“No, my name is Preston Stevens,” the man grumbled, “but Morris is my brother.”
“I see.” Benjy handed the book back to Sy. “Go ask your brother about the wagon. Sounds like he’ll know where it is.”
“You have no right to speak to me like that!” Preston began, but Benjy had already turned away. He snapped his fingers and suddenly Preston’s lips were moving but the only sound Hetty could hear was slightly muffled.
Realizing something was afoot, Preston did the only smart thing Hetty had seen him do. He strode off and slammed the door behind him.
“You didn’t sign off on a wagon, did you?” Benjy asked Sy.
“No!” Sy shook his head. “I always make sure to give it to the person who brought it in after what happened with those teakettles.”
“Then it was Nathaniel.” Benjy grunted. “He doesn’t care about keeping things in order. Why did Amos hire him?”
“He married Amos’s daughter.”
“And has been nothing but trouble since.”
“Will this man be a problem?” Hetty had her eye on the door, half expecting Preston Stevens to return.
“There’s always customers like that,” Benjy said. “Not the first, nor the last. Now what brings you here? Again, I should add.”
“What do you think?” Hetty asked. “I found something.”
“Not who?” Benjy led the way back into the forge. The hammer in his hand went onto the table, and he absently rolled a tea kettle forward, stopping when it neared the edge.
“It’s complicated,” Hetty began.
“That only makes it even more interesting.” He flipped the kettle over, revealing holes on its bottom. “Tell me the story.”
As Benjy worked on patching the kettle, Hetty described everything that occurred, from Penelope telling her about the coded song to chasing Judith’s student through the streets.
“She told me nothing of note, and only grudgingly agreed to pass a message along to Judith if she saw her. But I already found enough before she surprised me. The classroom itself had nothing of importance. But there was a small room in the back.” Hetty settled against the bench, rolling the nearest chisel along the surface to hide her shaking hands. “The door was slathered with wards. Carefully done too. I had to pick them away layer by layer. Once I got inside, I knew why. I found”—Hetty licked her lips and she flipped the tool between her fingers—“I found the cursed sigil gouged into the wall.”
At her words, the hammer struck a new hole into the kettle’s bottom, undoing all of Benjy’s careful work.
“The Serpent Bearer!” he exclaimed. “Was it active?”
Hetty closed her eyes, picturing herself standing in front of the wall once more.
“No, the sigil was just a carving,” Hetty said. “No magic. Or if there had been magic, none remained.”
“That makes sense,” Benjy murmured. “You said the door was covered in wards. I wonder how long ago they’d been set.”
“I think the better question is by whom?”
“That’s tied together.” Benjy twirled his hammer between his fingers as he spoke, deep in thought. “How did you dismantle them?”
“Not carefully. I made a mess of the wards. Anyone who returns will know someone had been there, might even be able to trace my magic.”
“No. Those wards were set to ring an alarm, nothing more. You would have faced more than that student otherwise.”
“Set by Judith?” Hetty wondered.
“If she’s teaching Sorcery, I doubt she’s that good with Celestial magic.”
“Then that discounts her sister, too. Though Alice did do that clever bit with the note she left me.”
“That was just a party trick. Someone else set those wards.” Benjy let go of the hammer, but it continued to spin, floating in the air next to him. “Could it have been Charlie’s murderer? That mark ties Judith to Charlie and the nameless man we found.”
“I don’t know why!” Hetty threw her hands into the air. “Why do you think I’m here? This changes everything if she’s involved in this. And if that’s the case, how? Charlie wasn’t even interested in learning star sigils, let alone Sorcery.”
“The answer to that will explain why she’s missing.” Benjy held out his hand. The hammer fell into it as he turned back to the kettle. “I only hope we don’t find her body.”
“I know.” Hetty groaned, collapsing forward onto the workbench. “Believe me, I know. I don’t like her sister very much, but I don’t want to tell her terrible news. I’ve done that once already this week, and it went poorly.”
“Of course it did.” Benjy tilted the kettle forward, fingering a hole he’d made by accident. “Marianne lied to you about several things.”
“She didn’t kill him,” Hetty said to the assorted tools facing her. “She gave us Charlie’s watch to fix. She could have sold it or buried it with him.”
“That’s not proof.”
“Yet you haven’t fixed it.”
“I don’t have the right tools at home,” Benjy protested. “They’re all here.”
With a smirk, Hetty dangled the watch in front of him. “Any more excuses?”
Eyes on the watch, he asked, “You want me to fix it right now?”
“You aren’t doing anything else, are you?”
Benjy glanced at the kettle, which was now even more ruined than when she’d first arrived. He sighed and held out his hand. “Since you insist.”
Once he found the proper tools, Benjy dragged a stool over and set to work.
“Why do you want this done now?” Benjy asked as he teased open the casing. “Did you want to give this back to Marianne?”
“No. It’s about the astrolabe. I want to use it. The watch should be fixed before then.”
“Use it to do what?”
“To look somewhere,” Hetty sputtered, her excuses unwavering at his unimpressed gaze. “It could lead us somewhere we haven’t considered before.”
“Even it does, you’ll still have to give it back to her.”
“Why don’t you?” she countered. “Marianne has made it clear these past few months she doesn’t consider me a friend anymore. It’s not just one argument or ten—it’s just she made it clear she no longer considers me important to have in her life.”
“Then don’t consider her a friend anymore.” Benjy prodded the gears. “I never understood why you did for so long. She hadn’t been a good friend to you for years.”
“But she was once, a long time ago,” Hetty said. “I think that’s what makes this so hard.”
“Don’t let that get in the way of this case. If we’re going to solve Charlie’s death, you need to let go of the past.”
“I can’t.”
“Try.”
Benjy plucked something from the watch’s gears and held it up to her. It was a long, slender piece of silver. A pin, she thought at first glance, but then she took a closer look and saw how the end was twisted and curled. It was a key. A tiny key that could unlock a number of secrets.
Benjy placed the key into her hand. “Because I think talking to Marianne has just become very important.”
TAURUS
23
WHEN HETTY ARRIVED at Penelope’s apartment the next afternoon, her friend was in the midst of watering the half dozen plants that sat out on the landing.
“I’m almost done.” Penelope held up her watering can. “I’m going to get the ones on the roof. I didn’t expect you until a bit later.”
“I was curious about this tea,” Hetty lied. “You made it sound so interesting.”
Hetty had set out this morning to pay a call to Marianne to ask about the tiny key she carried in her pocket, but a block away she lost her nerve. She spent the rest of the morning making attempts to visit people, but remained unsuccessful. She didn’t spy Alice Granger in the window of the department store she worked at. Neither Geraldine nor Alain Browne answered the door when she visited their apartment. Judith’s classroo
m remained untouched since Hetty had left it the previous day. The alleys where Charlie and the unknown man were found held no more clues. And she didn’t bother making a second try to enter the headquarters of the E.C. Degray club. Even her attempt to visit Cora Evans for a bit of news had been a failure. She had walked up to the door only to meet Cora and Jay on their way out to visit a friend outside the city.
Not wanting to bother Benjy yet again at the forge, Hetty decided there was no harm in arriving earlier than planned.
“Where are we going?” Hetty added. “You never said.”
“Eunice’s.”
“Eunice is hosting? Not one of your cousins?” Hetty pretended surprise. She had pinned her suspicions on Eunice from the start, and had the grim satisfaction of being right.
It was an act lost on Penelope, who merely continued:
“The tea will include a handful of those that were on the Stars for the Union Committee. Although, Darlene won’t be there,” Penelope added as she went up to the roof. “She and George left this morning to visit Darlene’s mother. Go inside. I’ll be down in a moment.”
Hetty would have taken that suggestion if she hadn’t already started for the downstairs apartment.
There would be no better chance to search through Darlene and George’s home. Between the classroom and the baby, they returned regularly to the apartment, between and during lessons. While Hetty could get them out for a moment, she needed much more time to do a proper search.
The primers Hetty had seen in Judith’s apartment had stayed prominent in her mind since she last saw them. Coincidence or not, there was a connection between her friends and Judith. The only trouble was, she had no idea what it could be.
Darlene kept a tidy home. All the shoes and coats were kept out of sight, and the kitchen had not a single dish out of place. The front room was tidy except that a table held a whistle, one of Lorene’s rattles, and, oddly enough, the bell from the classroom downstairs. George’s desk was pushed into the corner, burdened with a stack of books, old newspapers, and an abacus.
Poking around the desk’s contents revealed nothing other than lesson plans and a few books in Greek.
Hetty opened the door to the small room across a hall. There wasn’t much in the room, but it had the best light. A rocking chair sat in a corner, with the quilt Hetty had made folded over its arm so that the diamond trim was exposed.
Finished paintings leaned against the wall, lined up in a row like soldiers. The one on top was a view of the docks from the Jersey side of the river. The first of many landscapes that Darlene sold to make ends meet.
By the window stood Darlene’s easel, with a stool and a small table set nearby. There was no paint dabbed on the canvas, but fine lines pointed to her next painting. Hetty didn’t have to guess what it was. There was a piece of paper on the easel as well, with a sketch of the intended painting. As she peered at it, Hetty saw herself standing in front of her dress form, measuring the fabric for a dress. Benjy stood on the other side, holding one end of the fabric and gesturing wildly with his other hand.
The lines that captured them were loose and flowing, but done with great care and affection. While she appreciated the art, Hetty’s attention fixed on the jagged edge of the paper.
This was the torn page from the sketchbook.
Instead of anything nefarious, Darlene had ripped out a sketch she had started to finish later. Yet the sight did not relieve Hetty.
The more she stared at it, the more she realized she had not slipped into the apartment looking to prove guilt. She was here for the opposite.
Darlene was one of her oldest friends, and even if Darlene was capable of murder, the idea was repulsive. Not because of the act, but because it meant Hetty would lose someone dear to her.
And Hetty disliked losing people, no matter the reason.
Withdrawing from the search, Hetty left the apartment only to find herself facing Penelope and Eunice Loring on the landing outside.
Penelope glowered at her, but Eunice smiled.
“So that’s where you went,” Eunice said.
“I was watering plants,” Hetty lied, rather easily, even if her words got a snort from Penelope. “I thought we were going to your home for tea? Don’t tell me everyone’s coming here. There isn’t enough room.”
“It’s just me,” Eunice said. “Everyone else canceled on me, and I thought to spare you a trip. I rather not be home at the moment, so the walk was nice. Shall we go back upstairs? I think your cauldrons might be close to boiling over.”
Eunice went upstairs, but Hetty grabbed Penelope by the arm before her friend could follow.
“I’m going home!”
“Don’t be silly.” Penelope wiggled out of Hetty’s grip. “She’ll be offended.”
“I don’t care. She’s lying about three things, and I don’t have the patience to figure out what they are.”
“She is lying,” Penelope confirmed. “This whole thing is about wanting to talk to you. The tea was a roundabout way to get your attention. You can’t blame her since there’s this rumor about you helping people who bring their concerns to you.”
“Is this about the Moonleaf ?” Hetty asked, recalling another conversation with Eunice as its focus.
“I don’t know—why don’t we ask her?”
As that was not something she could protest, Hetty didn’t even bother answering. She just stomped up the stairs to Penelope’s apartment.
Although, once inside, she forgot all about Eunice.
“What is this?” Hetty exclaimed. Several different-size cauldrons were bubbling on the stove, with brightly colored smoke drifting into the air. There were vials filled with some of these same concoctions, given the smoke rising above them. But somehow the more interesting sight was Penelope’s table covered with bullet casings, both opened and sealed.
“The reason my pistol doesn’t have bullets is that I’m making my own using some potions I brewed up for the task,” Penelope said rather smugly. “I got the idea from Sy, when he joked about putting seeds into bullet casings. That won’t work, but I have brewed pellets that might. I won’t give you the details on how it works, but when they’re fired they do different things. Or should. This is the only one that works.” She held up a bullet with a splash of blue paint on one end. “Ice appears when it makes contact.”
“Elemental.” Hetty nodded. “Very classic.”
As there was no place to sit comfortably, they moved into Penelope’s small sitting room.
Like the rest of the apartment, there were several plants here, although Hetty never kept up a proper count. If there were five or twenty, she wouldn’t know because her attention was always distracted by how much the ivy had grown. Held up from hooks in the ceiling, the vines crossed the room, bunching enough in corners that it looked like a hand ready to reach out from the shadows.
Eunice sat on one side of the couch, but instead of sipping tea, she was idly embroidering a large lace doily.
It was, like the lace collar around her neck, overly frilly.
“What do you think?” Eunice asked as Hetty sat down in the lone armchair. “Be honest.”
“The stitching is uneven,” Hetty said as she eyed the needlework. “You left the sigils exposed instead of embedding them into part of the design. It’s obvious to anyone who looks for them.”
Eunice’s smile faltered. “It is?”
Penelope coughed into her hand.
Hetty corrected course. “Is this your first attempt?”
“And last, it seems. I made these with Marianne.”
“There’s your problem right there.” The words rolled off Hetty’s tongue before she could stop herself. “Marianne was never good with a needle.”
These words earned Hetty a frown.
“I do wish you would apologize.” Eunice pulled at the cuffs of her sleeves, but her words were firm. “It’s poor form to hold a grudge, and all for a silly remark.”
“Why don’t we—” P
enelope began, but Hetty held up a hand to stopper her words.
With her gaze fixed on Eunice, Hetty said rather coolly, “Marianne said Benjy was strange and weird because she didn’t understand what he was talking about. I admit I might have said unpleasant things in return and dumped tea on a perfectly innocent rug, but it was hardly a minor slight. Words have power.”
“Only when you let them,” Eunice said. “You’re throwing away a friendship over an offhand comment about your husband.”
“It was more than one comment. She’s been saying such things for months, forcing others to take sides, keeping the air rife with tensions . . . and then she took you on as her latest project.”
“Took me on? What do you mean?”
“You’re my replacement,” Hetty said bitterly as Penelope covered her face with her hands.
A startled laugh escaped Eunice’s lips. “Here I thought her attentions were about my husband’s money!” Her smile echoed Hetty’s own bitterness. “It’s the only reason people care about me at all. I’m on committees because I care, but I’m only asked to join because I can deliver the funds with just a word to my husband. That’s my only value.”
“That’s not true,” Penelope said.
“But it is,” Eunice replied. Her eyes remained locked on Hetty. “I envy you. You have a wonderful husband, you have a talent with no equal in both magic and dressmaking, and most of all people want you around, even when they’re mad at you. Marianne talks about you all the time. She mostly complains, but you don’t complain about someone you don’t care for. She’s hurting right now, and if I can do one thing to help ease that hurt, I am going to do it. I want to help you two make amends. Which is why I brought this with me.”
From the bag on the floor, Eunice pulled out a large leather-bound book that Hetty recognized on sight.
It was Marianne’s friendship album.
Passed around in their small circle of friends, the book was filled with memories. There were newspaper clippings about a possible Confederate invasion. Several ticket stubs from fairs intended to raise money for the troops. Thoughts written up about the speakers who visited the Institute of Colored Youth. There was even a sketch that Darlene had drawn of President Lincoln’s casket when he was on display at Independence Hall. But most of the pages were filled with personal notes, poems, stories, and even little jokes.
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