The Lemoncholy Life of Annie Aster Read online

  For the briefest of moments, Annie had a vision of a cat smugly dropping a mouse at her feet, but despite her queasiness, she had to admit the plan was a good one. “This thing…” she asked slowly, uncertain whether she wanted to know the answer. “How are we going to acquire it?”

  Hooking both thumbs in the bib of her overalls, Cap’n looked sideways at Annie and said, “I’m gonna pinch it.”

  “Oh.”

  “You might as well know, Miss Annie. I do what I need to get by. Learned to pick pockets and locks from Johnny Parker before Fabian took me in. Then I got pulled into Mr. Culler’s racket— another reason he’s out to get me. I was a pretty good moneymaker, not that I saw much of it.” She reached over to touch Annie’s knee, then removed her hand. “I’m not proud of what I done, but pride ain’t really something I can afford.”

  Looking properly ashamed, Annie asked in a subdued tone, “Do you know what you are getting yourself into?”

  “Do you?”

  Checkmate, thought Annie. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her entwined hands, her eyes narrowing. Unexpectedly, she asked, “Do you know where Mr. Culler’s office is located?”

  “Sure. It’s just three blocks up the way. Why?”

  “Well,” Annie said carefully, “it would be a shame to waste these talents of yours.”

  Cap’n blinked, snickering when Annie broke into a grin. She clapped her palms against her thighs and stood. “It’s a little after noon, now,” she said. “Culler’s lunching at Ma Maison. Same thing every day. Breakfast at the Broadway. Lunch at Ma Maison. Now that Danyer’s in town, he’ll probably be in tow. I’m going to skedaddle. You might want to wait for me here. I’ll have one of the gang check in on you.” She retrieved the dollar bill from her pocket one last time, staring at it before asking, “By the way, how’s your handwriting?”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-THREE

  A Flimflam

  While Annie and Cap’n were wrapping up their strategy session, Messrs. Culler and Danyer were eating a meal at Ma Maison.

  Mr. Culler was, for the most part, quiet. He was thinking primarily of loose ends, but Abbott’s door wasn’t far behind. Danyer… Well, it was hard to fathom what Danyer was thinking. “You were uncharacteristically late for lunch today,” Mr. Culler said, breaking the silence. “Were you delayed at the bank?”

  Danyer issued his usual grunt and shoveled a pile of beans into his mouth as he shared the story of the woman with the Edison Electric bearer bond.

  Mr. Culler winced as if Danyer’s voice had irritated his inner ear. “Well, that is interesting. But must you talk with your mouth full?”

  At that, Danyer shoved another helping in his mouth for spite, while relaying the details of his thwarted attempt to tail her between chews.

  Immune to Danyer’s vulgarities, Mr. Culler sat back in his chair and began shuffling a dollar coin between the knuckles of his right hand. “There is no accounting for people,” he said, as if the fact that the woman did not allow herself to be caught was proof of her low character. He dropped his napkin on the table and motioned for the tab as the waiters scurried to clean up the mess, wisely ignoring Danyer in the process.

  They exited the restaurant, right into the path of a freight train barreling down the sidewalk on eight little legs.

  “It’s mine!”

  “Is not. I found it!”

  “No you didn’t. Tommy did!”

  “Then how’s it yours?”

  A mousey-haired girl dressed in overalls bounced off Mr. Culler’s leg and into the three boys who were chasing her. Before the tornado of motion could regroup, Mr. Culler dropped his bag and grabbed both the girl and the largest boy by the scruff of the neck as Danyer held his hands up and danced out of the way of the remaining two.

  As is the way with most evil men, Danyer had his Achilles’ heel—children.To him, they were unformed, intractable, and quite possibly the repositories of disease so he refused to expose himself to them unless absolutely necessary. Certain that Mr. Culler had a handle on the situation, he was content to step to the side.

  The two captives were swinging away at each other with little discipline but plenty of commitment, while the other two, having taken sides, were egging them on. The girl continued to swing away as she looked up at Mr. Culler and yelled, “Lemme go. I didn’t do nuthin’. Lemme go!”

  “What is all this fuss?” Mr. Culler asked as he yanked at their suspenders. When they didn’t respond as quickly as he would like—that is to say, immediately—he shook them again.

  The boy he was holding gurgled, “She took Tommy’s dollar.”

  “I did not! He found that dollar on the street, then he dropped it! Finders keepers, and you’re a snitch, Marty Flannigan!”

  The boy took a swing at the girl, who turned scarlet and threw a few punches and one impressive kick of her own that missed the mark only because Culler had the two separated.

  “I did not drop it. You knocked it out of my hand!”Tommy yelled from the sidelines. There was a new burst of kicking and screaming.

  “Enough!” Mr. Culler took it upon himself to shake the two kids so hard their heads rolled. “Who presently possesses this dollar bill?” he demanded.

  The question was met with stony silence. After a quick shake, the kid named Marty Flannigan pointed resentfully at the girl.

  “Will you kindly show me the item in question, little miss?”

  Looking sullen but whipped into obedience, the girl pulled a dollar bill out of her overalls and showed it to Mr. Culler. He released her and took the proffered bill for closer examination. “Why, I can’t believe it!”

  Danyer, possibly concerned that he could get the dropsy from direct contact with the children,peered at the bill from a safe distance.

  “This is the very dollar bill that I dropped on my walk this morning. I’m sure of it!”

  “Hey! What are you talking about?” the girl shouted.

  “Look here, young miss.” Culler pointed soberly at the bill. “It says ‘In God We Trust’ on the face.”

  “All dollar bills say that!”

  The girl drew back when she witnessed the sudden upheaval of Mr. Culler’s face, a violent ripple that relaxed almost as quickly into a more amiable expression. He looked at her, his eyes flaring. “Are you claiming that I wish to deceive you for the sake of a dollar?”

  She bit her lip, suddenly terrified, while her companions looked on disconsolately—not witnessing what she had. “No, sir,” she said as Culler pocketed the bill.

  “I would like to thank you for returning my property. I’d reward you, but unfortunately I have no change.” Culler gave the girl a gentle shove on the back. “Now be on your way.”

  Not thinking twice, she took off like lightning, leaving the boys to trudge down the street behind her. “Told ya’ll not to grab it from me,” the smallest boy said as they retreated. “Now look what you done. He nicked our buck!”

  Mr. Culler watched them round the corner and turned to Danyer. “Did those brats look familiar?” he asked. When Danyer didn’t respond, he said, “No matter. They’re of an age to learn that trust is a commodity they can ill afford.” He picked up his valise with a light heart. “It’s been years since I’ve run a con of my own. Quite invigorating, really.”

  While Mr. Culler was busy congratulating himself, the kids ducked into an alleyway, forming a huddle around the smallest boy. He rapped on a door, his eyes dripping innocence as it opened. He pulled something out of his pocket—a money clip holding four crisp twenty-dollar bills—and gave it to the hand snaking out from inside while the other kids patted him on the back.

  Cap’n peered out the doorway, staring at the little girl as she pocketed the clip. “You all right, Emma?”

  “Careful with that one, Cap’n,” Emma said, shaking her head. “There’s something bad inside him, and it wants out.”

  Cap’n paused, taking in Emma’s words. Like most street kids, Emma had wisdom beyond her
years, so it would be wise to listen to her warning. Cap’n stepped out of the doorway to peer around the corner at Mr. Culler’s back and nodded at Emma before handing the money to the largest boy. “Put this in the general fund. There’s something else I gotta take care of.”

  As the gaggle turned to leave, the largest of the four faced Cap’n. “I’m guessin’ you told Emma to call me Marty Flannigan?”

  Cap’n’s lip twitched. “Maybe.”

  “Funny,” he said. “In case you ain’t noticed, I’m black as pitch.”

  Cap’n burst into laughter. “Have someone tail Mr. Culler. I’m heading to his office and need a good hour.”

  The kid saluted, then bolted down the sidewalk, keeping an eye on—but a good distance from—the target that was whistling as he strolled down the street.

  Mr. Culler practically bounced on his feet as he walked.“I think I’ll have it framed,” he said.

  Danyer grunted, the sound as much a question as Mr. Culler was going to get.

  “The dollar,” he said. Sliding his hands into his pocket, Culler managed several steps before he found himself frowning. He stopped bouncing and, after a few more steps, stopped walking altogether. Dropping his valise, Culler began to pat his pockets. Unhappy with the result, he turned them out and watched as a lone dollar bill fluttered to the ground. His face turned scarlet. “Those kids!” He reached down to retrieve the bill and waved it in Danyer’s face. “We’ve been outmaneuvered by professional cons in diapers!”

  Once again, his face went through a rabid metamorphosis as he walked around punching the air with his fists. A minute later, he took a few even breaths, looked back in the direction from which he came, and said with a hint of admiration in his voice, “One would almost think I’d trained them myself.” Having said that, his eyes glazed over as he connected the dots, and he bellowed at the top of his voice, “Cap’n!”

  He turned to Danyer, his face flushed.“That little ingrate! How dare she use my own tricks on me!” He started to stuff the bill in his pocket when he noticed something odd. There was a bit of handwriting on the back. Today’s lesson examines the advantages of being underestimated. Thank you for being so predictable, Mr. Culler.

  He grunted, then after a brief pause said, “Very clever.” He showed the bill to Danyer before tossing it in the air. “If it is Cap’n, she has help.”The dollar caught in a wind eddy, lurching down the street. Mr. Culler watched its progress, then removed his bowler to smooth back his hair, yanked sharply at his lapels, and, with as much dignity as he could muster, said, “I hate kids.” He signaled to Danyer before picking up his valise. “We’re going to the bank.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Mr. Culler’s Curiosity Cabinet

  Cap’n walked into the room and plunked herself down next to Annie. She was all business as she reached into her pocket and pulled out the money clip, placing it carefully in Annie’s hand.

  The clip was made of gold, and the letters AC were inscribed on the surface with elaborate strokes. Cap’n punched playfully at Annie’s arm, then, seeing the blood drain from her new friend’s face, asked, “You all right, Miss Annie?”

  Words from the newspaper clipping Annie had found at the antique store scrolled across the back of her eyes like ticker tape. A money clip engraved with the initials AC has been found at the scene of the crime. She ogled it in disbelief, laboring against the possibility that her plan of action had already been scripted.

  The comfort Annie took in the immutability of time had been threatened, but she decided not to concern herself with the ramifications of her meddling. Now was not the time for such introspection. Elsbeth needed her.

  “I’m fine, dear,” she said. After a moment, a smile broke out on her face. “I feel as if I’m contributing to your delinquency though.”

  Cap’n grinned at the comment and stood up. “We should head on down to Mr. Culler’s office while the coast is clear.”

  “Clear? He won’t be there?”

  “If I were one to bet”— Cap’n glanced at Annie— “and I’m not,” she added quickly, “I’d wager he’s halfway to Denver by now.”

  “Denver?”

  “Mr. Culler don’t go nowhere with an empty pocket. He’ll head to the bank, so I’ve planted a gang member out front to buy us some time. Mr. Culler’s gonna be chasing that little jackrabbit all over town.”

  She gave Annie a quick rundown of the noontime activities as they made for Culler’s office. “It won’t take him too long to figure out I had a hand in it.” She stopped, pointing to a solid, unimpressive building. “We’re here,” she said.

  Annie motioned with an exaggerated flourish for Cap’n to lead the way, following her little companion through the entrance hall and up a set of stairs to the second floor. They stopped in front of a door midway down the hall and across from an emergency exit. The sign on it read Culler Enterprises.

  Annie stared at the sign thoughtfully. “Isn’t Mr. Abbott his business partner?” she asked.

  Cap’n shook her head.“Mr. Culler practically owns Mr. Abbott. Paid for his production, you see.”

  Annie did see—much more than she ought, but that was what came of thumbing her nose in the face of time. She considered the door. Espionage not being part of her skill set, she was uncertain how to proceed. Feeling somewhat foolish, she pressed her ear to it, lurching back as if stung when she heard a click and the door inched inward. Her heart pounding, Annie looked down in time to see Cap’n pocket a metal pin, then stand to face her. She shrugged. “Like I said.”

  Annie gave the door a slight shove with her index finger, half expecting to see the knucklebones and knee joints of small mammals tumble out and around her feet, but the only thing that greeted her was the musky odor of disuse, cigar smoke, and an acrid tang that reminded her of a high-school biology lab.

  Cap’n inched around her and disappeared into the room, exclaiming in a hushed tone, “Oh my God.”

  Annie stepped in behind her. Even before her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she got the sense that there was something dreadfully wrong with the place. However, a first glance revealed nothing more than a rectangular room approximately twenty or so yards across its length. It was wrapped floor to ceiling in felt wallpaper of the Regency style that might have been purple at one time, but the color was so obscured by soot it was hard to tell. A shabby Oriental rug lay over the dark wood floorboards, with identical oak desks lining the room’s farthest and nearest walls. Annie looked up, getting a nasty shock when she saw stuffed birds in horrible disrepair, as well as a mildewed crocodile carcass, hanging from the rafters. Tintypes, dressed in ornate gilded frames, hung from every vertical surface not occupied by shelves and cabinetry.

  Cap’n was examining one on the far wall and motioned for Annie to join her. She pointed to the placard at the base of the photograph. It read, Joseph Carey Merrick—The Elephant Man, and the image, grainy and water-stained along the borders, was of a hideously deformed man with a bulbous head and a freakishly enlarged hand. He was standing in profile, wearing a well-cut Victorian suit and, despite his unfortunate physical state, still managing an air of dignity.

  Hanging from the wall to its left, they found another tintype of a young lady wearing a lace blouse. Her hands were planted on the ground, and her knickers were cinched above a pair of knees that were so hyperextended that they gave the illusion she was standing on all fours like a dog. The placard read Ella Harper— The Camel Girl.

  A good half-dozen more freak-show images covered the walls, but Annie, numbed by the grotesquerie, left Cap’n to ogle the remainder and slowly made her way to examine a floor-to-ceiling, glass-encased panel hanging on the wall that showcased a variety of nightmarish insects—the centerpiece being a foot-long atrocity that was all bristles, digits, and fangs.The label read The Goliath Birdeater.

  Shuddering, she moved on to a cabinet, quickly discovering why she was reminded of her biology lab. The dusty shelves were covered wit
h row upon row of specimens preserved in formaldehyde—among them an enormous toad with no eye sockets, the fetus of a lamb with what appeared to be a stalk protruding from its stomach, and a ghastly preserved head with an enormous spire-like horn growing from the top of its bald pate.Wang—The Unicorn Man was written on the placard.

  Annie was both revolted and fascinated by the gossamer sheets of skin that had sloughed away from the man’s face and were suspended in the solution. She tore her eyes away to pick up what appeared to be a boar’s tusk, holding it in the palm of her hand as she examined a variety of horns, skeletons, and other forms of macabre bric-a-brac—among them the head of a monkey that was too obviously sewn to the body of a small dog.

  For all the room’s freakishness, it was just that until Annie stumbled across the icing on the cake, shifting the room from the ghoulish to the sinister. It was a wax figurine of Jack the Ripper disemboweling a woman. The kernel of loathing that had been lying dormant in Annie’s gut suddenly ruptured, spreading icy roots throughout her body, and she began to be afraid.

  Cap’n reached out, causing Annie to jump. “Sorry,” the girl said, letting go of Annie’s wrist. She glanced about the room soberly. “Let’s do what we come to do and get out of here.”

  Annie nodded, but there was one last place to look. While Cap’n wandered over to a coatrack and snatched up a bowler hat, reshaping the brim to her liking, Annie walked over to the closet. She studied the door, almost giving in to her impulse to walk away and leave it be. Doors were no longer simple things—that illusion had been shattered a week or so earlier when she stepped into her backyard. And this particular one seemed to concentrate all the wrongness in the room. So it surprised her to discover the closet was empty except for a few spiderwebs and a box with a duster and a Stetson carelessly heaped on top. Next to the Stetson was what appeared to be a matted pile of fur the size of a small bird’s nest.