“I think we should keep an open mind about this one. It seems to me it could go either way.”
“I am keeping an open mind. As a matter of fact it is so open I hate to tell you what has just occurred to me.”
“What’s that?”
“The bar was light enough and dense enough that I see no reason it couldn’t have been swung by a woman.”
“A woman? You can’t mean that.”
“You said to keep an open mind.” Up ahead a man burdened with a load of camera equipment struggled down the boardwalk in their direction. “I’ll leave you to sort out things here. I’m heading to the hotel.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Ruby, I’ve been looking for you. You haven’t by any chance seen Mr. Stickney this morning, have you?” Honoria asked. “His wife is quite insistent that his bed has not been slept in.”
“I think we should speak privately,” I said, lowering my voice and glancing at Ben.
“Is there anything wrong?” Honoria reached out and grasped my hands in hers. “Are you hurt?”
“No. I’m fine, but I need to speak with you before the police arrive.” Honoria nodded and led the way to the back stairs and hurried up them more quickly than I would have expected from even a woman as energetic as she. After locking the door behind us she gave me her full attention.
“I have seen Mr. Stickney. Mr. MacPherson and I came across him near the pier.”
“Why the secrecy?”
“He’s dead.”
“Dead?”
“Quite dead. Mr. MacPherson and I are the ones who found his body and called the police.”
“Did his death appear to be natural?”
“Not unless a large dent in the back of the skull can be considered natural.” As much as I pride myself on a certain amount of pluck and a steel-lined stomach I really did feel light-headed as I pictured the bloody mess and clumps of sand surrounding Mr. Stickney’s head.
“Oh my dear, how terrible.” Honoria twisted a handkerchief around in her hands. “Orazelia told me Yancey was worried the pickpocketing in town was getting out of hand. He feared something like this might happen. That old fool Charles Hurley just pooh-poohed the notion of serious crime here in Old Orchard.”
“It may not have been a pickpocket. From what Mr. MacPherson and I saw he had not been relieved of his valuables.”
“Are you suggesting someone murdered him?”
“I’m afraid it is a possibility we must be prepared to consider.”
“How terrible for his wife. And for his nephew.”
“I’m not so sure his nephew will be sorry to hear the news. I accidentally overheard them having a very heated argument in the garden yesterday. I think we may need to tell that to Officer Yancey when he arrives.”
“Ruby, we cannot discuss our guests’ private affairs and conversations with anyone. It is simply not the way a hotel remains in business.”
“I am not eager to discuss such a thing with the police myself, but have you considered how it may look to Officer Yancey when he discovers who Mr. Stickney was and the reason for his visit?”
“You mean Mr. Stickney’s investigation into the practitioners at the hotel will cause suspicion to fall upon us?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“That’s easy enough to take care of.” Honoria relaxed back against the settee. “You shall simply have to hold a séance and ask Mr. Stickney who it is that did harm him.”
“I don’t think a séance will hold much sway with the police department.”
“Nonsense. Yancey has known me since he was a small boy. He wouldn’t think to disbelieve you.”
“Honoria, he already warned me away from his family. He told me I was stirring up trouble and bad memories of the past and that if I didn’t leave his mother and sister alone he would launch an investigation of me himself.”
“Foolish boy.” Blotches of color appeared on Honoria’s throat. “This has got to be dealt with swiftly. If the hotel is embroiled in a scandal all the guests might decide to leave. Then where would we be?”
“Then we had better do a bit of poking around on our own before anyone decides to do just that.”
• • •
Yancey stood for a moment on the porch of the hotel and gathered his strength. Honoria was a force of nature even when not worked up about something. The death of a guest at her hotel was bound to have riled her. It would be an Incident. Unless he was luckier than he had ever been before, she was going to try to use her “gifts” to help solve the crime. God help them all. Not that he believed in Him, either. Saying it was a reflex, like knocking on wood.
He peered through the glass in the front door. Ben was nowhere to be seen, but a very pale woman dressed entirely in black stood behind the reception desk, running her finger over a page in a large, leather-bound ledger. Her gaze shot up when the door creaked open. He heard a sharp intake of breath as she recognized his uniform.
“From your look, I take it I was not who you were expecting to see?” he asked.
“I meant no malice. It’s just that I had an appointment scheduled with a guest for a sitting more than half an hour ago and he still hasn’t arrived.”
“You aren’t waiting for Mr. Leander Stickney, by any chance?”
“I am, actually.”
“I’m afraid he won’t be keeping his appointment with you today.” Yancey pulled out his notebook and pencil. “May I have your name please?”
“Cecelia MacPherson. What is this about?”
“Are you related to Everett MacPherson?”
“He’s my husband.”
“I might as well tell you since I’m sure Mr. MacPherson will tell you about it soon anyway.” Yancey leaned in a little closer and lowered his voice. “Your husband found Mr. Stickney’s body on the beach below the pier this morning.”
“Body? Are you saying Mr. Stickney’s dead?” she asked. Yancey watched as one of her slim hands began to tremble on the ledger. He was certain he had caught the barest flicker of relief just before she rearranged her face to show concern.
“Yes.”
“Was it his heart?”
“I’m afraid I can’t say at this time.” Yancey lowered his voice as a young man with spectacles and an unruly flop of fair hair dragging over one eye approached the desk. “Could you tell me where I might find Mrs. Stickney?”
“She’s a guest here at the hotel. As is her nephew, Mr. Dobbins.” Mrs. MacPherson turned and waved at the wilted-looking young man who hurried toward them. Yancey disliked him instantly. “Mr. Dobbins, this policeman wishes to speak with your aunt. Do you know where she may be found?”
“I hope more easily than my uncle. She’s been asking for him all morning.”
“Where is she, sir?” Yancey asked.
“I left her in the ladies’ writing room just a moment ago. She sent me to ask if anyone has located my uncle yet.”
“Will you go on ahead and tell Mrs. Stickney I would like a word with her. I’d appreciate it if you would remain with her during our interview.” Mr. Dobbins swallowed hard, bobbing the large, knobby Adam’s apple in his pale throat, and skittered off down the hall with a single worried backward glance.
Yancey turned to the desk again. “I think it is a safe bet that Mr. Stickney’s is not the only appointment you should cancel for today. I’ll be needing to speak with everyone in the hotel.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Mrs. Stickney, I am so sorry for your loss,” Yancey said as he studied the newly minted widow as she sat opposite him in the parlor. He had been sorely tempted to send a lower-ranking officer to break the news to her. He dreaded the look he was sure he would see on Mrs. Stickney’s face. The same one his mother had the night Chief Hurley delivered the news about his father’s death. He was surprised to observe Mrs. St
ickney looked far less stricken and bereft than his mother had. “I assure you we will do everything we can to discover who did this to your husband.”
“He’s in a better place, Officer.” Mrs. Stickney offered a weak smile. “How I envy him. For now he is reunited with our dear little boy.”
“I’m glad you’re able to take comfort in that, Mrs. Stickney.” Yancey didn’t put any faith in such things himself but he could see how in times of distress the notion of an afterlife held appeal for others. “If you feel up to it I have some questions about your husband.”
“Must you press my aunt now, Officer? Surely this could wait?” Sanford Dobbins blinked at him through his spectacles as he leaned against the back of his aunt’s chair, his slim hand drooping over her shoulder. Yancey imagined it to be unpleasantly moist.
“Of course he must ask now, Sanford,” Mrs. Stickney said. “I consider it my duty to assist you with your inquiries but I cannot imagine what I could tell you about local criminals.”
“I’m interested in your husband’s movements over the last day or so.”
“There is very little I can tell you, I’m afraid.” Mrs. Stickney pursed her lips and Yancey wondered if she was considering not saying another word. “We spent little time together as a general rule and this trip was no exception.”
“Let’s start with something you might know. When did the three of you arrive at the Belden?”
“We didn’t travel together. He arrived at the hotel yesterday. Sanford and I took a train the day before.” Mr. Dobbins nodded in agreement.
“But you knew he had arrived?”
“Yes, he knocked on my door shortly before dinner to tell me he was here and that he had made appointments with several hotel practitioners. He also let me know he made other plans for dinner and would not be joining me. Is it any wonder I have come to depend so on my dear Sanford?” She reached up and squeezed his hand.
“And how about yourself, Mr. Dobbins? Did you see your uncle after he arrived?”
“I did not.”
Yancey wished he could avoid the next question but there was no way in good conscience he could do so. “I don’t wish to seem indelicate but I have to ask if you know how late he was out.”
“I could not say.” Mrs. Stickney flushed and dropped her gaze to her lap. “My husband and I have preferred separate bedrooms ever since our son died more than ten years ago.”
“So you have no way to know if he returned to the hotel last night?”
“Our rooms are adjoining but I heard nothing from his. Usually, he does have the good grace to let me know he has returned at the end of the evening. Last night, he did not.”
“Did you check on him this morning?”
“I did. I opened the connecting door between our rooms to remind him that he had an important appointment at ten and needed to be up and breakfasted before then.”
“I assume he was not there?”
“Not only was he not, it was clear to me his bed had not been slept in. I was alarmed and went in search of Miss Belden to inquire if she had seen him that morning.”
“And had she?”
“She said she had not seen him since before dinner yesterday evening. I left her making inquiries of her staff and went in search of Sanford to accompany me to breakfast.” Mr. Dobbins nodded again.
“It’s horrid to think we were enjoying toast and jam while Uncle Leander lay dead.”
“Was Miss Belden able to ascertain the last time your husband had been seen by the staff?”
“I haven’t spoken with her since.”
Mrs. Stickney sagged against her chair. Despite her lack of tears she had endured a shock. Yancey decided it best to hurry the interview along.
“I have only a couple more questions.” Yancey slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out a leather drawstring pouch. He tugged it open and held the contents out for her to inspect. “Just as a matter of identification, is this your husband’s watch?” Mrs. Stickney drew in her breath audibly and reached out her hand. She ran her fingers over the back of the watch and then down the chain.
“It certainly looks like his watch except for one thing.” She looked into Yancey’s eyes. “It’s missing the fob.”
“But you are sure the watch is his?”
“I am. I gave it to him myself as a gift.”
“Can you describe the fob?”
“It was a miniature balance scale fashioned from gold. The pans on either side were set with a small pile of jewels. Amethysts on one and garnets on the other.”
“Do you recall having seen it on his person when he left last night?”
“I did. He made a show of checking his watch quite pointedly when I mentioned how much I wanted him to accompany me to the dining room. He always fiddled with it when he found conversations to be unpleasant.”
“And the fob was there then?”
“Yes, it was. His waistcoat buttons were straining against his girth and he kept plucking the fob from the gap between the top two. Most unbecoming. I told him he needed to either start a slimming regime or make an appointment with his tailor.”
“So he could have been robbed?” Mr. Dobbins asked.
“It is one possibility we are investigating.”
“Did you check his pockets when you found him?” Mr. Dobbins asked. “He always carried a billfold with some cash.”
“His money was in his jacket pocket.”
“What about his silver cigarette case?” Mrs. Stickney asked. “He never went anywhere without that in his coat pocket.”
“We didn’t find that amongst his possessions. Was there anything unusual about the case that might help us identify it if it turns up?”
“It was engraved ‘To Stickler from Battler.’ It was a gift from a school friend who was in the debate club with my husband. Those were their nicknames for each other.”
“You mentioned Mr. Stickney had an appointment this morning,” Yancey said. “Do you know with whom?”
“The astrologer, Mrs. MacPherson,” Mrs. Stickney said. “And after lunch he was to have a sitting with Miss Proulx.”
Yancey rose. “Thank you both for your time. You’ve been most helpful. I’ll do my best to intrude on you as little as possible as the investigation proceeds.”
• • •
Officer Yancey, might you spare me a moment of your time?” Miss Howell stepped out from the doorway of the ladies’ writing room with such exquisite timing Yancey could only assume she had lain in wait for him.
While Yancey did not consider himself the sort of man to attract enthusiastic hordes of unattached young ladies he did know when he was being pursued. Miss Howell definitely had a reason for seeking his company but he was not sure if it was for a personal matter or a professional one. He wasn’t even sure which he would prefer.
After all, she was a pretty and well-spoken blonde with a pert nose and a fine figure. Although she would have to disavow the psychic nonsense to really turn his head. There were enough true believers in his family without looking to add to the problem. Miss Howell latched on to his arm and steered him down the hallway to a window seat that looked purposely built for cozy private chats. She lowered herself onto the firm cushion and pulled him down beside her with a surprisingly athletic grip.
“How can I be of assistance?” Yancey removed his notebook from his jacket pocket. Perhaps she would understand his interest was professional if he acted like one.
“Perhaps I should not speak up but my conscience and my commitment to my gifts would not allow me to remain silent concerning Mr. Stickney’s death.” Miss Howell looked like a cat about to lick the cream from her whiskers. “I hate to say anything disloyal about another member of staff, but keeping secrets is sure to interfere with the hotel’s spiritual vibrations, which will undermine all that Honoria has worked so hard to
achieve.” Yancey never failed to be surprised at how quickly news spread about an investigation. By the end of the day he was willing to bet everyone in Old Orchard would have heard some version of what had happened.
“I understand you have the very best of intentions,” Yancey said. “Getting to the truth about what happened to Mr. Stickney is in the interests of everyone concerned.”
“If you really think I ought, I shall tell you all I know.” Miss Howell leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Mr. Stickney was no ordinary guest.”
“And what do you mean by that?”
“His wife had a sitting with me yesterday. She wanted me to read the energy of a toy soldier that had belonged to her son.”
“How does this relate to Mr. Stickney’s death?”
“I’m getting to that. I was able to tell her all about her little boy, the sorts of things he liked and how happy he was in the hereafter. She was so pleased with my help.” Miss Howell cast her gaze to the floor. Yancey thought she was trying to appear modest but was unaware she was failing entirely.
“I’m sure she was extremely grateful.”
“She was overjoyed to have found me and told me she was so relieved to know I was a practitioner with genuine gifts. And she would know.”
“Is Mrs. Stickney an expert on such matters?”
“Her husband was. He was the president of the Northeastern Society for Psychical Research.”
“Which is what, pray tell?”
“It’s the foremost organization in New England for investigating the legitimacy of all manner of otherworldly phenomena and practices.”
“Mrs. Stickney told you this?”
“She didn’t have to tell me. Everyone in the spiritual community is familiar with the organization. Most would recognize Mr. Stickney’s name. But she did tell me something else that I didn’t already know.”
“Which was?”
“Mr. Stickney had booked at the hotel with the sole intention of scrutinizing every practitioner in the establishment. He planned to devote his organization’s entire fall quarterly magazine to his findings.”
Whispers Beyond the Veil Page 16
