Read Online The Case of the Murdered Muckraker by Carola Dunn - Free Book Online Page B

likely than anyone else to provide. She went over to the pair.
    The younger Miss Cabot’s pale cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. “My dear Mrs. Fletcher, I guess you have heard
that one of our residents has met an untimely end?”
    â€œOtis Carmody,” Daisy confirmed.
    â€œI wondered—Mr. Carmody is reported to have died in the Flatiron Building, and I know the offices of Abroad are located there—did you happen to hear any details of events when you were visiting with your editor?”
    â€œI know a fair bit about it,” admitted Daisy, “and I’ll tell you what I can, but I’m rather tired and grubby. I hope you’ll excuse me while I go up and take off my hat first.”
    â€œOf course! In fact, would you care to come and take tea in our suite rather than down here?”
    â€œSo much more comfortable,” twittered Miss Cabot.
    â€œAnd private,” added Miss Genevieve.
    Daisy agreed, and they gave her their suite number, on the third floor. Heading for the lifts, she glanced back to see Miss Genevieve struggling from her seat with the aid of her sister, her stick, and the bellhop.
    How painful it must be, Daisy reflected, for a woman who had led the active, independent life of a crime reporter to be so dependent—very likely worse than the actual physical pain of her crippling disease. Miss Genevieve might well have become a morose hermit. That she had instead retained her spirit and her lively interest in the world was admirable. The old lady deserved to have her curiosity satisfied.
    Besides, if Daisy told her what had happened at the Flatiron Building, she was bound to reciprocate with all she knew about the late Otis Carmody.
    Young Kevin took Daisy up in the lift. He was bubbling with excitement. “Gee, ma‘am, I took Mr. Carmody down in this same very elevator just this mornin’. Jist think o’ that! And now he’s bin croaked. I wish it was my elevator
he broke his neck in,” he said wistfully. “D’ya think the ’tecs’ll want to talk to me anyways?”
    â€œDo you know anything which might be of interest to them?”
    â€œDo I! D’ya know what our Bridey told me?”
    â€œNo, but I can tell you that the police will want to hear it from your sister, not from you.” As do I, Daisy added silently.
    â€œLeastways,” Kevin sighed, “I can tell ‘em she’s got sumpin to tell ’em. Seventh floor, ma’am. Going up!” he called to the empty passage. “Going down! Going anywheres you wanna go.”
    Daisy laughed. “I’ll be going down again in a few minutes, so if no one rings for you, you might as well wait.”
    â€œO.K., ma’am.”
    â€œIs Bridey—Bridget—still on duty?”
    â€œYes’m, till eight.”
    â€œKevin, the detectives may not want to talk to you, but the Press will, and they’ll hound Bridget unmercifully if you mention that she knows something.”
    â€œMercy!” cried the boy, sounding very Irish. “I’ll spin ‘em a yarn’ll keep ’em happy without never breathing a word about our Bridey.”
    â€œDo that,” said Daisy, “and better not tell anyone else, either. Thank you, Kevin.”
    Going to her room, she tossed her gloves on the dressing table, took off her hat and coat, then rang the bell to summon the chambermaid. She had washed the grime of New York from her face and hands and was tidying her honey brown shingled hair when the tap came at the door.
    â€œCome in.”
    â€œâ€˜Tis sorry I am to’ve kept you waiting, ma’am,” the girl
apologized. “I was ironing an evening gown for another lady. What can I do for you?”
    â€œNothing just now, thank you, Bridget. I just wanted to warn you. Your brother told me you know something about Mr. Carmody that may interest the police. Until you have spoken to them, you would do well not