Shrouded In Thought (Gilded Age Mysteries Book 2) (28 page)

Recognition slowly dawned and, as it did, the sergeant’s face relaxed into a smile. “Oh, right you are. Now I remember you, lad.”

“Hyperion has an unfortunate tendency to attract
Chicago
’s finest. This makes three trips in under three months, doesn’t it?”

O’Rourke chuckled appreciatively. “Aye. When the call came in to the station house tonight, I had to take a razzing about the goings-on in this place. You can be sure. Well, come on down here and let’s get a statement from you and the lady.”

Freddie nudged Evangeline over to the stairs and the two descended to tell Sergeant O’Rourke about their discoveries. Jack and Mr. Sparrow huddled in to listen while the other two cops poked around the catwalk for clues.

After Evangeline and Freddie had related the chain of events that evening, O’Rourke removed his helmet and scratched his head. “There’s just one thing that makes no sense here. Why would Mr. Allworthy go to all this trouble to kill his right-hand man?”

“Because his right-hand man was blackmailing him about the murder of Nora Johnson, that’s why,” Freddie announced dramatically.

O’Rourke let out his breath in a hiss. “That’s a reason all right. Do you have any proof that the other was murder?”

Evangeline stepped in smoothly. “An object came into my possession quite recently that points to a romantic connection between Mr. Allworthy and Nora Johnson. If you like, I can bring it down to the station house tomorrow for you to look at.”

“I’d be greatly obliged if you would do that, ma’am. Can you give me an idea of what that object might be?”

Evangeline glanced swiftly at Sparrow who seemed to be leaning in to catch every word. “I think the topic might better be discussed at the station.”

Seeming to understand the reason for her hesitation, O’Rourke grinned. “Right you are, ma’am. Tomorrow will be soon enough.”

Freddie chimed in ruefully, “We can’t give you as much proof as we’d hoped now that the eyewitness to that murder is lying here dead.”

“Well, lad, whether there’s foul play in the death of Nora Johnson or not, it looks like Mr. Allworthy will have some explaining to do about what happened here tonight. We’ll have to bring him in for questioning, no matter what.”

“That is, if you can ever find him.” Evangeline’s voice was bleak.

“Don’t you worry, ma’am. We’ll find him all right.” The policeman sounded confident. “You can count on that.”

“I certainly hope so, sergeant.” The lady’s tone implied that she was not convinced that his sanguine expectations were warranted.

With a sweep of his arm, O’Rourke gestured them toward the exit. “Now if you folks would be good enough to step aside, me and the boys will be about the business of cleaning up this mess.”

Having thus been politely told that they were underfoot in the presence of official police business, Evangeline and Freddie withdrew.

They accompanied Thaddeus Sparrow back to his guard shack, setting him to the task of contacting the general manager of Hyperion to inform him that until Mr. Allworthy turned up, he would have the unexpected honor of running the factory.

After that, Evangeline, Freddie, and Jack tramped back to
North Avenue
.

“Jack, would you see if you can scare us up a cab?” Evangeline asked wearily.

“That could take a few minutes, Miss Engie. Why don’t you and Mr. Freddie wait here.” The caretaker walked down to the next intersection to see if there were any hacks abroad at such a late hour.

After he departed on his mission, Evangeline unceremoniously sat down on the curb. Freddie followed suit.

Freddie could read Evangeline’s gloomy thoughts. “Well, after what’s just happened, Serafina’s future doesn’t look very bright.”

“We must think of a way to free her without a confession,” Evangeline insisted urgently.

“Easier said than done.”

She turned on her friend in irritation. “You really aren’t helping.”

“Sorry, old girl, but I’ve just about reached the end of my intellectual rope when it comes to solving this puzzle.”

Thinking out loud, Evangeline asked softly, “What are the most damaging facts against Serafina?”

Freddie pondered the question for a moment before replying. “I suppose the poison packet is the worst, and then there’s the letter from Euphemia.”

Half to herself, Evangeline replied, “If we can’t discredit Martin’s testimony against her, perhaps we can discredit his evidence.”

“How do you mean?”

“By finding a flaw in it, that’s how.”

“And just how to you propose to go about doing that?”

Evangeline’s despondence evaporated as a plan began to form. She sat up excitedly. “If the supposed letter from Euphemia says that Serafina was a fraud, maybe we can find just as much evidence to the contrary.”

“How?”

“By questioning the people in Euphemia’s inner circle. Asking them what she really thought of Serafina. If she’d said anything, complimentary or otherwise, about those clairvoyant powers.”

Freddie nodded his approval. “That might work, but who would we start with?”

“I recall that Euphemia spoke frequently to her Cousin Bessie. You remember, the one we met at the dinner party?”

“The one with the ugly daughter?” Freddie blurted out.

“Yes, Freddie, as you so ungallantly describe her, the mother of the unfortunate Miss Minerva.” Even in the dim streetlight, Freddie could see Evangeline’s cross look.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly.

“And while I’m calling on Bessie, perhaps you could inquire into that other piece of evidence—the packet found under Serafina’s mattress.”

“I’m no expert on poisons, Engie.”

Evangeline smiled. “But you do have the good fortune to know someone who is.”

This time Freddie sat forward excitedly. “Of course, Doctor Doyle!”

“He was very helpful to us last time—”

The young man completed the thought. “And he said if we ever needed his help again he’d be at our service. But who knew it would be this soon?”

Their conversation was cut short by the sound of a carriage rattling across the
North Avenue
bridge. When the vehicle drew closer, it became obvious that Jack had successfully commandeered them a hack. The caretaker stepped out and handed them into the cab, taking a seat himself up front beside the driver.

“Perhaps all still isn’t lost.” Evangeline rested her head tiredly on the leather seatback, closing her eyes.

As the couple traveled on in silence, Freddie’s mind wandered back to the events of the evening. A particularly pleasing thought struck him, and he broke the silence to observe, “It was a stroke of luck that I knew the sergeant in charge of the investigation, wasn’t it?”

“Mmmm hmmm,” Evangeline replied sleepily through closed eyelids.

“I imagine he might have given us a tough time of it if I hadn’t called him by name, don’t you think?” A calculating smile formed on the young man’s lips.

“Mmmm hmmm.”

“I suppose you’d have to say my notebook really came in handy and saved the day for us once more. Wouldn’t you?” He looked impishly at his friend, hoping to get a rise out of her.

The question was met by dead silence. She never stirred an eyelash. He knew she was feigning sleep because she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of any more gloating so late in the evening.

Chapter 26—Poison Her Name

Late the following morning, Evangeline stood on the front porch of Cousin Bessie’s Prairie Avenue residence and knocked energetically at the door. A maid answered.

“Yes, madame?”

“I’m here to see Mrs. Stilton.” Evangeline handed the maid her calling card. “I telephoned earlier, and she said I might drop by anytime today to see her.”

“Right this way, Miss LeClair.” The servant showed her into the front parlor to wait. “I’ll tell madame you’ve arrived.”

Evangeline took a seat on the sofa. By Prairie Avenue standards the house was a modest one, containing no more than about twenty rooms, but the location alone suggested that money was not in short supply for the Stilton family. The parlor in which Evangeline found herself seemed cozy if a bit overstuffed with bric-a-brac. As she looked about her, she noticed a cage suspended near the window and in it, a canary doing its best to drown out the sound of a less than melodious piano coming from the drawing room across the hall. The bird trilled and chirped its heart out, but Evangeline was hard pressed to decide if it sang for joy or as an attempt to distract itself from the sound of “My Love’s An Arbutus” being played badly and sung off-key. Evangeline could hardly believe that Bessie Stilton was capable of this auditory assault and its concomitant cruelty to a feathered friend.

As the lady of the house entered shortly thereafter with a cheery “Good day” on her lips, Evangeline told herself that she now had one more reason to pity the unfortunate Miss Minerva.

“Good day, Mrs. Stilton—”

“Please, you must call me Bessie. After making your acquaintance at Euphemia’s house, I don’t think we need to stand on ceremony.”

“Thank you, Bessie.” Evangeline tried to be tactful. “As I came in, I couldn’t help but hear. Is that your daughter playing and singing in the next room?”

Bessie beamed with an appalling, and entirely unjustified, amount of pride. “Yes, that’s Minerva. Quite musical, isn’t she?”

“One can’t help but be struck by the sound.”

“It’s quite true that the Lord never closes one door, but He opens another. She may not be a great beauty, but she has other gifts to compensate for that. I have always told her she has real musical talent. Even little Fortinbras thinks so. Don’t you, Fortinbras?”

Bessie had walked over to address the canary. He ruffled his feathers and screeched a protest, which his owner took as a sign of enthusiastic assent. Having satisfied herself that all the world acknowledged her daughter as a prodigy, Bessie took a seat on the couch beside Evangeline.

“May I offer you some refreshment?”

“No, thank you. I just breakfasted before coming here and I’m afraid I’m rather pressed for time.” Evangeline doubted her eardrums could stand the siege for more than half an hour. Minerva had now moved on to a halting rendition of “Drink To Me Only With Thine Eyes.”

Bessie apologized. “Oh, I’m sorry. How rude of me to make small talk when you have important matters to discuss.”

Evangeline’s attention shifted back to the principal reason for her visit. She hesitated slightly before broaching such a painful subject. “I was hoping you could help me solve a little mystery relating to Euphemia’s death.”

A look of gloom crossed Bessie’s mild face at the mention of her dead cousin. “Oh, that terrible, terrible tragedy! I’m going to miss her so.”

“As will we all,” Evangeline added with heartfelt sympathy.

“I can’t understand why Serafina would have done such a thing!”

“Ah, that’s the purpose of my visit. I don’t believe she was responsible.”

“You don’t?” Bessie’s eyes grew round with surprise.

“No, I believe the evidence against her may have been falsified, and I’d like your help to determine if that’s the case.”

“Why, of course, my dear. Anything I can do.”

“A letter was produced, written by Euphemia supposedly on the day of her death that denounces Serafina as a confidence trickster. I was wondering if Euphemia ever mentioned any of those doubts about Serafina to you?”

Bessie seemed quite distressed at Evangeline’s words. She stood and fretted a full minute while considering the question. “But that makes no sense.” She paced about the parlor. “The day of her death, you say? The very same day?”

“Why, yes.” Evangeline was taken aback by the agitation she had created.

“That simply can’t be. Please wait here. I won’t be a moment.” With that, Bessie abruptly left the room.

Thankfully, the din in the drawing room had ceased. The canary began to preen his feathers, a happy chirp now and then interrupting his ablutions.

When Bessie returned, she held a piece of paper in her hand. “Here, you shall see for yourself.” She sat down again beside Evangeline and gave the scented stationery to her guest to examine.

The paper stock and the color of the ink were similar to the letters Evangeline had seen at the sheriff’s office. She looked questioningly at Bessie for an explanation.

“Well, you see, it’s just that this letter is from Euphemia, asking me to use my influence with Mrs. Campion on Serafina’s behalf.”

“Mrs. Delia Campion?” Evangeline echoed in surprise, naming the wife of the department store owner.

“Yes, the Campions live just down the block from here. We’re neighbors in fact. I am on much closer terms with them than Euphemia was, and my cousin hoped that I might convince Mrs. Campion to hold a reception in Serafina’s honor. She was determined that Serafina should be invited into all the best homes and be noticed by all the best people in the city. Well, I suppose you can read it there for yourself.”

Evangeline scanned the letter, reading aloud a few sentences of particular interest. “’I have grown ambitious on my young friend’s behalf, Bessie. And I am determined that when she finishes her speaking tour of the country, she shall say that she was better received in
Chicago
than in any other great city in the land. I must enlist your support for this. Please prevail upon Delia to help.’”

Bessie leaned over her shoulder as Evangeline read. “You can see how it’s dated.” She pointed to the upper corner of the first page.

Evangeline looked up from the letter at her hostess. “Why, you’re right. This makes no sense at all. It’s dated the same day Euphemia was killed.”

“Who showed you the other letter you mentioned?” Bessie asked hesitantly. “The one that said Serafina was a fraud. The one that was supposed to have been written by Euphemia.”

Evangeline did not wish to divulge too many details of the investigation, but she felt the disclosure to be unavoidable. “It was Martin who brought the letter to the sheriff’s attention.”

“Oh dear!” Bessie exclaimed. “Oh dear, oh dear!”

“What is it?”

Bessie shot a guilty look toward her guest. “I don’t suppose I ought to be telling you this, but...”

“Yes?”

“Euphemia often joked to me that she would have to keep a closer watch over her financial affairs, because Martin could sign her name as well as he could sign his own.”

“I see.” Evangeline’s voice was terse. “That would go a long way toward explaining things.” She paused. “Are you quite certain you never heard Euphemia say anything derogatory about Serafina’s abilities?”

Bessie shook her head emphatically. “Far from it. I can name five ladies right off who received a recommendation from Euphemia about Serafina.”

“Might it be possible for me to keep this letter awhile? It may help to clear Serafina.”

“Oh by all means! Take it with you, my dear.” She pressed the letter into Evangeline’s hand.

“Bessie, I can’t thank you enough. You’ve been of tremendous help.” Evangeline’s voice was nearly drowned out by the melodious emanations that had begun to proceed once more from the drawing room. Apparently Minerva, after resting her vocal chords for a suitable interval, now felt confident enough to attack Messrs. Gilbert and Sullivan’s “Three Little Maids From School.”

Fortinbras screeched his opinion of the racket by staging a frenzied concert of his own.

Evangeline hastily tried to think of an excuse to take her leave.

Bessie had once more become entranced by the sound of her daughter’s recital. “Such a lovely voice,” she enthused. “It’s a shame she hasn’t met any nice young man who could truly appreciate her.” The doting mother sighed wistfully.

Evangeline was speechless. After several moments, she recovered herself enough to say, “Oh, I’m sure there must be someone out there who is blind, dumb, and deaf to superficial beauty.”

Bessie was lost in thought. “That young man at the dinner party seemed rather nice.”

“Roland?” Evangeline exhaled the name in a shocked tone.

“Good heavens, no!” Bessie frowned. “She’s known Roland for years, but every time she sees him, he frightens the poor child half to death. She kept to her room with the vapors for a week after that last encounter! No, I meant that other young man. The one who escorted you. I remember he came from a good family. His name was Simp... Simp... something.”

“Simpson,” Evangeline corrected. “Freddie Simpson, and yes, he is a very nice young man from a prominent Shore Cliff family.”

“Is he attached?” Bessie asked pointedly.

Knowing full well the extent of Freddie’s attachment to her, Evangeline equivocated. “Well, he’s not engaged.” She dreaded the direction in which the conversation was heading.

“It would be a wonderful opportunity if Minerva might be thrown together with a young man like that at a social gathering some time or other. Then he might get the chance to talk to her and discover all her wonderful hidden qualities.” Bessie sighed again. “She gets so few opportunities to make the acquaintance of nice young men.” The mother hesitated. “I wouldn’t presume to ask, but I thought, perhaps, since you know him so well, you might arrange...”

Evangeline weighed the options before her: the loss of Bessie’s valuable testimony versus the possibility that Freddie might not speak to her for a week.

Minerva reached a crescendo in her performance, expanding the word “maids” to five syllables with twenty vowels, all at high C. Evangeline winced. Still, the silent treatment from Freddie was a small price to pay in exchange for Serafina’s freedom. “Bessie, perhaps I might contrive a small dinner party to encourage the acquaintance. Would you approve of such an arrangement?”

“Approve?” Bessie echoed the word, her eyes glowing with gratitude. “I would be forever in your debt.”

“I can promise nothing, you understand,” Evangeline cautioned. She smiled grimly, contemplating Freddie’s wrath when he realized he’d been handed over, trussed up like a Christmas goose, by his closest friend. “We would simply have to let nature take its course.”

“To be sure. But I’m certain that once your friend has the opportunity to really get to know Minerva...”

“Good, then it’s settled,” Evangeline said decisively. “You may expect an invitation in a few weeks.” She rose to leave before Minerva advanced on The Pirates of Penzance. Evangeline doubted her ears could survive the trills in “Poor Wandering One.” She seriously doubted that Fortinbras could survive them either. “I really must be going now, Bessie. Thank you so much for your help.”

The grateful mother accompanied her to the door. Once Evangeline had reached the relative tranquility of the sidewalk, she noticed that all the neighborhood pigeons had roosted in the elm trees across the street. Thinking of the plight of poor Fortinbras, she made a mental note to contact the Animal Welfare League at the earliest possible opportunity. Another thought struck her: if similarity of vocal talent were any basis for a match, then Minerva and Roland were meant for each other.