Edison Effect, The: A Professor Bradshaw Mystery (The Edison Effect) (23 page)

Chapter Twenty-four

The headline of the
Seattle Post-Intelligencer
the next morning said, DEEP-SEA DIVER HAUNTED BY GHOST OF CHRISTMAS! and the
Seattle Times
ran with DOYLE SPOOKS HIS KILLER!

Bradshaw sat at the kitchen table, reading the articles through squinted eyes and a throbbing headache. He’d lost count after the fourth round, and he couldn’t clearly remember coming home, but he was fairly certain Henry was upstairs, feeling even worse. Or perhaps not. It could be that his rapid rise from the depths yesterday was adding to the pounding in his brain, but luckily, he manifested none of the warning signs of the bends.

The headlines came as a surprise and a relief. He’d hoped to put a good scare into Galloway, but he hadn’t expected Galloway to confess.

A knock at the back door didn’t wait for a reply. The door opened, and in came Detective O’Brien, chipper and alert. He poured himself a mug of coffee from the percolator then helped himself to a seat.

“You look like hell,” he said.

“Whiskey.”

“Celebrating, eh? Congratulations. I heard about the great find. Is it true Maddock paid ten thousand for it?”

“Yes. And he’s dropping the lawsuits.”

“You don’t say? That is a bonus.”

Bradshaw sipped his coffee and tried to open his eyes further.

“Well, go on, spill.”

“Spill?”

“I know you must have had something to do with Galloway’s confession. That had to be you.”

“It was a ghost, the papers say. Vernon Doyle’s ghost.”

“I can’t figure out how you did it. Galloway said he kept Daulton’s box under the dock where his boat is moored, so how did you get it? How did it get out to the dive site where you had your ticker locator?”

“That’s a good question.”

“Oh, come on. You must have arranged it. You hired someone to dive at Galloway’s dock, right? Then you slipped the box out to the
Beverlee B
? Who’d you hire? Or did you get Henry to do it?”

“No, Henry didn’t dive.”

“Well, somebody did. I’ve been getting all sorts of reports of some diver near Galloway’s dock yesterday, shooting up into the air like a rocket. Too much air, I’m told. But you can’t tell me it wasn’t your idea to pose that wet diving suit holding the Edison festoons. Pure genius, Ben. You should have seen Galloway when he came to my office last night to confess. It took me a half hour to get any sense out of him. He kept going on about Ebenezer Scrooge and Doyle’s ghost of Christmas present. He kept saying Doyle’s ghost had Daulton’s box, and that he hadn’t meant to kill him.”

“What did happen the night Doyle died? The papers didn’t have those details.”

“Oh, it was an argument gone bad, like we speculated. After Edison came to town and Doyle started bragging he knew more than he actually did about Daulton’s invention, Galloway heard about it, and they struck up a secret partnership. Doyle had Galloway convinced that if they found the box, he could figure out how it worked, and they’d get rich. So Galloway one day pretended he’d just found the box—he actually found it a few days after Daulton tossed it overboard—and he showed it to Doyle. They took the lid off and partially removed whatever was inside, but there wasn’t anything to see. It had all crumbled and rotted. Doyle said it would simply take him more time. He’d get it figured out.”

Had they removed anything from the box? Bradshaw wondered. Or had they dumped the crumbled contents back in as he had done? He thought of Doyle’s inadequate drawings.

O’Brien continued. “A little time passed and Galloway got impatient. He began to fear Doyle was full of it. When Edison’s man, Maddock, began offering a big reward to anyone who found Daulton’s box, Galloway decided he’d go for a sure thing rather than wait for Doyle. He held out for a big offer, and when Doyle learned he’d signed a contract, he got mad. He threatened to tell Maddock that Galloway had already found the box. Galloway was scared he was going to lose the big contract as well as his good reputation. After fretting about it one night, and drinking too much, he went down to the Bon at two in the morning to try to convince Doyle to keep his trap shut. He tapped on the window, and Doyle let him in.”

O’Brien didn’t need to say more. They’d seen the evidence of what had happened. While they argued, Doyle bared the wire ends down to copper to join two festoons, and Galloway, in a fit of anger and frustration, threw the “Special” knife switch in the cabinet.

The front doorbell rang, and Mrs. Prouty’s footsteps tromped down the stairs. A moment later, she came into the kitchen with a red-nosed telegram boy who handed Bradshaw a wire.

“A reply is requested, sir.”

Bradshaw silently read the telegram.

Well done. Shall we talk? N. Tesla.

The youth handed Bradshaw an order pad, and he wrote:

THANK YOU. NOTHING TO SAY.

He paid and tipped the youth. When he’d gone, O’Brien said, “Does Mr. Tesla have spies in Seattle?”

“My guess is he knows someone who works for Edison.” An image of Miss Finch briefly flickered through his mind.

The hall clock chimed the quarter hour, and O’Brien checked his pocket watch.

“Well, if you’re not going to tell me what happened at Galloway diving, I’ll be on my way. I’ll go set Billy free. He was looking suitably contrite this morning.”

Once released, the boy would be on a period of unofficial probation. Two days ago, his mother, Mr. Olafson, and Professor Taylor had met and discussed what was to be done. Apologies were to be made to those he’d maligned. Those who had lost their jobs on his account were to have their positions restored and financial retribution paid, over time, by Billy. His future at the Bon Marché was uncertain and depended on his willingness to accept demotion. They’d all agreed he stood a better chance of reforming as well as eventually succeeding if he were to openly and publicly admit his mistakes. Many men could not face such humiliation. But Billy would have the support and continued guidance of Olafson and Taylor and Bradshaw. There was hope.

“And say, I stopped by the photographer’s on my way here. They have a glass plate negative of Mrs. Doyle’s photograph of her boys.”

“Oh? Did you ask them to develop a new one? I’ll cover the cost.”

“We’ll split it. Make it a Christmas gift to her. After today, the chief has given me the rest of the week off. If no one gets murdered between now and Sunday, I will have a jolly holiday with my family. However you did it, Ben, I thank you for solving the case and saving my Christmas.”

Chapter Twenty-five

He stood at the shadowed edge of the station platform where the bright rays of the arc lamps didn’t penetrate. The whistle of the approaching train sounded, echoing in the blustery evening, and soon the bright eye of the engine appeared, and the platform under his feet thrummed from the great roaring rumble of the train’s arrival.

Passengers emerged from several cars at once into the steam. He scanned the figures, his chest tight, searching. And then he saw her.

Carpet bag in hand, she hopped from the train with a lightness to her step in a sleek red wool jacket and a new slim gray suit that had none of the fashionable bumps and poufs that gave other women deformed figures. For a moment, he lost sight of her among the other passengers, and he rose on his toes to search, catching sight of her again as she slipped through the crowd. Heads turned her way, as they always did. As a would-be suitor had once said of her, she was compelling.

She was no classic beauty, he knew. Her nose was too long, her jaw too stubborn, her hair too short. And yet, the sight of her made him doubt the world’s definition of beauty. After all these months apart, he’d known he’d feel anxious, but he’d not anticipated this overwhelming sense of awe. Her gaze swept the crowd as she moved, ignoring all the looks of male adoration, and at last found his. Her smile lit her eyes and quickened her breath and put a tinge of color in her cheeks.

He didn’t know his own features were somber until she stepped up to him, her smile transitioning to puzzlement. She searched his eyes, and he heard her questions without her asking them.

He said, “No, no, everyone is fine. Justin is fine and eager to see you.”

“And you?”

“Always,” he said, but couldn’t force a smile. The gravity of the moment enveloped him. “I’ve got a cab waiting. Do you have more luggage?”

“No, I’m traveling light. Penelope said I could borrow from her.”

Penelope was the friend she’d be staying with over the holidays at the Rainier Grand Hotel where she’d once worked as a “hello girl.”

He navigated her to the street where the brougham stood waiting. The cabbie took Missouri’s bag, opened the door, and she climbed in. Bradshaw followed, sitting beside her in the small, plush space.

“Bit chilly,” said the cabbie, handing them a wool blanket with an exaggerated wink. With a tip of his hat, he closed the door. His weight rocked the carriage as he climbed onto his seat, then he snapped the reins, and they were moving. Bradshaw had already given instructions.

Missouri spread the blanket across their laps, and he mumbled a thank-you. He turned, sitting slightly askew on the seat so that he could better see her. The lantern mounted just outside the glass window sent a meager light dancing across her features.

He was at a loss for words.

She shot him a glance then looked down at her gloved hands. “You’re angry with me for going to North Carolina. Don’t deny it.”

“I wasn’t about to.”

“I am aware that my independent ways are not always agreeable with society, or you, but I am not as insensitive as you imagine. Sarah came with me, she’s studying homeopathy, too, and always up for a lark. We roomed at a separate boarding house from Colin Ingersoll. It was all perfectly proper. I didn’t include that in my wire because they charge per word and it would have cost a fortune. Besides, I felt you should trust me.”

“Should or would?”

“Both.”

“I do trust you, which is separate from feeling uncomfortable about your going, and disappointed about your delay coming home. Justin was especially disappointed.”

“Oh, I am so sorry about that. I wish you both could have been there. It was so thrilling. They didn’t get far with each flight, but just seeing it, knowing what it meant, was incredible.”

“Tell me what you saw,” he said, not truly wanting to hear just now, but needing time before he spoke. He listened, but it was the music of her familiar voice, so missed, that captured his imagination.

“The fellows from the lifesaving station at the beach helped out, and Colin said they’d been indispensable ever since the Wrights arrived at Kill Devil Hills. Orville Wright set up a camera to capture their attempts, and one of the lifesavers, a Mr. Daniels, was given the task of operating it. The Wrights were very secretive. Luckily, they respect and trust Colin, because I don’t believe any other outsiders besides Sarah and me were allowed.”

“It hasn’t yet made the news here.”

She looked at him, her mouth agape. “Are you telling me no one in Seattle yet knows?”

“Not unless they have friends or relatives elsewhere that have wired. I checked the
New York Times
as well, but so far, no mention.”

“Well, they didn’t invite any reporters. Colin said the Wrights hoped to sell rights to use their machine to the government, but they did intend to make it publicly known they were successful. They wanted it on record that they were the first.”

“Go on, how did it happen?”

“You’ve seen photographs of the Wrights’ gliders? The powered machine, which they call the
Flyer
, looks much the same, with the two sets of wings, only there’s an engine and propellers.” She gestured as she spoke, as if drawing him a moving picture in the air. “The machine was positioned on a flat truck on launch rails. They got the engine running, and the propellers spinning, and then Orville Wright climbed on. He lay flat in the center of the machine. They’d been taking turns, and on this day it was Orville’s turn to be first at the controls. The machine was untied, and it launched forward on the rails, and then before we knew it, it was up in the air, sailing over the beach. Oh, it was something to see.” She went on, describing the subsequent flights and the elation of all. Her words put him there, so much so, he could see her cheering, Colin Ingersoll beside her, and he found it impossible to believe they didn’t turn to each other and embrace.

“Where was Ingersoll,” he asked, without intending to, “when the flight occurred?”

“He was running down the beach after the
Flyer
so he could help if it crashed. Sarah and I were on the hill, watching it all. And I was thinking of you, I might add, and Justin, wishing you were there.” She looked out the window suddenly and frowned. “We aren’t moving. Our driver appears to have parked, but we’re not at the hotel.”

“I asked him to make a stop on our way so we could talk privately.”

The atmosphere changed abruptly from her excited storytelling to silence. The moment had come and he didn’t know how to begin. The silence grew and he feared he would make an absolute mess of it.

“You spoke to your priest,” she said.

He nodded.

“Since you are not on bended knee nor smothering me in kisses, I’ll assume the news is bad. I know how you abhor assumptions, but this one seems a safe bet. Please tell me, Ben. Do you truly believe the restrictions against us are right? Or are you afraid of being ostracized? Afraid of losing something that has always given you structure and comfort?” Her voice held a deep sadness but no condemnation. No plea. As with everything in her life, she wanted truth.

Truth was all he had to give her.

“You challenge everything about me, Missouri. I’ve never felt more alive, nor more confused, than I am when I’m with you. It’s frightening, and exhilarating. Whether or not I can face the ostracism and loss of leaving the Church is something I don’t know. We might drive each other mad with our differences. We might find blissful happiness. The point is, we don’t know. We can’t predict the outcome of our union. I could easily destroy what I love most about you.”

“Your boulder and wildflower theory? You see yourself immobile yet crushing my spirit? I am more resilient than you give me credit for, and you are only stone on the outside.”

“I fear chaos, Missouri. I fear the collapse of what I know.”

“You taught me that nature abhors a vacuum. Something wonderful would move in to take the place of what you give up.”

“So says the optimist. Vacuums can lead to explosive destruction before the void is filled.”

She harrumphed. “So it’s not just the Church putting you through such agonies?”

“I’ve had to admit to myself that there are tenets of the Church I disagree with. Opposition to marriage to you is just one of them. Still, to intentionally put myself in opposition—it’s like jumping off a cliff.” Or diving beneath the sea. “I fear most removing from my son’s life the institution that has helped me guide him since his birth.”

“And his schooling, his religious education, would be undermined by your exclusion from the Church? You would have to send him to another school?”

“No, they would not punish him for my actions, but if he stayed, he would, I fear, face ridicule and judgment.” If given the choice, though, he knew Justin would choose ridicule if it meant having Missouri as his mother.

Her mouth trembled. “Well, I suppose I’ve been rather naive to think we could find a way, but I’m a big believer in trying, as you know.” She sounded very near tears. “Look at the Wright brothers,” she said, with a tremulous smile. “So many people said they were crazy to try, but they didn’t give up, and now they’ve done it. It will go down in the history books that it was easier for mankind to at last achieve powered flight than it was for you and me to reconcile our differences.”

“They had only gravity to overcome.”

“And what is gravity compared to your fear of change? No, I’m sorry, that’s not fair or even right.” She wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. “You don’t fear change, you fear discovery. If you were to explore all those things on which I challenge you, you would discover you don’t truly believe in all the rules and habits you cling to. You’ve just admitted as much. But better to live the structured life you know, in sadness and darkness, than find yourself enlightened and lost.”

“Yes. I mean, no. I mean I am more comfortable in the familiar, but you’re misunderstanding—”

She sat forward and took his hands, and the feel of her touch silenced him. Her fingers were cold, but her palms warm. She brought his hands to her lips and kissed each one.

He said hoarsely, “I’m sorry it took me two years to understand this about myself.”

“Please promise me one thing. Promise me you’ll think about what you’re teaching Justin. I know I’m not yet a parent and have no right to presume what you must feel about the choices you make on his behalf. But I do know you want what’s best for him, you want to keep him safe. You want him to grow up to be a good and moral man. Do you also want him guided by his own curiosity and intelligence and moral compass? Or do you want him to always fear stepping away from socially accepted boundaries, even when he doesn’t believe in those boundaries? Even when he believes them to be wrong? Life is about change. Humanity and civilization and even religions do change, Ben. But only when we have the courage to follow what we truly believe.”

“I believe in you,” he said, and he held her face in his palms. He put his lips to hers, and kissed her softly, tasting her warmth, the saltiness of her tears.

“I can’t let you go,” she whispered.

“Missouri,” he said softly, reaching into his pocket and pulling forth the small velvet box. “You’ve misunderstood me. I’m telling you openly and honestly of my fear, not because I am running away from it, but because I am about to jump in with both feet. Missouri, I’m asking you to marry me.”