by Deeanne Gist
Crossing his ankles, he tapped the toes of his boots together. “I’ve already talked to Pa about the finances.”
“What? You have?”
He nodded. “Pa says they’re doing fine. Gussie will be getting a job next year, and the boys won’t be far behind her. That’ll mean less mouths to feed and more money coming in.”
She sighed. “I hate to think of Gussie having to do all that.”
“Why? You did. I did.” He shrugged. “That’s just the way it is. And it’ll only be until she marries.”
“I suppose.”
“You know what Pa told me?”
She shook her head.
“He never really believed you’d actually find a lady’s maid position, no matter what Ma’s ambitions for you were. Those spots are just too few and far between. And Pa sure never expected you to forgo a husband and family of your own to help them.”
“Did he really say that?” Standing, she gathered up the tablecloths one at a time, dropped them in the hamper, then recorded a three in her book.
“Yes. So you see, you can quit.”
“No, I can’t. Regardless of what Pa says, Mama would never recover.” She tried to smile, but her lip trembled. “Besides, if I left, I’d hardly ever see you.”
Pushing himself up, he tweaked her chin. “If you marry Danver, I have a feeling he’d keep you so busy with babies you wouldn’t have time to miss your ol’ big brother.”
Blushing, she shooed him away with her hands. “Go on. I’ve got work to do, unlike footmen who get paid ridiculous sums of money for looking pretty while we females work to the bone for a fraction of the wages.”
Preening, he ran his hands down his lapels. “You’ve got to admit, though. I do make a handsome sight.”
Rolling her eyes, she threw a serving towel at him. He dodged, then scurried out the door.
Mack arrived at the orphanage after breakfast had been cleared and the children were already in the schoolroom. He’d managed to repair the roof yesterday, but he wanted to fix Irene’s ceiling first thing. Her room must have been freezing last night with only a layer of shingles to keep the cold air from pouring through that gaping hole.
Unlocking the shed, he grabbed a ladder and pry bar. He couldn’t do anything until he figured out how many laths needed replacing.
A touch of snow swirled in the air but immediately melted upon making contact. Stomping the mud off his boots as best he could, he entered the kitchen. “Mornin’, Mrs. Gleaves. Looks like we might have us a white Christmas if this keeps up.”
Flour covered her arms up to her elbows as she kneaded a huge glob of dough. “We might, at that.”
Leaving his jacket on a peg, he made his way to the stairwell. He’d lain awake a good part of the night trying to figure what he could do to keep Irene out of Daphne’s place. And every scenario involved money he didn’t have. Right now, his all went to Ora Lou. He couldn’t even afford a room for himself. He’d been bunking down in the loft of McGhee’s livery in exchange for adding on new stalls. He sure didn’t have the wherewithal to put up Irene.
Tillie’s offer to tutor the girl had come as a pleasant surprise, but it was too little too late. She’d only have two Sundays off before Irene was kicked out. Not nearly enough time to teach the girl what she needed to know.
Stepping into the hallway, he noted all the bedroom doors were propped open except for Irene’s. Frowning, he knocked.
No answer. He knocked again. Nothing.
Finally, he pushed it open, then stumbled back in shock. Ladder and crowbar crashed to the ground as he rushed forward.
A rope had been slung over the exposed beam and secured to the bedrail. At its other end hung Irene.
CHAPTER
Twenty-eight
Irene’s tiny room couldn’t hold all the people gathered, forcing Vaughan and the police captain out into the hall. Mack, however, refused to budge. He stood in the corner, arms crossed, legs spread, watching and listening. His anger and remorse and suspicions were way too close to the surface. He needed to calm down before he said or did anything.
Old Doc Kuppenheimer arrived, black bag in hand. He was as old as Moses with a head wrinkled like a coconut and covered with straggly hair. The police chief made room for him to pass to the cot, where Mack had laid Irene after freeing her lifeless body from the rope.
Sloop held his wife by the shoulder, patting her as she cried into her handkerchief. Chief Pilkerton picked up Irene’s prayer book, which had been open to yesterday’s date. Scrawled across the top, in choppy letters was: I aint no gud fer nothin. I wish I wer ded.
Setting the book back down, the police chief looked every one of his fifty years, though he’d not grown soft in the middle like his captain. The chief’s salt-and-pepper hair made a horseshoe around his head, leaving the top as bare as a baby’s bottom. He fingered the noose and studied the trajectory of the rope.
Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Pilkerton?
But Mack kept his thoughts to himself. For now.
“Tell me again the last time you saw her?” Chief Pilkerton asked the Sloops.
Mrs. Sloop blew her nose. “From six to seven we call roll. Then the children read their prayers and prepare for bed. Lights are to be extinguished at half past seven.”
Pilkerton lifted his brows. “So early?”
She stiffened. “Only from November to May. In the summer we let them stay up until eight.”
The chief took a moment to let that settle in. “And Irene was accounted for during that time?”
“I’ve already told you, yes, yes, and yes.” Her eyes teared up again.
Sloop shushed her and gave Pilkerton a slight frown.
The chief turned to Mack. “When did you leave yesterday?”
“I didn’t finish patching the roof until it was almost too dark to see. The last contact I had with Irene was when I splinted her arm late in the afternoon.”
“So the break was new?” Doc Kuppenheimer asked from the bed, cutting the newspaper from Irene’s arm.
“Yes, sir. She claimed it broke when the ceiling fell through.”
“Claimed?” Pilkerton asked. “Interesting choice of words.”
Mack tucked his hands beneath the pits of his arms. “I just found it strange she would’ve been up here during the storm. She should’ve been in school during that time.”
“She wasn’t feeling well,” Mrs. Sloop said. “So I had her come up and lie down for a spell.”
Mack lifted a brow but made no further comment.
“What was wrong with her?” the chief asked.
Mrs. Sloop looked at her husband, then back at the chief. “Well, she’s been very glum lately. She hadn’t been participating in class discussions. She wasn’t playing with the other children. And she was eating less and less. Just before classes yesterday, she complained of a stomach ailment. When I touched her forehead, it was a bit warm, so I sent her up here to rest.” Bringing her handkerchief to her mouth, she cast red-rimmed eyes at Irene’s body. “If I’d known, had any idea, she was contemplating . . .” She turned into Sloop’s shoulder and sobbed.
“There, there, dear.” Sloop frowned at Pilkerton. “I think I’ll take my wife to our room, where she can rest.”
Mack cleared his throat. “I’d rather you didn’t do that just yet.”
All but the doctor turned to him. Even Mrs. Sloop’s sobs ended as she stared at him in shock.
Mack stepped to the rope and gave it a slight tug. “There’s just a lot of things that don’t seem to add up. I was thinking the Sloops might be able to clarify them for me.”
“Your puzzlement doesn’t concern us, Danver.” Sloop slipped his arm around his wife. “Now, if you’ll excuse us.”
Pilkerton held up a hand. “Let’s hear what he has to say, Forbus.”
“But – ”
“I was wondering about this rope,” Mack began.
The chief slipped his hands into his pockets. “We’re listening.�
��
“Well, it’s just that this is my rope. The one I keep locked up in my shed. I’m wondering how Irene got it. I mean, the only people who have keys to the shed are me and the Sloops.”
Sloop stiffened. “You just said yourself you were working on the roof all afternoon. She could have slipped into your shed at any time and gotten the rope.”
“No, it was there when I locked up last night.”
“You can’t be sure of that.”
“I’m positive. It was in my way, so I moved it to a higher peg.”
The chief pursed his lips. “How do you know this is your rope?”
Mack showed him the ends. “Because it’s backspliced. It’s the only backspliced rope on the property. Besides, I went and checked the shed while we were waiting for you to arrive. My rope’s gone.”
“This is ridiculous.” Sloop turned to his friend. “I’m not staying here for this.”
“That’s not all,” Mack said, stalling them. “I’m also trying to figure out exactly how Irene managed to tie this knot.
This isn’t a simple overhand knot and neither is the one on the bed.”
The chief twisted the rope so he could see.
“It’s a fisherman’s loop.” Mack pointed to it. “And to make it, you have to first form a slipped overhand before securing it with a regular overhand.” He pointed to the bed. “That one over there’s a cow hitch. I never knew any girl who could tie one of those. Especially not with this big old heavy rope.”
“Are you suggesting this isn’t a suicide, Danver?” the chief asked.
“I’m not suggesting it. I’m positive it’s not.”
“Because of the knots?” he asked.
“Because of the knots. Because it would take a good deal of height and muscle to pitch this rope up over that beam. Because it would’ve been a lot simpler for her to take a stool out to the yard and use one of those ropes on the merry-go-round. Those are already hanging and ready to go.”
No one moved or made a sound.
The doctor snapped his bag shut. “I don’t know anything about knots, but he’s right about one thing. It would have been impossible for this girl, with this broken arm, to throw that rope up over the beam or to tighten the knots once they were formed. This is no small fracture here. Both bones in her arm were broken.”
Mack turned to him. “You think a few pieces of debris from the ceiling could cause a break like that?”
“If she was right under it when it fell. And if she covered her head with her arm. Yes, I think that’s possible.”
“What if she was covering her head to protect herself from getting a beating? Could that cause a break like hers?”
Mrs. Sloop sucked in her breath.
The doctor slowly stood. “Depends on what instrument was used.”
Mack nodded. “According to what the children tell me, Sloop beats the girls with whatever’s handy.”
“That is preposterous!” Sloop took a step toward him, his face mottled.
“Is it? Then how do you explain all the abrasions the kids keep carefully hidden from view?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No? Why don’t we ask one of them and find out, then?”
Sloop swung a fist, hitting Mack clean in the jaw and knocking him back into the corner.
Mack caught himself, but forced his hands to stay put. If he fought back, they might never get to the bottom of what happened to Irene or what was happening with the others.
Mack gave Pilkerton a searing look. “Go get one of the girls. See for yourself.”
The chief looked at Vaughan out in the hall. Nodding, Vaughan headed to the stairwell.
Sloop swirled toward the chief. “You can’t seriously think – ”
“Shut up, Forbus. Just shut up.”
Sloop exchanged a glance with his wife. She’d gone pale. Even her lips held no color.
“Let’s move into the hall so the children aren’t exposed to this . . . tragedy.” Pilkerton herded them out of the room and closed the door behind them.
A minute later, Vaughan returned with Artie and Becca. The hem of her stained brown dress hung loose on the right side.
Artie ran his gaze over the crowd, then settled it on Mack. “Irene?”
Swallowing, Mack shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
Artie pressed his lips together, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “It weren’t no accident, were it?”
The chief cleared his throat. “What’s your name, son?”
“Artie Alsup, sir. And this here’s Becca.”
“Hello there, Rebecca. Arthur. I’m Chief Pilkerton.”
“I knows who ya are.”
The chief nodded. “Well, I just had a couple of questions for you. The doctor tells us Irene’s arm was broken. Would you know how that happened?”
Artie flicked a glance at Sloop, clearly struggling with whether or not to tell the truth. Mack wanted to reassure him, but the fact was, he couldn’t. He couldn’t protect Artie or Becca or any of the rest of them. Irene had made that fact crystal clear.
Finally, Artie squared his shoulders. “Sloop broke it.”
“Why, you – ”
Artie shoved Becca behind him and raised his fists. “I done tol’ ya last time, ol’ man. You ever lay a hand on me again and I’ll give ya back as good as I git.”
Sloop lifted his chin. “The child is lying. He’s been nothing but a troublemaker since the day he arrived.”
“Show them, Artie,” Mack said quietly.
Sloop whipped his head around. “Stay out of this, Danver.”
“Show the chief what you showed me,” Mack repeated.
Artie pulled Becca beside him. “Show ’em yer knee.”
She grabbed Artie’s sleeve. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with my knee. It’s just a knee like ever’body else’s.”
Artie patted her hand. “She’s scared. Sloop cuffs us boys now and again. But he done whales on the girls.”
“I will not stand here and listen to this.” Sloop made to move around them.
Vaughan stopped him. “You’d best stay right where you are, Mr. Sloop, until the chief says differently.”
Pilkerton gentled his voice. “No one will hurt you, Rebecca. I give you my word. Now, is what Arthur says true? Has Mr. Sloop struck you before?”
Biting her lower lip, she gave a negative shake of her head.
“See there.” Sloop adjusted his cuffs.
“I cain’t blame her fer not wantin’ to talk,” Artie said. “It don’t take much to set the ol’ man off. And when ya do, why, he’ll grab just about anything. A stick o’ stove wood, a shoe, a skillet, or he’ll just use his fists. Ain’t that right, Becca?”
She said nothing, but Mack could see her shivering.
Sloop forced a laugh. “The boy’s trying to seek revenge. He’s been angry with me ever since he had to do extra chores after pulling a prank. Rebecca here has told you the truth. Why are we wasting our time?”
Pilkerton rubbed a hand against his jaw. “Show me your knee, Rebecca.”
She looked at Sloop, then Mrs. Sloop. “It’s just a knee. Ain’t nothin’ special ’bout it.”
The doctor stepped forward. “Miss Rebecca, I’m Dr. –Kuppenheimer. I’ve seen all kinds of knees in my day. Some young, some old. Some ordinary, some not so ordinary. Why don’t you come with me for just a minute. I’ll be able to determine right quick what kind of knee you have.”
She considered him. “Yer a doc?”
“I am.”
She chewed her lip. “Can Artie come, too?”
“Arthur can come, too.”
He led the children into one of the available bedrooms and closed the door. In the hall, Sloop exchanged an anxious glance with his wife. Vaughan rubbed his forehead. Pilkerton stared at his boots. Mack held himself perfectly still.
The door opened.
Doc Kuppenheimer’s expression gave no hint to his thoughts, but Artie was consumed with fu
ry. He speared Sloop with his glare.
The doctor guided the boy to the other side of the hallway.
“You and Rebecca return to the classroom now.”
When their footfalls could no longer be heard, Kuppen-heimer cleared his throat. “That child is black and blue. She’s clearly received a recent beating. The knee is scarred from a previous one.”
“I know nothing about that!” Sloop yelled.
Mack curled his fists. “Just like you know nothing about Irene? Or that rope? Or those knots?”
“I think you killed Irene!” Sloop screeched. “It’s your rope. You’re the one who’s the knot expert. You killed her!”
“I wasn’t even here. And I have absolutely no reason to kill that girl. I’m not the one who was selling her to Daphne Devine this January. You were. What happened? Were you afraid she’d tell someone what you were planning to do with her? Or did she tell you she wouldn’t go? And that made you mad because you’d lose your kickback from Daphne?”
Sloop lunged.
Pilkerton caught him, then shoved him toward the captain. “Get him out of here.”
“I don’t know what he’s talking about!” Sloop jerked within the officer’s hold. “Surely you don’t believe him over me.”
When they reached the door leading to the stairwell, Sloop braced his hands and feet against the doorframe. “Okay! Okay! I’ll tell you the truth.”
The captain slowly relinquished his hold.
Mack held his breath.
“It was an accident. She was speaking with disrespect, so I . . . I struck her. I used a bit more force than I’d intended and she fell back, cracking her head against the floor. There was no blood, she just . . .” He darted his gaze between Pilkerton and Vaughan. “She just convulsed, then died. So, you see, it was an accident.”
Sorrow tugged on the police chief’s face. “That doesn’t explain the rope, Forbus.”
Eyes wild, Sloop pointed at his wife. “That was her idea!
She hung the girl.”
Mrs. Sloop gasped. “Forbus!”
“It’s true. She said if we made it look like the chit took her own life, then no one would be the wiser. She got the rope. She put it around the girl’s neck. She pushed her off the chair.”
