Death at Tammany Hall Read Online Free Page B

Square.”
    â€œWe must go there immediately and find out what’s happened to Theresa and her boy.”
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    Even on a chilly late morning in November, the market was still busy. The short, stout, pink-cheeked older woman was studying a head of lettuce. As Trish and Pamela approached, Mrs. Donovan looked up and frowned, appearing to sense trouble.
    Trish asked, “How is my sister, Theresa? She and I were supposed to take a walk.”
    â€œI wouldn’t know, ma’am. She took breakfast in her room with her boy. Mrs. Sullivan’s maid served her.”
    Mrs. Donovan had quickly grown agitated, her eyes darting left and right as if searching for Michael Sullivan’s spies. Then her gaze fixed on Pamela. “You look familiar, ma’am. Haven’t I seen you here in the market? Yes, you’re Mrs. Thompson, the lady who helps children in trouble. One of yours, the young Italian singer, was kidnapped some months ago in broad daylight.”
    â€œThat was Francesca.” Pamela smiled. “She came back safe and sound. I live across the square on Fourteenth. You’re right, I often shop here.” Pamela looked the cook in the eye. “Would you like to join us in my apartment for tea? It’s time we were better acquainted.”
    Mrs. Donovan hesitated. Pamela cajoled her. “You look chilled. I’ll put a few drops of the good sauce in your cup.”
    â€œWell, your place is on my way home. I may as well go with you.”
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    In Pamela’s kitchen, the three women relaxed with chitchat and spiked tea. The cook turned to Trish and said, “You should look after your sister. She’s very unhappy at home.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” Trish asked.
    â€œMichael picks on her and bosses her. She used to talk back to him; but lately he has threatened to take away her son, and she gives in to him more frequently. At dinner recently, they argued when she wanted to go out for some reason. ‘Take care of young James,’ he shouted at her. She told him to mind his own business.”
    â€œThat’s encouraging,” Pamela said in an aside to Trish.
    Mrs. Donovan shook her head. “Michael exploded with anger. I thought he would have a stroke. ‘You listen to me,’ he shouted again. ‘My friend Judge Fawcett will declare you unfit to be a mother.’ She turned white in the face and didn’t say another word. Judge Fawcett is God in the Sullivan house.”
    â€œIs Michael always so mean to Theresa?”
    â€œHe brings her flowers on her birthday, compliments her appearance when she dresses up, and pets or embraces her in a familiar way. But he doesn’t seem genuine. She stiffens when he touches her. Frankly, his behavior looks indecent and makes my skin prickle.”
    Pamela met the cook’s eye. “Then would you agree that Theresa and her son ought to leave the Sullivan house?”
    The cook’s response was hesitant. “It’s a bad place for her, certainly, but how can she leave? She has no money and no decent way to earn any. Michael would try to prevent her. With the judge behind him, and the child a hostage, he might succeed.” She lifted her cup in a salute to the others and drank up her tea. “That was refreshing. I thank you for the hospitality.” As she rose from the table, she said earnestly, “I trust you won’t repeat what I’ve said.”
    When the cook left, Pamela turned to Trish. “To free Theresa we must take bold measures.”
    â€œWhere shall we start?” Trish’s tone was skeptical.
    â€œWe have to break Michael’s hold on the Sullivan family and then get the judge out of the way. Even though he has retired from the bench, he has sufficient influence in New York’s courts to threaten Theresa’s hold on her child. As long as that’s true, she will remain a prisoner in the Sullivan house.” And, Pamela thought, the