Chapter Nine
NINE
“Alba’s pregnant.”
The news was delivered in a whisper almost as soon as Vivian walked in and Bea closed the door behind her.
Vivian stared at her, then at the open bedroom doorway, where she could just see Dr. Harris sitting with Alba, who was lying down on one of the beds.
Della Henry hovered nearby, all three of them talking softly together.
Dr. Harris nodded, jotting something down in his notebook before taking out his stethoscope and bending toward Alba once more.
“What do you mean, pregnant?” Vivian demanded. At Bea’s annoyed look, she added, “Does that mean Pearlie was…”
“The father? Yes, unless Alba is a lot sneakier than I can give her credit for,” Bea said.
She sounded dazed as she spoke. “She was working herself into a full-blown panic fit after I said that about him being killed. It was a good thing Mama had me run for Doc Harris, and lucky he was in his office when I got there.”
“What are you going to do?” Vivian asked. They both spoke in whispers, still staring through the door at the examination happening there. Dr. Harris made another note.
“That depends on what you found out,” Bea said, turning away abruptly.
She glanced down at her hands, as if wondering what to do with them, before giving herself a shake and going quickly to the basin in the kitchen.
It was full of dirty dishes, and she threw herself into washing them as she spoke.
“Tell me quick, the kids’ll be home soon.
Bad enough if they find out about the baby tonight, they don’t need to overhear us talking about … about Pearlie.”
Vivian picked up a towel and began drying the dishes as Bea handed them to her. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out, and she found herself staring at the dish she was holding, wiping it over and over, to avoid looking her friend in the eye.
Bea’s hands moved into her line of sight, taking the dish away. “Just tell me,” she said quietly. “It’s bad news whether I was right or wrong. And I can’t stand wondering any longer.”
“You were right,” Vivian whispered, her voice catching in her throat. Bea sucked in a sharp breath. When Vivian looked up at last, Bea’s eyes were dry, but her jaw was tense with misery. “Leo took that brandy bottle we found to be tested. Turns out it was chock-full of arsenic.”
Bea took a slower breath this time, shuddering as she let it out. “So someone did want him dead. Did your Mr. Green tell the coroner who was on the receiving end of the poison?”
Vivian shook her head. “No, but that doesn’t mean he won’t figure it out.
So we have to decide what we’re doing, and fast.” The dishes forgotten in front of them, she told Bea what the coroner had said about slow poisoners compared to fast ones.
“And your uncle did say that he had been working for some mob fella. If that was who did the poison, it makes things … tricky.”
Bea snorted. “That’s one way to put it. As much as I want to find out who did it, there’s no chance I’m putting my family in the way of some mobster with a grudge. Not even because Pearlie was murdered. But maybe we could—”
“What the hell do you girls think you’re doing with that sort of talk?”
They both jumped, and Vivian held back a shriek. Whirling around, the dish towel clutched in her hands like the most useless sort of weapon, she found herself face-to-face with Dr. Harris, who stood behind them, his black exam bag in one hand and the other planted firmly on his hip.
“God almighty, Doc, my heart just about gave out,” Bea gasped, one hand pressed against her chest. “Don’t sneak up on a girl like that.”
“I wasn’t sneaking,” he said, a sardonic lift to his eyebrow.
He was a young man still—and he hadn’t been born to this part of town, so he looked younger still, his face free of lines carved by worry and poverty and too much cheap moonshine.
And he’d never look like he belonged, too polished and polite, without the swagger and grit that men like Leo or Danny wore as armor against the world.
But he could walk down the street and not a single person would hassle him, expensive suit or not.
He had moved to the poor, mixed little neighborhood west and south of Central Park three years before, wanting to serve as a local doctor to people who would otherwise never be able to afford to see one.
Three years of broken bones and midnight fevers.
Vivian didn’t know him well; she and Florence weren’t often sick.
But she knew more than one child that Dr. Harris had nursed through croup, more than one young fella he had patched up after a night at a bar turned into a brawl, treating them all whether they could pay or not.
Now, though, he did not look pleased with them. “If you hadn’t been so busy whispering like children, you’d have heard me coming.” His arms were crossed against his chest, and his voice dropped as his head tilted forward. “Tell me I didn’t just hear what I thought I heard.”
Vivian glanced at Bea. “I guess it depends on what you think you heard.”
Dr. Harris scowled at her. “Don’t play coy with me, young lady.
I’ve got a patient in there pregnant with a baby whose father just killed himself.
She’s on the verge of a nervous collapse, which would be dangerous for her and the baby.
And apparently that’s because you got her all riled up with some wild ideas about murder.
I can’t allow that to happen. She needs calm. ”
“They’re not wild ideas,” Bea snapped, but she said it quietly, glancing once more toward the bedroom door, which was now closed.
Dr. Harris’s scowl grew, but Vivian spoke up before he could say anything else. An argument was the last thing Bea needed after getting such awful news.
“We won’t say anything to Alba,” Vivian said quickly. “But Bea’s right. Pearlie was poisoned.”
Dr. Harris shook his head, his expression softening. “He took arsenic, Beatrice. The police found it under his sink.”
“Rat poison,” Bea pointed out.
“Which is full of arsenic,” Dr. Harris said.
He wasn’t a good-looking man, but his face was kind as he laid a hand on Bea’s shoulder.
Vivian saw her friend stiffen, but the doctor didn’t notice.
He spoke quietly, still using the calm voice that could soothe upset or scared patients.
“I know your family is hurting. But I saw the symptoms myself, and the coroner confirmed it.”
“That’s not all he confirmed,” Vivian said quietly. “I just came from Bellevue. We found a bottle of brandy at Pearlie’s place, and when the coroner tested it, he found that it was full of arsenic.”
The black bag dropped from the doctor’s hand, and he took a step backward as if trying to distance himself from her words.
If the situation hadn’t been so serious, he would have looked almost comically stunned, like an actor in the moment before a dialogue card appeared.
He stared first at Vivian, then at Bea. “He what?”
“Pearlie was poisoned,” Vivian repeated. “We just don’t know who did it.”
“What…?” Dr. Harris swallowed visibly, glancing at the bedroom door once more before lowering his voice. “What are the police going to do?”
“Nothing,” Bea said quietly. “Viv didn’t tell them who the brandy bottle had belonged to.”
“Are you going to tell them?” he asked. He added quickly, “You still can’t let Alba know.”
“You don’t think she deserves to know the truth?” Vivian demanded.
Dr. Harris shook his head. “Not in the state she’s in.
” He looked about to say something more, but all of a sudden, his expression shifted from worried into a look of quiet horror.
“I’ve had two patients in the last couple weeks who mentioned getting unsigned letters that threatened them with poisoning if they didn’t do exactly what they were told.
I didn’t think much of it at the time: they had no idea who sent them, and people will say all kinds of things to get attention.
But if Pearlie got the same kind of letter… ” He trailed off, looking nervous.
“Letters?” Vivian’s stomach gave a lurch, and her heart felt like it was beating at double its normal speed. “Who were they?”
The doctor shook his head. “I can’t talk about my patients. But they live around here. One was even in the building next to Pearlie’s. So maybe whoever was responsible for those letters sent him one, and—”
“Stop.”
Vivian and Dr. Harris both turned to Bea, who was shaking her head.
“We don’t need to know more, because we’re not doing anything about it.
Right now the police don’t know, and we’re going to leave it that way.
Pearlie was working for some mobster, right?
That’s where he got his money. The last thing I want is to get on the wrong side of whoever was in charge there. ”
Vivian stared at her friend, too stunned to respond. After all that, Bea was just going to drop everything? But Dr. Harris was already nodding.
“That’s smart of you, Beatrice. My brother and father used to be caught up in that line of work,” he said quietly.
Vivian and Bea gave him twin looks of surprise—he seemed far too starchy and aboveboard to have family who made their money doing illegal things.
Seeing their disbelief, he smiled sadly.
“It didn’t end well for my brother. People like that are dangerous, girls.
You’re right to put it behind you. And it wouldn’t change anything: poor Pearlie is dead, and Alba will be raising that baby on her own. ”
“Not on her own, if I know Mrs. Henry,” Vivian put in.
“That’s true enough. What a born mother that woman is.” He picked up his bag and fetched his hat from the table. “You be careful now, girls. The last thing this family needs is more sorrow.”
“Yes, sir,” they both said quietly.
He turned toward the door, then hesitated, grimacing before he turned back. “By the way, Vivian, how is your sister?”