Murder on Sisters' Row (12 page)

“Is the mean lady gone?”

“Yes, and she’s not coming back.”

“I didn’t like her.”

“I didn’t like her either,” Maeve said.

“Well, if she comes back here, don’t open the door,” Mrs. Ellsworth advised.

Catherine didn’t allow Sarah out of her sight for the rest of the evening, and she begged Sarah to stay with her until she fell asleep.

When Sarah came back downstairs after putting Catherine to bed, Mrs. Ellsworth was still keeping Maeve company at the kitchen table. Sarah joined them and took this opportunity to tell them about her conversation with Mrs. Walker.

“I can’t believe that woman thought you would help her,” Mrs. Ellsworth marveled.

“She probably thought she could scare her into it,” Maeve said. “She doesn’t know you very well, Mrs. Brandt.”

“I’m just glad Amy is safe from her now.”

“What will happen to her? To Amy, I mean,” Maeve asked.

“I don’t know. She’ll have to find a way to support herself and her baby.”

“That won’t be easy,” Mrs. Ellsworth said. “What kind of a job can a girl like her do? And who will take care of the baby?”

“Mrs. Walker was right about one thing. Amy thinks her baby’s father is going to help her.”

“How do you know?” Maeve asked in surprise.

“She told me today. She has the idea that once he learns about the baby, he’ll want her back or something.”

Mrs. Ellsworth shook her head. “He doesn’t sound like that kind of man.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Sarah agreed. “But we can’t be sure Mrs. Walker was telling us the truth. And maybe Amy knows him better than she does.”

“I’d say Mrs. Walker only tells the truth when it suits her,” Maeve said. “And it might’ve suited her this time.”

“Yes, it might.”

“Are you going to tell Mr. Malloy that she came to see you tonight?” Maeve asked.

“Oh, yes, that’s a good idea,” Mrs. Ellsworth said. “He’ll make sure she never comes back here.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think he could.” Sarah told them both about her conversation with Frank Malloy earlier in the day.

“You mean the police would actually help her force a girl to go back to her brothel? Against her will?” Mrs. Ellsworth asked.

“So it appears,” Sarah said.

“If he was mad before, he’ll be even madder when he hears that woman showed up on your doorstep,” Maeve pointed out.

“I know, which is why I don’t think I’ll mention it. I doubt she’ll bother us again, at any rate. She knows I can’t help her.”

“Let’s hope,” Mrs. Ellsworth said fervently.

“I just wonder if Mrs. Van Orner and her friends will help Amy get in touch with the baby’s father,” Sarah said.

“If they don’t, will you help her?” Maeve asked.

“I think you should take Mr. Malloy’s advice and keep out of it altogether,” Mrs. Ellsworth said. “You did what she asked you to do and helped her escape from that place. No one can expect anything more.”

Sarah wondered if that were true.

 

 

T
HE NEXT DAY, SARAH WOULD HAVE PAID AMY ANOTHER visit, just to make sure she was doing well, but she was called out on another delivery. When she got back, late the following day, she found a note from Mrs. Van Orner thanking her for her help and telling her Amy was doing fine and Sarah need no longer concern herself. The news made Maeve and Mrs. Ellsworth very happy, and Sarah decided to put the episode out of her mind, as Malloy had begged her to do.

She thought about Amy several times during the next few days, but several more deliveries kept her too busy to do more than that. A week later, she had convinced herself that if Amy had needed her help, they would have sent for her.

She and the girls had just finished cleaning up the supper dishes when someone rang the bell. Maeve and Catherine went to answer it, and Sarah didn’t even bother to remind them to check who was there before opening it. All concern that Mrs. Walker would return had evaporated.

Sarah heard the rumble of a familiar voice and quickly removed her apron and smoothed her hair before hurrying out to the front room. Maeve and Catherine were making Frank Malloy feel welcome.

“We have some stew left from supper,” Maeve was saying. “We can heat it up for you.”

“No, thanks, I can’t stay.” He looked up at Sarah when she came into the room, but he didn’t smile. “I just need to tell Mrs. Brandt something, and then I have to go.”

“Girls, would you leave us alone for a minute?” Sarah asked.

Maeve took a reluctant Catherine by the hand and led her back into the kitchen.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Sarah asked, alarm prickling over her.

“It’s your friend, the one you did the rescue with.”

“Amy? Has something happened to her?”

“Amy? Who’s that?”

“She’s the girl we took from the brothel. What’s happened to her?”

“Nothing that I know of. It’s the woman, the one who does the rescues.”

“Mrs. Van Orner?” Sarah asked in surprise.

“Yeah, Mrs. Van Orner. She’s dead.”

6

“
D
EAD?” SARAH ECHOED INCREDULOUSLY. “ARE YOU sure?”

“As sure as I can be.”

“How on earth did it happen?”

“We don’t know who did it yet, but it looks like she was murdered.”

“Good heavens.” Sarah could hardly take it in. “How awful.” Then she thought of something else. “Are you investigating?”

“I was put on the case when they figured out this Mrs. Van Orner was the one who kidnapped that whore from Mrs. Walker’s place.” His expression told her exactly how unhappy that made him. “I think the chief has it in for me now.”

“I’m so sorry, but it shouldn’t be too difficult to figure out who killed her. I’m sure a woman like Mrs. Van Orner didn’t have a lot of enemies.”

“No, not a lot,” Malloy agreed. “Just every madam in New York City.”

“Mrs. Walker, at least,” Sarah said, trying to be helpful. “Or that man Jake who works for Mrs. Walker.”

“If somebody had cracked her skull, I’d suspect Jake, but it’s more likely she was poisoned. Poison is a woman’s way of killing someone. Women don’t like making a mess.”

She didn’t miss the sarcasm in his voice, but she ignored it. “Can I help you somehow?”

“No,” he said sharply, his dark eyes flashing. “That’s why I came to tell you. I want you to stay out of this, Sarah. We’re dealing with dangerous people, people who don’t think twice about killing the wife of a very powerful man. People like that wouldn’t think twice about killing a midwife either.”

“Nobody wants to kill me, Malloy,” she scoffed.

“I think Mrs. Walker, for one, would be very happy to see you dead. I haven’t seen you in more than a week, so by now you could’ve made a dozen new enemies I don’t even know about yet.”

“I haven’t made any enemies at all, thank you very much. I’ve been working very hard delivering babies.”

“Good, keep doing that, and stay out of the Tenderloin.”

Sarah was going to promise to do just that but then she remembered her last encounter with Mrs. Walker. “Oh, no!”

“What?” Malloy asked. He looked like he was bracing himself.

“Mrs. Walker came to see me last week.”

“What do you mean, came to see you?”

“She came here to the house, to talk to me.”

Malloy muttered something that might’ve been a curse. “What did she want?”

“She was trying to convince me to tell her where Amy was so she could get her back.”

Malloy closed his eyes as if praying for strength and drew a fortifying breath. “And what did you tell her?”

“I told her what you said I should tell her, that I didn’t know where they were keeping Amy. But I also mentioned Mrs. Van Orner’s name. Oh, my heavens, I betrayed her to that woman! I’m responsible for her death!”

“We don’t know who killed Mrs. Van Orner yet. It could have been her maid for all we know.”

“I doubt it was her maid. She’d be out of a job if she killed her mistress.”

“Which probably explains why more rich women aren’t murdered by their maids. I’m serious, Sarah. You weren’t responsible and you should forget you ever met any of these people. And if anybody bothers you again, let me know.”

“You said she was poisoned. Where did it happen?”

“In her carriage.”

“Her carriage? How does someone get poisoned in a carriage?”

“She drank something from a flask she had in her purse while she was going from the house where she keeps the rescued whores to her own house.”

This made no sense to Sarah. Why would she be drinking anything at all from a flask? Unless . . .

“Could she have committed suicide?”

“Anything’s possible. I’m guessing that would be too easy a solution, though.”

“What does her husband say?”

Malloy frowned. “You’re much too interested in this. I told you to forget about it, and I mean it. I have to go now.”

Sarah should have felt guilty for keeping him from his very important work, but she just felt frustrated. She wanted to know what had happened to Mrs. Van Orner. She couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to kill her, not even the madams of New York City. Mrs. Van Orner had said herself that she rarely had the opportunity to rescue a woman from a brothel. Usually, she rescued the common streetwalkers. The men who pimped for those women would hardly have had an opportunity to poison Mrs. Van Orner.

Malloy was walking toward the door. Sarah followed him. “The girls will be disappointed. I’ll tell them you had to go back to work.”

“Thanks. Tell Catherine I’ll bring Brian over to see her soon,” he said, referring to his son.

“She’ll like that.”

Malloy settled his hat on his head and opened the door. He stopped, turned back, and for a moment she thought he was going to say something else, probably something about being careful. Then he appeared to think better of it, and he left without another word. Sarah sighed and closed the door behind him. She knew she should forget all about Mrs. Van Orner. She would, too. Just as soon as she’d visited her mother tomorrow to see what she knew from her high society friends.

 

 

M
ALLOY SIGHED AS HE WALKED DOWN SARAH’S FRONT steps. He hoped he’d impressed her with how dangerous it would be to get involved in this murder. He’d known her long enough to realize that her own natural sense of self-preservation wouldn’t be enough to keep her away. He only hoped her concern for Catherine would keep her away.

If only he believed it.

He strode quickly down Bank Street, heading for the Ninth Avenue Elevated Train Station at Little West Twelfth Street. The train whose track ran on pillars two stories above the street would take him quickly uptown to the Van Orner house, where he would try to find out what Mr. Van Orner knew about his wife’s murder. And if he even wanted the police to find out anything about his wife’s murder. Frank hadn’t told Sarah that his only knowledge of the crime came from the report of the beat cop, who had come running when Mrs. Van Orner’s driver had opened the carriage door to find her lying in a heap on the floor of her carriage, her body already growing cold. Would Van Orner have even notified the police if he’d found her dead in her bed or slumped over at her dressing table? He would never know.

An hour later, Malloy stood on the front stoop of the Van Orner home. Dusk was falling, and the hour was much too late for callers. A wide-eyed maid took his card and left him waiting in the small, uncomfortable room just off the front entrance hall where they put visitors the maid suspected the family didn’t want to see.

After a few minutes, a young woman came into the room. Frank could usually tell from a person’s clothing alone what their place in the household was. This woman carried herself like one of the upper classes, back erect, chin up, hazel eyes confident and steady as she took his measure. She held her hands folded primly at her waist. Her clothing betrayed her, however. Her dress fit poorly, obviously a castoff from someone larger and older, judging from the style, and it was a sickly green that reminded Frank of old moss. She hadn’t done anything with her hair either. He thought it might be pretty and shiny if she’d let it down, but she had it pinned up just like his mother wore hers. Frank had the odd feeling she was
trying
to be unattractive. He’d never known a young woman who didn’t want to appear at her best at all times.

“Detective Sergeant Malloy?” she asked in a wellmodulated voice that made him think of Sarah’s mother and her friends. Who could she be?

“That’s right. I’d like to speak with Mr. Van Orner about his wife’s death.”

“Mr. Van Orner is very upset at the moment, as you can imagine. Perhaps I can answer your questions.”

“Perhaps you can,” Frank said, keeping the sarcasm out of his voice. “Who are you, miss?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Miss Tamar Yingling. I am . . . I was Mrs. Van Orner’s secretary.” Her voice caught at just the right moment, and she appeared to be controlling her emotions with difficulty, just the way Mrs. Van Orner’s secretary should.

“I’m sorry, Miss Yingling. You must be pretty upset yourself.”

“I am, but Mrs. Van Orner didn’t approve of unseemly displays of emotion.”

Or maybe Miss Yingling didn’t really feel like making an unseemly display of emotion. He glanced around the inhospitable room. “Would you like to sit down while you give me the information I need, Miss Yingling?”

“If you think it will take a while, I suppose I’d better.” She perched on the edge of one of the two straight-backed chairs that were almost the only furnishings in the room. She sat perfectly erect, the way upper-class women did, with her back not touching the chair.

Frank took the other chair and reached into his coat pocket for the small notebook and pencil he carried to jot down details. “How long have you worked for Mrs. Van Orner?”