Sweet Murder (Madeline Donovan Mysteries Book 8) Page 3

  “Please come to the Harrison soon. Joanie and I will show you my latest painting, and we will have a rousing tête à tête and speak of old things and new.

  “May you stay safe, my friends; it has been a night of human treachery we will long remember.”

  Vincenzo then nodded and said, “Good-night. We hope to see you again soon when we will speak of more pleasant things.”

  The two artists walked away while Madeline and Hugh remained for a few more minutes until the crowd began to disperse. The police were ushering everyone out toward the front exit.

  Madeline said, “Hugh, there is another way to leave the park, and it is closer to our home.”

  She pointed the way and took his arm, saying, “I don’t remember a murder ever occurring in this park. These grounds are a children’s mecca and a place for lovers’ dalliances in the moonlight. The criminal is indeed bold who did this. I know it was dark, but with all the people and police who wander through here, whoever did this took quite a risk. That will at least tell us something about their personality.”

  “You’re assuming it planned rather than spontaneous. But isn’t it likely that perhaps there was an argument or an assault without provocation…such as for money?”

  “Yes, I’ve given some thought to those probabilities also, but the rose petals, Hugh. It sparks of a deeper mystery. Doesn’t it pique your interest?”

  “It does seem one thing holds true; sometimes murderers like to leave a signature behind, much as an artist does. Of course, not all criminals do, but they seem to want to credit their work to the public, but in such a clandestine way that it provokes even more attention but does not necessarily identify them in any way.”

  “Hugh,” she said, pointing to a man sleeping on a park bench with a newspaper laid over his face, his arm extending toward the ground within reach of a bottle of now dispensed beer.

  She hesitated for a moment about waking the man, but not for long, for she could not resist knowing if the man had seen or overheard anything. Madeline believed people turned a blind eye to the unfortunate, as if they weren’t even there, allowing them to observe actions unbeknownst to those around them.

  Hugh nudged the man several times before he woke. He was startled and a bit confused as to where he was and who they were. He said, “I’ll move along, I promise. I was just taking a little snooze. It’s no harm to that, is there, sir?”

  Assuming that their purpose was to rid the park of him and that perhaps they may be acting in an official capacity, Hugh assured him, “Sir, I do not seek to have you leave, although the police will ask you to do so. I only request you to answer a few questions.”

  The man, now truly looking scared, pushed his fingers through his tousled hair and said, “If it’s about that bank robbery, I don’t know anything about Scarecrow being there. I don’t hardly see him no more.”

  Madeline looked at Hugh and smiled. She thought, People of the streets lived in another world that is privy only to them. What a stressful way to live! One would have to be a chameleon to survive in such a mercurial existence. She assumed the person referred to as Scarecrow may be a fellow in similar circumstances to him.

  “Sir, I’m Madeline Donovan, and this is my friend, Hugh Scott. We are not from the authorities and have not been sent by anyone to speak to you. You may not realize it for you were asleep, but there has been a crime committed in the park. We hoped to speak to you in the chance you might have witnessed something.”

  Now, the man stood and brushed a myriad of fuzzy catkins and other oak tree droppings from his suit coat. Aside from his dusty clothing, she was surprised to see the distinctively fine cloth of his coat.

  He observed her looking at his coat and said, “Miss, I did not steal it, do you hear? I did not steal it, and whoever took the wallet, I did not steal that either.”

  She was even more surprised now to hear him speak, not in the affected way he did when he first spoke to them, but direct with no hint of an accent.

  “The name’s Bowman, August Bowman…used to be on the other side of the street not too long ago.”

  He laughed and said, “And I mean that literally. I had an office on the third floor of a building near here, and there’s a brick structure I used to claim as my home that continues to be in my view. It is the three-story beauty you see right across the street.

  “I was a broker, stockbroker that is, and, if I may say so, a successful one. I did well, have a good family, friends, and a fine home, until one day…well, I didn’t.”

  Hugh asked, “Didn’t what?”

  “Didn’t. Didn’t have any of it anymore. I made a few bad decisions, got duped by a local man; it didn’t take much more than that for me to lose everything…first my reputation, then my income, and then my wife.

  “As you can see by the worn spot on this wooden bench, it is my favorite bench in the park. I am a psychic here, a man of the ages, a bit of a clairvoyant you might say, for I can see clearly into the past and also the future when I sit here.”

  He clenched his teeth and, with a tight smile, said, “I see the life of a man who had everything. Within a fortnight, it seemed, no longer than it takes one to shake off the barnacles of a cold, I was finished and could see the future, and it came true, and here I am.

  “I learned about living without. You’re not just without a life, but without a soul, because any crime within a mile of you—someone blames you.

  “This coat? I happened upon that purely by folly, but I suppose no one would believe me. A gentleman walked by me about a week ago and asked to purchase my coat and hat for a fairly good sum of money…enough for me to eat for a week, and he gave me his coat in return, not his hat though. But in this heat, who cares about a hat, although a fedora does tend to make one look rather distinguished. It is called a fedora, isn’t it, men’s latest fashion trend? I usually keep up with that sort of thing,” he said sarcastically.

  “Mr. Bowman, I’m terribly sorry for the predicament you find yourself in. You might begin volunteering as a way to get back into society and find business connections. Chicago has its first ambulance service and…”

  “Miss, I don’t seem to be rude, but see that empty bottle of beer on the ground?”

  “Yes, I know you…”

  “No, you don’t know anything and don’t presume to just because you’re not the one lying on the park bench.”

  Hugh took great offense to this, saying, “Sir, please apologize to the lady.”

  “No need of that, Hugh, but thank you for the gesture.

  “I agree with you, sir. I should not presume. Please go on and tell me what you were about to say.”

  “You think because of the bottle there; I am a drunkard. It’s a marvelous decoy. People like yourself, the Salvation Army, or a well-intentioned passerby will tend not to care so much about someone who is not coherent because of the drink. It’s a fine way to avoid the multitude of people looking to do me a good turn, by, let’s say…asking me to volunteer my time.”

  Madeline could not remember when a person so decidedly and eloquently put in her place.

  She did not speak; it was as if he had yanked on her tongue to stop her from speaking, as one yanked on a dog’s leash to prevent them from barking.

  When she did not respond, August went on, “And like I said, I know nothing of this robbery.”

  “Mr. Bowman, Miss Donovan, and I were not here regarding a matter concerning a theft. I dare say, for something like that, we would not have bothered you. The park's incident is much more serious than that, sir; you must be aware of what is going on around us. Do you not see the people running from the park? Someone has died.”

  He furrowed his brow and twisted his lips for a moment, then said, “I see. I suppose it was inevitable.”

  “Inevitable?” she questioned.

  He hesitated for a moment before he spoke as if accessing an explanation that would pass muster, and then only said, “Murder in the park…inevitable.”

&nbs
p; Madeline proclaimed, “But we never said it was “murder.”

  Ignoring her comment, he said, ending the conversation with a snap, as if closing a box shut.

  “I will leave you now.”

  “Mr. Bowman, please. Where can we reach you?” she asked.

  He rubbed his chin and said, “Under the stars, of course, under the stars.”

  They walked out of the park as two policemen appeared and nudged them to hurry along.

  “Hugh, as soon as we said there was a death, he reacted as if he had some awareness of what happened, yet you never said the word “murder.”

  “I know…and what he said about how he came to own that coat he had on, that bear thinking it is more than a coincidence.”

  “Do you think the person it belongs to is the knife wound victim the aunts spoke about?”

  “I think it’s a very good possibility.”

  “I was not able to ask him what we wanted to know from him. He avoided answering the question, instead going on a tirade about wishing to be left alone. At the time, I thought it a logical response, but now I wonder if it was deliberate, perhaps a purposeful distraction.

  “Although a vagrant, he is an enigma. He appears to be healthy, intelligent, and seems more than able to maintain employment regardless of what befell him in the past.”

  She added, “I’d like to get to know Mr. Bowman. If he does make his home in the park, we should be able to find him again.

  “I’ll be glad to be home. Will you join me for a cup of Earl Grey at the usual place?”

  “I’d be delighted.”

  In front of her father’s home, the bay window was a place of solace and comfort to her. She enjoyed sitting there at night and observing the starlight that came in flecks through the midnight black. But when her friend, Hugh, brought her a gift of midnight blooming flowers, the place became even more of a sanctuary for thought. The scent of candy resulting from the night-blooming jasmine made the air smell enticing. Here, the two enjoyed a midnight cup of tea and conversations about her cases many a time.

  Chapter Three

  Rose Petals

  Someone, most likely, Mrs. O’Malley, had lit candles and placed them on a table at the center bay window. As she approached her three-flat brick home, she viewed its simple beauty. Hugh once lived on the second floor, and a special friend to the family, referred to as Uncle Hank lived in the basement flat. The furniture was plain but sturdy; there were no pretensions of wealth seen in the Donovan family home, and probably wouldn’t be even if they could afford them. But there was a good fireplace that cheered the room. The house’s largest room was the kitchen, where most gatherings took place, and Mrs. O’Malley, their long-time cook and dearest friend, happily infused the home with delightful aromas from her cooking.

  Tonight, the delicious smell of coffee brewing greeted them as they entered. Madeline preferred tea but thought the aroma of coffee was delightful. It always brought a scene to her mind about when she was a child. When her mother was alive, they had many social gatherings and card parties at which there was always a pot of coffee brewing. Today, the only person in the house that preferred coffee to tea was her father, and he always claimed he could not sleep if he had a cup after five, and it was now nearly nine, so Madeline wondered who the stimulating brew was for.

  Then she heard a familiar voice coming from the kitchen area. Entering, Hugh and Madeline found the gathering nibbling on freshly cooked biscuits, and even Helen and Anna were enjoying cups of coffee instead of their requisite cup of tea.

  “That is the truth, ladies,” said Jonathan Franks.

  He then turned to them as they entered to shake Hugh’s hand and said, “I was on my way here to tell you about the occurrence in the park and found to my surprise that you were all there. What do you make of it, Madeline?”

  Mrs. O’Malley brewed tea also to which she and Hugh took their cups and suggested they adjourn to the dining area, which had the longer table and the larger windows to let the breeze in and give blessed relief from the stickiness of the heat.

  Madeline said, “Jonathan, start from the beginning.”

  Anna commented, “I don’t mind hearing it again, Mr. Jonathan.”

  “It was such a lovely night, and I had just finished working on an article about the local underpinnings of the Mafia and their infiltration into our neighborhoods. The ladies in my area don’t feel safe anymore and demand better protection in places such as the parks.

  “I thought I would like to speak to some of the people in one of the neighborhood parks, and I remembered this one near to your home. I thought it would give me the benefit of visiting you afterward.

  “However, when I arrived, people were spilling out of the area, and policemen were everywhere. I went to where I saw the largest group of people and heard the ambulance rumbling down the road and followed.

  “Forgive me, ladies, if I speak frankly, but it was a gruesome sight. The man placed on the stretcher was blood-covered. From what I could see, he appeared to be an older man, perhaps sixty or so. I do remember I saw he was wearing a lapel pin. Even though I was some yards away, I saw it because of its vibrant color. It was a red rose.”

  Madeline exclaimed, “Then you must have seen them. I mean the petals?”

  Jonathan replied, “I’m not sure what you mean…the petals on the lapel pin?”

  “No, no…I mean, the petals strewn across the dead man’s chest.”

  “No, I didn’t, and I’m relatively certain I was close enough to do so. Who told you about that?”

  Hugh added, “The lady who found the body spoke to us. She emphatically stated she saw there were rose petals placed on top of the man’s wound.”

  Madeline asked, “Do you think a policeman removed them?”

  Jonathan replied, “I couldn’t say. The ambulance arrived and removed the body, and I don’t remember seeing anything except a policeman going through the man’s pockets. I’m assuming for identification.”

  “If it were Clarence who came, he’d know something about it,” added Helen.

  Anna chimed in, “Yes, Clarence will be the one to speak to. If it wasn’t Clarence, he’d know who was there. Oh, they’re very thorough.

  “We must go tomorrow to see him.”

  Jonathan asked, “Clarence?”

  They took turns bringing Jonathan up to date on Clarence, Genevieve, and the mysterious man in the park they all wanted to know more about.

  Dr. Donovan asked, “Jonathan, did you hear any rumblings about what happened?”

  “Of course, everyone assumed it was an assault to filch cash or valuables, but if what you say about the rose petals is true, then that theory doesn’t stand.”

  Jonathan tapped his knuckles on the table a few times and said, “That would be a story if the man on the bench and the murdered man connected somehow. I think I’d like to join you when you next go to do your volunteer work for the ambulance service.”

  Madeline said, “We’d planned on going tomorrow afternoon. Anna said Clarence usually returns by four.”

  Jonathan then bid them good-night, stating he would meet them at the building the next day. Dr. Donovan brought out the checkers and insisted the ladies join him in a few games, which allowed Hugh and Madeline to have a brief late-night talk viewing their moonlight garden.

  She said, “Every time I see the flowers blooming, I think of you and am grateful for your lovely gift.”

  He smiled at her and said, “Yes. There is something quite soothing about viewing untainted beauty, especially after what we just saw in the park. I’m working on an architectural drawing for a new building downtown, but I will wake early and join all of you tomorrow afternoon.

  “It is curious about the rose petals. It is the beginning of the mystery.”

  “Do you think it could be something simple such as when they moved the body, the petals fell off?”

  “I suppose it’s possible.”

  Madeline then thought again and said,
“Yes, but wouldn’t the blood have caused the petals to adhere to the body, acting as a kind of glue substance?”

  “Perhaps, but maybe they weren’t actually there. The woman was in shock; maybe she perceived something that wasn’t there. There were shadows cast from the trees and the moonlight.”

  “After we see Clarence, would you mind strolling through the park? I’d like to take a look around the area.”

  “Yes, of course. I’m sure Jonathan will wish that also.”

  When she hugged Anna and Helen good-night, she surprised Hugh by doing the same thing. Their relationship bordered on an enigma that consisted of friends, partners, romantic friends, platonic friends, and so on. It fell into a different category depending on what event was occurring or each of their frames of mind. This was merely a friendly hug. Whenever someone departed this world far too soon, by whatever means was a tragedy, but when it was by murder, it made you hold tight to those you loved.

  They waved good-bye, and she returned to the window seat for a few more minutes to look at her garden and up at the night sky, where she always envisioned her family somewhere sitting on a cloud above and watching over her. For a moment, her chest tightened. She snuffed the candle out and blew a kiss to the stars.

  Chapter Four

  Shadows in the Park

  She laid in bed, thinking somewhere tonight the person who committed this murder is holding onto the thought no one will catch them, perhaps wondering if they left evidence or clues behind that will lead to them. She thought, If one of the newspapers should reveal the name of the woman who found the body, that will be a start. I’m sure Jonathan will interview her, and I shall request that I go along. I’m sure she won’t sleep well tonight or, depending on how fragile she is, perhaps not for a while.

  The morning found that her father was already absent—called away to see to a patient, and Mrs. O’Malley stated that her cooking and cleaning would take her through the afternoon, but insisted she hear every word of what was said when they returned.