Murder on Amsterdam Avenue (27 page)

He found her in the foyer, slapping her gloves against her skirt impatiently, and wearing an expression he couldn't read. The maid handed him his hat and held the door for them as they took their leave.

“We need to find a cab,” she said before he could ask her anything. “We can't talk about this on the El.”

They walked over to Broadway, where Frank hailed a cab, and when they were inside and making their way at a snail's pace down the boulevard, he turned to her and said, “Well?”

“I don't know what to tell you. I mean I know what to tell you, and it's quite a story, but I still don't have any idea who killed Charles and the rest of them, or why.”

“Tell me the story, then.”

“You know how Jenny was raised on a plantation and how Gerald found her there and married her and sent her home?”

“Yes. Isn't it true?”

“It's true as far as it goes, but . . . According to Hannah, Jenny wasn't who she claimed to be. Hannah said that Jenny's father was the owner of the plantation but that her mother was a slave.”

“What? How could that be?”

“I thought at first that she was just confused. Daisy told the Nicelys that she and Jenny were half sisters. I'm not sure exactly what she told them, but they apparently assumed that Jenny was the daughter of the house and Daisy was a child Jenny's father had by a slave woman.”

“And that's what we thought, too.”

“Because that's what Jenny let us believe, but Hannah told me it isn't true and that Jenny was actually a slave herself.”

“That's ridiculous. How could she have passed herself off as a rich white girl? And look at her. She's as white as you are.”

“I'm not saying Hannah was right. I'm just telling you what she said, and if a story like that ever got out, even if it wasn't true, imagine the scandal!”

Frank could easily imagine. “But where did she get a story like that?” Knowing what little he did about Hannah, he wouldn't be surprised if she'd made it up herself.

“That's the very worst part. She said Charles told her.”

“A
t least that would explain why Charles was sad and drinking so much,” Maeve said several hours later as they sat around Sarah's kitchen table.

“Yes, it would,” Sarah said with a sigh. When they'd arrived back at Malloy's house, they'd had to have supper with the children, and then Maeve had to put Catherine to bed at Sarah's house before they could really talk. Sarah had made Malloy and Gino wait until Maeve came back downstairs before they discussed the case. Then Malloy and Sarah had told Maeve and Gino what they'd learned that day.

“It gives Hannah a good reason to kill Charles, too,” Gino said.

“Yes, it does,” Sarah said. “She actually mentioned that a divorce would have made her unacceptable in polite society, which is apparently all she cares about in life.”

“But Mrs. Belmont is divorced,” Maeve said, naming the
former Mrs. William Vanderbilt who was still a leading socialite.

“Mrs. Belmont has more money than God,” Malloy said. “She could divorce a dozen husbands and still be acceptable.”

“Really?” Gino asked.

“He's exaggerating a bit,” Sarah said. “Hannah was probably right about herself, though. A divorced woman who has no family connections and who divorced the son of one of the old Knickerbocker families wouldn't be welcome anywhere.”

“Not even if she divorced him because he was the son of a slave?” Maeve asked.

Sarah shook her head. “Probably not even then, because she'd also be tarnished by the scandal the same way the rest of the family was.”

“So it was in Hannah's best interest to keep the secret,” Malloy said.

“But she wasn't going to have a child by him, which is why she made him sleep in the dressing room,” Sarah said.

“And if she couldn't divorce him, and she couldn't stay married to him,” Maeve said, “her only choice was to murder him.”

They all sat silent for a long moment. Sarah saw her own doubts reflected on their faces. “But she doesn't act like a killer.”

“How does a killer act?” Maeve asked.

“Guilty, if you're lucky,” Malloy said. “Or nervous or maybe they're too helpful.”

“And they usually don't ask questions about what happened because they already know,” Gino told her with the gentle patience of a young man trying to impress a girl without making her feel stupid.

“Did Hannah ask questions?” Maeve asked Sarah.

“Yes, she did. Not as many as I expected, but I think she just didn't really care about all the details. Charles was dead and she was a respectable widow, which is all that mattered to her.”

“Maybe she's one of those people who don't feel any guilt,” Malloy said.

“That might be true. She's not a very nice person,” Sarah said. “I'm sure of that, at least, and I have to admit, I'd really like for her to be the killer.”

“And if she isn't, who is?” Gino asked no one in particular.

No one in particular had an answer for him.

“I was sure it was Daisy who killed Charles,” Malloy said. “Even before we heard the story about her being a slave.”

“She still could be the killer,” Sarah conceded. “And if the story about Jenny is true, then Daisy had an even better reason to want revenge for being left behind.”

“That's right,” Maeve said. “If Jenny really had been her mistress, then Daisy wouldn't expect Jenny to take her North, but if Jenny was a slave girl, too, and they'd somehow passed her off as white . . .”

“Exactly,” Sarah said. “And Daisy could have been furious all these years and finally gotten her revenge on her sister.”

“And then Jenny would have killed her in a revenge of her own,” Malloy said.

Sarah sighed. “I told you I didn't think Jenny was the killer, but I could be wrong. It's happened before.”

“How did she act that made you think she was innocent, Mrs. Brandt?” Gino asked.

“She asked questions. She . . .”

“What is it?” Malloy asked when she didn't finish her thought.

“I just realized her reactions were a little odd. She didn't act guilty, which is why I didn't think about it before, but
now that I look back, she was acting like she . . . like she knew something I didn't.”

Malloy frowned. “What does that mean?”

“I'm not sure. She didn't seem upset or angry or even horrified when I told her about the poisoned candy. And I'd swear that she had no idea the candy box she saw me with had any connection at all to the killings until I told her.”

“And if she did, why would she admit that she had one like it?” Gino asked.

“Because her husband might've told someone he gave her one,” Maeve said, not nearly as kind about contradicting Gino as he'd been about explaining to her. “And if she poisoned the candy, she would never have used her own candy box for it, which is why she admitted she had one and got it to show Mrs. Brandt. That could be her way of proving she had nothing to do with it.”

“So you think Jenny used Hannah's candy box?” Sarah asked.

“Wouldn't you?”

“Hannah said she'd thrown her box away,” Sarah said.

Maeve shook her head. “If it was as pretty as you say, somebody would've saved it, one of the servants maybe, and Jenny could've found it.”

“You're all forgetting one thing, though,” Malloy said. “If Jenny killed Daisy, it was because she thought Daisy killed Charles, but if Daisy killed Charles, who washed out his flask to hide the evidence?”

That stumped them all for a few seconds.

“If only you could've found out who bought the arsenic,” Maeve said to Gino.

“I can keep looking, but none of the druggists within two miles of the house have any record of it,” Gino said with a sigh.

“Zeller must have been the one who washed out the flask,” Sarah said, trying to get them back on track. “He just forgot he did it.”

“I don't think so,” Malloy said. “He was much too disturbed by the water spots.”

“What water spots?” Sarah asked.

“Whoever washed the flask didn't dry it properly and polish it up, the way Zeller would have done. It left spots on the silver. That person also put the cap back on crooked, so Zeller could hardly get it off again without ruining the threads.”

“It had a screw-on top?” Gino asked, obviously impressed.

“And it was engraved with Charles's monogram. Gerald said his grandmother gave it to him for his birthday.”

“That's terrible,” Sarah said. “Imagine knowing that someone used your gift to kill your grandson.”

“Gerald asked me not to tell her.”

“I just hope we can keep it a secret,” Sarah said.

“But we still don't know who washed it out,” Maeve reminded them.

“The killer,” Gino said. “It had to be.”

“And it still could have been Daisy,” Sarah said. “Charles died Monday evening, and Daisy didn't die until Sunday afternoon, almost a week later.”

“That was plenty of time to wash it,” Maeve said. “She knew exactly where it was, too, because she'd used it the night Charles died.”

Malloy shook his head. “Zeller drank out of it yesterday, and he was sick overnight. So he probably drank what was left of the whiskey that poisoned Charles. He said just a mouthful was left, and he swears he didn't wash it out after he'd drunk out of it either. He figured if someone else wanted to use it sometime, they'd just put whiskey in it again, so why bother?”

“That's a man for you,” Maeve said to Sarah, earning a grin.

“But it was probably a woman who washed out the flask,” Gino said.

“Yes, either Jenny or Hannah,” Sarah agreed. “But why wait until now to do it? The earliest they could have done it was . . . When did Zeller say he'd drunk out of the flask?”

“Yesterday afternoon.”

“Where had it been all this time?”

“In the pocket of Charles's jacket, I guess.”

“And where had the jacket been?”

“I didn't ask Zeller that.”

“That's a man for you,” Maeve said again, earning a glare from Malloy and another grin from Sarah.

“We need to find out,” Sarah said. “And find out who knew Zeller had found the flask and put it away.”

“Hannah would've known,” Maeve said. “It was practically in her bedroom, and surely she knew Zeller had been in there. Then the next day she decides to move back into her parents' house. That sounds suspicious to me.”

“So we're back to Hannah,” Frank said.

“Jenny could have known, too,” Gino said. “Maybe Zeller told her he'd put Charles's things away.”

“And it's her house. Nobody would've wondered why she was messing with Charles's things,” Maeve said. “Maybe she just went looking for it and found it after Zeller put it away.”

“So we have to go back there tomorrow and talk to Zeller,” Malloy said. “We need to get there early, before Hannah has a chance to get away.”

“Yes,” Sarah said. “I think if we can get the answers to our questions, we'll know who the killer is.”

“What will you do then?” Maeve asked Malloy.

“Just what I promised Gerald Oakes I would do. I'm going
to tell him. Then he'll have to decide if he wants to destroy what's left of his family.”

•   •   •

M
aeve and Gino had argued long and hard for the right to accompany Frank and Sarah the next morning, but in the end, they'd stayed behind. Maeve had grudgingly agreed to supervise the workmen again, while Gino headed back out to revisit the druggists he'd already seen and ask them new questions.

Frank and Sarah had ridden the crowed El uptown and been admitted to the Oakes home by a grim-faced Patsy.

“Who would you like to see this morning, sir?” she asked Frank.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“Mrs. Charles is leaving us.”

“And that makes you sad?” Sarah asked. Frank thought she sounded a little skeptical.

“Oh no, ma'am, but it . . . Well, it reminds me that Mr. Charles is never coming back. That makes me sad to think on.”

“Of course it does,” Sarah said. “Is she leaving right now?”

“Oh no, ma'am. She's not even up yet. None of the family is. Maybe you could come back later.”

“That's all right. We wanted to talk to Zeller first anyway,” Frank said. “I assume he's up.”

“Yes, sir, although he's still feeling a little poorly.”

“I can go up to his room if that's easier for him.”

“Oh no, sir, he wouldn't think that was proper at all, I'm sure. I'll take you to the parlor and he'll come down to you.”

Frank wandered around the parlor while they waited, examining all the bric-a-brac that covered every square inch of every tabletop in the room. “Where do people get all this stuff?”

Sarah smiled at him from where she sat on the sofa. “They collect it. We'll do that when we're on our honeymoon.”

“We will?”

“Yes, Europe is full of things for Americans to buy and ship back home. Really rich Americans have had whole castles dismantled and brought to America.”

“That's insane.”

Sarah's smile told him she thought so, too, which was one reason why he loved her. “But we'll probably find some furniture we like, and some artwork.”

“Can't we buy furniture here?”

“Yes, but it would be American furniture.”

Frank wasn't sure he'd know the difference. “Do we really need artwork?”

“I'm afraid we do. Our heirs will cherish it.”

“Catherine and Brian?” he asked doubtfully.

“You might be surprised.”

He would be very surprised, he thought, gazing up at a piece of artwork hanging on the wall. Why did anyone need a picture of people from ancient Rome in their parlor? People they didn't even know.

A tap on the door told them Zeller had arrived. He stepped into the room and gave them a curt nod before closing the door behind him.

“Good morning, Mrs. Brandt, Mr. Malloy.”

“How are you feeling this morning?” Sarah asked

Frank knew it wasn't just a courtesy. The man looked awful, pale and haggard, as if he'd been up all night. Maybe he had.

“I'm better, thank you. Patsy said you wanted to speak with me.”

“Yes,” Frank said. “Please, sit down.”

“Oh, I couldn't do that, sir.” He stiffened his spine and
lifted his chin, as if he could defy his illness by force of will. Maybe he could.

“We'll be as quick as we can then,” Frank said, glancing at Sarah. She nodded. “Zeller, you said you put Charles's flask away in his dressing room the day before yesterday.”

“Yes, sir, that is correct.”

“Where had it been in the meantime?”

Zeller frowned. “I'm not sure I understand your question.”

“We've figured out that whoever poisoned Charles put the arsenic in his flask. He'd drunk out of it on Monday while he was away from home, which is what made him sick again that day. Daisy was looking after him, and she must have given him another drink from his flask—”

“—or poured some in the milk Patsy had brought up for him,” Sarah added.

“And that's what finally killed him.”

Zeller flinched at that, and whatever color had remained in his face drained completely away. Frank caught him when he swayed and led him over to a chair.

“This is most improper,” he protested when Frank made him sit down.

“It's more proper than falling on your face,” Frank said.

Sarah was already up and she poured a small amount of whiskey into a glass for him. He protested that, too, but Sarah pressed it to his lips and made him drink it. Then he tried to rise again, but Frank clapped a hand on his shoulder and held him in place.