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Book OneThe Charlotte Van Elsberg Mystery Series
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The Nightingale Detective Agency
St. Paul, 1926—where ambition comes at a cost, especially for a woman.
Charlotte Van Elsberg is determined to become the city’s
first female private investigator and help women in need. She’s already landed
her first case: a grieving mother who wants answers about her daughter, Eleanor
Kimball, a debutante killed in a suspicious car crash. Was it truly an accident
or something more sinister? Char intends to find out. There’s just one hitch—Char’s
husband.
Will Van Elsberg, a seasoned investigator, knows the job too
well. It’s no profession for a petite young lady, and he’s not about to let his
wife charge headfirst into danger. Char has other ideas. She agrees to hire
bodyguards to satisfy his objections.
However, despite the addition of her “new team,” she soon
learns that this job is a lot harder than it appears. Doors slam in her face,
alibis don’t add up, and everyone appears to be hiding something. Does
she have the grit and determination it takes to solve this case?
The more she digs into Eleanor’s carefully polished life,
the more she uncovers the young woman’s secrets. Hidden truths that someone is
desperate to keep buried. Evidence worth killing for. Now that Char is asking
questions, who is determined to stop her from revealing the missing pieces?
St. Paul, Minnesota
Carling’s Uptown Café was the cat’s meow—an elegant Louis XV-style dining room with towering French windows, velvet drapes, and glittering crystal chandeliers. When Ethel Rogers invited me to luncheon there, I could hardly refuse. Carling’s was one of the most exclusive restaurants in St. Paul, and I had always wanted to sample their celebrated menu.
“I have a noon reservation under the name of Rogers,” I said
politely as I approached the maître d’hotel at twelve o’clock sharp. I’d taken great
care to dress appropriately for such an elegant place, selecting a black silk
chiffon drop-waist dress, black strap pumps, and a matching cloche hat. Pearls adorned
my neck and ears. I had already removed my velvet cape coat and given it to the
coat check girl.
The tall, stately, gray-haired man projected elegance and
refinement in his black, cutaway coat with striped trousers, a starched white
shirt, and a black tie as he checked his ledger. “Are you Mrs. William Van
Elsberg?”
“Yes, I am,” I replied, masking my irritation at being
identified by my marital status. For crying out loud, this was 1926! I was a
modern woman, proud of my right to vote, to drive an automobile, and dress as I
pleased. I loved my husband dearly, but I was no one’s property.
“Mrs. Rogers has already checked in. Right this way,
please.”
He led me to an elegantly set table with white linen, china accoutrements,
and crystal goblets. Ethel Rogers sat across from me, munching on a plate of assorted
canapés as he seated me and spread my napkin across my lap.
Ethel and I hadn’t seen each other in a while and had a lot
to catch up on, but the moment she greeted me, I sensed this wasn’t going to be
two dames clucking over the latest high-society scandal. Ethel’s taut smile
appeared forced, suggesting her usual air of confidence was a little off today.
She definitely had something other than gossip on her mind.
“Char,” Ethel said with a generous smile. “It’s good to see
you. How have you been?”
A wealthy woman in her sixties who had inherited a chunk of her
father’s iron ore mining fortune, Ethel always dressed as though she had a
standing date with Douglas Fairbanks, that swashbuckling actor on the silver
screen who had women swooning across America. Today she wore a teal,
custom-tailored wool crepe suit paired with a silky, white bow blouse. Stone-gray
hair set in flawless finger waves framed her face while a diamond and aquamarine
comb anchored the thick chignon at her nape. She was old enough to be my
mother, but the difference in our ages didn’t bother me. Ethel was one of the sharpest,
most outspoken women I knew. And that was precisely why I liked her.
True to form, she wasted no time pointing out that for a
joint this expensive, her chair wobbled, the starched white tablecloth sat
askew, the silver could use more polishing, and the crystal showed water spots.
Yet it was what she didn’t say that unsettled me. Despite her brisk, appraising
chatter, she seemed unusually distracted. I wished I knew what was bothering
her.
“How are your plans coming along?” Ethel asked during the
main course. “The last time we talked, you were excited about starting an all-female
detective agency.”
“With the new baby and all, I’m afraid I haven’t made much headway,”
I admitted. “I’ve been spending a lot of time with Nora Rose, getting to know
her.”
After Will and I returned from our honeymoon in late
September, we became foster parents to a fifteen-week-old, orphaned baby girl. I
also had an eleven-month-old son, Julien, by my late husband, Gus, so my days
were joyfully full of bottles, lullabies, and tiny footsteps. Will and I had
already decided to adopt Nora and instructed my attorney to file the petition.
“Goodness, let the nanny do her job,” Ethel stated boldly as
she adjusted her gold, wire-rimmed glasses. “I’ve got important investigative work
for you to do.” Glancing around to make sure no one was listening, she leaned
forward. “Three days ago, my good friend, Marjorie Kimball, lost her
daughter in a horrendous car crash. She’s beside herself with grief, and she
needs answers.”
My fork stopped mid-air. “Ethel, that’s awful. I’m so
sorry.”
Ethel frowned, her deep brown eyes intensifying. “Well, my
dear, that’s where you come in. The police have ruled it an accident. You need
to uncover the truth of what really happened.”
I nearly choked on my delicious roast chicken with chestnut
stuffing. Grabbing my goblet, I drank some chilled lemon water to clear the errant
bite stuck in my throat. Swallowing hard, I quickly dabbed my lips with my napkin
and stared at her in disbelief. “You want me to do…what?”
“I want you to investigate the death of Eleanor
Kimball.” Ethel’s deep, commanding voice held an air of authority as she leveled
a bejeweled finger at me.
So, this was what she really asked me to lunch to talk about.
“She was murdered,” Ethel continued, the conviction in her
voice piercing the small space between us. “Well…” She paused, the lines etched
on her brow deepening. “In my opinion, anyway. Marjorie believes that, too.”
“Why do you think she was murdered?” I asked quietly and shoved
my plate aside to lean closer to her to keep our conversation private.
“The car veered off the road at top speed and crashed into a
tree, killing Eleanor instantly. She was a skilled driver and would never lose
control. That’s why Marjorie believes the accident is suspicious,” Ethel replied
and scooped up her last forkful of mashed potatoes and gravy, relishing it with
gusto. “They found Eleanor alone in the car behind the wheel, but she wasn’t
alone when it crashed.” Ethel clenched her manicured fingers into a fist. “An
eyewitness said he saw two people in that car arguing as it sped past him while
he was walking his dog. Whoever caused that crash fled on foot after the
accident.”
My mouth gaped in surprise. “What about the police? Surely
they’re pursuing the eyewitness to corroborate the person’s story.”
Ethel shook her head in disgust. “They did interview him.
They concluded that because he was old and had bad eyesight, he wasn’t a
credible witness. The case was labeled an accident and closed. I’ve got faith
in you, Char, to find out who caused that crash and why they left her to die.
Eleanor deserves justice.”
I set down my fork and knife as my mind spun, trying to understand
why she considered me qualified to take on a possible murder case. “But why me?
Though the idea is certainly intriguing, I don’t know anything about
investigating such things yet.”
Ethel speared a crisp green bean with her fork. “You told me
you wanted to become a private investigator, like Will. Marjorie needs answers.
You need a case to get started. There you are.” She stuffed the green bean in
her mouth and nodded as she chewed, as if her reasoning made perfect sense.
Maybe to her, but…
I sipped my water, wondering how I would explain this sudden
development to my husband. “Will and I haven’t talked much about my becoming an
investigator yet. He’s been busy lately with a couple of pressing cases.”
“Time is of the essence, my dear,” Ethel said gravely. “You need
to have that conversation with him so you can get started.” Raising her hand,
she snapped her fingers for the waiter to remove our empty plates.
Ethel’s version of the story raised more questions than it
answered, but I kept them to myself. Showing interest in the case might be
taken as consent, and I needed to discuss this with Will first. The problem
was, once Ethel got her foot in the door, there was no prying it out again.
Her faith in my ability as a fledgling to take on such an
arduous task both flattered and terrified me. Yes, I wanted to become an
investigator, and I wanted to help Marjorie Kimball, but at present, I knew
next to nothing about investigating anything, much less a possible crime. I had
planned on working with Will on a few cases to get experience first before striking
out on my own. Looking into a suspicious death was a daunting undertaking for
my first case.
“I agree that Eleanor deserves justice.” As I spoke, a waiter’s
assistant deftly whisked away my plate, rearranged my dessert utensils, and set
a beautiful china cup and saucer in front of me. “If the facts bear out that
someone else caused the crash and then abandoned her, that person should be
held accountable. I just don’t know if I’m the right person—given my
inexperience—to uncover the truth for her.”
Our waiter silently appeared at the table with a silver urn
of coffee. He poured the steaming liquid into my cup and handed me a small
dessert menu.
“Darling, you have Will to consult,” Ethel argued as she picked
up the cream pitcher and poured a generous dollop into her coffee. “And I’ll
help you all I can.”
She handed her unopened dessert menu back to the waiter.
“I’ll have the peach melba.”
“I will, too,” I chimed in as I handed him my menu. I was so
shocked by Ethel’s proposition that I couldn’t concentrate on anything else,
much less dessert.
After he left, I took a slow sip of my coffee, savoring its rich,
bold flavor laced with a hint of chicory. The soft murmur of conversation and the
faint clink of silver on china framed my thoughts as I mulled over my
predicament. “Ethel, don’t you think we’re putting the cart before the horse? I
don’t have any references or experience yet to offer Marjorie Kimball.”
“As I said, my dear, you have a husband who does,” she replied
encouragingly and reached across the table, squeezing my hand. “Will is one of
the most trusted and thorough investigators in the Twin Cities. Surely he’ll
give you advice whenever you need it.”
“But Ethel, I don’t have an office or business cards,” I reasoned,
giving my argument one last push. “I’m not set up to take cases yet.”
“Leave it to me.” With a wave of her hand, Ethel brushed my
issues aside. “Willard and I own several office buildings. I’ll take care of whatever
you need. In the meantime, I’ll set up a meeting with Marjorie to introduce you.”
Her determined smile told me I wasn’t getting out of this. My
stomach tightened. I had no office, no training, no experience, and yet, Ethel
wanted me to meet a total stranger and assure the woman in her hour of grief that
I could give her closure. What if I failed because I was too new at this? The
thought made my palms sweat. I’d been in tight spots before, but never one
where someone else’s peace depended on me. I hadn’t even met the client yet, and
I already knew I’d jumped in over my head. I had a lot to learn, and whatever training
I received would probably be accomplished the hard way—from my mistakes.
The biggest challenge, however, wouldn’t be the investigation
itself or facing the client. It would be convincing my husband to let me try.
~*~
~*~
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