“Who are you and what do you want?” the man asked, more angry than concerned.
Malloy introduced himself and Sarah, explaining he was a private investigator. “Mrs. Brandt and I were investigating the disappearance of a young woman, and we discovered a man named Pendergast had lured her to meet him through one of those lonely hearts advertisements.”
The woman said, “I told you that’s what she’d done.” She was a woman Joanna would judge “pretty” enough not to have to settle for what she could get.
Reverend Alexander paid no attention to her remark. “What does this have to do with our missing daughter?”
“Pendergast had no intention of marrying this woman, and in fact he’d been holding her against her will. After rescuing her, we discovered he had done the same to several other females.”
“And you think Joan Marie was one of them?” her father asked.
“We found the letters she had written in response to his advertisement. That’s how we got your address,” Frank hedged.
“But you didn’t find her?” he asked, betraying the first trace of actual concern.
“We didn’t find her at Pendergast’s house,” Malloy said quite honestly.
“May we sit down?” Sarah asked.
“Oh, yes, of course,” Reverend Alexander said. “Forgive me. It’s just . . . hearing news of Joan Marie after all this time. It’s quite shocking.”
When they were seated, Sarah said, “We have been calling at the addresses we found to see if the women returned to their families and, if they had not, to tell the families what happened to them.”
“So, is she dead?” the woman asked baldly.
“Patricia!” Alexander cried.
“Isn’t that what you were hinting?” Patricia Alexander asked Sarah, unrepentant.
“We do not believe she is dead, no,” Sarah said.
“But she didn’t come home. What could have happened to her?” Alexander asked.
“Any number of things,” Sarah said.
“None of them anything we’d like to hear about, I’m sure,” Patricia said. “I told you, Stephen, she isn’t worth a moment of concern. She’s like a cat; she’ll always land on her feet.”
Malloy made a sound of disgust, and Sarah didn’t bother to hide her dismay. “Are you not Joan Marie’s mother, then?” she asked, having decided she deserved to be insulted.
“Of course not!” she said, suitably insulted.
“Patricia is my second wife,” Alexander said. “Joan Marie’s stepmother.”
What a trial she must have been to Joanna. No wonder she had sought an escape in the lonely hearts column.
“Joan Marie and I were more like sisters,” Patricia claimed. “And she took great delight in looking after my children.”
Sarah doubted this very much. More likely, Patricia took delight in having someone available to look after her children.
“That’s why we were so puzzled when she simply disappeared one day after hinting she might be married soon,” Patricia continued, unaware of Sarah’s opinions. “I mean, really, we knew she had no suitors, so how was she going to marry?”
“Do you have any idea where she could be?” Alexander asked. “I would hate to think of her being in want.”
Patricia sniffed in derision. “If she were in want, she would have come crawling back here for a handout.”
Alexander frowned his disapproval but did not rebuke her.
“If we encounter her, we’ll certainly tell her about your concern,” Sarah said.
“Yes, please do,” Alexander said.
They took their leave, and when they were back on the sidewalk, Sarah tucked her arm into Malloy’s and sighed. “I was hoping Joanna was wrong about them.”
“I think the father might’ve taken her back, but the stepmother would’ve made her life miserable.”
“Yes, even a life with Neth doesn’t seem so bad by comparison.”
• • •
When they’D finished the last of the visits, Malloy hailed a cab to take them back to Sarah’s house. The last visit had been particularly difficult, because the parents strongly believed one of the dead girls had been their daughter, based on the description of her clothing. Sarah had wept with them, and now she was exhausted.
When they were ensconced in the cab, Sarah felt the sting of tears again. She wanted to weep for all the women, both those lost and found, but she was afraid there weren’t enough tears in the world for that.
Malloy took her hand in both of his. “You did all you could.”
“I hope so, but I keep thinking about the ones we didn’t find. Where are they? What happened to them?”
“You can’t think like that. If you try to grieve for every missing female in New York, you’ll go crazy.”
“But there must be something I can do.” She looked up at him with a watery smile. “I’m going to marry a millionaire. He should be able to help me.”
Malloy sighed dramatically. “Yes, I guess he will.”
• • •
Neither of them was surprised to find Mrs. Ellsworth was visiting with Maeve and Catherine when they arrived back at Sarah’s house.
The girls were always happy to see Malloy, but today they seemed especially so. Catherine could hardly stand still. They kept exchanging glances with Mrs. Ellsworth, who shared their air of suppressed excitement.
“What’s going on?” Malloy demanded good-naturedly after about five minutes of secret smiles and furtive glances.
“We have a house,” Catherine announced, then clapped a hand over her mouth in case she shouldn’t have said so.
“What do you mean, ‘we have a house’?” Malloy asked, picking her up so he could look her straight in the eye. But Catherine only shook her head, keeping her hand securely over her mouth.
“What she means,” Mrs. Ellsworth said, “is that I’ve located a house that you might be interested in. It will need some modernizing, of course, but—”
“Where is it?” Sarah asked.
“Not too far,” Maeve said with a wicked little smile. “Not too far at all.”
“What does that mean?” Malloy asked.
“It means that I thought you might want to stay in the neighborhood,” Mrs. Ellsworth said brightly.
“Near familiar neighbors,” Sarah suggested.
“Exactly! And when I was chatting with Mrs. Martin—”
“Mrs. Theda Martin? Who lives on the corner?” Sarah asked in surprise.
“Yes. Do you know how large that house is? Much larger than I would’ve guessed. She raised five sons there. But they’re all married now, and they’ve moved away. The oldest boy wants her to live with them out on Long Island.”
“So this was her idea?” Malloy asked, not bothering to hide his skepticism.
“Oh no,” Mrs. Ellsworth admitted. “She hadn’t thought a thing about it until I explained your situation. She wouldn’t sell to just anyone, but when I told her it was Mrs. Brandt, well . . .”
Sarah exchanged a glance with Malloy, who shrugged.
“The wallpaper is horribly old-fashioned,” Mrs. Ellsworth continued, “and you’ll probably want to add a bathroom or even two—”
“How long will that take?” Malloy asked suspiciously.
“Oh, I’m sure it could be done in a month.”
Sarah looked up at Malloy again. “I don’t suppose it could hurt to look at it.”
“No,” he said with a long-suffering sigh. “I don’t suppose it would.”
“And,” Mrs. Ellsworth added, pulling a newspaper from behind her back, “you’ll probably want to move as soon as possible, because this newspaper article about Mr. Malloy’s inheritance also mentions where he lives.”
Author’s Note
When researching the Gaslight Mysteries, I�
��ve often encountered instances where the issues people were concerned about at the turn of the last century were the same issues we are concerned about today: spirituality, finding Mr. Right, alternative medicine, the immigrant’s role in society, etc. One issue I’d been thinking about a lot lately was the potential dangers of social media and the way predators use it to deceive unsuspecting innocents. Not surprisingly, I learned this isn’t a new problem. As long as personal ads have existed, predators have used them for evil. The only thing that has changed is the technology.
Interestingly, I already knew that several historical serial killers had lured their victims through lonely hearts advertisements, and I had already come up with the idea for this book when the contemporary story about the Cleveland kidnappings broke. A man had kept three women hostage in his house for nearly a decade in much the same way I’d had Pendergast doing. This was an unfortunate confirmation that human evil hasn’t really changed over the past century.
Please let me know how you liked this book by contacting me through my website, victoriathompson.com, or “like” me on Facebook, facebook.com/Victoria.Thompson.Author, or follow me on Twitter: @gaslightvt. I’ll send you a reminder when the next book in the series comes out in the spring of 2015.
Murder in Murray Hill (Gaslight Mystery) Page 27
