Death at Tammany Hall Read Online Free PDF Page B

night?”
    Like many others, the Sullivans remained in their pew during Communion. When the Mass ended, they hurried out with half the congregation during an organ postlude. Pamela and Prescott followed at a discreet distance.
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    A few blocks north on Lexington Avenue, Michael guided his family into an elegant teashop to a table in the middle of the room. Pamela and Prescott had hurried through a back door and sat at a small, secluded table where they could observe the Sullivans. Michael again made the seating arrangements, placing Theresa between him and her father. After he eased her into a chair, he laid both hands on her shoulder in a firm, lengthy caress. She frowned and stiffened; he appeared not to notice. He smiled benevolently over the family, then took his seat.
    When the waiter arrived with the menu, Michael led the discussion of choices—loudly enough that Pamela and Prescott could overhear. When the waiter came around to Theresa, she said she wasn’t hungry and would only have tea.
    Michael shook his head in an expression of deep concern. “No, Theresa,” he insisted, again loudly. “You must eat or you will never be well.” He turned to the waiter. “Madam will have a cup of chicken soup and a Swiss cheese sandwich.”
    He was about to order for himself when Theresa interrupted him. “Thank you, Michael. I’m well enough to feed myself.” She turned to the waiter and said distinctly, “Cancel that order. I only want tea.” Her voice was strained, her jaw set in a defiant attitude.
    Michael bristled and appeared about to shout at her, but he looked around and realized that other diners were taking notice. “As you wish,” he muttered.
    A heavy silence descended on the Sullivan table. Then Mrs. Sullivan tried to relieve the tension. “The choir was lovely this morning.” She looked at the others hopefully. Her maid joined her. “I thought the preacher’s message was inspiring.”
    Old Mr. Sullivan broke in. “What I could hear of it was sound.” He turned to his grandson. “I suppose it was all Greek to you.”
    â€œI liked the organ,” the boy said. “The sound tickled my skin. In my feet I could feel the floor throbbing. Maybe I’ll be an organist when I grow up.”
    The conversation continued in this feeble way until food and drink arrived and dissipated the tension. A few minutes later, however, Theresa excused herself curtly and walked toward the women’s restroom. Michael looked surprised and confused. Mrs. Sullivan’s brow furrowed with concern. She started to rise, as if to follow Theresa, then wavered and sat down.
    As Theresa came within sight of Pamela, she beckoned secretly.
    Pamela glanced at Prescott. He silently mouthed, Talk to her.
    She waited a few moments, then went to the women’s room, knocked, and said softly, “It’s Pamela Thompson. Let me in.”
    The door opened and Theresa stood there, anger in her eyes. “Come in, Pamela. I saw you in church and figured you would follow me here. I had to get away from Michael or I’d explode. He pretends to be kind and concerned, but he’s really a loathsome monster, at least toward me. Trish told you what he did years ago and is trying to do again. I hate to think of being at home with him. He treats me as if I’m his loving wife and James is his darling son.”
    â€œI agree,” said Pamela. “That’s the impression he has created here and in the church.” She added, “Let’s move away from the door. Someone might try to listen in.”
    â€œThat wouldn’t surprise me,” muttered Theresa.
    â€œI noticed that Michael was paying unusual attention to your son, James. Is it genuine?”
    Theresa shook her head. “Michael used to ignore the boy, but recently he started petting him and giving him presents. I think he’s trying to win James away from me, or