Whispers Beyond the Veil (24 page)

A
s much as I generally envied men the ability to wear trousers I was grateful for the way my long gown hid my trembling legs. I found an unoccupied bench beside the boardwalk and gratefully sank down onto it. As I watched the gulls circle overhead and the waves inch farther and farther out to sea I felt my pulse slow. Fatigue overwhelmed my body and my spirit as the tension from my encounter with Mr. Ayers faded away.

It was clear I had to convince the Velmonts sooner, rather than later, to invest in Mr. Ayers's scheme. The necklace was the only valuable thing in my possession. The look in his eyes had convinced me he would be all too pleased to take payment out of my hide while he waited for cold, hard currency.

As much as I wanted to put off seeing Mr. Ayers ever again I was going to have to chance meeting him at the Belden. After all, I could hardly hope to convince the Velmonts their father preferred to converse with them about financial investments on a boardwalk bench. I gathered my wits and what was left of my courage and slowly made my way home.

Mrs. Doyle spotted me as I made my way to the back stairs.

“You've taken your sweet time getting back. Honoria's been looking everywhere for you and so have I. Have you got that nutmeg I sent you after?” In all the upset I had completely forgotten she had sent me on the errand that put me in Mr. Ayers's path.

“Yes. It's in my bag.” My wrenched finger throbbed as I reached into the folds of my skirt for my drawstring purse. I couldn't disguise a sharp intake of breath as I tried to loosen the strings.

“What's the matter with you, girl?” Mrs. Doyle stepped forward and seized my wrists. I flinched and she gave me one of her familiar scowls.

“I'm fine. You just startled me, is all.”

“I hardly think so. Your hands are shaking.” She pointed at my purse, whose jouncing and swaying mirrored the movement of my trembling hands. She plucked the bag from my fingers and without hesitation but with more gentleness than I would have expected, tugged off my gloves, one at a time. “What's this then?” She pointed to my ring finger, now swollen and flushed almost purple.

“I caught it in the door of the store on my way out.”

“You expect me to believe you caught just the ring finger in the door? No other fingers were injured?”

“I admit, it was very peculiar.” The way Mrs. Doyle was scowling at me left me feeling as transparent as her tomato aspic salad. “I was a bit clumsy, I suppose.”

“I've met a lot of women who are this sort of clumsy.” Her voice dropped so low I almost didn't hear what she said next. “I used to be one of them until I snuck out of my marriage bed in the night with my baby in my arms and found a place here working for your grandparents.”

“That was very brave of you.” I felt my heart soften toward this
woman Lucy called the Dragon. It sounded like Mrs. Doyle had good reason to be such a fire-breather.

“Sometimes so is telling the truth.”

“I never claimed to be brave, just that I am inclined to be clumsy.”

“You didn't happen to be clumsy in the company of Mr. Ayers, did you?”

“What makes you suggest that?” Mrs. Doyle was hitting too close to the truth for my liking. It was enough to make even a hardened skeptic like Officer Yancey believe in psychic phenomena.

“He asked if I had seen you. When I told him I sent you to the general store he rushed straight out the door. I wondered if he had found you.” I opened my mouth to lie and say I hadn't seen him when I heard the voice in my ear.

“Falsehoods do not deceive her.”

“We spoke briefly near the train station.” I fought to steady my voice. “Has he not returned?”

“No, he hasn't.”

Relieved, I gritted my teeth and pulled on the drawstring of my bag once more, then removed the brown paper–wrapped nutmeg from it. “I'm sorry for keeping you.” With that, I hurried up the stairs and into my room. I closed the door behind me and locked it, more grateful than ever for the ability to secure myself against the outside world.

•   •   •

E
lva and Dovie were thrilled when I mentioned at dinner that their father had an urgent desire to communicate with them at their earliest convenience. I invited them to join me
in the séance room after the meal was over. I hurried ahead of them, wondering how I was going to manage to conduct the reading. I wished I could rely on my cards to help guide me through the session, but my hand hurt far too much to shuffle them.

Nor could I stand to join hands in a circle with the sisters, which left me completely cut off from my usual ways of evaluating my impact on my sitters. One of the things I had learned about running the most convincing show was to stick as close to the truth as possible and to let the person opposite you feel they were allowed to see the real you.

I decided it would be best to place my cards on the table, so to speak, and to let the ladies know about my injury while avoiding naming Mr. Ayers as the culprit. After all, in my experience, ladies of a certain age and a sheltered sort of existence secretly hanker for word of the sensational.

I removed my gloves and turned on the lights to best allow them to see my swollen finger and the purple bruises blooming on the back of my hand. I placed my pouch of tarot cards in the center of the round table and awaited their arrival. Before long the sisters took their seats.

“Ladies, sometimes the universe conspires to offer us opportunities through adversity.” I lifted my bare hand from my lap and stretched it toward them. “As you can see, I am in no fit shape to shuffle the cards for our session or even to turn them myself.”

“What have you done to yourself?” Dovie leaned over my injuries with her hand held to her throat.

“I think it's unlikely Ruby would have done such a thing to herself, sister.” Elva gave my face a sharp glance. “Who did this to you?”

“I was accosted at the train station and foolishly tried to
prevent another pickpocket from helping himself to my valuables. This is the unfortunate result.”

“But I thought our help at the bathhouse earlier today would have put a stop to the pickpocketing here in town,” Dovie said.

“I very much doubt such a group could be quashed so easily or quickly as that,” Elva said. “But you ought to report it to Officer Yancey. He should be aware the investigation is by no means over.”

“I was so rattled by the whole thing I just headed for home. It never even occurred to me to go to the police.”

“Did the thief manage to take anything in the end?”

“Unfortunately, he took the necklace given to me by my aunt. It was a family heirloom which had belonged to my mother.” I felt the loss of it afresh and a lump formed in my throat. I willed the tears threatening to spill over to recede and leave me in command of my emotions. They refused to be coerced and I was touched when Dovie pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and handed it to me.

“Have you told your aunt about the robbery?” Dovie asked.

“I haven't wanted to trouble her. The hotel is a great responsibility and I hesitate to burden her further.”

“I'm sure she would want to know. I'm quite certain she would want you to have your injuries looked after.” Dovie and Elva exchanged a look, then Elva continued. “Are you quite sure you are up to a session this evening? I'm sure whatever Father has to say can wait.” As much as I appreciated their kindness I couldn't imagine sleeping a wink if I hadn't moved toward solving my problem with Mr. Ayers. I dreaded the thought that the injuries to my hand might be the least of my concerns.

“Spending time in the realm of spirit is the best tonic for anything that ails me. I would prefer to go ahead with our session but
I will require some assistance from the two of you.” I nodded to the cards. “I find I am unable to loosen the ties on the bag, let alone shuffle the cards. If you could do so, it would be a great help.” Elva nodded and removed the cards from their pouch. I held my breath as I waited. Instead of the voice, my left ear filled with a rustling, crackling sound like a radio dial tuned to where there was no station.

She shuffled them as deftly as the first time we had used them and then placed the stack in front of me.

“Thank you, Elva. Now, Dovie, since this is a message for the both of you, I think it would be best for you to handle the cards as well. Would you cut them into three stacks and then turn over the first card on each pile?” Dovie did as she was told, and I pondered the images before me, hoping the voice would chime in with some words of wisdom. I couldn't help but notice that although the voice was silent the message from the cards was loud and clear.

The reading may have been about the Velmont sisters but it was warning them to beware of treachery and deceit. The cards were warning them about me. Never before had I had this happen. I felt sick to my stomach. I silently called to the voice to advise me, to tell me I was not so very wrong to try to save my own skin, but it refused to answer.

I remembered what Honoria had said about the fact that the cards have multiple meanings, often more complex ones than are apparent at first glance. I felt the ladies' eyes on me; they were clearly uncertain that I was fit to conduct the reading. Another flicker of guilty unease fluttered across my heart before the image of Mr. Ayers's smiling face as he crushed my hand filled my memory. Time to put their minds, and mine, at ease.

“The Magician is a card of skills and talents. Your father would like you to know he thinks it's time for you to learn something new. To turn your hand to something that might seem almost magical in its rewards.”

“We are here at the Belden to develop such skills,” Elva said. “Does he speak of that?”

I bent closer to the card, appearing to consider Mr. Velmont's words. I shook my head.

“No. He approves of your purpose here and believes you to be destined for success with your metaphysical inquiries but he urges me to turn my attention to the second card.” I reached out my good hand and tapped the Three of Wands. “This speaks of investments. In creating new wealth. It involves risk but it's a calculated one.”

“Father was never in favor of such things in his lifetime, was he, sister?” Dovie asked. “Remember the way he went on and on about how relieved he was not to have speculated wildly like so many others during the Panic five years ago?”

“I do. It seems most unlike him,” Elva said. “Are you quite sure the cards are speaking to you as clearly as usual, Ruby? You have been through quite a trauma and someone as sensitive as you might be particularly affected by such a thing.” I might have imagined it but I could have sworn I heard the voice chuckling at me.

“I am certain. Remember how much your father has changed his stance on sea bathing since he passed to the other side? He is altering his opinion on the subject of investing as well.”

“What is the rest of the message?” Dovie asked. I focused on the final card in the reading.

“The Seven of Swords is a warning to beware of deception
and theft. Your father would like you to develop your skills in the area of finance so you can invest without too much risk.”

“That sounds more like Father, doesn't it?” Dovie said. Elva nodded slowly.

“Does Father have any recommendations as to where to invest?” she asked. I closed my eyes and leaned back. After a dramatic pause I answered.

“He says to be open to possibilities that are right at hand. An opportunity will be in front of you shortly and he would like you to consider it carefully and not simply dismiss it, as you have no experience in such matters.”

“How exciting. Perhaps we will become tycoons, sister.” Dovie's face pinked becomingly. Elva pushed back her chair and stood.

“Come along, then. We have work to do.” Elva paused and turned to me. “If Father has anything else to say we will be in the library reading the financial section of the latest newspapers.” With that, the ladies left me alone to wallow in relief and guilt. I had taken the first step toward digging myself out of a mess. I just wished I hadn't also taken the first step toward getting such trusting ladies into one.

T
he moon floated high and bright. Yancey had slept far longer than he had intended. He had been nodding off when Lucy brought him a supper tray. He couldn't even remember her coming in to clear it away. It was only the sound of the mantel clock striking midnight that had jolted him awake and alerted him to his responsibilities. He should have relieved Frank from duty hours before.

The station was the only building on Old Orchard Street where a light glowed within. Frank looked up as Yancey pushed open the door, a look of total wretchedness playing over his face.

“I'm sorry I'm so late, Frank. It was unforgivable of me. You've been out as late as I have and I don't even have a baby at home to interrupt what little sleep I've managed to snatch.” Yancey stopped at his friend's desk and sat on the scarred wooden edge.

“In truth, I've been dreading you showing up.” Something in his tone made Yancey's blood ice over. Frank's appearance wasn't one of exhaustion, it was one of misery. “I've got some bad news.”

“What is it?”

“Albert Fitch.”

“What about him?” Yancey felt his neck and shoulders tense as though he were anticipating a physical blow.

“You know how you asked me to keep him company while you were gone?” Yancey nodded; felt his throat dry up. “I did. And I admit, I worked him over pretty good. But I swear, he was still breathing when I left him.” Yancey craned his neck to look to the back room where they held those under arrest. It was no more than a windowless room closed off by a metal door fitted with a sturdy lock.

“I don't want to hear this, do I?”

“I didn't go at him very long. About six whacks into it he was wailing for his mother. I gave off and went back to my desk. I must have nodded off because the next thing I knew the chief was hollering at me from the lockup to explain myself.”

“I'd appreciate that myself. What is the problem, besides the chief dropping in when he was off duty?”

“When I stepped into the lockup Fitch was dead. His face was all bruised and his mouth and nose were all busted up. But I swear, he wasn't like that when I left him.”

“You think the chief had something to do with it?”

“I don't think nothing. I just know he said that this sort of thing happens from time to time and we'd all be best off if there wasn't any fuss. He wouldn't say any more about it if I didn't.”

Yancey walked to the lockup and threw open the door. It was empty, leaving no trace of Albert Fitch or what had happened in the small room.

“Where's the body?” Yancey asked, hearing Frank's footsteps behind him.

“Gone. The chief and I loaded it into the back of the police wagon and covered it with some feed sacks. Hurley drove it off
himself and said I should tell you that the pickpocketing investigation should head in a new direction.”

“And you're sure Fitch was dead when you loaded him into the wagon?”

“I know a dead body when I see one. We both do.”

“So either you or Hurley killed our prime suspect in the murder of Leander Stickney and the person we know was the face of the pickpocketing ring. Is that what you're telling me?” Yancey could feel a burning in his gut, a familiar sense of frustration that stemmed from tangling with authority figures who abused their positions.

“That about sums it up.” Frank looked stricken. “But, the pickpocketing in town should stop being such a problem now no matter what. And the state is spared the expense of a trial.”

“What matters is that the testimony Fitch could have given against Jellison, and maybe even Hurley, died with him.” Yancey pounded the wall with a clenched fist. “We've got no more to go on than we did before we uncovered the loot in the bathhouse.”

“I'm sorry, Yancey. I wish I'd never started in on Fitch.”

“If wishes were horses, Frank. Go on home and get some sleep.”

“Are you sure you don't want to go instead?” Frank's glance drifted toward the door.

“If there's one thing I'm sure of, there's no way I'll catch a wink tonight no matter what. You go.”

“My mother said things always look better after a good night's sleep.”

“Considering the state of the case right now, let's hope she's right.”

•   •   •

T
here was no doubt about it. The body sprawled on the sand in front of the seawall was that of Dennis Ayers. The incoming tide had soaked his lower legs, leaving a salty rime on his light trousers, but it hadn't carried him out to sea. Instead, it had left him lying within a few feet of Googins Rock and just out of sight of both the Sea Spray and the Belden.

“I must not have had a good night's sleep, because this is hardly what I would call
better
,” Frank said, pitching his voice as low as he could while still being heard over the pounding surf. He glanced over his shoulder to where Jelly Roll stood observing it all.

“I'm sure if he could voice an opinion, Mr. Ayers would agree with you,” Yancey said.

“You worked with Miss Proulx on the case yesterday. Maybe you could ask her what Mr. Ayers had to say about it.”

“No thanks. Have you forgotten the way that case turned out?” Yancey asked. Frank had the good grace to blush as Yancey crouched over the body and gave it the once-over. He gently turned the victim's head and gingerly touched the skull, carefully feeling through the hair. “No injuries to the head. This victim wasn't killed in the same manner as Mr. Stickney,” he said.

“Think this was a pickpocketing, too?” Frank didn't even try to suppress a tonsil-rattling yawn as he bent over the body.

Yancey hadn't liked the dead man's familiar attitude with Miss Proulx or his slick prattle, but he wouldn't have wished this death on anyone. He pried open Ayers's mouth, revealing a swollen tongue. He lifted one eyelid, noting burst blood vessels marring the whites of the eyes.

“If it was, at least we know Albert Fitch couldn't have done it. I am wondering if Jelly Roll knows more about this than he's letting on.” Yancey loosened the tie around Mr. Ayers's neck and unfastened his collar. There, beneath his clothing, lay a linear bruise. Barely wider than a clothesline, it encircled the victim's throat. “Strangulation with a rope or something similar.” He pointed to the marks, and Frank nodded as he wrote something in his notebook before straightening.

“I'm not sure I want to know about it if he does. I'm up to my eyeballs in hot water already.” Frank shot another glance over his shoulder. “Here he comes.”

“Any leads, Officers?” Jellison asked. “Besides the unfortunate Mr. Fitch?”

“I'm sure when there's something to report you'll hear all about it.” Yancey slipped his hands into the pockets of the victim's striped cotton summer jacket and turned up a cigarette case, a crumpled calling card, and a handkerchief. Inspection of his left trouser pocket yielded nothing but lint and the wrapper from a peppermint candy. He slid his hand into Ayers's right pocket and felt something hard and cool.

Even in the low light of the early morning the ruby pendant in his hand sparkled and winked at him. His stomach sank. He would have recognized Miss Proulx's necklace anywhere.

“You got something there, Yancey?” Jelly Roll asked, coming closer.

“Nothing that concerns you.” Yancey slipped the evidence into his own jacket pocket and walked away. There was no way he wanted gossip spreading about Miss Proulx's possible guilt unless it was absolutely necessary.

Yancey looked back and watched as Jelly Roll tried to strike
up a conversation with Frank instead. Yancey retrieved the necklace from his pocket and inspected it more closely. The slender gold chain was broken as if it had been wrenched from the wearer rather than unclasped carefully. With growing concern, he set about scouring the shore for anything, besides his nagging suspicions, that could flesh out the story of what had occurred.

The beach was filled with the usual detritus. Shells and driftwood lay scattered around the body. Yancey toed piles of seaweed to the side to inspect below them. Tucked beneath a pile of drying seaweed buzzing with sandflies he glimpsed something midnight blue. A length of cord. He teased it out, then rolled the width of it between his finger and thumb.

“What've you got there, boss?” Frank had managed to shake Jelly Roll and, still yawning, fetched up beside him.

“Looks like it might be the murder weapon. A length of cord is a very handy thing to strangle someone with if you haven't a great deal of strength.” Yancey tucked the cord into his jacket pocket and leaned back against the seawall to think.

“Finding the murder weapon is a good start, isn't it?” Frank's sleepiness fled from his face, replaced by widened eyes and an eager tone to his voice.

“It depends on whether or not you want to see the Hotel Belden go out of business.”

“What does that cord have to do with the Belden?”

“I seem to remember some just like it used as a holdback for the drapes in the séance room at Honoria's hotel.”

“You don't suspect Miss Belden of killing one of her guests, do you?”

“No. I don't suspect Miss Belden.” Yancey caught sight of Lewis striding along the sand. Thomas Lydale, laden once more
with photographic paraphernalia, lagged behind. “But I'm afraid there is another lady at the hotel I will need to question.”

“Please tell me it isn't my mother-in-law.”

“Afraid of Mrs. Doyle, are you?” Yancey couldn't blame him. Frank's wife was a gem of a woman, but marriage to her came at the high price of family ties to Mrs. Doyle.

“I'm quaking in my boots. There's been no end to the misery in my house since the last time you went to the Belden and questioned everyone.”

“Rest easy. I have another lady in mind. Can you take over here with documenting the crime scene?”

“If it means I don't have to go into the Belden with you, I'll even deal with Lydale without complaint.”

“I have a lead I need to follow before I make inquiries at the Belden. I'll come back for Lewis in a bit.” Yancey set off across the beach. Of all the reasons he could be headed for the hotel, the least appealing he could imagine was to collect evidence to arrest Miss Proulx.