[Maggie Sullivan 05.0] - Maximum Moxie by M. Ruth Myers

Author:M. Ruth Myers [Myers, M. Ruth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mystery, women sleuths, historical mysteries, historical detective cozy, private investigator
Publisher: Tuesday House
Published: 2016-09-21T23:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-FOUR

“Cat got you, huh?” Jolene said eyeing my legs as I came into the kitchen on Saturday morning.

“Yeah.” Instead of my usual stockings, I was wearing opaque gray cotton ones. They felt dowdy, but they looked okay with my tweed suit. Mostly they hid the gauze pad covering tooth marks left by our landlady’s tomcat who had ambushed me as I came in the previous evening.

“We ought to keep track of how many times each of us gets bitten,” I said. “Award a prize at the end of the year.”

“Maybe a new pair of stockings.”

I laughed.

Escaping Mrs. Z’s apartment to sink his teeth into passing ankles was the cat’s favorite pastime. It was also his only exercise if girth was any indication.

Jolene closed the newspaper section she’d been reading and traded it for another.

“You must be working today, wearing a suit. You won’t get so busy you forget to buy an ornament for the tree, will you?”

“Nope. Scout’s honor.”

Every year Mrs. Z let us put a Christmas tree up in the downstairs alcove where male visitors could wait. Now and then somebody bought an actual glass ornament to supplement the paper chains and snowflakes we constructed for its trimmings. This year I’d promised I would. We would put up the tree tomorrow when people got back from church.

Saturday morning was the only time of the week when we got to use the kitchen. I cut some bread and lowered the side of the toaster to put it in, enjoying the homey feeling that simple act produced. It was early yet. There were only the two of us. Jolene was up because she was a farm girl and had grown up milking cows or some such. I was up because I had a list of things to do. I thought about the topmost item on that list: Tabby Warren.

If I could find a listing for her in the telephone book, I’d try to get her to talk to me for two minutes. My previous dealings with socialites didn’t make me optimistic. She probably wouldn’t give me the time of day, or more likely her butler or whoever ran her household wouldn’t. Still, it was worth a try.

It was also smart to have a fallback plan.

“Jolene,” I said as mine took shape, “has anyone who works at your club ever worked anywhere around Fifth Street? The west side, I mean?”

Jolene was a cigarette girl. Her bubbly nature probably made her a natural. She’d worked at supper clubs as well as places that featured only dancing and drinks. All had been respectable, and each was nicer than the last.

She wrinkled her nose.

“I don’t think there are any clubs on that end. It’s too near the train station. Well, there’s Lance’s, of course, but I don’t know anyone who’s worked there. Somebody may have mentioned working in a pub down there as a bouncer, but I can’t remember who. There might be places over by Wayne that call themselves clubs, but you know what that part’s like.

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