The Case of the Troubled Tycoon: A Gilded Age Historical Cozy Mystery (Shipwreck Point Mysteries Book 5)

by Elise M Stone

  “I think I have something you might find more to your taste over here.” He led the way to another counter, stepped behind it, and pulled out a book with a cover of cerulean blue leather embossed with silver. At the lower left corner, a peacock stood on top of a jar, its tail feathers fanned over the top half of the cover. The peacock feather motif continued around the borders. The title and author name were in a beautiful script.

  Elisabeth wished she could afford such a treasure and found her fingers stroking the glass above it.

  “Would you like to take a closer look, Miss Wade?” the bookseller asked.

  “May I?”

  “Of course.” He lay the book on the counter, and Elisabeth dared to lightly trace the letters of Jane Austen’s name with the tip of her gloved finger. It was as if she were personally contacting the author. She lifted the cover and paged through the beginning. This book, too, was filled with illustrations as well as the text.

  “It’s a lovely edition,” Brueghel said. “I found it myself on my trip to London last fall. And at two dollars and twenty-five cents, it’s a veritable bargain.”

  She almost choked on the price he quoted. “I’m afraid that’s too dear for a secretary’s salary.”

  “Ah. Of course. Perhaps if someone is thinking of buying you a gift, you might hint that I have a nice edition of Pride and Prejudice that you admired here.”

  “Perhaps,” she said with a smile, knowing all the while that Titus could hardly afford such a rarity, even if he were disposed to shop for a present for her. Which, until next Christmas, wasn’t very likely. But it did give her an idea. “Stella, what about reading Pride and Prejudice for our next book club selection? Even if they’ve read it before, I’m sure the ladies would enjoy discussing it.”

  “I was hoping for something a little more instructional, but perhaps you are right. Excuse us, Mr. Brueghel. Thank you so much for showing us your rare books. But I think we’ll go to the front of the store and find a more affordable edition since we’re planning on purchasing six copies.”

  “Of course,” Brueghel said. “I think you’ll find our prices are quite competitive with the other shops in this area. And please stop in again any time if you have further interest in our rare volumes as well.”

  As they headed toward the front of the store, Elisabeth said, “I felt like something of a fraud, looking at those beautiful, expensive books when there’s no way on earth I could ever buy one. At least Mr. Brueghel seemed to realize that in the end. I was a little embarrassed talking about finances, and his mention of competitive prices, well…”

  Stella looked at her with wide eyes. “I don’t think he was saying what you think he was.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “His comment had nothing to do with your financial circumstances and everything to do with his. Didn’t you know that there’s a price war going on among the bookshops in the city? There are so many of them, in order to make any sales at all, they keep lowering their prices.”

  “I didn’t know anything about that.” Odd, she thought. She’d always imagined Mr. Brueghel made an excellent living from his business. But between the clerk’s comment and Stella’s revelation, she wasn’t so sure of that now.

  A couple of hours later, the two women were on the ferry, headed back to Whitby. The clerk had made up two packages for them, each containing three books wrapped in brown paper and tied up with string, so that they could share carrying the books. It was almost dusk now, with the sun setting over the water on the starboard side. The ferry was crowded with commuters heading home from work, very different from their trip over to Boston earlier in the day.

  She’d be glad to get home after all the walking they’d done. Her legs were tired, and her arms ached from the weight of the books she carried.

  After making their purchase in Brueghel’s Book Store, Stella had suggested luncheon at a little tea room she knew of not far from the bookshop. Following that, they’d poked their heads into several of the other bookstores in the area to see if there was anything that interested them there. Only two or three could compare to their first stop, the rest reminding Elisabeth very much of the small shop in Whitby. But she was glad they made the effort, because in one of them she’d found a beautifully illustrated volume titled The Language of Flowers that she just had to buy.

  She sighed as at last the ferry slowed and pulled into the familiar dock that was their destination. She and Stella joined the throng jostling for position to disembark. Rather than push their way forward, they hung back, letting the businessmen forge ahead. It was only because of that she noticed Melissa Chapman standing near the front of the line, waiting to board for the return trip to Boston.

  She paused to speak with her, causing the flow of departing passengers to eddy around her and Stella. “Hello, Melissa. I’m surprised to see you getting on the ferry at this late hour.”

  “Haven’t you heard?” the young woman asked. “Holmes Department Store is previewing the latest fashion collection from Paris tomorrow. Everyone will be anxious to be first to view them. My mother and I”—she flicked her eyes at an older woman standing next to her—“are going to stay overnight at the Copley Square Hotel so we can be at the store as soon as it opens.” Then, as if remembering her manners, she said, “Mama, this is Elisabeth Wade, who I told you about after the garden tour. Elisabeth, my mother, Pauline Warren.”

  “So nice to meet you, Mrs. Warren,” Elisabeth said.

  “I believe you know Mrs. Underwood,” Melissa said to her mother.

  “Of course. How are you Mrs. Underwood?”

  “Very well, thank you. And you?”

  “I am well.”

  A stout man failed in his attempt to squeeze past them, bumping into Elisabeth and causing her to stumble forward.

  “Sorry, madam,” he said perfunctorily and continued on his way.

  “We’d better move on before we’re trampled by the crowd,” Stella said.

  “I think you’re right,” Elisabeth agreed. “You’ll have to tell me all about the fashion show next week,” she said to Melissa as she steered her way into an open space in the throng.

  As they continued on, Elisabeth noticed that most of those waiting to board the ferry were women, often, like the Chapmans, a mother and daughter together, sometimes two or even three daughters. She caught a glimpse of Susanna Baumann and her mother, but she only acknowledged them with a nod, not seeing a clear path to go over to speak with them. Not that she was sure she wanted to talk to Mathilda Baumann at all. She found the woman rather tedious, with her convenient migraine headaches and putting on the airs of a great lady, which she certainly wasn’t.

  “Can I give you a ride in my carriage?” Stella asked.

  “That would be wonderful,” Elisabeth gushed. “I’m not sure my feet could endure walking to the trolley stop, much less all the way out to Quincy Street.”

  Stella smiled. “All we have to do is find it, then.”

  The lane at the end of the dock was as clogged with vehicles as the ferry had been with passengers. Hansom cabs for hire and wagons to accommodate larger groups and those with luggage, as well as private carriages filled the narrow street. But Stella didn’t have to search for hers, having prearranged a meeting place with Nahum, her driver. They soon were on their way north, and Elisabeth closed her eyes. She must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew, Stella was gently shaking her and calling her name.

  “Libby. Libby? Time to get out. We’re at your bungalow.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Titus felt all at sixes and sevens this Tuesday morning. He’d risen early, with a mixture of eagerness and disquiet at the thought of seeing Elisabeth. Although he was reluctant to admit it, he’d missed her presence in the office yesterday.

  He had too much nervous energy to sit and wait until he needed to leave for work. It might be time for another swim in the ocean. He and young Duncan had agreed to swim together in the bay only three days a week to start
, and so Titus didn’t expect to see him this morning. As for himself, he found the bay a little too tame for his tastes. The more he thought about it, the more he believed a swim in the ocean was just what he needed.

  It was still relatively early by the time Titus trod up Griffith Road. He was so used to taking that route, it hadn’t occurred to him to go a different way when he set out, even though he wasn’t headed to his office. To get to the east side of Shipwreck Point, he’d need to take Spyglass Lane over to Mayfield and then pick one of the side streets.

  He didn’t get that far. As he passed the police station, young Officer Patrick Ryan charged out the door and down the steps. Seeing the lawyer, he called out, “There’s been a murder!”

  Ryan then hurried to unlock his bicycle from the rack out front. Titus trotted behind him to find out more details.

  He pulled up sharply next to the officer and asked, “Who?”

  Ryan looked up at him with a confused look on his face. “Who, sir?”

  Frustrated, Titus growled, “Who’s been murdered?”

  “Oh. I don’t rightly know. All the boy said was that there’s been a murder at the Chapman house and Chief Morgan wanted me out there right away.”

  Titus staggered back a step. Chapman? He couldn’t be sure, but he doubted it was Mrs. Chapman or her daughter who’d been killed. He immediately put aside his plans for a morning swim. Confirming that Warren Chapman was the victim and finding out who had murdered him became his number one priority. There was a good chance the killer was someone he knew.

  His eyes searched the length of the street in front of the municipal buildings for a hansom. Finding none, he dashed down Central Avenue to Mayfield Road, where his chances were better. Much better, as it turned out. A cab was just driving by as he reached the intersection, and he wasted no time in flagging it down.

  He hopped off at Monroe Street and hurried to the Chapman house. Officer Ryan rode up the drive at about the same instant, stopped in front of the marble-columned entrance, and leaned his bicycle against the platform. Titus didn’t hesitate to follow him into the house. Both men paused momentarily in the hall. The sound of voices coming from Chapman’s office told them where the scene of the crime was.

  The portly Chet Morgan, Chief of Police, looked up at the sounds made by their entrance. “About time you got here, Ryan. We’ll need a sketch of the crime scene—” He broke off suddenly when he saw Titus behind the young officer. “What are you doing here?” he barked.

  “I happened to be passing by the police station when Officer Ryan was starting out. Since I’ve had business dealings with Mr. Chapman, I thought it advisable that I see what transpired for myself.”

  Morgan glanced at the prostrate form of Warren Chapman on the floor before responding to the lawyer. “Well, you won’t be having further business with him now.”

  That was certainly true. Chapman was face-down on the carpet, his arms bent at the elbows with his hands flat on the floor on either side of the pool of blood surrounding his head. There was an object situated near his neck, a square of wood from this angle, and Titus tried to puzzle out what it could be. It was familiar somehow, and he took a step forward and bent from the waist to see it more clearly.

  “Here, stay where you are,” Morgan ordered. “I can’t have you contaminating my crime scene.”

  But he’d gotten close enough to come up with a guess, and when he examined Chapman’s desk, he confirmed his conjecture. The spike he’d seen the man jamming paperwork on the last time he’d been here was no longer on the desk. It was sticking out of the victim’s neck.

  “What is it?” Tim Kelley asked.

  Titus looked up at the familiar voice and found himself under the sergeant’s scrutiny. He must have come into the room while the lawyer was involved in his wrangling with the chief.

  “The murder weapon.” The three policemen all turned their attention to the body. “Last time I was here, Chapman was sticking invoices on it after he’d entered them in his ledger. As I recall, there’s a sharp, thin spike of steel on the other side of that block of wood. Certainly sharp enough and long enough to penetrate his neck.”

  Kelley stepped forward and joined the chief of police. The two of them peered down at the widget for a minute, then straightened up. “I believe you’re right,” Kelley said.

  “Hmmph.” Apparently, Chief Morgan didn’t quite want to give him credit for identifying the murder weapon.

  “And since it was already in the room, the murder was probably not premeditated. It was most likely a crime of passion.”

  “I see you’re already building your case for the defense,” Morgan said bitterly. “Since you seem to have figured everything out, would you care to tell me who the murderer is?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know.” Which was true, as far as it went. But he did think he knew of at least one person who had a motive. As soon as that thought crossed his mind, his head pivoted to the place where he’d seen the shadow of the cuckoo clock on the wallpaper. Since he’d made sure the clock was returned himself, it should now be hanging in that location.

  It wasn’t.

  “What are you looking at, Strong?” Morgan asked.

  He pulled his gaze away from the blank spot on the wall. “Nothing.” Again, not a lie, since there was nothing there except the wall.

  “What are you doing lallygagging around, Kelley?” the chief barked. “I called you in to search for evidence, not to gawk at the scenery.”

  Tim Kelley’s face reddened. “Yes, sir.” He strode across the room and kneeled near the corpse to examine it more closely.

  “And you, Ryan, get going on that sketch, then take measurements of the position of the body and write those on your drawing.”

  “Who found him?” Titus asked, wondering if the chief would be forthcoming with that information. Fortunately, he was.

  “Godfrey, the butler. When he discovered Mr. Warren’s bed hadn’t been slept in, he came in here to see if the master would be wanting breakfast.”

  That seemed odd. As long as Morgan seemed—at least temporarily—to have forgotten his usual antagonism for him, Titus pressed the issue. “Wasn’t he concerned about the empty bed?”

  The chief shook his head. “Apparently, it wasn’t unusual for him to work through the night, particularly when his wife wasn’t home.”

  “Has she gone back to Boston, then?”

  “Only for the day. There’s some kind of sale going on at Holmes’s store. She took the daughter in last evening so they could spend all of today shopping. I’m glad my Constance doesn’t get such silly notions.”

  As he remembered Constance, high fashions would have a hard time fitting her, she being as rotund as the chief himself. Not to mention that he was fairly sure the chief’s salary—including bribes—wasn’t enough to afford that kind of clothing.

  Kelley had risen from the floor and circled around to examine the desk, which was a good thing, because Dr. Wood had arrived. As he was the only physician in Whitby, he acted as Medical Examiner when one was needed, which seemed to be frequently since Titus had come to town.

  The middle-aged man had a neatly trimmed mustache, penetrating brown eyes, and an average build. He wasn’t the kind to indulge in rich foods to excess, and so looked quite dashing in his dark suit and bowler hat.

  “About time you got here,” Morgan said. “I think we’ve figured out what killed him, so what I most need from you is the time of death.”

  “Good morning to you, too, Chief,” the doctor said. “Good morning, Mr. Strong.”

  “Good morning, doctor.”

  “Excuse me.” Dr. Wood stepped around Ryan, who, with the tip of his tongue protruding slightly between his lips, was busily drawing in his notebook, in order to more clearly see the victim.

  “Mr. Chapman, is it?” It was a rhetorical question, and the doctor didn’t wait for an answer, instead kneeling next to the body. He first ran his hands over the corpse, then lifted each of the hands
, and finally probed the face, then rose to his feet. “The body is in full rigor, which means he was killed at least eight hours ago. It could have been as much as a day.”

  “Well, it wasn’t that long. Godfrey says he had dinner in the dining room at eight o’clock last night,” the chief said. “Anything else?”

  “From the lividity I can see, he hasn’t been moved since he died. If you want more than that, I’ll have to have him taken to my office. That’s not really necessary, because, as you said, what killed him is obvious.”

  “I don’t think we need to put the family through that,” Morgan said. “I’ll send someone to tell Orrin Bates to come for the remains.”

  “Here, now, what’s this?” Tim Kelley’s voice was muffled from wherever he’d gotten to. He sounded surprised. A moment later he appeared from under the desk, his hand extended palm up. The men clustered around him to see what he’d found.

  A tiny gold bicycle rested in Kelley’s hand, the gold circle at the top clearly meant to attach it to a charm bracelet. Or a pocket watch.

  CHAPTER 20

  Apparently, Tim Kelley had also discerned what it was, since he asked, “I wonder if one of the ladies of the house lost this.”

  Morgan frowned. “Unless she told one of the servants, we’ll have to wait until Mrs. Chapman and her daughter return from their shopping trip. Dashed time for them to be away.”