Read Online Front Page Affair by Radha Vatsal - Free Book Online Page B

native born, Mr. Prentiss.” Mr. Weeks checked the time on his pocket watch. “Miss Weeks will fill out the rest of the form. Why don’t we go ahead and take that photograph?”
    â€œAs you wish, sir.” The photographer blotted the document and slid it into an envelope. He pulled back a black curtain. “This way, please, sir and madam.”
    He instructed the Weekses to remove their hats, posed them in front of an off-white backdrop, and requested that they face the camera head-on.
    Kitty joked, “Just like criminals.”
    â€œNo smiling, please,” Prentiss said.
    Kitty tried to keep a straight face.
    â€œJust keep your expression neutral, Miss Weeks.” He ducked behind his camera and held up a flashbulb. The negative was exposed in a burst of light. For good measure, he repeated the process.
    â€œWell, that’s that.” Mr. Weeks put his hat back on as they left the studio. “Thank you for being patient. It’s something I’ve been meaning to take care of for a while.”
    They climbed into the waiting Packard, and Kitty gave Rao Mrs. Clements’s address. The playwright lived on Central Park West, so she might not be too late after all.
    â€œWhere did your father originally come from?” Kitty didn’t know much about her family’s ancestry. Her mother didn’t have any relatives, and Mr. Weeks preferred not to talk about his parents, who had died when he was young.
    â€œI’m not sure.” Julian Weeks picked up his paper. The headline had to do with Muenter, the man who had shot J. P. Morgan, committing suicide in his jail cell. “What do you make of this business?”
    â€œIt’s horrid.” Kitty had read the story this morning: Muenter had climbed the bars of his cell and jumped to the floor, cracking open his skull. “They say he had a history of mental problems and tried to kill himself earlier this week by digging into his wrist with a jagged blade he made from the metal eraser holder of a pencil.” She winced at the gruesome image.
    â€œAnd the police left him unsupervised long enough that he could try again?”
    â€œThe constable in charge walked away for a few minutes—”
    â€œWhy did the constable walk away, Capability? That’s the real question.” He shook his head and opened the paper, but not before adding, “I’m afraid the unfortunate Muenter was dead meat the moment he barged into Mr. Morgan’s mansion with his guns drawn.”
    Kitty thought hard. Among the documents that had been found on Erich Muenter’s person was a press clipping announcing the Morgan bank’s recent flotation of a hundred-million-dollar war bond on behalf of the British government. When reporters had questioned him about it, Muenter said that he didn’t support one side over another. All he wanted was to put an end to America’s export of war materials to Europe and to “persuade” Mr. Morgan to use his “great influence” to put a stop to the United States’s role in Europe’s bloodshed. The result of his good intentions? Mr. Morgan lay in the hospital, recovering from his injuries, while Mr. Muenter had been found in his jail cell with his head smashed on the concrete floor.
    â€¢ • •
    â€œWelcome, my dear, welcome.” Mrs. Clements greeted Kitty with open arms. She wore a brocaded caftan with Japanese lacquered chopsticks holding her hair in place. A couple of unruly locks fell onto her forehead. “I can’t believe it’s been almost two days since Hunter passed.” She closed her eyes. “I can’t bring myself to say ‘killed’… Come this way.”
    She led Kitty down a hallway lined with books on every conceivable topic, from art to politics, science, and literature. Above the bookshelves hung framed posters of Mr. Clements’s productions: The Lost Girl , Beauty’s Demise , Antigone by