The Avenging Angel: Malhaven Mysteries Book 2

When a series of escalating pranks at the Sisters of Mercy orphanage get out of hand, it's time for intrepid reporter Jim Malhaven to grab his trusty fedora and dust off his investigatory skills.

A lost little girl with no voice and no past, an unpleasantly sinister pair of caretakers at a local mansion, and reported sightings of a heavenly visitor sporting a pair of wings. Can Jim and his friends get to the bottom of the mystery before evil triumphs over good?

This is Book Two in the Malhaven Mysteries series, light noir novels with a cozy mystery feel and a touch of the paranormal that pay loving tribute to the wise guy detectives of the 40s and 50s.

(Content warnings: child endangerment, anti-Semitism, racism)

Publication date: May 28, 2020

347 pages, 77,000 words

Excerpt:

Chapter One

It was the screaming that first got my attention. That and the terrified expressions on the faces of the kids and nuns running from the Sisters of Mercy orphan asylum like a pack of hellhounds was after them. I seen more than one of those nuns crossing themselves or clutching their rosary beads as they herded their charges ahead of them down the front steps. The pair of smiling stone angels carved above the double entry doors looked down, smirking at the riot taking place below them.

“Mr. Malhaven!”

It was Sister Honoria trying to flag me down. She’s the boss of the outfit and the reason I was on the scene to begin with.

She’d surprised me that morning by telephoning to the Carsworth City Crier and asking me to swing by the orphanage. She wasn’t the biggest fan of the sensational reporting I did for the paper, so I figured something big must be up for her to give me a ring. I’d wasted no time hopping into my trusty Studebaker Champion, or the Champ as I affectionately called it, and scooting on over only to be greeted with this scene straight out of bedlam.

Honoria was standing still as a rock in the middle of a storm, looking way more annoyed than frightened if I was reading that beautiful face right. She was quite the stunner, habit and all, but she didn’t stand for any nonsense and it took a lot to shake her.

“What gives, Sister?” I sung out, doing my best to wade through the sea of screeching kiddies to reach her. “Is the joint on fire?”

“Hardly,” she replied with a lemon-sour note in her voice that told me I was right about her state of mind. “There’s really no call for all this,” she added, waving her hands around impatiently, “but once a few of the teachers lost their heads, it was like trying to reign in the ocean. I shall have a talk with them later when order has been restored.”

Seeing the way those big green eyes of hers were flashing, I was glad I wasn’t one of those nuns. I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes when Honoria started in to give them what for.

“At least it’s a warm day,” she continued. “Most of the children have come out without their coats.”

She was right about the weather. We were having an unusually balmy day for March. I’d left my old trench coat back at the office and was thinking I might like to shed my suit jacket only it didn’t feel right to do so. I was on the job after all. Gotta keep up appearances. I did loosen my tie a bit and whipped my fedora down from its perch so I could swipe the sweat off my brow.

All the hard manual labor I’d been doing since the previous fall as part-time caretaker at Wynter’s Hill Cemetery had gotten me in better shape than I’d been in since my Army days. But I was a big guy and rushing around to stories always made me work up a lather, especially when my bum legs started giving me trouble. I’d had a knife blade stuck in the left thigh and a bullet through the right one which might give you the idea I ain’t always so popular. Comes with the territory of poking your nose in where it’s not necessarily welcome.

I stuck my hat back on my melon, giving the brim a friendly tug. That topper had been a special gift from a special lady, one Mrs. Victoria Jankowski. The fedora had belonged to the late Mr. Jankowski. Now I had the care of it, I tried to always treat it right out of respect for his memory and as a sign of my boundless appreciation for his lovely widow.

“I don’t think the kids will come to any harm in this weather,” I reassured Sister Honoria as we watched the crowd milling around us.

We could tell the initial alarm was passing. The tots had started pushing and pulling one another, teasing, yelling, laughing even. There were only a few tear-stained faces here and there being comforted by teachers who were looking red in the face themselves. Like they knew they’d been caught out doing something kinda foolish. Whatever had given them all a scare must be inside that big mausoleum they called home, ‘cause they seemed calmer now that everyone was outside.

I glanced up at the imposing gray face of the three-story building. There were about twenty wide stone steps leading up to the oversized wooden double doors under those carved angels I mentioned earlier. The angels were swooping down and reaching toward each other. I guess it was someone’s idea to add them to keep watch over the poor little mites inside, but they always gave me kind of a creepy feeling.

The asylum stretched out to the left and the right of the entrance, rows of big windows looking out blankly at the city streets. A grim-looking place, but Victoria Jankowski herself had been raised up at the Sisters of Mercy and had turned out more than A-OK. It still tugged at my heartstrings to think of all those orphans with no ma or pa to make a fuss over them. Of course, my pa had been nothing to write home about so maybe they weren’t missing so much after all. Having parents was no guarantee of a happy childhood. I’d seen more than enough evidence of that.

Deciding it was past time I started doing my job, I flashed a question at Sister Honoria. “What’s the story? Why all the hubbub?”

“It’s easier if I show you,” she replied, tugging impatiently at my jacket sleeve and pulling me toward the entrance.

She steered me up the steps and into the grand front lobby, then down one of the side hallways to the big industrial kitchen. I’d had occasion to visit there once before, but it didn’t look anything like I remembered. Everything had been clean and neat as a pin last time I saw it. Now? I rarely seen such a mess as was there. Pots and pans and every other cooking implement you can imagine were flung every which a way with all of it covered by the fine dust of what looked like it must have been an industrial-sized bag of flour.

I was so bumfuzzled by the disaster area, I almost didn’t notice a familiar face lurking in one corner.

“Mr. Malhaven, I’m so glad you came. Maybe you can help us get to the bottom of this.”

It was Marlene Sutherland, the sister of my pal and co-worker Marquis, better known as Q. Her smooth brown skin was marred by white handprints on her cheeks like she’d put her hands up to her face in dismay after touching the flour that coated every surface and was already settling on my old dark gray suit. At least it didn’t show on her white nurse’s uniform. Being responsible for the health of that many kids might have daunted some, but Marlene had graduated top of her class and was more than up for the task.

As a point of fact, as the flour started settling down a bit from where it had been riled up by our entrance, I noticed she had one hand on the shoulder of a small figure that was peering out from behind her skirt. A little girl, didn’t look more than five or six years old maybe.

She was coated in flour from head to toe so it was hard to tell exactly what color her hair was, but her eyes were big and blue. Not a steely blue-gray like my Victoria’s, but a pale, pale blue like the lightest color in the sky on a summer day when the sun is so bright, it almost hurts to look up. Between the pale eyes and the dusting of flour, she resembled nothing so much as a miniature ghost, peeking out at me.

“Hey there,” I said to her, trying my best to look friendly. I’ve said already I’m a big guy, and I can add, in case you’re interested, that I have auburn hair the color of a rusty gate and light gray eyes that ain’t so bad, but I can’t neglect to mention I have a hell of a scar running down one side of my face courtesy of the same goop that got me in the leg with the knife. It has a tendency to scare women and children, but this one didn’t seem to mind. She just stared solemnly then gave me a small nod.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

Marlene answered for her. “This is Lily.”

Sister Honoria who was hovering close behind me leant forward and whispered in my ear. “Lily doesn’t speak.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?” I asked her sotto voce.

“We don’t know. The doctor couldn’t find anything obviously wrong physically, but she never speaks.”

That was a shame, but she wasn’t the first mute I’d met. Cornelius Cressley, former butler at the Wynter mansion out at the cemetery, and now man of the house thanks to his getting hitched to his former boss, Miss Livinia Wynter, can’t speak neither, but he did have an obvious physical reason. Someone had cut his tongue out for him.

“What goes on here?” I asked, pointing at the mess.

“That’s what we want to know. We’ve had a series of these pranks now and they are becoming more and more disruptive. It’s why I called you. Marlene thought you could help us investigate, but while you were on your way over, this happened.”

“And what’s this?” I said, ever the keen reporter.

“The children were all in class when we heard a tremendous noise in here. A few of the sisters looked in to see what was going on, and they claim to have seen pots and pans flying through the air on their own. It sent them into a panic, and before I could stop them—well, you saw the results with your own eyes. A stampede from the building with all the children.”

“Not all the children,” Marlene objected, caressing Lily’s shoulder.

“Yes, Lily was the only one in the kitchen when the teachers came to investigate.” Honoria leant forward to whisper in my ear again. “Some of the teachers think Lily is to blame.”

I looked at the catastrophe around us and then back at the small, quiet, white-shrouded figure.

“You mean to tell me she did all of this?” I said, pointing at the cabinets that reached up to the ceiling and had been emptied of all their contents. “She couldn’t even get up there without a ladder.”

“Of course not,” said Marlene fiercely. “It’s ridiculous.”

I looked at Lily, and she stared back with those big, pale eyes. She didn’t look frightened of me, even though I was towering over her like a giant, but I pulled off my hat and got down on one knee anyway so we could see eye to eye.

“Hey there, Lily. It’s a real pleasure to meet you. My name is Jim, Jim Malhaven. I’m a reporter for the newspaper and it’s my job to ask people questions. Would you mind if I asked you a few?”

She thought it over then gave me another nod.

“That’s fine,” I said, trying to be encouraging. “Now, you look like a good girl. You wouldn’t ever cause this kind of trouble, would you?” I said, pointing to the chaos around us.

She shook her head in a slow, grave way that made her look wise beyond her years.

“That’s what I thought. Bet you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But maybe you seen something. Did you see who did all this?”

Those big eyes got wider, and she looked more solemn than ever as she slowly nodded. This was progress, but I wasn’t sure what to do next. How do you get a description from a witness who can’t or won’t talk? I had about decided I’d have to play a game of twenty questions—you know, male or female, tall or short, brunette or blonde—when she surprised me by suddenly laying down flat on the floor.

Both Marlene and Honoria started forward to make her get up, but I held out a warning hand to say, give it a minute.

The floor was thickly covered with the flour and sugar and whatever else had been spilled in the riot. Lily started making a movement with her arms and legs like the kids do in the snow when it’s piled high. Then she jumped up and pointed to the shape left behind. This white stuff wasn’t snow, but I recognized the shape just the same. An angel if I ever saw one.