Killing Gifts (11 page)

Oops.
The kitchen was definitely not where Gennie wanted to be. But it was too late now, so she put on her happiest, most grateful smile.

“I'll speak to Fannie directly after the evening meal,” Abigail promised. “Do stay and eat with us, and we'll make the final arrangements before you go back to town. Sewell can drive you; he's quite good at negotiating our slippery roads. I'll send him to pick you up in the morning, as well, so he can carry your luggage to and from the car.”

Gennie thanked her profusely and kept her immediate thought to herself—that, as Sewell was suspected of murder, he might not be the best choice for chauffeur.

ELEVEN

A
WORRIED FANNIE HAD BEGGED ROSE TO STAY WITH
Sewell when the police arrived around 2
P.M.
to question him further about Julia's death. Dulcie's doctor's appointment wasn't until late afternoon, so Rose agreed. She intended to listen only. Despite Fannie's hopes, Rose saw it as her duty to seek the truth, not to protect Sewell because he was a Shaker novitiate.

To her surprise, the two young officers, who introduced themselves as Billy and Stan, did not object to her presence. In fact, they seemed almost apologetic to be there, as if they, too, had trouble believing that a Shaker—even a novitiate—could possibly be involved in such a heinous crime. In North Homage, at least in the past, the Sheriff's Office would have been more than ready to accuse any number of Believers of such violence, but Rose was learning that Hancock and Pittsfield enjoyed a friendlier relationship.

They met in the parlor of the Trustees' Office, just across from the Fancy Goods Store. Rose barely recognized the parlor as a Shaker room. Thick curtains covered the windows, blocking out most of the sunlight. Heavy Victorian furniture contributed to the gloom. It hadn't surprised Rose to learn that funerals were often held in the room.

The officers waved Sewell and Rose to two delicately carved chairs with needlepoint seats, placed side by side. Rose pulled hers farther away from Sewell's and sat down. The officers leaned against a nearby wall, their arms crossed. Rose began to suspect they were not as sympathetic as she'd first thought.

“Look here, Sewell,” said Stan, the taller and more commanding of the two officers, “you and me, we go way back. Like I told Chief O'Malley, it's tough to believe you'd do something like this without a lot of provocation. And Julia, well, we both know how provoking that girl could be. She always was a tease. That can make a fella real mad. Why don't you just tell us what happened, and I'm sure we can explain it to the chief, so he'll go easy on you.”

“Stan, I promise you on a stack of Bibles, there's nothing to tell. I'd tell you, if there was.” Sewell looked even thinner than he had the day before, when Rose had first seen him. Layers of bluish circles under his eyes made them seem huge in his narrow face.

“As I remember,” Officer Billy said, “you and Julia were a hot item at one time. What happened? She throw you over?”

“We just lost interest in each other. It happens. We were young. But I've left all that behind. I'm a Believer now.”

A spot of blood had appeared on Sewell's lip, where he'd been gnawing at it. Something was making this man very nervous.

“Sure, we understand, Sewell,” Stan said. “But how much can a man really change? You used to be hell on wheels, and a lot of fun. Are you telling me you just walked away from all that? You never drink or smoke anymore? You never think about girls or sneak in a little sweet talk now and again? After all, aren't Shakers like Catholics—a little confession and you get rid of all those sins?”

“I never took up again with Julia, I swear it,” Sewell said. He turned haunted eyes to Rose. She would have loved to give those young men a piece of her mind, but she kept silent. She'd learn more by listening.

“Suppose we told you someone saw you and Julia together just before she was murdered?”

“They'd be lying.” Something in Sewell's voice sounded tentative.

Stan dragged a ladder-back across the rug and sat backward on the delicate seat so that he watched Sewell over the top slat. Rose had never seen a Shaker chair used in quite that way. The effect was both intimidating and humorous. A shorter man would have been peering through the slats.

“Everybody in town knows you, Sewell. Do you think you can have a public fight with a young lady—and you a Shaker—without somebody noticing?” Stan asked.

Sewell slumped in his chair. “It was that nosy Mrs. Alexander, wasn't it?”

Stan and Billy said nothing.

“Never mind, I know it was her. She came out of the greengrocer's when we were talking—not arguing, just talking—and she stared at us like we were breaking the law.”

“You were breaking your own law, weren't you? You aren't supposed to talk to a woman alone, are you?” Billy asked. He had the softer voice of the two officers, which Rose suspected was intentional.

“It wasn't like that,” Sewell said. “It was . . . just two old friends passing the time of day.”

“Mrs. Alexander is sure you two were arguing, at least at the end,” Billy said, softer still. “You've got to see it from our point of view. You were observed in what looked like an argument with a girl who was murdered just two days later. We got no other suspects. So why don't you just tell us what happened?”

In the silence that followed, Rose heard the tick-tick-tick of an ornate grandfather's clock in the parlor corner. Muffled voices floated from the store across the hallway. The sound of sniffling next to her told her that Sewell was fighting back tears.

“Tell us,” Billy said. “We'll try to make it go easy on you.”

Sewell pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and blew his nose noisily. “It wasn't what you think,” he said. “Julia was my friend. She was angry, but not at me. We were all finished years ago. Matter of fact, we were never really all that . . . Anyway, it was her current beau who was making her angry. She wouldn't tell me his name, so I figured he must be married.”

“Or a Shaker, perhaps,” Stan said.

“I suppose so.” Sewell gave his nose another blow and wadded up his handkerchief in his pocket. “Anyway, she was sure he was cheating on her, and she was furious.”

“Why'd she tell you?” Stan asked.

“She trusted me, and she needed to talk to somebody.”

“Right across from the greengrocer's? Pretty public, wouldn't you say?” Stan's tone implied he wasn't buying Sewell's story.

“Was it because she was more afraid of being overheard in Hancock Village?” Billy asked. “Maybe because her lover was a Shaker?”

Sewell shrugged. “I told you, she wouldn't say who he was, just that he was cheating on her.” His face looked gray in the dim light. “It's no use pushing me anymore. That's all I can tell you. If you're going to arrest me, you might as well get it over with.”

The officers looked at each other. “I guess we won't just yet,” Billy said. “We'll check out your story first. You aren't planning to go on any of those sales trips, are you?”

Sewell shook his head. “I'll stay put,” he said. “I was never any good at riding the rails, anyway,” he said, with a halfhearted attempt at levity. “I'd probably break all my bones.”

“We'll be back,” said Stan.

After the officers had left, Rose sat quietly with Sewell for several minutes. Finally, Sewell stood and moved his chair over to a desk, avoiding Rose's eyes.

“Guess I'd better get back to work,” he said to the rug, an Oriental pattern with dark reds and blues.

“Sewell,” Rose said, as gently as she could, “I heard you insist that Julia did not tell you the name of her beau.”

“That's right.”

“But you guessed who it was, didn't you?”

Sewell did not move, nor did he raise his eyes. The rug seemed to fascinate him. “I've been away from my work far too long,” he said. Without a glance at her or a further good-bye, he was out the door.

 

Brother Ricardo turned over Hancock's roomy, well-maintained Cadillac to Rose, giving it a fond pat on the left headlight. Ricardo insisted on the very best for the sisters. Rose promised to take good care of the car. She wrapped Dulcie in a travel rug and drove toward Pittsfield. She was grateful that Dulcie had consented to see the doctor in Pittsfield, since it meant she didn't have to find her way over ice-rutted roads to a farther-flung city. Both women were silent as the countryside rolled past them. Rose concentrated on driving, and Dulcie seemed to be drifting in her own world. The way back would surely be easier, and Rose promised herself she would then have a talk with Dulcie.

Dr. Kendell was elderly, kindly, and a little forgetful, which was just as well. He kept calling Dulcie “Lucy,” which seemed to reassure her that her secret was safe. He expressed delight at her impending motherhood. It never occurred to him to ask if she was married.

“Everything looks normal,” said Dr. Kendell, “though you're a bit on the thin side. I like to see my expectant mothers gain some weight—it's best for the baby and safer for the mother. Have you stopped feeling sick in the mornings?”

“Mostly, but sometimes I feel sick all of a sudden during the day,” Dulcie said.

“Nervousness, that's all. First mothers are always nervous, afraid something will go wrong. You're at least a couple months along, so the morning sickness should disappear soon. Just relax and look forward to your baby. It'll be here before you know it.”

This reminder was not what Dulcie needed. She slumped forward and looked as if she might be sick again.

“How can she gain a little weight, Doctor,” Rose asked, “when she continues to feel sick?” She'd been surprised and alarmed when Dulcie had taken off her old Shaker dress and revealed matchstick arms and a protruding collarbone.

“Just eat little bits at a time, as often as you can,” Dr. Kendell said to Dulcie, giving her a fatherly pat on the shoulder. “Keep some food with you, and eat right before you go to bed. You really must keep your strength up, you know. The baby will drain your energy. We don't want to lose you in childbirth and leave your poor husband to raise the child on his own, do we?”

Dulcie's misery completely escaped the kindly doctor, but it worried Rose. For the first time, she wished she could stay longer in Hancock than it would take to solve the mystery of Julia's death. She wished, too, that Josie, North Homage's Infirmary nurse, was there with her. Josie would know how to breathe strength back into the fragile Dulcie. Rose made herself a promise that she would not leave before turning Dulcie and her coming baby over to the tender care of Fannie and the other sisters.

Rose bundled Dulcie back into the front seat of the Cadillac, wondering if they'd really accomplished any good. Dulcie was under orders to “eat like a horse,” something she clearly wasn't capable of doing. At least Dr. Kendell seemed convinced the baby was fine, and nothing was seriously wrong with Dulcie—physically, at any rate.

As Rose pulled away from the doctor's office, Dulcie slid down in her seat and pulled the wool travel rug up to her neck. She looked ready for a nap, but Rose wasn't about to lose her chance to ask some of the questions that had been crowding her mind. She cleared her throat. “Are you warm enough?” she asked.

“Yes, thank you. And thank you for taking me to a doctor. I feel much better now.” It was a lie, but surely well-meant.

“No need to thank me. Any sister would have done the same.” Rose took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “Dulcie, as you know, Fannie has asked me to help find your sister's killer. I'm sure you'll understand how important it is that I know as much as possible about Julia.”

“I suppose.” Dulcie sounded tired and cranky, but Rose hardened her heart. The girl could rest later.

The car rattled and slid sideways as they hit a chunk of ice in the road. Rose's heartbeat nearly doubled.

When her breathing was closer to normal, Rose said, “I spoke with Otis this morning, and he mentioned you'd seen your sister's body before the police arrived.” She knew she was being brutal, but she hoped Dulcie now trusted her.

“Yes,” Dulcie answered, after a moment's pause.

“Can you think of any reason she would have been dressed the way she was?”

Dulcie stared out the windshield, giving no sign of emotion. “It didn't surprise me,” she said. “Isn't that strange and sad? It didn't surprise me that Julia would be dressed in a summer dancing gown in February. She'd do anything for fun, anything to be outrageous. It was like she had to grab everything with both hands and squeeze out every drop of fun. She could have dressed that way on a dare; that would have been like her. I once heard that people in Norway or Sweden or somewhere jump into ice-cold lakes in the winter, I can't remember why. Julia was like that—she loved to do anything that was wild and dangerous.”

“What other wild things did she do?” Rose asked.

“We were very poor growing up, you know, even before the crash. But Julia loved beautiful things, she loved to be beautiful, so one day, she and . . . She stole a lipstick from the five-and-dime in Pittsfield. She didn't feel guilty at all, and I don't think she would have even if she'd been caught. It was like she was floating on air for days afterwards.”

“Who else was with her when she stole the lipstick?”

“Does it matter?”

“It might. If it doesn't, I promise that I will never reveal the person's identity.”

“Carlotta was with her. Carlotta was one of our best chums in those days. She was poor, too, and real mad about it. Her family wasn't so bad off before the crash as we were, so she was bitter when they lost everything. She was greedier than Julia. She stole a whole bagful of stuff—lipsticks and a compact and rouge, some combs, anything she could grab. So she was the one who got caught. She was just thirteen, but the store owner pressed charges. She'd never done anything like that before, so she didn't have to go to reform school, but everyone knew about it.”

“Julia never confessed her own involvement?”

“No. I think Carlotta getting caught made it more exciting for Julia. Afterwards, things were never the same between them. Carlotta was madder than ever, and I can't say as I blame her. And Julia . . . well, she just didn't seem to care.” Dulcie's voice grew softer. “It was almost like Julia knew she wouldn't live very long, so it didn't matter what she did.”