Things Half in Shadow (26 page)

“His usual time, I should think,” Mrs. Dutton replied.

Her stepdaughter gave an exaggerated curtsy before sweeping out of the room, conspicuously grabbing a few newspapers as she did so. Once she was gone, Mrs. Dutton dropped onto the sofa again, a hand pressed to her forehead.

“You must forgive Bettina. She only acts this way around strangers. I suppose it's her form of punishment.”

I furrowed my brow. “Punishment?”

“Of me,” Leslie Dutton said. “For marrying her father and replacing her mother. The odd thing is, we got along so well when her mother was alive.”

Lucy, as intrigued as I was, removed a stack of newspapers from the nearest chair and sat down. “So you knew the first Mrs. Dutton?”

“Oh, yes,” said the second. “I was a nurse, you see. I worked in a hospital during the war. Because of the commendations I had received, I was offered a position here. Eldridge's first wife was very ill, and I became her personal nurse. She was a very nice woman, and it was a shame when she passed.”

“How long were you employed here?” I asked.

“About six months or so. Mr. Dutton asked me to stay on after his wife's death, becoming a sort of nanny for Bettina. He and I became . . . very close during his time of grief. Soon after that, we were married. Eldridge is a wonderful man.”

“Where is Mr. Dutton now, by the way?” Lucy said. “We were hoping to see how he was faring as well.”

“At his law office,” Mrs. Dutton replied. “I begged him not to go in today, but he said not going out in public would only make us look more suspicious. I suppose he's right, but I just don't have that kind of strength. Eldridge, though, is a workhorse. He even spends his Saturday mornings at the firm.”

Hearing this, Lucy and I exchanged a brief, pointed look. It was clear Leslie Dutton had no idea where her husband had really been going on Saturdays. I wondered if she suspected even just a little bit that those mornings had, until recently, been spent at private séances with Lenora Grimes Pastor.

“So your sister was wrong about your husband?” I said.

Mrs. Dutton tilted her head. “Pardon?”

“During the séance, you spoke with your sister.”

“Yes. Henrietta.”

“Do you really believe it was her?” Lucy asked. “And not some trickery on the part of Mrs. Pastor?”

“It was Henrietta, believe me. She spoke of things only she could possibly know. Things I've never shared with anyone else.”

“Getting back to my original question,” I said, “she mentioned during the séance on Saturday not to trust your husband. Clearly, she was saying that in jest, because Mr. Dutton sounds like a most trustworthy gentleman.”

If Mrs. Dutton was offended by our interrogation, she didn't show it. She even mustered up a smile as she said, “Dear Henrietta was melodramatic in life, so it's no surprise she's that way in death. She always fancied herself as a bit of an actress.”

“Do you know what she could have been referring to?” I asked.

“I haven't the faintest idea.”

Lucy and I tried to sound as casual as possible while posing more questions to Mrs. Dutton, who willingly answered them. Did she speak to her sister often during séances at Mrs. Pastor's house? (Yes.) How often did they go to the séances? (Once a week, usually.) Did they come into contact with any other spirit they knew? (“No,” Mrs. Dutton quickly replied. “Only with my sister.”)

Eventually, I asked, “Before Saturday night's séance, when was the last time you visited the Pastor residence?”

“The Saturday before.”

Mrs. Dutton, as with all of her answers, said this without hesitation. Unlike the others, though, this response was a lie. I knew from Stokely that she had called upon Robert Pastor the day before his wife died.

“Very interesting,” I said. “And your husband? When was his last visit?”

“Also the Saturday before.”

“Are you certain?” Lucy asked.

The goldfinches, silent for so long, sang out again as they fluffed and fluttered in their gilded prison.

Footsteps sounded outside the parlor, both human and canine. A few sharp barks accompanied the growing symphony of boots and claws on the wooden floor. Eventually, a man's voice joined the fray. “Leslie? Bettina? Where in tarnation is everyone?”

“There's Mr. Dutton now,” his wife announced. “You can ask him yourselves.”

E
ldridge Dutton was a large man, in both height and stomach, with a full beard and an aura of self-satisfaction. He reminded me of Thornton Willoughby in that regard, making me notice just how much older he was than his wife. He probably had at least twenty years on Leslie Dutton.

Entering the parlor, he, too, seemed overwhelmed by the number of newspapers there. Stepping around first one stack and then another, he reached the sofa and gave his wife a dutiful kiss on the cheek. Surrounding him were three terriers, who wove between his ankles and fought for attention by throwing themselves against his knees. The birds, either threatened or happy to see the dogs, darted around the cage in streaks of yellow.

“More newspapers, I see,” Mr. Dutton remarked.

He pushed the dogs away. Rebuffed, they sniffed my way before moving on to Lucy then out of the parlor entirely.

“I can't abide this much longer, my dear. You need to stop trying to buy every damned newspaper in the city. That's like trying to sop up every drop in the ocean.” Mr. Dutton turned to Lucy and me, chest puffed forward. “Don't you agree?”

He seemed neither surprised by nor concerned about our presence. In fact, he barely showed any acknowledgment that we were there, even when addressing us. For instance, instead of waiting for our reply, he pulled a gold watch from his vest pocket and checked the time. It was up to his wife to officially notify him of our presence.

“Eldridge, you remember Mr. Clark and Mrs. Collins. They were at Mrs. Pastor's final séance.”

It was all too clear from his expression that Eldridge Dutton had no recollection of us. Still, he shook our hands while repeating, “Of course, of course.”

“They, too, have been implicated by the police in her death,” Mrs. Dutton said.

“Of course. Nasty bit of business.”

Mr. Dutton returned his attention to his watch, first winding it and then buffing it against the wide lapel of his jacket. The watch was conspicuously new, bearing no noticeable nicks or scratches. It had the warm glow that only the best gold possessed and practically gleamed in Eldridge Dutton's hands. No wonder he was so smitten by it. I found it nearly impossible to take my eyes off it myself, especially when Mr. Dutton opened the hunter case to check the hour a second time.

“They wanted to know the last time you visited the Pastor residence,” Mrs. Dutton said.

For the first time since his arrival, Eldridge Dutton took a long, hard look at us. I felt the heat of his appraising stare as he sized us up. He was wondering what our intentions were, probably. Wondering if we were trustworthy. I'm also certain he wondered if either Lucy or I had been the person responsible for killing Mrs. Pastor.

“Now why would you want to know that?” he asked.

“Mere curiosity,” I said. “After the séance, we saw how bereaved Mrs. Pastor's death left you and wondered about your friendship with her.”

“I wouldn't necessarily call it a friendship,” Mrs. Dutton replied. “We were loyal customers.”

“And you, Mr. Dutton? Is that how you would describe it?”

Eldridge Dutton snapped his watch shut, the sharp click startling those of us not in possession of it. “It's getting close to supper time.”

“I suppose it is,” his wife said.

“Did you invite”—Mr. Dutton tilted his head in our direction—“our guests to dine with us?”

“I hadn't thought of that.”

“Then perhaps it's best they take their leave.”

The parlor doors opened, admitting not only the terriers again but also the sulking form of Bettina Dutton, who no doubt had been outside eavesdropping. The finches greeted all of them with their usual series of cheeps and chirps.

“I'll show them out, Father,” Bettina said.

I stood. “No need. We can see ourselves out.”

“I insist,” she said, hooking her arm through mine. “This house is so big, one can easily get lost.”

Lucy and I barely had a chance to bid Mr. and Mrs. Dutton good-bye before their daughter whisked us away. Once we were out of the parlor, Bettina slowed considerably.

“How was your visit? Did the four of you have a pleasant chat?”

“I suppose we did,” I said, although I would have used a different word than “pleasant.” “Curious,” maybe. Or “perplexing.” Similar to our conversation with Mrs. Mueller, it definitely wasn't as enlightening as I had hoped.

“And what did all of you discuss?”

“Lenora Grimes Pastor,” Lucy answered. “Did you ever meet her?”

“Once,” Bettina said. “She and her husband came for dinner. I found it duller than reading Shakespeare.”

We were strolling through the foyer by that point, Bettina so close I could smell the perfume water she had splashed on herself. Up close, she looked younger than I had first thought. Perhaps fifteen at the most. All the tricks she used to make herself appear older seemed desperate when seen in close proximity. The lip paint had been sloppily smeared on, and loose strands of hair stood out from her head. She resembled a girl playing dress up, which, in a way, was exactly the case.

“Are you married, Mr. Clark?” she asked, pulling herself closer to my side.

“I'm engaged.”

“Pity,” Bettina said while giving a backward glance to Lucy. “Are you the lucky one who snagged him?”

Lucy rolled her eyes at such a thought. “Thankfully not.”

“That surprises me,” Bettina said. “You two make a fine-looking pair.”

“Mrs. Collins and I are merely friends,” I replied.

Behind me, Lucy said, “That's putting a gloss on things.”

“I'm engaged to someone else,” I continued, doing my best to ignore her.

“Does your fiancée have a name?” Bettina inquired.

By that point, I was beyond tired of the girl and her devilish games. Why she was playing them, I had no idea. But every word I said only seemed to encourage her, which is why I extracted my arm from hers and replied, “I highly doubt the two of you are acquainted.”

Bettina's reddened lips formed a wicked grin as she once again turned to Lucy. “He doesn't talk much, does he?”

“He talks plenty when he feels like it,” Lucy said.

“But he does like his secrets, though.”

Lucy rolled her eyes a second time. “You have no idea.”

“Tell me one of your secrets, Mr. Clark.”

Bettina grasped my arm again and wouldn't let go, no matter how much I tried to shake her off. Her grip was so tight that it felt like my arm had been caught in the teeth of a ravenous badger.

“I'll tell you one of mine. Actually, it's my parents' secret. They tell people that going to see Mrs. Pastor was dear Leslie's suggestion. But it wasn't. Daddy is the one who wanted to go.”

“Why?” I asked, suddenly very interested in what Bettina Dutton had to say.

“I haven't the faintest idea.”

“Can you tell us anything else about your parents' relations with Mrs. Pastor?”

Bettina shook her head. “Not until you reveal the name of your fiancée.”

I was torn. I had no desire to utter Violet's name in that house. Contrary to what I had said earlier, I had an inkling the Willoughbys and the Duttons
did
move in the same social circles, and I wanted to spare my dear Violet from whatever mischief Bettina had planned. Yet I was also desperate to know if her parents were hiding anything else. And at that moment, getting more information about the Duttons was of the utmost importance.

“It's—”

Lucy interrupted me. “Jenny. Her name is Jenny Boyd. She's my cousin, and they're quite happy together. Now, what else can you tell us about your parents?”

“Not very much,” Bettina replied. “Only about Daddy's new watch. I'm certain he made sure you noticed it.”

“We did,” I said. “It's very impressive.”

“Looks expensive, doesn't it?” Bettina said, slyness creeping into her voice.

Indeed it did. While I didn't get the chance to view it up close, it had the kind of quality one could see from a distance. A watch like that must have cost a great deal of money.

“Daddy got it a few weeks ago,” Bettina continued. “He won't tell me how, though. He merely said it was a gift. When I asked my new mother if she had been the one to give it to him, she pretended no such watch existed, the poor thing. Later that night, I overheard her and Daddy fighting about it. She demanded to know who it came from. He said it was none of her business.”

“I think it's none of
our
business,” I said, although it was exactly the sort of information we had been hoping to discover. Either Eldridge Dutton was lying and had purchased that watch himself or
someone else
had
given it to him. In either case, Lenora Grimes Pastor was involved somehow. Otherwise, Bettina would never have mentioned it.

Still, it didn't make me like her any more, especially with her clinging flirtatiously to my arm like that. I sighed in relief when we finally reached the front door, forcing her to let go at last.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Clark,” she said, giving me a brazen wink. “Come around anytime you wish.”

And with that, Lucy and I were out the door.

“Thank you,” I said to Lucy once Bettina closed it behind us.

“For what?”

“For not telling that awful girl Violet's name. I really do appreciate it.”

“You're quite welcome,” Lucy said. “But Bettina is harmless. She's just a sad and lonely girl trying to get attention any way she can.”