The Dangerous Ladies Affair

by Marcia Muller

  Kamiko appeared before they reached the front entrance, as if she had been watching for her guardian’s return. She was a petite girl, lightly brown skinned, her long black hair piled high and fastened with ivory combs. Her facial features and body structure were delicate, but her stature and slenderness concealed a surprising strength; Sabina had witnessed her shoulder with little effort a full crate of statuettes Burton Wellman had sent to their home. As she had on Sabina’s previous visits, Kamiko wore a traditional Japanese kimono, which she preferred to Western clothes while at home, the garment rather plainly decorated and tied with a red obi.

  She welcomed them with bows and smiles, asked in her flawless English if they had had a pleasant day and conducted them into the parlor. There was nothing discerningly different in the way she looked at or spoke to Amity; Kamiko’s usual serenity seemed undisturbed. If she was in fact frightened for her guardian and in possession of some sort of secret knowledge about the notes, she kept it well hidden.

  “Mrs. Carpenter will be dining with us this evening, Kamiko,” Amity said.

  “I shall inform the cook. Will you have tea now?”

  “No. Sherry for me. Sabina?”

  “The same.”

  “Mr. Wellman’s amontillado, please.”

  Kamiko bowed again and hurried off, her slippers whispering on the hardwood floor.

  The parlor was furnished, as was the rest of the house—Sabina had been given a tour on her first visit—in the type of expensive Spanish antiques Burton Wellman specialized in. Here there were several early-century estrado chairs, a sofa with damask cushions, a large central table, corner tables, paintings of California missions on the walls, and damask curtains on the windows. The furnishings were all attractive, but much too dark for Sabina’s taste; the only color in the room was provided by Burton’s collection of antique weaponry—a bejeweled Spanish dagger, a pair of matching Polish blunderbuss pistols, a Malay kris, a Japanese double-edged kaiken with a finely carved ivory handle and matching scabbard, a medieval Scottish ax, and many more large and small weapons from around the globe. Amity had confessed that she, too, was less than fond of the motif—and of the weaponry, for that matter—but since she spent little enough time here and devoted her attention to more important matters, she deferred to her husband’s preferences.

  Burton’s vintage amontillado sherry, which Kamiko served in ornate tulip glasses, was excellent. While Sabina and Amity sipped it in front of a blazing log fire, they discussed the proposed amendment to the state constitution giving California women the right to vote, and the opposition to it.

  The primary and most formidable opponent was the Liquor Dealers League, an organization composed of the producers, proprietors, and consumers of alcoholic beverages. Less powerful but nonetheless active were Nathaniel Dobbs’ Solidarity Party, the traitorous (Amity’s word) remonstrants, and assorted small groups with similarly old-fashioned views. They wrote letters to the newspapers and gave speeches direly warning that women would attempt to serve as soldiers, sailors, policemen, and firemen and elect themselves to executive offices and judgeships, thus threatening male livelihoods and male dominance. Dobbs, for one, had also ridiculously accused men who supported woman suffrage of lacking in both wisdom and masculinity.

  There was no question that the former water commissioner was a misogynistic buffoon, but Sabina still had difficulty believing he would actually commit or sanction bodily harm. Everything she knew or had heard of the man indicated he was full of a great deal of smoke (among other things) but no real fire. One of the many things she’d learned during her years as a detective, however, was never to take anyone or anything at face value.

  Dinner was served at a long, parquetry-top refectory table in the spacious dining room. A succulent shrimp and crab cocktail, rare roast beef, potatoes and vegetables, and chocolate custard for dessert. Sabina, ravenous after the afternoon’s exercise and two glasses of amontillado, ate lustily. Her appetite and capacity rivaled John’s despite the difference in their sizes, and her metabolism and active lifestyle were such that she never gained an ounce. She weighed the same as she had when she and Stephen were married in her native Chicago.

  Afterward she and Amity returned to the parlor. Amity declined Kamiko’s offer of coffee, saying that she felt the need of some fresh air and would go for a walk in the garden.

  “Are you certain this is wise, Amity-san?” the girl said. “It is very cold tonight.”

  “Not so cold, and I’ll bundle up. Would you care to join me, Sabina?”

  The invitation wasn’t genuine; this was the excuse they’d decided upon to give Sabina the opportunity to speak to Kamiko alone. “Thanks, no. I believe I’ll have coffee here by the fire.”

  When the girl had gone out, Amity asked, “How much time do you think you’ll need?”

  “No more than a few minutes to gain her confidence, if I can.”

  “I’ll be surprised if you do.” Her friend put on a warm lambs wool coat and went out through a pair of louvered doors into the side garden.

  Kamiko brought the coffee on a silver tray. As she set it down, Sabina said, “Please sit for a moment, Kamiko. I’d like to have a few words with you.”

  “As you wish, Mrs. Carpenter.” Obediently the girl sat on one of the estrado chairs, folding her hands in her lap.

  “Your guardian and I had a talk at the park this afternoon,” Sabina began. “She showed me the warning notes she has received.”

  Kamiko nodded, her almond-shaped eyes grave. “Yes. I was shown them as well.”

  “Do you feel the threats should be taken seriously?”

  “No threat to one’s safety should be ignored or dismissed.”

  “That doesn’t quite answer my question. Is it your opinion that her life is in danger?”

  “I do not know. I pray not.”

  “Do you have any idea who wrote the notes?”

  There was the slightest hesitation before Kamiko said, “No. The cause Amity-san struggles for has made her many enemies.”

  “Is her cause one you also believe in?”

  “Such beliefs are not of my culture.”

  “So you don’t support women’s suffrage, women’s emancipation.”

  “I did not say that. Amity-san is much wiser than I. I would not presume to dispute her principles.”

  “Do you know of any other enemies who might wish to do her harm?”

  “… I do not.” The hesitation was longer this time.

  “Someone not connected with the suffrage movement with whom she’s had trouble of any kind?”

  “It is not my place to pry into the affairs of my elders.”

  Evasions and circumlocutions. Sabina felt as Amity did: Kamiko, for whatever reason, was keeping some sort of secret to herself.

  “You are a detective, Mrs. Carpenter,” the girl said. “May I ask if Amity-san has engaged you professionally?”

  “We’ve discussed it. If I do investigate, I’ll need as much information as possible. You will cooperate, won’t you?”

  “Hai. Of course.”

  “Tell me everything you know, no matter how little it might be. And above all, tell me no lies.”

  “I do not lie.”

  “Withholding important information is a form of lying and lying is a sin. You understand that, don’t you?”

  “Yes. I understand.”

  Sabina sharpened her voice, darkened her expression. “By committing such a sin, Kamiko, you are doing a serious disservice to the woman you love and respect. Why? What is it you know or suspect that you’re afraid to tell?”

  “I am not afraid. I—”

  From outside there was a sudden terrified outcry. An instant later a second noise erupted, this one the unmistakable report of a pistol.

  As swiftly as Sabina grabbed her bag and surged to her feet, Kamiko reached the louvered doors and plunged out into the garden ahead of her. Small oil lanterns lit the side terrace; thin shafts of pallid moonlight slanted thr
ough the cloud cover overhead to illuminate portions of the garden. The Japanese girl must have had the night vision of a cat; crying her guardian’s name, she raced straight ahead toward where an indistinct figure—Amity, judging by the bulk and light color of her coat—was struggling to rise from one of the cinder paths. In the next moment Sabina caught a glimpse of a shadow-shape outfitted in dark clothing running away among the tall Australian cypress. Her automatic reaction was to pursue; without hesitation she plunged ahead in that direction, yanking her Remington derringer from her bag as she ran.

  The unfamiliar grounds hampered her; shrubbery branches caught at her shirtwaist and skirt, and twice in patches of grass untouched by moonlight she stumbled, the second time into a cypress trunk that fetched her a glancing blow on the left shoulder. Somewhere in the clotted dark ahead she heard thrashing movements, then a flat clanking sound, then nothing but her own accelerated breathing.

  By the time she emerged into the front yard, the fleeing intruder had vanished. The gate in the iron picket fence stood open—the clanking sound she’d heard as he ran through. She raced ahead to the gate, stood swiveling her head in both directions along the street. No conveyance was parked or moving in this block, and the tree-shadowed sidewalks appeared empty.

  Turning, she slipped the Remington back into her bag. Her eyes had adjusted enough to the darkness for her to make out a cinder path that closely paralleled the house; she followed it to the side terrace, hurrying as much as could. Amity and Kamiko stood together at its edge, their faces illuminated by parlor and lantern light, the girl’s arm wrapped protectively around her guardian’s waist.

  “I’m not hurt,” Amity said shakily when Sabina joined them. “The shot missed me. The assailant—?”

  “Gone before I could catch up. Did you have a clear look at whoever it was?”

  “No. Too dark. Just the shape of him when he appeared from behind one of the trees. That’s when I screamed and he fired at me.”

  “It was a man, then.”

  “I’m not sure. Dressed all in black, a cap pulled down low … it could have been a woman. My God, yes, it could.”

  There was something about the way Amity spoke that last sentence that captured Sabina’s attention. But Kamiko was saying, “We must go inside, Amity-san,” in worried tones. “You must have the fire and hot tea to warm you.”

  “The fire, yes, but no tea. A large glass of brandy instead.”

  The girl insisted on escorting her into the house, though Amity was clearly able to walk without aid. Inside, Kamiko helped her off with her coat, saw to it that she was settled in front of the fire, then hurried out.

  When Sabina sat down next to her, Amity said, her voice still a trifle tremulous, “I expect we know now that those threatening notes were genuine. Someone wants me dead.”

  “You’re certain the shot was fired straight at you?”

  “Yes. Why would you think— Oh. Another, harsher warning?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “I doubt it. That pistol was aimed straight at me. The bullet came so close I felt the wind of its passage.”

  Kamiko returned just then, bearing a large snifter of brandy on the silver tray. She seemed reluctant to leave after serving it. She hovered, adding a log to the fire and then stoking the blaze, until Amity said, “That will be all for now, Kamiko. I’d like to speak to Sabina in private.”

  “As you wish, Amity-san.” A bow, and the girl was gone.

  “I know you didn’t have much time alone with her,” Amity said, “but were you able to find out anything?”

  “Nothing definite. Only enough to agree with you that she is keeping something to herself.”

  “I just don’t see how it can be important. Kamiko is devoted to me. If she knows or suspects who is behind all this devilment, she would have said so by now.”

  Sabina said, “Kamiko isn’t the only one with secrets.”

  Amity had been staring into the fire. Now she turned her head to look at Sabina. “You think I am?”

  “I do. I had that impression in the park, and again outside just now when you said your assailant might well be a woman. You made no mention this afternoon of trouble with anyone of our sex.”

  Amity started to speak, then once more shifted her gaze to the fire.

  “Are you going to confide in me or not?”

  “Very well.” The response came after several seconds of silence and then after a heavy sigh. “One person, yes. Possibly two.”

  “Who and why?”

  Instead of answering the questions directly, Amity said, “This is difficult for me to admit, but … three weeks ago I made a very foolish mistake. Burton travels so much, and I was feeling lonely and neglected. In a moment of weakness … well, to my everlasting regret I allowed myself to briefly become involved with another man, a married man.”

  Sabina managed to conceal the mild surprise she felt. “I see.”

  “Please don’t think too harshly of me, Sabina.”

  “I don’t. I’m not judgmental. The affair is over now, I take it.”

  Amity faced her again. “As of last week.”

  “Does Kamiko know?”

  “Of course not. I pray neither she nor Burton finds out. You’re the first person I’ve told.”

  “Who is the man?”

  “Fenton Egan. One of the partners in Egan and Bradford, the tea and spice importers. A customer of Burton’s, which is how I met him. Very good-looking, very superficially charming. And very unpleasant when things don’t go his way.” Amity’s mouth quirked sardonically. “Or when he finds himself caught between Scylla and Charybdis.”

  “He was upset when you ended the affair?”

  “I wasn’t the one who ended it. At least not on my own initiative, though I soon would have.”

  “He did, then.”

  “No, his wife, Prudence, found out about us—I don’t know how; she wouldn’t say. She also knew about a letter, an indiscreet letter, Fenton wrote me at the height of our … well, passion.”

  “The usual sort of steamy love letter?”

  “Yes and no. It said he fancied himself in love with me, and hinted that he wouldn’t be averse to making our relationship permanent. He may have been serious at the time. More likely it was pretense, a sly attempt to prolong the affair.”

  “Do you still have this letter?”

  “Lord, no. I burnt it in the fireplace.”

  “So it was with certain knowledge that Prudence Egan confronted you.”

  “The kind of knowledge that couldn’t be refuted by lies or evasions, yes, even if I’d been so inclined. She came here. Kamiko had taken the buggy out marketing, thank God. The woman was furious … an ugly scene.”

  “Did she threaten you?”

  “With dire consequences unless I ended the affair immediately. Which I did.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  “Five days.”

  “The day before the first threatening message was delivered.”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you had any dealings with her since then?”

  “No. None.”

  “Five days is a long time to nurse a violent grudge.”

  “I know. But she’s the brooding type. Jealous, possessive, afraid of losing the privilege that marriage to a wealthy man provides.”

  “Did you tell your lover about the confrontation?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did he react?”

  Amity winced at the memory. “He was angry, too, but it was a cold, vindictive anger—at me for ‘leading him on and then throwing him over,’ as he put it, and at his wife for daring to interfere in his affairs. He pretends to have great respect for women and women’s rights, but he doesn’t—he cares only about himself. I should have seen through that façade of his before I let him seduce me, but fool that I am, I didn’t. He masked it so well.”

  “Did he threaten you in any way?”

  “Not with physical harm, though he’s
probably capable of it. He intimated he might let Burton know about the affair without naming himself as the man involved.”

  “Would he actually do that, do you think?”

  “He might have in the heat of the moment, out of pure spite, if Burton hadn’t been away. He may still, though I doubt it.”

  “Have you had any contact with him since?”

  “Absolutely not. Nor will I ever again if I can avoid it.”

  “Is there anything more you haven’t told me?” Sabina asked. “Anyone else who might have cause, real or imagined, to want you dead?”

  “No. I swear there isn’t. Fenton was my first and last affair; I swear that, too. I’ve learned my lesson, no matter what the consequences may be.”

  “There may not be any further consequences.”

  “I pray not, but— Sabina? Have you changed your mind? Will you agree to investigate after all?”

  Sabina didn’t need to reconsider. After what had happened here tonight, how could she say anything but yes?

  3

  QUINCANNON

  The Woolworth National Bank, on Montgomery Street in the heart of the Financial District, was neither the oldest nor the largest in San Francisco, but it had a reputation as favorable as any in the community. As did its president, Titus Wrixton, a man of some wealth and social prominence. This being the case, Quincannon was mildly surprised to receive a Monday-morning telephone call from one of the bank’s underlings requesting an audience with Mr. Wrixton at his, Quincannon’s, earliest convenience. No direct reason for the request was given, other than the fact that it concerned a matter of some urgency.

  Quincannon, his interest piqued as much by the prospect of a substantial fee as by the unknown nature of the request, readily agreed to a one o’clock meeting in the banker’s office. This allowed him time to make inroads on the backlog of bills, invoices, and other documents piled on his desk—a necessary if odious task that befell him since Sabina was not present. She had, however, been to the office before his arrival. It was she who had piled the paperwork on his desk blotter, topping it with a note in her neat hand: