Murder on Mulberry Bend (11 page)

“I’m not going to do that!” she insisted.

“You’ve done it before,” he reminded her.

This time she gave him a murderous glare that almost made him smile, because it meant that for once she didn’t have an answer.

“You can’t just go waltzing down to Mulberry Bend and start asking people who killed this girl,” he said, prepared to be reasonable now that she was silenced. “No one will trust you, so no one will tell you anything. And if you get too annoying, somebody will stick a knife into you, too. I really
will
find you dead, and if you ever put me through that again,” he threatened, shaking a finger in her face, “I’ll
kill
you!”

She blinked in surprise, and only when she grinned did he realize how ridiculous his threat was. Whatever ground he had gained vanished, evaporating in the blaze of her smile. “Malloy, you always amaze me.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw his salvation. A Hansom cab was coming toward them. He held up a hand to flag it down.

“Where are we going?” she asked when she realized what he was doing.

“You
are going home, where you’ll be safe.”

She didn’t like that a bit. “You can’t just let this girl’s killer go free!”

Frank supposed being rich gave you a completely different way of thinking. It wasn’t a very good way, either. “I told you,” he said, trying to be patient when he really wanted to start shouting at her. “Nobody will care that this girl is dead.”

“You mean nobody will pay a reward to find her killer,” she said, knowing full well how angry this would make him. Everybody knew the police solved crimes only when a reward was involved or when someone in power demanded it. Frank hated that it was true, but it was the only way he could support his family, since no one could be expected to live on the meager salaries the police department paid.

He managed to hold his temper and say quite reasonably, “I mean nobody will give me any information, so it won’t matter if there’s a reward or not.” If she offered to give him a reward to solve the case, he really would kill her.

Fortunately, she knew better than that. “Aren’t you even going to try?” she asked, which made him even madder than if she’d offered him a reward.

“I’m going down to the mission now to tell them she’s dead and find out what her last name was,” he said, trying hard not to grit his teeth or sound angry. “Then I’ll try to locate her family and tell them.”

“But ...” she began to protest. He held up his hand to stop her.

“I will also ask them questions and try to find out who might’ve killed her. My guess is they’ll swear she didn’t have an enemy in the world and they don’t have any idea who could’ve done it. If I’m wrong,” he continued when she would have interrupted him again, “and they tell me they think a lover killed her or some jealous wife, then I’ll investigate. But don’t count on it,” he added.

He’d expected another argument, but she seemed pleased with this promise. “So if you get some information, you’ll investigate?” she asked.

“Yes, I will.” Now he
was
gritting his teeth. He couldn’t help it. “Do you want me to take a blood oath or something?”

“Don’t be silly,” she said with one of her smiles. “Your word is good enough for me.”

The cab had finally managed to pull over to the curb, and the driver was waiting for his passenger.

“Now swear to me you’ll go straight home,” he said as he handed her into the cab.

“Of course I will,” she said, holding up her hand as if to take an oath.

Frank frowned as he gave the driver the address on Bank Street. She’d given in far too easily. She was up to something. He just hoped to God it didn’t get her killed.

 

Sarah settled back into her seat and tried not to remember how poor Emilia had looked lying there so cold and dead in the morgue. She couldn’t help thinking that she somehow could have prevented the girl’s death, even though she knew that was ridiculous. She didn’t even know why Emilia had been killed, so how could she have prevented it? Logic didn’t prevent her from wanting to weep again, however. She couldn’t explain her tears back there at the morgue, but she knew they had come partly from a sense of helplessness. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop evil from triumphing. And heaven knew, she wasn’t really trying very hard most of the time.

She thought of Mrs. Wells. Now
she
was trying. And she was succeeding. Sarah might not share her religious fervor, but she had to respect the woman. Look at all those young girls who were safe at the mission, probably for the first time in their lives. They were learning how to take care of themselves, earn an honest living, and have self-respect. Compared to that, Sarah had never accomplished anything worthwhile.

Oh, she knew that saving babies and their mothers from dying in childbirth was important, but what happened to them after that? Perhaps she’d saved them for a life of misery. She had never considered this possibility, and she didn’t like the thought at all. Was it possible for her to do the kind of lasting good that Mrs. Wells did at the mission? She didn’t know. Certainly, not many people could accomplish what Mrs. Wells had. Not many people would have had the courage and dedication to even try.

But if Sarah couldn’t do that work herself, perhaps she could at least help those who did. Mrs. Wells needed volunteers and supporters. She remembered what Richard had said about his wife. Hazel Dennis had first gotten involved when a friend had been asked to make a donation to the mission. Mrs. Wells probably had to work very hard to keep contributions coming from wealthy people like the Dennises. Cultivating wealthy donors would take a lot of time and energy away from the real work she was doing. She would probably greatly appreciate some help in that area, and Sarah was certainly in a position to give it to her.

She reached up and knocked on the roof of the cab to get the driver’s attention.

“Yes, miss?” he called down.

“I’ve changed my mind,” she said. “Could you take me to West Fifty-seventh Street instead, please?”

“I sure can,” he replied happily. The longer distance would mean a higher fare. Sarah sat back and began to plan what she was going to say to her mother.

 

Elizabeth and Felix Decker lived in a townhouse right off Fifth Avenue, not too far from Marble Row, where millionaires flaunted their wealth with marble-fronted homes. The Deckers were more modest about their wealth, but they were probably even richer than anyone on Marble Row.

The maid recognized her instantly and admitted her at once, greeting her by name. Sarah couldn’t help remembering that this same girl had almost turned her away a few short months ago as unworthy to enter. Her long estrangement from her parents had made her a stranger to their household.

“Mrs. Decker is in her salon, Mrs. Brandt,” the girl told her. “I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you. Shall I tell her you’re here?”

“I’ll go with you and save you a trip,” Sarah offered, certain her mother would be “at home” to her.

Her mother was writing letters at her desk, a delicately carved work of art. She looked up in surprise when the maid announced her daughter, and a smile brightened her lovely face.

“Sarah, my dear, I hope you’ve come to tell me what a wonderful time you had at the opera with Richard,” she exclaimed, rising from her chair and hurrying over to give her daughter a kiss.

Sarah felt a twinge of guilt. She probably should have come over much sooner to give her mother a report on her first outing with the very eligible Mr. Dennis. She also felt guilty that wasn’t her reason for being here today, either. Still, her mother never had to know it. “I did have a wonderful time, Mother,” she said, taking a seat beside her mother on an exquisite brocaded sofa. “Do you want to hear about every thrilling aria and all the glorious costumes?”

“Of course not,” her mother said. “I want to know how you and Richard got along.” She folded her hands expectantly.

Sarah didn’t want to disappoint her mother. Mrs. Decker had been hoping to see her daughter married to someone she considered suitable ever since the day Tom Brandt had died. Both of her daughters had married men she considered unworthy of them. That decision had cost Sarah’s sister Maggie her life. Sarah’s choice had given her three joyous years followed by three years of mourning after Tom’s death. She couldn’t blame her mother for wanting to see her settled again. Unfortunately, she’d never see her settled with Richard Dennis. Sarah couldn’t bear to tell her that, however. At least not so soon.

“We got along very well,” Sarah said quite truthfully. “He’s a very charming man.”

Mrs. Decker frowned. “You don’t like him.”

“I like him very much,” Sarah protested, wondering how her mother could have come to such a conclusion.

“Very charming?”
Mrs. Decker said, mocking Sarah’s words. “I could say that about my footmen. In fact, I consider it a qualification of employment for them.”

“What should I have said?” Sarah asked contritely.

Mrs. Decker sighed in mock dismay. “You should have said he was handsome and exciting and the most fascinating man you’ve ever met.”

“But we hardly know each other,” she protested good-naturedly.

“Which is exactly why you could have found him fascinating. Fascination seldom survives long acquaintance, as I’m sure you know.”

Sarah didn’t bother to hide her smile. “I’m sorry to be such a constant source of disappointment to you, Mother.”

Mrs. Decker waved her disappointment away. “I’m growing used to it now, Sarah. I’ve despaired of ever finding a man who will suit you.”

For some reason, Sarah thought of Frank Malloy. No one would consider him suitable for her, least of all Frank Malloy, but she had to admit the idea was intriguing. She didn’t mention it to her mother, however.

“I’m afraid Richard isn’t ready to remarry either,” she confessed.

Mrs. Decker was surprised at that. “Hazel has been gone at least four years now.”

“Five, I think. But he’s still married to her in his mind. In fact, I don’t think he would have invited me to the opera if he thought I was seriously interested in a relationship with him.”

“Why else would he have invited you, then?” her mother asked in amazement.

Sarah couldn’t believe how easily she had brought the subject up. “He wanted me to help him understand his wife better.”

“But you didn’t even know her.”

“No, but I do have some understanding of the work she was doing when she died.”

“Work?”
Her mother said the word as if it were slightly distasteful.

“Yes, Hazel Dennis was helping at the Prodigal Son Mission down by Mulberry Bend in Little Italy.”

Mrs. Decker absorbed this astonishing piece of information. “She hardly seemed the type, from what I remember of her. What is this place like? What kind of work do they do there?”

“They help young girls. Some of them have been abandoned by their families and others have run away from theirs because things were so bad for them there. They have no place to go and no honest way to make a living. The mission gives them a place to live and food to eat and an education. They also teach them how to operate a sewing machine and other skills they can use to get a job.”

Her mother was frowning again. “How do you know so much about it?”

“Because Richard and I went there on Sunday afternoon for a visit.”

She brightened instantly. “You went there together?”

“He asked me to accompany him. He wanted to find out why Hazel had been so interested in their work.”

“That was kind of you, Sarah.”

“I’m a kind person, Mother,” she reminded her with a grin.

“Of course you are,” Mrs. Decker said with a grin of her own. “And a lovely one.”

“At any rate, Richard was pleased with what he saw at the mission, and so was I. In fact, I was just thinking on the way over here today that I’d like to do something to help them myself.”

Mrs. Decker surprised her by frowning yet again. This frown looked worried. “That’s an admirable sentiment, Sarah, but I must warn you, it’s very difficult to compete with a ghost.”

For a moment, Sarah had no idea what her mother was talking about, but then it hit her. “I have no intention of competing with Hazel Dennis,” Sarah assured her.

“That’s the spirit,” Mrs. Decker said, making Sarah want to roll her eyes.

“I mean it, Mother,” she insisted. “I’m not interested in taking Hazel’s place in Richard’s life.”

“You would be foolish to even try.”

Sarah was beginning to think her mother was deliberately misunderstanding her, but she didn’t want to take the time to find out. She had a more important task to accomplish today.

“I do, however, want to help the mission, if I can.”

“Are you going to offer to deliver babies for them?” her mother asked doubtfully.

Sarah almost laughed at the notion. “I think the idea of the mission is to prevent them from having babies. No, I had something more practical in mind.”

Her mother was an intelligent woman. She guessed instantly. “And you want me to help.”

“Yes, I want you to have a party.”

“For the people at the mission?” She was horrified at the very thought.

“No, for your rich friends, so we can ask them to make a donation to the mission.”

Sarah didn’t know what reaction she’d expected, but her mother had heard only one word in that sentence.
“We?”

She’d said that by accident, but it had turned out to be the magic word. “Well, I haven’t actually asked him, but I’d like Richard to help host the party. He already said he was going to make a donation himself, in Hazel’s memory. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind asking others to do the same.”

“How could he possibly refuse?” her mother asked. “We’ll ask
everyone
to make a donation in Hazel’s memory.”