“Tell me about Pascoli,” Miss Genevieve requested. “You were talking about him before, Mrs. Fletcher, but I didn’t catch exactly how he came into the business.”
Daisy explained that Pascoli was responsible for Carmody’s presence in the Flatiron Building. “And he pointed out to Mr. Rosenblatt the possibility that the murder had some connection to Washington or New York politicians.”
“Which I reported to Mr. Hoover, of course,” Lambertput in eagerly. “I mean, I had to report to him anyway because of Mrs. Fletcher being in trouble, but he wouldn’t have sent another agent just because of that. So between the newspapers and Agent Whitaker, I don’t think you need to worry that the Tammany Hall side of things will be dropped without a thorough investigation, Miss Genevieve.”
“Possibly not,” said Miss Genevieve, displeased, “but if you want something done well, you should do it yourself.”
“That’s what Papa always said,” Miss Cabot ventured, “though he applied it only to men. He never let me do anything except fine needlework. But Ihavelearned to make good coffee, haven’t I, sister?”
“Excellent, sister.”
“Would you care for a cup, Mrs. Fletcher?”
“Yes, please. Heavens, it’s past time for elevenses already. I had no idea it was so late.”
“Elevenses?” Miss Genevieve enquired.
“In England we lunch later than you seem to here, so a cup of tea or coffee and a biscuit is welcome at about eleven o’clock.”
“What a good idea. Ernestine and I usually take a cup of coffee a little earlier, but this has been such an interesting morning, I quite forgot.”
“Idid not, sister,” said Miss Cabot reproachfully, “but I was forever being hushed. Besides, we don’t have enough cups for everyone who was here this morning, and they did keep popping in and out so. I think we have some macaroons in the cookie jar.”
Biscuit tin, Daisy translated. “Perfect,” she said.
Miss Cabot trotted off to her tiny kitchen, to return a few minutes later with coffee pot, cups and saucers, and aplate of cookies. The macaroons were a disappointment to Daisy, since they turned out to be coconut biscuits, not her favourite almond meringue confections—something lost in translation. Her lack of enthusiasm went unnoticed as Lambert ate all but the last one, which he had manners enough to leave. The coffee was good, though. Daisy complimented Miss Cabot, who blushed and beamed.
“I do try to be useful to dear Genevieve,” she said with earnest modesty.
“Couldn’t get on without you,” her sister said gruffly.
Her beam still brighter, Miss Cabot refilled cups and returned to her eternal knitting.
Daisy finished her coffee and said, “I really must take myself and Mr. Lambert off now and not take up any more of your time. It was most frightfully kind of you to insist on the sergeant coming up here instead of dragging me off to police headquarters, which sounds simply beastly.”
“It’s a grim place,” Miss Genevieve said. “But I promise you, you did me a favour by agreeing to come. You must have realized that curiosity is my besetting sin.”
“Mine too,” Daisy admitted with a chuckle.
“So you will understand, I feel sure, if I ask you to keep me current with what’s going on in the investigation.”
“You shall know all that I know. But once Alec arrives, I’m not likely to get a chance to find out any more.”
“You’re involved, though, as I cannot pretend to be. I could wish that Bender didn’t know you’re able to identify the killer.”
“Gosh, you don’t think … But he’s in the hands of the police.”
“Who can’t stop him seeing his lawyer, and can’t stophis lawyer leaving their premises, and can’t stop him passing information to anyone he chooses.”
“Gosh!” said Daisy, a cold frisson shuddering down her spine.
“Don’t worry,” said Lambert manfully, “I won’t stir from your side till Mr. Fletcher gets here.”
Miss Genevieve gave him a disparaging look and said, “Pah!”
Which didn’t make Daisy feel any safer.
13
