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Tobacco Road Cake – Part 04

“What slander. To think that someone has been thinking of me like that for years. I’ve lived an earnest life, only to be called a villain by those I’ve helped. It’s heartbreaking!”

Despite the words, there was a somewhat cheerful tone to La Guardia’s voice. Her silver hair fluttered eerily in the wind.

All eyes turned to La Guardia. New York’s elite gentlemen and female celebrities known from the society columns in newspapers. Their practiced smiles faded, replaced by expressions marked by anger, resentment, and grief. Half-stunned, half-dazed, they glared at the formidable old woman dressed as the Statue of Liberty.

Their eyes were as empty as the dead’s.

“Ah, how tragic…” The voice reverberated through the hall like a thunderclap.

The elderly woman’s eyes widened, gleaming with an eerie light, like ice mixed with oil.

“Please refrain from such absurd remarks. I wasn’t aware she was your daughter until now. I believe I have extended sufficient condolences. You must’ve been grieving, but to suspect me of murder… Truly disheartening.”

“Lady La Guardia… I-I apologize…”

The old priest cast a stern glance at the gathering before pointing sharply at the accuser. His voice took in a darker note.

“You’re no different from them.”

The woman swiftly straightened herself. “Wh-What?!”

The priest’s tone turned crude. “During the coin toss earlier, you were the only one not smiling. I was watching, you know. The twisted face of a supposedly refined lady was quite intriguing indeed. You were glaring! If memory serves, you were once the young wife of a company crushed by Bluecandy upon its expansion to New York.”

Cackling, he pointed at the Tobacco Road Cake, which depicted the expansion of the Bluecandy family. The towering black Apocalypse, an emblem of success, stood prominently atop the cake.

The priest chuckled as he circled the room. “When La Guardia’s Bluecandy company expanded, absorbing and assimilating other tobacco enterprises, one of them was a long-established firm.”

“N-No… I mean…” the elderly woman said hesitantly, her voice quivering.

La Guardia nodded again, sporting a seemingly benign smile.

The priest laughed triumphantly. “I’m sure you all know. When absorption seemed impossible, Lady La Guardia would resort to a coin toss as a last gambit. Like so…”

He mimicked the motion, lifting the bottom of his robe with both hands, bending his knees, and tilting his head.

“‘How about a coin toss?'”

He winked, his robe’s golden embroidery glinting ominously. He cleared his throat.

“We’ve heard Lady La Guardia’s catchphrase countless times before. Wagering things more important than life itself, she proclaims, ‘heads or tails?’ You would think the odds are fifty-fifty, but strangely enough, Lady La Guardia consistently wins. That’s how much money loves her. But your husband was a moron who agreed to flip a coin for the company while drunk and lost it all.”

“Yes, fifty-fifty odds, but he was an idiot, and my grandfather’s legacy was snatched by some awful woman, a savage who crawled out of the old world’s gutter. Uncivilized, all flash and no class. Can you believe it?”

Listening to the venomous tirade, La Guardia furrowed her brows. Guests exchanged uneasy glances as the priest pressed on.

“And yet, here you are, the scion of an old New York family, bedecked this evening! Scared of being forgotten by high society? You’re like a museum piece in that old dress and musty jacket!” He laughed out loud.

“What about you, huh?”

“Huh?”

The old woman gestured below the cake, instantly pulling the guests’ gaze away from the tower. Time rewound on the extravagant confection, back to the time when La Guardia was a humble tobacco farmer, to the rural South immediately after her immigration.

The elderly woman breathed heavily. “Sixty-five years ago, when Lady La Guardia arrived in the South, traveling from an immigrant ship to the transcontinental railroad, she must have been disappointed. Where do you think the funds came from to start a small company from such poor beginnings? If I remember correctly, her husband’s father was killed by a runaway carriage, resulting in a hefty insurance payout from a newly established insurance company. Though the common folk were struggling to make ends meet, for some reason, her father-in-law was insured, and premiums were consistently paid. Then, a year later, the accident occurred. The fledgling insurance company went bankrupt due to this incident, and the president’s family was left destitute. Father, you’re the youngest son of that family, right? You were sent to a strict theological school to reduce the number of mouths to feed. When you grew up, you got Lady La Guardia to donate a large sum and build a splendid church. If you kept harping on about the insurance murder, you could have been silenced. But you were clever. As a servant of the Lord, you praised Lady La Guardia, helping her improve her image, thus ensuring your own survival. A mutually beneficial relationship. A miser who crawls up to his enemy does not have the right to call me a museum piece!”

With a grunt, the priest hurled the trumpet. His expression crumbled, and instantly took in a sorrowful look.

He shook his head silently. For some inexplicable reason, La Guardia regarded him with a smile brimming with compassion.

Guests in the hall cast their eyes downward, unable to meet each other’s gaze. It was a silence that spoke volumes, conveying not just the regret of those implicated but also the shared bitterness lurking among all present.

A warm breeze wafted in from the elevator hall. The opulent night vista extended far into the distance.

The group of lawyers let out a collective sigh.

“So, who’s the culprit? It seems everyone here secretly hates Lady La Guardia. With all of you having a motive, we don’t know who exactly is responsible.”

They formed a circle to deliberate further.

“Almost everyone has a motive, right? Then we must identify who had the opportunity.”

“But how?”

“While we’re talking, the fire downstairs is spreading. And there’s talk of a third bomb. We’re all gonna die!”

La Guardia smoked her golden lizard pipe, surveying the hall with the regal demeanor of a queen.

“Well, well, what intriguing guests we have! Normally, they’re all too eager to extol the favors bestowed upon them by me, but tonight, it appears quite the opposite.”

Everyone hung their heads in silence, either embarrassed or simmering in anger.

At that moment, a phone in the corner rang, and Mayor Emigré picked it up. He was talking with someone on the first floor.

After some back and forth, he said, “They’re coming up the stairs? Who?”

Hearing what he said, a small figure shrouded in gray cloth, hidden behind the cake throughout the tumult, shifted slightly. Silver hair stirred, and a small head emerged. Emerald eyes gleamed with keen interest.

“Are they coming here with the emergency exit key?” The mayor covered the receiver and turned to the woman beside him. “I see. They can open the door from outside, and we can escape down the stairs.”

“Right. Firefighters, perhaps? Remember that news about a brave female firefighter last month? The one you commended.”

“Well, actually… What did you say?” He strained to listen, then nodded. “Apparently, one of them is Coup de Grâce. And there’s another… A young man from the East. He made the suggestion, but his identity is unknown. Climbing all the way up here on foot is madness!”

More men gathered around the phone.

Victorique peeked out from behind the cloth. “Kujou?” she murmured. “He’s coming. That monumental pumpkin head. He was already safe downstairs.”

She withdrew behind the fabric, lost in thought. She seemed to be stomping her feet.

Beside her, Bon Vivant crossed his arms. “Oh, Coup is coming!”

“According to the culprit, there’s another bomb hidden somewhere, and we don’t know when it will detonate,” Mayor Emigré continued. “Many have already been injured in the two blasts. Limbs severed. They’re out to kill. There’s a fire raging below? Damn it… Hurry up!”

His wife offered a consoling pat on the shoulder.

An icy hush enveloped the hall. The wind howled through shattered windows. Guests groaned. An eerie sound came from the elevator hall. The chandelier swayed ominously.

And once more, the gray lump stirred. Its movement was peculiar. One by one, guests began to notice and turn their heads.

Behind the cloth, a pair of emerald eyes gleamed. Slowly, silver hair as magnificent as the Milky Way cascaded. Her porcelain skin bore a pale hue, and her cherry lips quivered.

All eyes were drawn to the breathtaking beauty of her small face and the otherworldly glow she seemed to radiate.

Victorique poked her head out from behind the gray cloth. “First, we determine the motive behind the crime, then we deduce the identity of the culprit, and from there, we extract the whereabouts of the third bomb.”

She moved like a caterpillar and stood next to the cake, then stretched herself to the limits. She gestured to a scene right before the tobacco farm, when the immigrant ship initially docked at the New York harbor. The back part of the cake had been consumed by someone.

All eyes watched in fascination, wondering who this lovely yet enigmatic guest might be and what she was doing.

“Well, there’s no choice. I must turn to the Wellspring of Wisdom,” she murmured. Then, in a voice as weathered as an old woman’s, she announced, “You’re all mistaken. The culprit harboring resentment towards La Guardia comes from a much earlier period.”

“It’s the voice from earlier!” La Guardia noticed, straightening up. The confident smile on her face vanished. Sensing something amiss, she narrowed her gaze and stared intently.

Two women, both petite with flowing silver locks. One draped in white cloth held a gleaming gold pipe and sported a crown of thorns. The other, swathed in gray fabric, held nothing, but wore a crimson mini-hat.

La Guardia watched warily, while Victorique seemed fixated solely on the pipe.

“If you all can,” Victorique went on, “try to recall the footage from earlier. The scene depicting the arrival of the immigrant ship and the mass processing at Ellis Island like livestock. You might not be aware, but I am. Because I am a first-generation immigrant who just arrived in New York today.”

The old priest asked irritably, “You just arrived today? Then why are you here? Forget it. Just get straight to the point!”

Victorique sniffed disdainfully. “Since the footage was in black-and-white, you likely overlooked a crucial detail. Well, the reason should become evident. The individuals gathered here tonight represent New York’s elite. Essentially, nearly everyone is a second-generation or subsequent immigrant, with scarcely anyone having firsthand experience of going through the immigration office at Ellis Island. I must say, this sugar figure is meticulously crafted. Look at the immigration office, and take note of the gate’s color. The sight etched into the memory of first-generation immigrants. The formidable door that stood before them!”

With pale and trembling hands, Victorique indicated the sugar figure depicting the immigration station. The crowd studied it with puzzled faces.

“The blue door!”

“The same blue from the threat.”

“Grudge of the blue door!”

Victorique nodded knowingly, squinting her eyes. Her long lashes cast a mystifying, alluring shadow.

She glanced briefly at the phone and mumbled, “Hmm… Kujou…” Then she raised her head once more and surveyed the assembly solemnly.

Her cherry lips slowly parted.

“The culprit’s grudge likely traces back long before Tobacco Road. From the distant past. Not during the time La Guardia toiled at a southern farm or her triumphant return to New York. It harks back to her arrival in the New World, at the immigration office on Ellis Island. And only La Guardia and Grim Reaper are privy to it.”

Victorique’s eyes snapped wide.

“The crime committed sixty-five years ago!”

Before the stunned guests, the gigantic blue door from the distant past slowly parted on both sides.