Murder on Amsterdam Avenue (24 page)

“Do you have any milk?” Sarah asked Mary, knowing it was a silly question.

“No.”

Sarah pulled a few coins out of her pocket. “Would you get me some, please?”

Mary didn't reach for the money. Sarah was sure she
couldn't afford to buy it herself, but she wasn't going to take charity either.

“Please,” Sarah said. “It's for Letty. It might save her life.”

Mary took the coins and hurried out.

While she was gone, Sarah made a quick search of the flat. She found the box wrapped carefully in a shift at the bottom of the wooden crate that held Letty's meager wardrobe. It was heart shaped, no more than six inches across, and decorated with rows of lace and ribbon surrounding a small, perfect artificial rose in the very center. Just the right size to have fit easily into Daisy's carpetbag, too. It had probably been a Valentine's gift to someone, months earlier. It was empty now, but it had once held candy, chocolates probably.

Chocolates someone had undoubtedly laced with arsenic.

Daisy must have been so delighted to receive it from her killer. She'd probably never owned anything half as beautiful, nor would she have ever received a gift of chocolate candy either. She'd wanted to share her good fortune with people who had shown her kindness and befriended her in this unfriendly city. The tragedy of it all broke Sarah's heart, but it also infuriated her. Whoever had committed this horrible crime must be punished.

Sarah stuck the box in her medical bag so Mary wouldn't see it. Letty would probably rather die than have her mother know she was a thief. Sarah might not be able to save her life, but she could keep her secret.

Now they'd need to find out who had owned this box, who had received it as a gift, or who had found it discarded someplace and ultimately given it to Daisy. Sarah was sure of at least one thing, however. That person lived in Charles Oakes's house.

When Mary returned with the milk, Sarah roused Letty so she could drink some. She managed quite a bit, and when
her mother left the room for a moment, Sarah whispered, “How many candies did you eat?”

The girl's eyes widened in shock.

“I found the box. It had candy in it, didn't it?”

Letty nodded.

“How many of them were left? How many did you eat?”

She held up one finger.

Sarah sighed with relief. She could imagine the scene around the Nicelys' kitchen table. Daisy so happy to share the treat with them and urging them to eat as many as they liked. But they'd saved the last one for the Reverend Nicely. So if two or three was a fatal dose, then perhaps only one would not be for Letty.

•   •   •

“W
here are we going now?” Gino asked, matching Frank stride for stride as he hurried away from Percy Littleton's house.

“Back to the Oakes house.”

“To find that flask?”

“Right.”

Frank decided they would get there faster if they walked. Traffic clogging the city streets could grind to a standstill for hours.

“It explains everything, doesn't it?” Gino asked after they'd dodged a carriage to cross the street.

“Mostly. We've been trying to figure out how he could've gotten poisoned when he was away from the house and inside it both. If the killer put arsenic in his flask, then he probably drank it for the first time sometime on Saturday.”

“According to Wesley, it takes a while for the arsenic to start working, so he wouldn't have realized it was the liquor in the flask that made him sick.”

“And he was at his club, drinking other liquor when he started feeling bad,” Frank said.

“Why did he get better on Sunday, though?”

“Maybe he didn't drink anything that day. He'd been sick the day before, so maybe he was being careful.”

“Did you ever know a drunk to be careful?”

“We don't know he was a drunk.”

Gino gave him a look.

“We know he drank a lot, especially lately,” Frank conceded. “So maybe he did drink that day, but he wouldn't need his flask if he was at home. He'd drink his father's liquor.”

“And the killer would have the chance to refill his flask with more poison.”

“He felt better by Monday, so he went out again.”

“With his refilled flask,” Gino said.

“And he poisoned himself all over again.”

“But how did he get the final dose that evening? If he wanted a drink, he could've used his father's liquor like he did the day before.”

Frank considered. “It's still possible Daisy poisoned him. If she was the one, she could've put it in the milk the way she put it in his flask.”

“But who killed her?”

“Someone who wanted revenge on her for killing Charles.”

“But why not just have her arrested?”

“Mrs. Brandt thinks Jenny Oakes might not want it to come out that Daisy was her sister.”

“How could they be sisters? Jenny's white and Daisy is colored. I mean, she had light skin, but . . .”

Frank explained it.

“Oh. I guess things aren't so different in the North, are they? I mean, rich men get their maids with child sometimes, too.”

“Yes, and neither the Northerners or the Southerners have to claim the children.”

“So Mrs. Oakes and Daisy were sisters, and Daisy might've killed Charles to make her suffer, and Mrs. Oakes might've killed Daisy to get revenge. Who else could've done it?”

“Anybody in the house could've put arsenic in the flask. Let's not forget his wife wasn't too happy about being married to him, and maybe somebody else we haven't thought of wanted him dead. The question is, who could've given it to him the night he died?” Frank asked.

They walked for a while in silence while they considered.

At last Gino said, “Maybe Daisy or the other maid were lying about who carried the milk up to him. Daisy was lying about something, I'm sure.”

“We know Charles was probably too sick to get up and get anything for himself, so somebody had to bring it to him.”

“Where were his clothes?” Gino asked, startling Frank.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he'd come home wearing the clothes he'd worn all day with the flask in the pocket. We're pretty sure he drank out of it that day because he'd gotten sick again, so he must've been carrying it with him.”

“And they took him to one of the spare bedrooms when he got sick, not his own room.”

“They probably undressed him, and the flask was in his pocket.”

“So if they left his clothes in the room, his flask would've been handy if he wanted a drink,” Frank concluded.

“From what we've heard, he always wanted a drink, too. So Daisy might've used the poisoned whiskey in the flask and mixed it into the milk. But why wouldn't she say so when I asked if he'd had anything besides the milk?”

“Maybe because she put the arsenic in the flask in the first
place,” Frank said. “Or if she wasn't the killer, maybe because she didn't want us to think he was a drunk or something.”

“Or maybe she'd figured out the poison was in the flask, and she thought she'd be blamed for killing him even though she didn't. But if she didn't poison him, the killer would be afraid that sooner or later she'd tell someone about the flask, and maybe it would come back to him.”

“Or her,” Frank said. “Poison is a woman's weapon, and there aren't a lot of men living in that house.”

“And then we're back to why would somebody kill him? It looks like Daisy is the only one who had a reason.”

“A reason that we know of. First we need to find the flask and have Wesley test it to see if it had arsenic in it.”

“We could also find out if anybody knows what he was sad about and if it was more than just his marriage.”

Frank didn't think Wesley had a test for that.

Gerald Oakes had them brought up to the library. “Have you found out anything?” he asked by way of a greeting as soon as the maid closed the door behind them.

“We found out a lot of things, but nothing that makes much sense yet. Did Charles have a flask?”

“A flask? Of course he did. Every man has a flask.”

Frank didn't bother to mention that he didn't have one. “Do you know where it is?”

“I have no idea. Why do you want to know?”

“Because we think that's where the killer put the poison.”

“Dear God. I'll get Zeller in here. He'll know.”

He rang for the maid, and she went to fetch Zeller.

“What makes you think the poison was in his flask?” Oakes asked.

Frank told him their theory.

“That explains a lot, I guess, but who would've done it?”

“And who would've wanted to kill Daisy?” Frank asked.

“You can't think the two are connected.”

“Why wouldn't they be?” Frank asked.

Oakes had no answer for that. A knock on the door announced Zeller's arrival. He came in, moving very slowly. His face was drawn, and he looked as if he hadn't slept much lately. “You sent for me, sir?”

“Yes, Mr. Malloy has some questions for you,” Oakes told him.

“Are you feeling all right, Zeller?” Frank asked.

“I'm a little peaked today, sir.”

“Since when?”

“Since sometime in the night. I'll be all right.”

Frank had a horrifying thought. “Did you drink out of Charles's flask, by any chance?”

Zeller's face lost whatever little color it had. “Of course not.”

“We think the killer put the arsenic that killed him in the flask,” Frank told him, watching him closely. “Maybe you found the flask when you were going through his things and thought a little nip would do you good.”

“I . . . I wouldn't . . .” he tried.

“Zeller, tell them the truth,” Oakes said. “Don't die because you're embarrassed!”

“There was only a swallow left,” he said, his desperate gaze darting between Oakes and Frank. “Am I poisoned?”

“We should get a doctor here to look at you,” Frank said. “Gino—”

“I'll get Wesley,” Gino said, already heading for the door.

“Who's Wesley?” Gerald asked.

“He's . . . an expert on arsenic poisoning,” Frank hedged, not wanting to frighten them with the word
coroner
. “You might want to send for your own doctor in case Wesley isn't around,” Frank told Oakes. “Zeller, where is the flask now?”

“I put it away, in Mr. Charles's dressing room with the rest of his things.”

“Please tell me you didn't wash it out.”

“No, I—”

“Good. Take me there.”

Zeller hesitated. “Mrs. Charles is in her room,” he said to Oakes.

“She'll just have to go out for a few minutes while Mr. Malloy does his work.” Oakes turned to Frank. “Hannah is packing. When she heard that Daisy had died, she . . . Well, it frightened her, I guess. She's moving back to her parents' house.”

From his tone, Frank suspected they'd be happy to see the last of her. Frank couldn't blame them.

“This way, sir,” Zeller said.

The butler moved carefully, probably trying not to be sick, and he struggled on the stairs, having to pause more than once to rest for a moment.

“Where is your room, Zeller?” Frank asked when they'd reached the next floor.

“In the servants' hall, sir.”

“Upstairs?”

“Yes.”

“After we're finished, you'd better go on up and get in bed until the doctor gets here.”

Zeller didn't reply. They reached a doorway where the open door revealed a bedroom. A large trunk sat in the middle of the floor. For some reason, Frank had expected to see Hannah packing, but instead, she was lounging in a chair giving orders as her maid actually did the work.

“No, not that old rag. I can't wear colors for a year, and by then it'll be hopelessly out of fashion. And not that. It
has a stain. Yes, the rose is fine. Careful, don't crease it!” she cried shrilly.

Zeller tapped on the doorjamb. “Excuse me, Mrs. Charles, but Mr. Malloy and I need to get something from Mr. Charles's dressing room.”

“Can't you see I'm busy?” she snapped. “You can come back later, when I'm finished.”

“We can't wait,” Frank said.

Hannah jumped to her feet. “Zeller, I can't believe you've brought a strange man to my bedchamber. Does Mr. Gerald know about this?”

“He sent us, ma'am.”

“He did, did he? How dare he? I suppose since I'm leaving, he's decided my feelings don't matter anymore. Well, he'll hear about this from me. You can be sure of that!” She headed purposefully toward the doorway where Zeller and Frank stood. For one second, Frank wondered what she would do if they didn't step aside, but of course they did, and she stormed off down the hallway, probably to give Gerald Oakes a piece of her mind.

The maid and Zeller exchanged an exasperated look, and he led Frank into the lavishly furnished bedroom and through a door into another room about half the size. Shelves and drawers and cabinets covered one wall, where Charles Oakes's clothes and other belongings were stored. A narrow bed sat along the opposite wall. Not a cheerful place for the heir to spend his nights, particularly when his bride slept in luxury only a few feet away. But maybe moving in here had been his idea. Frank could easily imagine wanting to be as far away from Hannah Oakes as possible.

Zeller pulled open one of the drawers and removed a silver flask.

“That's odd,” he said, frowning.

“What's odd?”

“These spots.”

Frank had to look closely to see what he meant. Faint white spots dotted the silver surface.

“They're water spots. I would never have put it away without wiping it dry and polishing it.”

“I thought you said you didn't wash it out.”