Murder on Marble Row (31 page)

Alarmed, Sarah tore it open, heedless of the richness of the paper. Inside was a note written in her mother's elegant hand informing her that Malloy had found Allen Snowberger murdered in his apartment. Teddy Roosevelt had telephoned late last night to notify her father. She'd known Sarah would want to hear the news as soon as possible.

When she looked up, the coachman was smiling. “Mrs. Decker told me to wait for you. She said you'd probably want to go to the Van Dykes' house.”

“I'll only be a moment,” Sarah told him, hurrying back inside to get her things.

When Sarah came out of the house again, her next-door neighbor hailed her. Mrs. Ellsworth had appeared on her front porch with a broom, ostensibly to sweep but really to be available to find out where Sarah could be going in her parents' carriage. The old woman would have recognized it from previous visits.

“Is anything wrong, Mrs. Brandt?” Mrs. Ellsworth asked with genuine concern.

Sarah hated discussing this on a public street, so she went over to Mrs. Ellsworth's porch, where she wouldn't have to shout to be heard. “Mr. Snowberger has been found murdered,” she explained.

“Oh, dear, poor man,” she said. “I knew something had happened. I sneezed this morning for no reason at all.”

Sarah knew better than to ask what she meant. “Perhaps you're getting a cold.”

“Oh, no, I'm perfectly healthy,” Mrs. Ellsworth assured her. “Sneezing for no reason on a Friday means sorrow, you see. It means something different for each day of the week, Sneeze on Monday, sneeze for danger; sneeze on Tuesday, kiss a stranger—”

“Well, if you keep standing out in this weather, you might very well catch a cold,” Sarah warned, hiding a smile. “I've got to be off, now. I'm needed at the Van Dyke house.”

“Oh, of course, dear,” Mrs. Ellsworth said. “I didn't mean to keep you. I hope everyone is all right.”

Sarah hoped so, too.

 
 
T
HE MAID ELLA OPENED THE DOOR TO HER HALF an hour later, and she all but pulled Sarah inside. “Oh, Mrs. Brandt, I'm that glad you're here. Everything's at sixes and sevens!”

Sarah could hear raised voices coming from upstairs. She hadn't expected such an uproar over Snowberger's death. “What's going on?”

“That policeman, Mr. Malloy, he came first thing to tell everyone about Mr. Snowberger. He tried to ask questions, but Mrs. Van Dyke started screaming something awful, and we had to put her to bed with some laudanum. Miss Alberta is near about to faint, but she won't go to her room, and Mr. Tad is . . . well, he's not himself.” Sarah figured he was drunk. “Then there's that Russian woman.”

They heard a crash upstairs, and Ella winced. “She's been screaming at Mr. Creighton since he brought her here last night.” The poor girl looked near tears.

“I'll see what I can do,” Sarah said. “Is Mr. Malloy still here?”

“Oh, yes, ma'am. Should I announce you?”

“Don't bother. I'll find my own way.”

This time Ella didn't object. Plainly, she didn't relish another encounter with the family and their hysterical guest.

“Katya,
please,
” Creighton was saying when Sarah reached the open doors to the front parlor. The couple were standing in the middle of the room, glaring at each other. “Don't talk so fast. I can't understand you!”

“I will not stay here,”
Katya replied, speaking very slowly and distinctly in English and with a definite touch of exasperation.

“Good morning, everyone,” Sarah said brightly and loudly. Four faces looked up at her in surprise. One of them belonged to Malloy, and for once he looked happy to see her. Or maybe it was just relief she saw on his face. Alberta's was the fourth, and she definitely looked relieved.

“Sarah, how good of you to come,” she said, rising from where she'd been sitting on the sofa watching her brother argue with his mistress. “Have you met Miss Petrova?”

Sarah smiled at Katya, who didn't smile back. She was furious and rubbing her side absently.

“How are you feeling, Miss Petrova?” Sarah asked, instantly concerned.

“I am a prisoner here!” she exclaimed in outrage. “He will not let me leave!”

“Your place is with me,” Creighton insisted. “Why would you want to go back to the tenements when you can live in a mansion?”

Katya cried out incoherently in frustration, but the cry strangled in her throat as she doubled over on a stab of pain.

Sarah and Creighton rushed to catch her.

“Katya, what is it?” Creighton asked in alarm, forgetting his anger.

“Sit her down,” Sarah instructed, and they eased her into the nearest chair. “Where does it hurt?” she asked Katya.

The girl looked up with eyes filled with fear. “Here,” she said, rubbing her side.

“It's probably just false labor,” Sarah said reassuringly. “Excitement can bring it on. Probably nothing to worry about, but we shouldn't take any chances. Creighton, can you carry Miss Petrova up to”—she hesitated, wondering where Katya might be staying—“her room,” she finished uncertainly.

“Take her to the blue guest room,” Alberta said, taking charge of the transfer. “She'll be more comfortable there than in your room.”

Creighton lifted Katya effortlessly and carried her out, with Alberta following at his heels. Sarah glanced at where Malloy stood watching helplessly. “I'll be back as soon as I can,” she promised. She pointed to the bell rope. “Ring for the maid. She'll be happy to bring you some coffee.”

“Do you think something's wrong with her?” he asked, and Sarah really looked at him this time. She saw an expression she'd never expected to see on his face—fear. For a moment, she couldn't imagine what he could be afraid of, and then she remembered. His wife had died in childbirth.

“It's probably what I said,” she assured him, even though she wasn't sure herself. “I'll take good care of her.”

With that, she hurried out.

She found Creighton in the third-floor hallway, pacing outside a closed door. “We put her in there,” Creighton said. “Bertie told me to get out.”

“Of course she did,” Sarah said brightly. “This is women's business.”

“Isn't there anything I can do?”

“Have the cook send up some hot water, vinegar, and compresses. Also some warm milk and weak tea.”

Creighton bounded down the stairs to do her bidding, grateful to be able to take some action. Sarah went into the bedroom. It was a pleasant room facing the street and decorated in shades of blue. Katya lay on the bed, and Alberta was helping remove her shoes.

“How do you feel?” Sarah asked, going over to help. “Have you had any more pains?”

“No, I . . . ah!” She grabbed her side again, her face contorting. Alberta's face went white, and she stared at Sarah with terrified eyes.

As soon as the pain passed, Sarah said, “We should get you out of these clothes so you'll be more comfortable. Alberta, would you fetch Katya a nightdress?”

Alberta scurried out, probably as grateful as Creighton for something to do besides watching Katya.

“What is it?” Katya whispered, even more terrified than Alberta.

“False labor, like I said,” Sarah said, even though she feared it might be a miscarriage. “You just need to get comfortable and rest and be calm. Lie still and let me unfasten your dress. Do you feel anything wet between your legs?” she asked as casually as she could while she began unbuttoning the girl's bodice.

Katya's eyes widened. She knew the significance of the question. “No, nothing,” she said quickly.

Sarah smiled. “That's very good. Now take a few deep breaths and let them out slowly. Yes, that's right.”

Sarah laid her hands on the small mound of Katya's stomach and gently began to massage the side where the cramping had started. She also tried to detect some movement from the baby. The child was still very small and might lie motionless for hours, but even so, Sarah experienced a frisson of fear when she felt no movement.

An hour later, she had Katya settled comfortably. She'd drunk a cup of milky tea and had a vinegar compress across her forehead. The contractions had died away, and Katya had drifted off to sleep. Leaving a maid to sit with her, Sarah and Alberta stepped out into the hallway.

Creighton was still pacing outside.

“She's asleep,” Sarah told him. “She just needs to rest for a few days, and no excitement.”

“I never should've brought her here,” he said. “She didn't want to come.”

“This is the best place for her,” Alberta insisted. “You know that yourself. She doesn't have to worry about anything here, and we can make sure she eats well and gets plenty of rest.”

“She doesn't believe me, Sarah,” he said brokenly. “I told her what I plan to do with Father's business, how I'm going to treat the workers fairly and show the world that's the best way to be successful. But she doesn't believe it will work. She thinks I've already been corrupted by my father's wealth.”

Sarah didn't know what to say. She could understand Katya's skepticism. How many businessmen considered themselves humanitarians and good Christians and still thought nothing of cheating their workers at every turn? Could Creighton's good intentions survive in such an environment? Was he strong enough to go against every tenet of popular wisdom?

“I'm sure you can work all that out later,” Sarah said. “Right now it's important that she not get upset about anything. Only talk about pleasant things and distract her if she tries to argue with you.”

“I will,” he promised.

“Good. Now I need to speak with Mr. Malloy for a few minutes, but you can call me if Katya needs anything.”

Sarah started down the stairs, and Alberta went with her.

“How is Mr. Reed doing?” Sarah asked, wondering why he hadn't been present at the family conference.

“I don't know,” she said with a worried frown. “He left yesterday, right after you did, and I haven't heard from him since. I tried to convince him to stay, but he said he had something important to do.”

Sarah was surprised. What could he have had to do that was more important than being with Alberta? But she didn't want to worry her friend. “I'm sure he's fine. He really didn't need to stay here, you know. I only said that so Lilly wouldn't send him away and the two of you could be together.”

“I know, but I can't help worrying. I thought he'd come back here when he was finished with his business, or at least telephone, but he didn't.”

“Alberta,” Sarah chided playfully, “I already have one upset expectant mother to worry about. I don't want another.”

Alberta tried to smile. “I'll try not to become a burden to you.”

“See that you do!” she teased back.

They'd reached the second-floor hallway.

“I need to speak with Mr. Malloy alone,” Sarah said.

“Yes, of course. I'll be in the back parlor if you need me.

I think I'll send one of the servants to Lewis's flat to make sure he's all right.”

“Good idea.” Sarah opened the parlor door and stepped inside.

Malloy rose to his feet politely. He'd been drinking coffee from a silver service that had been carried in. “Good morning, Mrs. Brandt,” he said neutrally.

“Don't bother pretending you're angry that I'm here,” she warned him. “I saw your expression when I walked in.”

“I won't deny that I was glad to be rescued from the arguing anarchists,” he admitted. “How is Miss Petrova doing?”

“She's resting, but I'm afraid she's still in danger of losing the baby.”

He nodded grimly and looked away. “Would you like some coffee?” he asked to change the subject as she took a seat opposite him. “It's very good.”

The maid had brought several extra cups, and Sarah helped herself.

“Tell me what happened to Snowberger,” she said as she raised the cup to her lips.

Briefly, he explained how he'd happened to find the body and how the killer had tried to make it look like suicide.

“The killer was clever,” she said.

“Reasonably. Snowberger did die by hanging, so everything looked right. He didn't know much about police work, though, or he would've realized somebody would notice the gash on the back of Snowberger's head.”

“Maybe he just didn't have any
respect
for police work,” she pointed out. “How many detectives would bother to look beyond the obvious, especially if it meant more work for them?

Finding a murder suspect who committed suicide would be an easy solution to a difficult problem.”

He didn't like what she'd said, but he knew she was right. “Well, he didn't commit suicide, so now I've got two murders to solve.”

“But only one killer to find,” she pointed out. “This second murder should make the job easier, too.”

“If the same person killed them both,” Malloy said.

Sarah frowned. “Two killers wouldn't make any sense.”

“It would if they were killed for different reasons, and they probably were, whoever killed them.”

“That would certainly complicate matters,” Sarah agreed. “Why don't we try the obvious solution first? Who wanted
both
men dead?”

Malloy considered. “I think we can eliminate the anarchists on Snowberger's death, too. Not their style at all.”

“Creighton had nothing to gain, either. He's already got his father's money and his half of the business, although . . .”