He smiled at that. “It’s for a case I’m working on. A young woman has gone missing, and she’d been answering those ads. I think she went off to meet somebody yesterday, and she never came home.”
“Do you think she eloped?”
“I wish I did. So far, I’ve found out that this fellow she was supposed to meet has been seen with several other females, and he places his ad every week.”
“He doesn’t sound like he’s really looking for a wife, does he?”
“No, and whatever happened to this young woman, I don’t think marriage was involved.”
“How awful for her.”
“Her father is very worried, as you can imagine, and the longer she’s gone, the less likely it is that she’ll ever come home.”
“Wouldn’t the newspaper be able to tell you who placed the ads?”
“They know who he is, but they don’t know his real name or where he lives. He goes to the newspaper office to pay for the ads and to pick up his mail. They assign each advertiser a box number and either forward the mail or hold it until the advertiser comes in to get it.”
“Couldn’t you have someone wait at the newspaper office until he comes in?”
“He doesn’t come in on a regular schedule, so we can’t predict when he might show up, and the city of New York isn’t going to pay an officer to just sit there for days, waiting.”
“But if a young woman’s life is in danger . . .”
“We don’t know that for sure. She might really have eloped. Besides, she’s just one girl in a city full of thousands of them.”
“Sounds like you already asked.”
“I did. So my next idea is to write to this fellow and try to set up a meeting with him.”
“And you need my help for that?”
“Of course I do. I don’t have any idea what a lonely spinster would say to a potential husband.”
“And you think I do?”
Apparently, he knew better than to answer that. “And it needs to be in a woman’s handwriting.”
“I can do that part, at least.”
“I don’t think it makes much difference what you write, in any case. Tell him you’re lonely and not much to look at. I think that’s what Miss Livingston said, and that seemed to do the trick for him.”
“He’s easy to please.”
“That’s what worries me. According to his replies to Miss Livingston’s letters, he says he doesn’t care about physical beauty. He just wants a woman who is beautiful inside.”
“Oh my.”
“That’s exactly what I thought. What man wants a homely woman?”
Sarah gave him a disapproving glare that he didn’t seem to understand. “But every woman wants to be appreciated for who she is, not what she looks like. He’s obviously made a study of how to appeal to females.”
“But why? I can understand if he just wants to seduce as many of them as he can, but what does he do with them when he’s finished?”
“None of the possibilities are good, are they?”
“No. Even if he just turns them loose, many of them would be too ashamed to go home again.”
“We definitely need to find this man and stop him,” Sarah said.
Catherine came running from the kitchen and skidded to a halt at Malloy’s knee. “Supper is ready,” she told him.
“About time, too,” he replied, scooping her up as he rose to his feet.
She giggled. “When are you going to come live with us and be my papa?”
“Soon, I hope,” he replied, smiling at Sarah.
Sarah hoped so, too.
Supper was a preview of the life that lay ahead of them, Sarah thought as she watched Malloy teasing Catherine and Maeve and making them laugh. Someday their supper would be like this every evening.
“Would you girls mind washing the dishes tonight?” Sarah asked as they were finishing their meal. “Mr. Malloy needs my help with something.”
“Can I help, too?” Catherine asked.
“Can you write a letter for me?” Malloy asked quite seriously.
“I can make a C. That’s the letter my name starts with. Maeve teached me to do it.”
“That’s very good,” Malloy said, still perfectly serious, “but I need someone who can write the kind of letters that come in the mail.”
“Oh. I can’t do that.”
“Then you can help me with the dishes,” Maeve said, “and your mama will help Mr. Malloy.”
Plainly, Catherine found this less than satisfactory, but she conceded with good grace.
Sarah and Malloy returned to her office, where she found some stationery in her desk and sat down to draft her letter. It was still unfinished, the page marked with many scribbled revisions, when Maeve and Catherine emerged from the kitchen.
“What on earth are you doing?” Maeve asked.
Sarah looked up from where she was hunched over the paper. Malloy sat in a chair on the other side of the desk, frowning in frustration.
“We’re trying to write a letter in reply to a lonely hearts advertisement,” Sarah said.
“It’s for a case I’m working on,” Malloy added with a glance at Catherine. They never talked about unpleasant things in front of the child if at all possible.
“Is Mr. Malloy being much help to you?” Maeve asked Sarah.
Sarah smiled as sweetly as she could manage. “Not a bit.”
“Maybe I can, then,” Maeve said.
“How many lonely hearts ads have you answered?” Malloy scoffed.
“None, but if it involves lying, I’ll probably be a lot better at it than Mrs. Brandt.”
“You shouldn’t tell lies, Maeve,” Catherine said.
Maeve ruffled her hair. “You’re right, but I was just teasing. I meant I’d make up a story, like the ones in your books.”
“What a wonderful idea,” Sarah said, jumping to her feet. “I’ll take Catherine upstairs, and you can help Mr. Malloy.” She shot Malloy an apologetic smile and made her escape with Catherine before anyone could stop her.
Frank watched them go as Maeve took Sarah’s vacant seat behind the desk.
She folded her hands like a model schoolgirl and looked him straight in the eye. “Now tell me what this is all about.”
Frank sighed, knowing resistance was useless. He explained everything he’d learned about Grace Livingston’s disappearance. Maeve glanced over the newspaper clippings of Milo Pendergast’s advertisements and his replies to Grace Livingston’s letters.
“This fellow is a monster,” she said.
“Yes, he is, and I intend to stop him, but first I’ve got to find him. The letter has to make him think you’re somebody like Grace Livingston, somebody lonely and desperate.”
“I think I should mention I’ve got a little money put by, too.”
“What? Why?”
“He probably tries to relieve these ladies of their fortunes in addition to their virtue. If he doesn’t, he’s not as smart as we think he is, so if he thinks I’ve got some money and that I’m alone in the world, he might come after me quicker. We want him to answer my letter first, don’t we? Before he considers somebody else? If he advertises every week, he must get a lot of letters, and judging by how many letters he wrote Grace, it took a few weeks for him to warm her up before he asked her to meet him. I don’t think you want to wait that long, do you?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Well, then, let’s see how desperate I can sound. How will you get this to him?”
“The newspaper holds the letters for him until he picks them up.”
“You don’t want to put it in the mail, then. That will take at least an extra day. Will they put it right in his box if you take it to the newspaper office tomorrow?”
“I don’t know why not.”
“Good, then I’ll explain why I didn’t want to wait for the mail.” She picked up the pencil Sarah had discarded.
“Don’t you want to look at what Mrs. Brandt wrote first?”
She gave him a pitying look, then went to work, her pencil scratching confidently across the paper. She paused a few times to consider her work, then continued. After a very few minutes, she handed him the paper. “What do you think?”
She hadn’t crossed out a single thing, he noticed. Dear Sir, it began. I hope you don’t think me unseemly for having delivered my letter in person, but I did not trust the mail to get it to you in good time. Please do not think me forward, but I find myself at the mercy of others. After my dear mother’s death several months ago, I have been left completely alone in the city. I want for nothing, as my parents provided for me, but my mother’s sister does not think it wise for a female to live alone. She is coming in a fortnight to fetch me. She wishes me to live with her and my uncle out in the country. She claims to have only my best interests at heart, but I fear she only wants control over my legacy. If I could but introduce her to my fiancé when she arrives, I could escape her clutches. I should very much like to make your acquaintance to see if we might suit. I long to hear from you soon.
Frank looked up to find Maeve smiling at him. “You are amazing.”
“Being raised by a grifter has its advantages,” she said.
“Your grandfather trained you well.”
“He did that. Like I said, I’m a much better liar than Mrs. Brandt.”
Frank studied the handwriting. “I’m thinking I should have Mrs. Brandt copy it over. Your handwriting looks too young.”
“Good idea. Also, what name do you want to use?”
Frank hadn’t given that any thought at all. “What do you suggest?”
“Who’s going to meet this fellow?”
“Nobody! I’m not going to put any more women in danger.”
“Then how are you going to catch him?”
“I figured we’d wait until he shows up at the meeting place and then grab him.”
“How will you know it’s him?”
“He’ll have a yellow handkerchief in his pocket or some such thing.”
Maeve frowned. “And what if he doesn’t put the handkerchief in his pocket until he’s sure everything is on the up and up? What if he walks by the park and sees a bunch of plug-uglies waiting to grab him and keeps on going?”
“What do you mean, plug-uglies?” Frank asked, affronted.
“You know what I mean. Coppers. A fellow like him can probably spot one a mile away in the dark. If he doesn’t see a nervous-looking female waiting for him, he’s not going to stop, you mark my words. He might already be a little spooked because this one looks too easy, so he’s not going to take any chances. If he’s taking advantage of these women, seducing them, and then doing heaven-knows-what with them after, he’s learned how to be real careful.”
“I’ll find somebody.”
“I can do it.”
“You’re too young.”
“I can make myself look older. Besides, being young means I don’t have much sense. He’ll think he can fool me real easy.”
“I’m not going to put you in danger.”
“No, you’re not. You’re going to have a bunch of plug-uglies hanging around the neighborhood to follow me. And if you think I’m going into a house with him, you’re crazy, so don’t worry about that!”
“Maeve, I can’t let you do this.”
“I’ll need a nice dress. Maybe Mrs. Decker can loan me something.”
Frank had the sinking feeling he was losing control of the situation. “You can’t tell Sarah’s mother about this.”
“Then you can buy me something. What address will you give for him to answer? We don’t have time to get a post office box like this Livingston girl did.”
“We’re not using this address,” Frank said.
“Of course not, but who, then? Not Mrs. Decker’s. Her neighborhood’s too good. Not yours, because it’s not good enough. This would be perfect, except—”
“I told you—”
“Mrs. Ellsworth! She’s right next door, and she’d be happy to get the letters for us, and if he goes to her house, he’ll find out no young woman lives there, so no one’s in danger.”
“I don’t want her involved either,” Frank tried, but Maeve was already on her feet.
“I’ll tell Mrs. Brandt to come down and copy the letter.”
She was gone long enough that he knew she’d told Sarah her plans, so he wouldn’t have a chance to convince her otherwise. Sarah came back alone.
“She’s right about using Mrs. Ellsworth’s address, you know,” Sarah said before she’d even sat down again.
“At least leave your mother out of it,” he said. “You can buy Maeve a dress.”
“She’ll need a hat and gloves and shoes. It might look funny if everything is brand-new, though.”
“Wouldn’t a girl buy new clothes to meet her future husband?” he asked in desperation.
“I suppose. We’ll think about it. My mother’s clothes would be too old for her anyway. Let me see what she wrote.”
In the end, Frank walked out of Sarah’s house with Maeve’s letter, copied over in Sarah’s handwriting, with Mrs. Ellsworth’s return address on it, and signed Sarah Smith.
Maybe, he thought as he walked off into the springtime dusk, Grace Livingston had come home today. He’d stop by her house on his way to the newspaper in the morning in hopes of finding her safe and sound.
3
How exciting!” Mrs. Ellsworth said when Sarah had explained the plan to her over coffee the next morning. “I’m happy to help. That poor young woman. I can’t imagine how terrified her father must be. I’ll do whatever I can to bring her safely home.”
“I know you will, but you must be careful. We don’t want to put you in any danger.”
“Oh, pooh. What danger could I be in? No one is interested in an old woman like me.”
Sarah frowned. “We don’t know much about this fellow, but he could be violent, and if he came to your house looking for someone, he might not want to believe he had the wrong house.”
“He’s not going to come to my house. Someone might see him. He’ll meet Maeve in a park like he did all the others.”
“You’re probably right, but just in case, you shouldn’t open the door to anyone you don’t know, especially when you’re home alone.”
Mrs. Ellsworth smiled at that. “I’m hardly ever home at all! I’m usually here with you and the girls. Which reminds me: Would you and Mr. Malloy be willing to live in this neighborhood if you could find a suitable house?”
Sarah had no idea how to answer a question like that, especially because Mrs. Ellsworth was all too easily encouraged to interfere in their lives. “We really haven’t had time to think about where we want to live, I’m afraid.”
“You need to think about it, then. I’m sure he doesn’t want to remain engaged forever, and you’ll never fit him and his boy into this place. And what about his mother?”
Sarah suddenly felt a little dizzy. “His mother?”
Mrs. Ellsworth nodded knowingly. “Those Irish mothers never want to give up their sons, you know.”
Sarah didn’t know. She suddenly realized she knew very little indeed about Irish mothers. “I’ve never noticed Mrs. Malloy being overly fond of her son.”
“And what about her grandson? She’s been taking care of him since he was born. And didn’t you say she takes him to school every day?”
Fortunately, Maeve and Catherine chose that moment to join them in the kitchen. Mrs. Ellsworth had found some strawberries at the Gansevoort Market that morning, and she was going to help the girls make a strawberry shortcake.
Sarah was looking forward to ea
ting the first of the summer fruits. Maybe Malloy would stop by later to enjoy it with them.
• • •
Frank regretted stopping at the Livingston house the instant the front door opened. Mr. Livingston himself stood there in his shirtsleeves, looking as if he hadn’t slept all night. For a second, hope lighted his eyes, but then he saw Frank’s expression, and it died instantly, leaving behind the kind of black despair Frank had seen all too often in his career with the police.
“You haven’t found her.” He stood back so Frank could enter.
“And I don’t guess you’ve heard anything from her.”
“Not a word.” Livingston pushed the door shut and sighed.
“Can I speak with you privately?” Frank asked, glancing at the servants clustered anxiously at the end of the hall.
Livingston led him into the front parlor and closed the door behind them. “You’ve found out something.”
“I found out this Milo fellow places an ad in the World every week, and he’s met other women in the park where he probably met Grace.”
“Dear God.”
“Yes, well, that probably also means he lets them go when he’s finished with them.”
Livingston groaned and slapped both hands over his face. “My poor Grace.”
“I have a plan to catch him,” Frank explained before Livingston could fall into complete despair. “I’ve had a letter written to him that I hope will draw his interest, and when he arranges to meet with the young woman who wrote it, we’ll follow him back to wherever he takes her.”
Hope bloomed again in Livingston’s red-rimmed eyes. “Do you think it will work?”
“It has to. I’m going to take the letter over to the newspaper office this morning. Then we’ll have to wait for him to answer. That may take some time.”
“And Grace may come home before that.”
Frank thought that unlikely, but he said, “Yes, she might. But even if she does, we’ll go ahead with our plan. We need to stop him.”
“Yes, of course. We can’t let him continue to prey on innocent girls, can we?”
“No, we can’t. If you hear from Grace, send me word at Police Headquarters. I’ll let you know if we hear from this Milo.”
Murder in Murray Hill (Gaslight Mystery) Page 4
