No Mortal Reason (26 page)

“Fascinating reading,” Mrs. Curran declared. The heavy book took up almost all the space in the gripsack she’d brought with her into the writing room. “I’d no idea there were so many ways to break into a hotel room. You should warn the good folks here, especially as they’re harboring a viper in their midst.”

Diana tried to remember what she’d read about hotel thieves, but when she’d consulted the volume before she’d been interested in a different type of criminal.

“Look here,” Mrs. Curran said.

And there was Belle Saugus—Belle Rhymer according to the caption. She’d been arrested and sent to prison in 1874 at the age of twenty-five. She’d been released after serving two and a half years, but according to the text she’d not mended her ways. She was wanted for several more robberies. Her whereabouts in 1886, when Inspector Byrne’s book was published, had been unknown.

“I remembered her because she was acting with a touring company when she was caught. She combined her professions, you see. At least, she did at first. She must have married your Mr. Saugus after she got out of prison. Perhaps she mended her ways.” Mrs. Curran sounded doubtful.

“And perhaps she just took a partner,” Diana mused, “and expanded into insurance fraud.”

“You’re not to bring the police in until you’ve interviewed her,” Mrs. Curran warned. “That man wants his story in return for the loan of this book.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t bring it himself.”

“Oh, he wanted to, but I think he’s a bit intimidated by Dr. Northcote.” She gave Diana a sly look from beneath her lashes. “It will be quite a surprise to him when he learns you’ve already married him. I could hardly believe it myself when that young woman at the reception desk told me that Mrs. Spaulding was registered as Mrs. Northcote. I thought you intended to wait until you returned to Maine to marry. I was quite looking forward to a trip to New England. Oh, well. I’ve treated myself to a visit here instead. It seems a nice enough place for a holiday. I’ve been assured I’ll have a room with a view.”

“It is an excellent hotel,” Diana said, “but they aren’t really open for the season yet.”

“So I’m told, which accounts for the excellent rate the young lady offered. Don’t look so concerned, Diana. I can afford a holiday. And I am looking forward to meeting Belle Rhymer again. Shall we go and talk to her now?”

“There’s something you should know,” Diana said. “Something happened after I wrote to you. Her husband was murdered.”

The bright little eyes gleamed. “Well, now, that changes things. Did she kill him?”

“I don’t know. It’s possible. I’d rather she be guilty than my . . . host. The owner of the hotel, Myron Grant, is the one the coroner suspects.”

“There’s something you’re not saying, but never mind that now.”

“Mrs. Curran, you can’t come with me. You’d be a distraction.”

‘You promise I can talk to her later?”

“I promise.”

“Then I’ll wait my turn, but tell me what you mean to do when you confront her.”

“Only talk to her. Show her the book. See if I can get a reaction out of her.”

“Hah. Be careful what you wish for. If she’s a murderess, why should she hesitate to kill you, too?”

Diana brushed aside the suggestion. “I’ll be safe enough. If she did kill her husband it must have been in the heat of passion. She can hardly have such strong feelings about me.”

Mrs. Curran did not look convinced. “Take Dr. Northcote with you,” she suggested as they left the writing room.

“No need.”

Tressa Ellington, crossing the lobby, overheard. “You’ve just missed him,” she said. “He was on his way to find you when Myron waylaid him, The two of them are closeted with Howd in the family parlor.”

“Howd’s back from Liberty?” And Ben was awake.

Mrs. Ellington nodded. “He says he talked to the coroner, but he doesn’t look happy. I think Myron’s still under suspicion.”

“Well, we’ll see about that,” Diana said, and stalked off in the direction of the elevator.

“Where is she going?” she heard Mrs. Ellington ask Mrs. Curran. “The family quarters are the other way.”

“It’s a long story,” Mrs. Curran replied, “but if you could see your way to providing a cup of tea, I’d be happy to tell it to you.”

* * * *

Belle did not acknowledge Diana’s first knock.

“Mrs. Saugus!” she called. “We need to talk.”

When she still received no answer, she raised her voice, and the ante: “Let me in, Miss Rhymer, or the next person to come calling will be the sheriff.”

“What do you want?” Belle demanded, flinging wide the portal and stepping back so that Diana could enter.

“So gracious,” Diana murmured, accepting the invitation.

Belle ignored the sarcasm. “Say your piece and get out.”

“I’ve heard it said that a picture is worth more than ten thousand words. An old Chinese proverb, I believe.” She held out the book, open to the appropriate page.

“I don’t—” Belle froze, a stricken expression on her face. She stared at her own likeness, which was grouped in a rogues’ gallery with five other felonious females. “Dear heavens!”

“You didn’t know you were included here?”

“I didn’t even know such a thing existed.” Taking the volume from Diana, she glanced briefly at the title page, saw Inspector Byrnes’s name, and winced. Then she returned to the page with her photograph. “How dreadful I look! I remember now how they made me pose for it. Face forward. No expression. They were determined to make me look as ordinary as possible.”

In fact, Diana recalled, they were attempting to prevent her from distorting her face and confounding recognition. Inspector Byrnes had written that prisoners often tried to present a false physiognomy for the camera, although he claimed that their grimaces were always in vain and that there was not a portrait in his book that did not have some marked characteristic by which one could identify the person who sat for it. Mrs. Curran’s keen eye and excellent memory had easily made the connection between a young actress, an old photograph, and an amateur artist’s pencil portrait.

“You’re a hotel thief,” Diana said. “The police in several cities have outstanding warrants for your arrest.”

“I’ve not stolen a cent in years,” Belle was reading her case history and did not look pleased.

Diana drifted close enough to see the text over her shoulder: “Thirty-seven years old in 1886,” Inspector Byrne had written. “Medium build. Height, 5 feet 4 ½ inches. Weight, about 135 pounds. Red hair, hazel eyes, light complexion. Her nose has been broken.”

Diana gave Belle a sideways glance. The bump that signaled an old break was barely noticeable unless one were looking for it.

“Belle Rhymer is a well known female hotel thief,” Inspector Byrnes’s text continued. “She is considered a very clever woman and is known in all the principal cities East and West. She was arrested in New York City for an attempt at grand larceny and tried, found guilty, and sentenced to two years and six months in State Prison, by Judge Sutherland, on April 6, 1874. She was released in October of 1876 and is believed to have resumed her career as a hotel thief. Her picture is a good one, although taken twelve years ago.”

“Fourteen years ago now,” Belle grumbled, “and the man is mad if he thinks that is a good picture. Look at my hair! Look at that dress!”

“Did your husband know you had been in prison?” Diana asked.

“What are you really after?” Belle demanded. “If you meant to have me arrested, the sheriff, or more likely the local constable, would already be here.”

“First,” Diana said, “you will stop making threats against Myron Grant. If you accuse him, I will tell the authorities about your past. They’re not likely to believe anything you say once they know you’ve been in prison.”

“I suppose you want me to leave here, too?”

Diana hesitated. She did not. How could she prove this woman had killed both Elly Lyseth and Norman Saugus if Belle left Lenape Springs? “Has anyone told you I write articles for a newspaper?” she asked.

“Which one?”

“The
Independent Intelligencer
.”

Belle’s eyes went from one stock theatrical expression to another in an instant, first suspiciously narrowed, then widened in surprise. “Didn’t think they had
ladies
working there.”

Diana ignored the implication. Indeed, she hoped to play on Belle’s assumption that she lacked scruples. “I want an interview, Belle. A confession of
all
your crimes. In return, I might be prepared to help you . . . relocate. If the authorities arrive after you’ve left, it will hardly be my fault.”

When Belle looked doubtful, Diana sweetened the pot with the possibility of a bribe. “I don’t have much money here, but —”

“I’ll take your ring,” Belle interrupted. “And any other jewelry you’ve got. And Dr. Northcote’s gold pocket watch.”

Inwardly, Diana winced. In spite of her qualms about wearing it under false pretenses, she’d sooner part with her entire wardrobe than the tourmaline wedding ring Ben had bought for her. Still, this was no time to quibble. She didn’t mean to honor the bargain in any case.

“Done. Now—your confession?” She whipped out her little green, leather-covered notebook and a pencil.

Belle settled herself comfortably, waving Diana into a chair, and launched into an account of her days as a hotel thief. “There’s a thrill to it,” she confided. “You risk being caught at any moment. There you are in the hallway, inserting a pair of nippers into the keyhole to catch the end of the key. Anyone could come by. And inside, the unwary victim is in his bed, asleep, but likely to awaken if he hears a noise.”

“I thought hotel thieves preferred empty rooms.”

“Where’s the excitement of that? Small nippers, a bent piece of wire, and a piece of silk thread are sufficient to unlock almost any door. I always took the time to lock the door behind me again, too.”

“What about locks with thumb bolts?”

“Well, those do have to be fixed in advance to open. Means a lot of waiting, sometimes even months. Have to go away and come back again.”

“But there’s a way to do it?” Diana was genuinely curious to hear what Belle would say.

“Oh, yes. First you take the room yourself and file a slot in the spring bar of the thumb plate. Then later, you stay in another room at the hotel and keep an eye on the hotel register until a likely prospect occupies one of the fixed rooms—someone in the habit of wearing costly jewels, for instance. That’s the time to strike.”

“Did you sometimes have several rooms ‘fixed’ at the same time?”

“On occasion, yes. The real trick is to be aboard a train, on the way to another town, well before the crime is discovered.”

“Did you go back to doing that after you got out of prison?”

“And other things.” Her lips tilted up in a reminiscent smile. “Norman dreamed up one particularly delightful swindle. Shall I tell you about it?” She didn’t wait for confirmation. “We would visit a book store and he would pretend to order books. While the sales clerk was occupied, I’d steal letter paper or bill heads from the business. Then we’d forge orders for books and sell them at about half the trade price. Pure profit, since the book store got the bill.”

There were other tales in a similar vein and Belle gave every appearance of candor as she confided story after story. Diana found herself almost liking the woman—for her enthusiasm, if not her moral character. With an effort, she reminded herself that Belle Saugus was not some charming female rogue. She was quite possibly a murderess, and definitely a liar. It would be a foolish reporter who believed everything she was told.

“You and Norman made quite a team,” Diana said, letting admiration creep into her tone, “but you quarreled when you came here. We heard you the night Elly Lyseth’s body was found.”

Belle’s hands, which had frequently been in motion as she talked, stilled in her lap. She lowered her eyes, hiding her expression. “I think he might have killed that girl,” Belle said. “I know he was the one who set the fire. I knew nothing about it at the time, of course. And it was an empty threat on my part to set another one. I am a peaceable sort. I don’t hold with arson. Or murder. I was just trying to up the ante before I asked Myron for money. He’d have paid, too, to get rid of me.”

Diana leaned eagerly forward. “Have you any proof your husband killed Elly?”

“Only my instincts. He was extremely upset that she’d been found.” She, too, leaned forward. She spoke in a whisper. “You must know the look a man gets when he’s feeling guilty about something. Norman had it that night. And when he holed up in this suite the next day . . . well, you’ll have guessed, I suppose. He was drinking heavily.”

“But he seemed so cheerful when I first met him,” Diana protested. “And that was right after Elly’s bones were found.”

“All an act, my dear. All an act. Why do you think we fought later that night? He’d been holding his emotions in check. He was drawn tight as a bowstring by the time we returned to this suite.”

Diana wasn’t sure she believed Belle but did not say so. Instead she asked, “
Why
did he kill Elly Lyseth?”

“I assume she was in the wrong place at the wrong time and somehow learned about his plans to burn down the hotel.”

“Then who killed your husband?”

“Why, someone who knew he murdered the girl, of course. He was afraid he’d been found out. That’s why he got so drunk.” She looked pleased with herself at this deduction. Too pleased.

It was a plausible tale, Diana supposed. But it was also most convenient for Belle. Successfully blame everything on Norman, who was no longer around to defend himself, and she would get clean away.

“I want to go through your husband’s papers,” Diana said.

Belle’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Why do you think? To find out if he left some evidence behind. Of fraud. Of arson. Of murder. You don’t get paid until I’ve seen all there is to see.”

“Fine! If that’s the way you want it, help yourself.” She waved Diana toward the bedroom.

Diana was appalled when she saw how many more boxes of papers there were in the inner room. Some contained blank documents, like the one she’d filched the night of the quarrel between Saugus and Uncle Myron. But others had been used. Apparently Saugus had defrauded a great many people over the years.