affirmation. Ritzi beckoned him with a little wave. Poor George seemed undone by the smile she graced him with.
He made his way toward her with a hot dog dripping with mustard and sauerkraut and wrapped in newsprint, then settled onto the far end of the bench and ate his meal in four large bites.
“If I knew my lunch date would be this pretty, I’d have dressed for the occasion.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“This is business, Georgie. Don’t flatter yourself.” She crossed her legs and rocked her foot back and forth.
He looked mesmerized by the motion, a swinging pendulum of bare calf. “Your phone call created one hell of a mess.”
“That was rather the point.”
George tipped his head to the side, trying to recognize her face behind the lipstick and hat and glasses.
“Don’t waste your time. You’ve never seen me before.”
“Wouldn’t mind seeing you again.”
Ritzi glanced at his wedding ring. They’re all the same . She turned away, giving him nothing but her profile. “Ever hear of a judge by the name Joseph Crater? Sits on the supreme court?”
George pulled a steno pad from his shirt pocket and flipped backward through pages filled with slanted shorthand, abbreviated words thrown on the page like nails on a table. He tapped the page he was looking for with the tip of his pen, ready to add to his existing notes on Crater.
“Sure. He’s supposed to testify before the grand jury about that Healy mess. They both belong to the same Tammany political club.”
Ritzi nodded. She had already relayed that information to Owney, volatile details that they were.
“So what’s the deal? Cheating on his wife? Stacking both sides of the deck? It can’t be worse than what he’s already caught up in.”
“He stepped into a cab on August sixth and hasn’t been seen since.”
She finally had George’s undivided attention.
“I haven’t heard anything about this,” he said.
“That’s my point exactly.”
“You mean to tell me that a New York State Supreme Court judge is missing?”
“ Missing would be a polite way of describing his situation.”
“Anyone else know about this?”
She gave him a malicious grin. “Not yet.”
George flipped to a clean sheet of paper in his notebook. “I don’t suppose you’re gonna give me a name, dollface?”
Ritzi folded the newspaper and set it on the bench between them. “If you talk about me in your article, if you so much as mention the color of my dress, I’ll take the rest of the story to Henry Wilson at the Post . Understand? I don’t exist.”
“There’s more to the story?”
Ritzi patted George’s cheek. He hadn’t shaved in a couple of days. “You have no idea.”
“When do I get to hear the rest?”
“Get to work, Georgie. Turn over a few stones. Write your story. I know where to find you when it’s time.” She made sure to give George Hall plenty to watch as she left him sitting beneath the elm in Gramercy Park.
Chapter Nine
FIFTH AVENUE, SATURDAY, AUGUST 23, 1930
MARIA stood outside the Craters’ apartment. She paused, then laid her hand on the knob and twisted. Locked. The key rested in her palm, but she pressed her ear to the door and listened. Mrs. Crater was not due back from Maine for another week. The apartment should be empty. But better safe than sorry. Convinced that all was calm and quiet within, she made the sign of the cross and let herself into the apartment.
“ Superstición .”
She laughed a little. Perhaps Jude was right and crossing herself was no different from throwing salt over her shoulder. Or spitting three times in reaction to evil. Always the skeptic, he poked and prodded at her faith, searching for thin places where his doubt could push through. Had she possessed a handful of salt just then, she would have gladly tossed it. The lines between religion and superstition were tenuous at best. Today she would take either. Her last two experiences in this home had not been
He made his way toward her with a hot dog dripping with mustard and sauerkraut and wrapped in newsprint, then settled onto the far end of the bench and ate his meal in four large bites.
“If I knew my lunch date would be this pretty, I’d have dressed for the occasion.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“This is business, Georgie. Don’t flatter yourself.” She crossed her legs and rocked her foot back and forth.
He looked mesmerized by the motion, a swinging pendulum of bare calf. “Your phone call created one hell of a mess.”
“That was rather the point.”
George tipped his head to the side, trying to recognize her face behind the lipstick and hat and glasses.
“Don’t waste your time. You’ve never seen me before.”
“Wouldn’t mind seeing you again.”
Ritzi glanced at his wedding ring. They’re all the same . She turned away, giving him nothing but her profile. “Ever hear of a judge by the name Joseph Crater? Sits on the supreme court?”
George pulled a steno pad from his shirt pocket and flipped backward through pages filled with slanted shorthand, abbreviated words thrown on the page like nails on a table. He tapped the page he was looking for with the tip of his pen, ready to add to his existing notes on Crater.
“Sure. He’s supposed to testify before the grand jury about that Healy mess. They both belong to the same Tammany political club.”
Ritzi nodded. She had already relayed that information to Owney, volatile details that they were.
“So what’s the deal? Cheating on his wife? Stacking both sides of the deck? It can’t be worse than what he’s already caught up in.”
“He stepped into a cab on August sixth and hasn’t been seen since.”
She finally had George’s undivided attention.
“I haven’t heard anything about this,” he said.
“That’s my point exactly.”
“You mean to tell me that a New York State Supreme Court judge is missing?”
“ Missing would be a polite way of describing his situation.”
“Anyone else know about this?”
She gave him a malicious grin. “Not yet.”
George flipped to a clean sheet of paper in his notebook. “I don’t suppose you’re gonna give me a name, dollface?”
Ritzi folded the newspaper and set it on the bench between them. “If you talk about me in your article, if you so much as mention the color of my dress, I’ll take the rest of the story to Henry Wilson at the Post . Understand? I don’t exist.”
“There’s more to the story?”
Ritzi patted George’s cheek. He hadn’t shaved in a couple of days. “You have no idea.”
“When do I get to hear the rest?”
“Get to work, Georgie. Turn over a few stones. Write your story. I know where to find you when it’s time.” She made sure to give George Hall plenty to watch as she left him sitting beneath the elm in Gramercy Park.
Chapter Nine
FIFTH AVENUE, SATURDAY, AUGUST 23, 1930
MARIA stood outside the Craters’ apartment. She paused, then laid her hand on the knob and twisted. Locked. The key rested in her palm, but she pressed her ear to the door and listened. Mrs. Crater was not due back from Maine for another week. The apartment should be empty. But better safe than sorry. Convinced that all was calm and quiet within, she made the sign of the cross and let herself into the apartment.
“ Superstición .”
She laughed a little. Perhaps Jude was right and crossing herself was no different from throwing salt over her shoulder. Or spitting three times in reaction to evil. Always the skeptic, he poked and prodded at her faith, searching for thin places where his doubt could push through. Had she possessed a handful of salt just then, she would have gladly tossed it. The lines between religion and superstition were tenuous at best. Today she would take either. Her last two experiences in this home had not been
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