have been. “If it was a hack, the driver might have gone into the Red Front for a drink while his passenger visited either Miss Jessie’s or Miss Ella’s.”

“Or he might have gone in himself.”

“True. Or it could’ve been somebody’s personal rig—maybe not a hack at all.” He pulled out his Waltham, inserted the key, and wound it. Then he glanced at the clock tower on City Hall, opened the watch case, and adjusted the minute hand. “Let’s be sure to run that hack to ground along with the hack driver who took the boys to the Reservation.”

“Already done that, Papa.”

Catfish smiled. That’s my boy. “What’d you learn?”

“I found the driver who took the boys, but not the other. He works for City Transfer. He remembers picking the boys up near Houston Hall and bringing them here. He dropped them off over there on the sidewalk.” Harley pointed to the southwest corner of First and Washington, directly across the street from Miss Jessie’s sporting house. “The last he saw of them as he turned this corner, Cicero was taking off across the street for the house.”

“What time was that?”

Harley checked his copybook. “He didn’t remember exactly, but he said it had to have been around eleven because that’s usually when he goes home.”

“Did he remember the boys saying anything?”

“Not much. They talked about getting a beer. Cicero was pretty anxious to get there, and Jasper wasn’t. That’s consistent with what Jasper told me.”

“Was anybody else out on the street?”

“He remembered some fellows down at the Red Front.”

Catfish stepped into the street. “All right. Let’s go see Miss Jessie’s for ourselves. Colonel, get!”

Miss Jessie’s sporting house was the only brick building on that side of Washington. The rest were mostly one-story wooden frame houses, although a big two-story frame house sat across the alley from Miss Jessie’s—Miss Ella’s sporting house, Harley had learned from Sergeant Quinn. The Red Front Saloon was just beyond that. The alley paralleled the river on the east and Barron’s Creek on the west. There were probably twelve to fifteen run-down frame sporting houses on that alley. The sporting girls probably got