Chapter Twenty-Four #2
He took another step toward her, advancing on the distance she had created.
“Mr. Byrd?” she asked.
He gave her a bemused look.
“I think I saw him downstairs,” Cora said, confused. She was careful not to allow herself to be backed into the locked door and cornered. “Shall I help you find him?”
“Yes,” he said. “Perhaps we should do that together. I think Truman might want to know a little something very interesting.”
Her heart pounded a warning. “And what is that?” she asked in a low voice.
He smiled again. “That Everett Conner has been playing the role of chivalrous knight while dipping his own sword in the pot with you.” He leered at her. “That’s the richest thing I’ve seen this week. And on the Hill, that’s saying something.”
Cora grimaced. She had thought she caught a glimpse of Albert’s shadow that morning when she had left Jack’s bedroom. She had hoped she had been wrong.
“What do you want?” she asked.
He took a distinct glance at the bedroom door behind her. “What do you want? I’m not a monster, you know. I’m sure we could come to an agreement. Something we would each find mutually beneficial.”
“Aren’t you married, sir?” she asked faintly.
Albert ran his thumb over the wooden grain of his cane. “I keep the money rolling in for her to spend; she doesn’t ask many questions,” he said. “I mind my business, and she minds hers. It’s a shame your secret fellow couldn’t do the same.”
“Your business,” Cora echoed him. Albert nodded, still smiling. He looked at her with hungry, bloodshot eyes. A look bordering on patronizing.
That was about to change.
“It’s an interesting thing, your business,” she said. She scratched her eyebrow, as if in thought. “Your wife might not ask many questions, Mr. Boyle, but perhaps the emerging Federal Bureau of Narcotics should?”
The gleeful smile on his face instantly shuttered. “I’m sorry?”
“You heard me.” She kept her voice hard. She needed to make sure Albert Bloody Boyle kept his mouth shut. He couldn’t leave that hallway until she was certain she had covered herself.
Albert Boyle narrowed his eyes, finally realizing that he might have misjudged her. “I don’t know who you are, doll, but I do know this: you’re messing around in things that are way above your station.”
“Yet I know exactly who you are,” Cora said.
“It is Albert Boyle, or do you prefer Bertie McCoy?” The unsure fifteen-year-old girl had vanished.
She had found her balance. She watched with satisfaction as his lips faintly parted in surprise.
“The same Bertie McCoy who was arrested for possession and intention to traffic heroin and coca leaves, isn’t that right?
” She remembered every detail with crystal precision from her father’s old case.
“Perhaps the FBI allowed jail time to slide several years back because of that insider information you provided—” at this, splotches of red began to bloom across his face—“but I’m fairly certain that the Bureau of Internal Revenue probably wouldn’t look kindly on your skirting taxes on a million cash in laundered drug money. ”
“What the hell are you talking about? You’re a—a maid with no evidence of any of this.” His face was turning the faintest shade of purple.
“Just because I’m a maid doesn’t mean I’m not well informed—or well connected.
Yes, those two bureaus are separate entities; and though the scandal was effectively buried, you would still owe considerable taxes on that income, vis-à-vis the Harrison Narcotics Tax Act of 1914.
How do I know this? Because Commissioner Douglas is practically my godfather. ”
She smiled a little. In truth, she’d never met Commissioner Douglas in her life.
Cora advanced toward him and took him firmly by the arm. “Now, I’m very sorry, Mr. Boyle, to hear that you suddenly aren’t feeling well, but I’ll be sure to relay the message that you had to return home post-haste.”
“Are you—? Is the Bureau—?”
“Be gone by morning and I can be persuaded to keep my mouth shut,” Cora said swiftly. “But if I hear one whiff of a word about Mr. Conner being seen with any sort of the household help, I’ll be sure to give my Uncle Douglas a ring.”
Albert Boyle’s eyes glittered like tiny dark flames. Then he turned, slamming his hand with a crack against the wall near Cora’s head. When Cora didn’t give him the pleasure of flinching, he adjusted his costume in an attempt at dignity and stalked away.
Cora breathed out. Caught her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were bright and emboldened. There was no trace of the awkward, unsure girl left, but only a grown woman. And this time, when a man had caught her unaware, she hadn’t run away to Jack or to her father.
She had handled it herself.
She picked up her tray and strode down the stairs, weaving through the costumed guests.
“I put some of your favorite snacks and drinks in the first room upstairs,” she whispered to Clementine. “In case you need a private moment to slip away.”
Clementine thanked her, but Cora had already moved on. Her mouth was set with a grim determination. She hadn’t done it out of kindness: she had done it to plant the final, treacherous seed.