Brooklyn on Fire by Lawrence H. Levy Read Free Book Online

had been taken by surprise and couldn’t manage much of an immediate reply.
    “Excuse me,” she said.
    “
A Matador,
the piece of art you’re admiring, was painted by Édouard Manet. His work is only just now becoming recognized, years after his death.”
    “Yes, poor man,” Mary said, her wits returning, “he spent the last of his inheritance exhibiting his work to no avail, shared the same mistress with his father, and died of syphilis. None of those accomplishments are fitting to write on anyone’s epitaph.”
    It was now his turn to be taken by surprise. “And I thought you had no interest in Manet.”
    “Why would you think that?”
    “You appear to be much more interested in Arabella Huntington. Or is it her son, Archer?”
    Mary had thought she was being discreet, but she obviously wasn’t and needed to cover. “Arabella who? What in the world ever gave you that idea?”
    “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”
    “I’m impressed. That line from
Hamlet
is often misquoted. Most people make the mistake of placing ‘methinks’ at the beginning of the sentence. Bravo, Mr….” Mary strategically paused, hoping this man would identify himself. He bowed as all gentlemen did when greeting a lady.
    “Vanderbilt. George Vanderbilt. Pleased to meet you, Miss Handley.”
    “A Vanderbilt recognizes me and yet I am oblivious to his identity. Has the world gone completely insane or have I?”
    “Please go easy on yourself. Unlike the rest of my family, when in New York, I keep a low profile, and I’ve been a big fan of yours since the Goodrich case.”
    “Really? I had thought my dubious notoriety had been forgotten by now.”
    “Hardly. I followed your exploits in the newspaper with great interest and was almost disappointed when you caught the killer. I couldn’t get enough of you.” He stopped very briefly. “That may have sounded improper. Please excuse me—”
    “You’re excused. I doubt whether that was your intention. You appear to be quite balanced.”
    “I appreciate that, though my family might disagree with you.”
    “Then the rich and the poor do have some things in common. My family is similarly inclined toward me.”
    “Now that we’ve found common ground, maybe you can divulge why you’re following Arabella Huntington. Please tell me it involves a case you’re currently working on. I so want it to be.”
    His enthusiasm was childlike but at the same time it took on a self-mocking tone. Mary found it oddly charming, but she wasn’t about to divulge everything to a man she had just met.
    “You’re right in one respect. I do want to have a conversation with her.”
    “Well then, let’s have it.” And he started walking toward the Huntingtons.
    “Wait. I can’t just walk up to them and start chatting.”
    “
You
can’t, but I can,” he said as he stepped back toward her. “Arabella Huntington has been pursuing a friendship with my family for years. Being the snobs that we are—not me, my kindred—every effort has been rebuffed. Believe me, she’d be more than happy to chat with me and meet my friend.” He smiled, and the glint in his eye betrayed the slight devil-may-care quality she had seen in the twirls of his mustache.
What an odd pastiche of contrasts,
Mary thought as she walked with him over to Arabella and Archer Huntington.
    “Mrs. Huntington, Archer,” George exclaimed as he bowed, “what a nice surprise to run into you here.”
    “Please, George, no need to be formal with me. Call me Arabella,” she cooed, her tone infinitely warmer and friendlier than the one she had taken with her driver. “And where else would we be? Archer is back from Spain, and, like you, the two of us can’t make it through the day without our requisite amount of great art.”
    “You know me well, Arabella, and it appears you’ll get to know me better. I understand you’re building a home just a stone’s throw from my brother.”
    “Yes, we’ve bought a small piece