Whispers Beyond the Veil

by Jessica Estevao

  “So everyone else at the hotel was aware of the nature of Mr. Stickney’s business?”

  “That’s my understanding. Mrs. Stickney said in case someone hadn’t heard of him he made it a point of honor to alert practitioners of his aims. More often than not charlatans pulled up stakes and disappeared rather than face the scrutiny.”

  “And you think this has something to do with his death?”

  “All I can say is that if I were in charge of this investigation I would look very carefully at Miss Proulx.”

  “Why would you single out Miss Proulx if he was scrutinizing all the practitioners?”

  “Because fraudulent mediums were his particular specialty.” Miss Howell lowered her voice even more. “I think she killed him before he had a chance to expose her. After all, who has more to lose than Miss Proulx or her aunt?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  I hated to admit it but when Officer Yancey came down the hall I started to perspire. And by perspire I mean I started to sweat like a roustabout hurrying to get the tents tied down before a storm. I considered trying to hide until he tired of searching for me but decided delaying the inevitable would just make things worse.

  “Miss Proulx, I’d like a word with you,” he said before taking me by the elbow with more gusto than I felt was strictly necessary. He steered me into the library, which he had commandeered as an outpost of the police station. “Have a seat.”

  “How nice of you to offer me comfort in my own home.” In my experience, going on the offensive is often the best way to deal with men in general and policemen in particular.

  “Your aunt, naturally, is eager to cooperate with the police in any way she can and has offered the library to me as a sort of sovereign territory. Like an embassy. I think you would be well served to consider yourself lucky that we are not having this conversation at the actual station.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “See that you do. Now, as there is much to do today, I will get straight to the point.”

  “Excellent. I shouldn’t like you to have to spend any more time in my presence than strictly necessary.” Officer Yancey had the good grace to drop his eyes to his notebook as two spots of color appeared on his clean-shaven cheeks.

  “I was thinking of the need for urgency and for your inconvenience, Miss Proulx, not any personal distaste for your company.”

  “Whatever your motivations, you must be even busier than we are here at the hotel, so please begin.”

  “As you like. Can you think of any reason someone would murder Mr. Stickney?”

  I knew in my heart of hearts that the truth about Mr. Stickney’s occupation would come out, but I had been telling myself soothing lies ever since his bulging dead eyes had stared up at me from the beach. I’m an optimist, as are all true con artists, and a small part of me had hoped this would all stay hidden. I had been so busy trying to stay calm I hadn’t even bothered to make up a story. I fought down the urge to burst out laughing. I had managed to avoid the police in connection with Johnny’s death, and here I was being questioned about a murder I had not committed. It was a story so fantastical it would have been right at home as the plot of a dime novel.

  I thought back to all the times I’d been in a tight spot before, and the best strategies involved either a stealthy escape or feigning ignorance and waiting to see if the fuss died down and a solution presented itself. After all she had done for me I couldn’t run and leave Honoria looking as though her niece was guilty. Delay it would have to be.

  “While I have been unfortunately acquainted with one of your local pickpockets I cannot claim to be an expert on the Old Orchard criminal element. I certainly cannot speak to their motivations.”

  “I have good reason to believe Mr. Stickney was not killed by a robbery gone wrong.”

  “I have a hard time believing that. After all, everyone says pickpocketing is out of control here now that the pier is almost completed. I’ve heard Mrs. Doyle say that if something isn’t done about them soon there will be more pickpockets on the beach than sand.” I batted my eyelashes at him, but instead of flustering him he just exhaled forcibly through his nose and shook his head.

  “Come now, Miss Proulx, if Mr. MacPherson really did locate him because he can find gold with his dowsing rods I’m sure you can see my point.”

  I was torn. I am willing to assume almost any role necessary to wriggle out of tight spots and to save my own skin. The only part I won’t play is that of helpless female. Feigning ignorance of circumstances or facts was one thing. Appearing dull witted was quite another. In my experience men needed no more reason to assume women should not be allowed to vote, drive, or wear trousers.

  “Of course. The gold watch was still on his person.” I tipped my head to the side as if I were considering other possibilities. “But couldn’t the thief have been scared off after he realized he had killed Mr. Stickney?”

  “You think a brazen criminal would be so scared off he or she would leave a gold watch just lying there?”

  “I can imagine circumstances where it might seem the wiser course.”

  “Indulge me and explain yourself.”

  “If he heard someone coming,” I said, warming to the topic. “Or if he realized the watch were easy to identify. He might not be able to sell it without bringing suspicion of the crime down upon himself.”

  “You seem to have deep insight into the minds of criminals. Is there a reason for that?”

  “Certainly not. It just seems to fit with human nature to run from the consequences of shameful actions. It is something any man would have been tempted to do.”

  “You sound well versed in shouldering guilty burdens, too, Miss Proulx.” I felt my stomach grow cold and my heart thudded around in my chest. I was in over my head. And then the voice spoke in my ear.

  “As do we all.”

  “There is no one that hasn’t experience with that in some form. You, for instance, must have some sort of shadow in your past, something you wish to make right. Why else would you be a policeman?” I could tell from the flicker in his eyes my words had hit a tender spot. I just hoped it would send him packing instead of digging deeper into my history. Then, as quickly as his reaction came, it went, and he was collected and calm once more. But, more important, he redirected the questions.

  “I am asking everyone connected with the hotel to share any information they might have as to Mr. Stickney’s movements yesterday.”

  “I should have thought Mrs. Stickney would be the one to ask about that, not hotel staff.”

  “Mrs. Stickney reports not having seen her husband until he notified her he would not be at the hotel for dinner. So you can see we are interested in what information anyone else has to share.”

  Honoria had warned me about the consequences of indiscretion concerning the guests. I decided to trust her instincts and keep what I knew to myself. After all, nothing Officer Yancey had done up until this point had convinced me to abandon a lifelong habit of viewing the police as the enemy.

  “Honoria introduced me to Mr. Stickney yesterday about midmorning. I didn’t see him again after that.”

  “How convenient.” Officer Yancey really was insufferable. Every moment I spent with him convinced me I was right to keep what I knew to myself.

  “You make it sound as though I had arranged to avoid him. The hotel and all the obligations it entails kept me very busy throughout the day.”

  “You did, however, find time to pay a call on my sister, I hear.” If anything, Officer Yancey’s expression grew even grimmer.

  “Lucinda invited me to visit her. I wasn’t aware the social lives of adult women fell within the purview of the police. Or are things so very different in America than they are in Canada?” I cocked my head to the side and widened my eyes.

  “Until this murderer is caught, everything is with
in the scope of my investigation. Every walk you take, every conversation you have, every snack you sneak from the kitchen in the night is worthy of my scrutiny.”

  “Does this rigorous attention apply to everyone or just to me?”

  “Everyone in the hotel is being closely questioned but I think I should warn you information has come to light that could point the investigation in your direction.”

  “As I only met the man once, and briefly, I am surprised to hear it. What reason could I have to murder him?”

  “I am well aware of the nature of Mr. Stickney’s business and his real reasons for being here at the Belden. It was a remarkable stroke of luck for you that a psychical investigator should meet his death just hours before he commenced his investigation of you, don’t you think?” With that, he flashed me a toothy smile and strode out of the room. I could not have stood if you had lit my chair on fire.

  • • •

  Several hours of placating the worried, curious guests had taken its toll on the staff. I had just sunk into a chair in the hall to catch my breath when I heard a noise.

  “Psst,” said Mrs. Doyle from a doorway at the end of the corridor. “Follow me.” She beckoned with a broad, red hand and scowl. I looked around, hoping she was motioning to someone else, but I found that I was alone. With all the speed of a small boy headed for a bath I made my way down the hall. She grasped me by the arm and pulled me into the small writing room reserved for the lady guests.

  “I’ve just been speaking with my daughter, Sadie. She’s married to a policeman, Frank Nichols.” Mrs. Doyle sank into a chair placed beside an octagonal walnut table and drummed her fingers on its polished top. “Frank told Sadie that he thinks a pickpocket is responsible for Mr. Stickney’s murder but Warren Yancey isn’t convinced.”

  “I got that impression from the way Officer Yancey questioned me this morning,” I said, sitting in the chair opposite her.

  “If Yancey can be convinced a pickpocket is responsible he’ll stop looking at the hotel. It’s bad enough one of our guests was murdered without it looking like another guest might be responsible for doing him in.”

  “And?”

  “And, you were the victim of a pickpocket the day you arrived.” Mrs. Doyle leaned across the table and grasped my hand in both of hers. “If you were to go to Yancey and mention the murderous rage in his eyes when he grabbed your valuables it might go a long way to convincing Yancey that the thief has turned murderer.”

  “But I saw no such rage.”

  “I would not have taken you for someone to trouble herself over such small details.”

  “You want me to lie to Officer Yancey?” It was as if the entirety of the cosmos couldn’t stand to see me go straight. No matter how I tried to pull myself away from lies and deceptions I kept finding myself pointed down the same disreputable path over and over again. “Even if I wanted to do such a thing, how could I possibly convince him to believe me?”

  “The way lovely young women have always made men believe the things they say, by being charming.”

  “Officer Yancey does not find me charming in the least. As a matter of fact he ordered me to stay away from his mother and his sister.” I paused to try to add to the indignant tone I hoped was in my voice. “He thinks I am making up my abilities as a medium and even suggested I am on his list of suspects. He wants me to have nothing further to do with his family.”

  “But you haven’t listened, have you?” She gave me her customary scowling squint, and as always I felt exposed.

  “Certainly not. It isn’t for him to say with whom two grown women wish to associate.”

  “Excellent. Charm takes many forms, and what I’ve seen from Yancey is that his fancy tends to run toward independent-minded women. For all his fussing over his mother and sister he respects them. He would be less inclined to credit a thing you said if you turned tail and ran as soon as he suggested it.”

  “But how will I explain the fact I am coming forward with new information and changing my story at this late date? At the time of the incident I told him I had no recollection of the pickpocket and could not describe him.”

  “Memory is a fickle thing. Especially if the victim has suffered a whack to the head. My great-uncle Dickson got on the wrong end of a horse’s hoof and didn’t know his own name for the better part of a year. We had to take turns watching him so he didn’t wander off into the street and get into a tussle with four horse hooves instead of one. Then, one day, for no apparent reason, he was back to normal. Well, except for an aversion to boiled eggs. We never did figure that out.”

  “You really think going to the police will help?”

  “I am so sure of it I’ve already sent a note to the police station alerting Yancey of your intention to visit this afternoon to tell him what you know.”

  “You did what?”

  “You heard me. Now head up and change into something a bit more suited for paying calls and then stop in to the kitchen before you leave. I’ve a basket of gingerbread for Yancey. He can’t resist it and will have much more trouble giving you a hard time once the smell of it is right in front of him.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Miss Proulx pushed open the door to the police station, bringing in the scent of the sea and something delicious. It seemed to be coming from the towel-lined basket grasped in her small hands. Yancey hadn’t had time to eat since before Leander Stickney’s body was discovered. His stomach gave a loud grumble, and Miss Proulx smiled at him and hurried to his desk.

  “It sounds as though I am right on time.” She plunked the basket right under Yancey’s nose. “When Mrs. Doyle heard I was coming here she asked me to deliver this to you. Gingerbread, I think she said. It certainly smells like it.” She peeled back the tea towel to reveal moist, dense squares of cake with a glossy, dark sheen to the tops.

  Yancey leaned forward and breathed deeply. Mrs. Doyle knew how much he loved gingerbread. He was quite certain there was a reason behind her gift that he wouldn’t be happy to discover. Preserving a professional demeanor was the best way to deal with Miss Proulx. His stomach betrayed him again with another rumble. Her smile broadened and he lost his patience.

  “Please convey my thanks to Mrs. Doyle. Now, if you could get on with the reason for your visit, I would appreciate it. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten I’m in the middle of a murder investigation and you are a suspect.”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  “About the murder?”

  “Not directly. I am here about the pickpocket who gifted me with this lump on my head the moment I stepped foot in Old Orchard.” Miss Proulx winced dramatically as she reached up under her hat and appeared to touch her head.

  “I thought you remembered nothing of the incident.”

  “Memory can be such a fickle thing.”

  “Unreliable, too, I often find. Especially in the case of some witnesses.”

  “Nonetheless, I felt it was my duty to alert you that mine has returned.”

  “You expect me to believe your memory has flooded back completely without explanation?”

  “What reason would I have to lie about such a thing?”

  “Perhaps to lead the investigation into Mr. Stickney’s murder away from the Hotel Belden and down avenues which are more to your liking.”

  “I did not come here to be insulted. I am more than happy to take Mrs. Doyle’s basket along to someone else who would appreciate it. Like that nice young man over there.” She nodded toward Officer Lewis, whose uniform hung loosely on his slight frame. “He looks in need of some extra nourishment.”

  “Since you’re already here, please share all that you have spontaneously remembered.”

  “It was a man who assaulted me.”

  “I know that, Miss Proulx, based on Henry Goodwin’s testimony. He gave us a complete description of a short man with san
dy hair, a pleasant expression, and bright blue eyes. You needn’t have troubled yourself to come down here and tell me something I already knew.” Yancey stood and reached his hand to the basket. “Now, if there is nothing else, I must return to my work.”

  “But that isn’t at all what the man who assaulted me looked like.”

  “You are saying that your description does not tally with young Henry’s?”

  “Have you ever heard of a young woman bashing a stranger over the head with a parasol because his visage was so pleasant?” she asked. Yancey sat back down and reached for his pencil.

  “I cannot say that I have,” he said. “It was a unique experience.”

  “For myself as well, I can assure you. Now, what do you suppose could have provoked such a forceful response?”

  “I could not possibly offer a scenario where a well-bred young woman would be moved to such an act.” Yancey felt a twinge of something that might be guilt as Miss Proulx’s face clouded over and threatened to storm.

  Before she could respond, Chief Hurley and Jelly Roll emerged from the chief’s office. Miss Proulx offered the chief a demure smile, then turned back to Yancey.

  “Good manners have nothing to do with abject terror. The man who accosted me was a fearsome picture of wrath. His eyes were alight with a murderous rage and his grip upon my gown was so savage as to make me fear for the loss of things more valuable than a few coins and an old letter.”

  “So you think I should be on the lookout for a savage someone who gives the appearance of murderous rage?”

  “I think you should be glad of any help the public is willing to provide since you haven’t solved the murder of Mr. Stickney or the problems of pickpocketing in Old Orchard.” At that, Jelly Roll whispered something to the chief, who nodded, then crossed the room to stand before Miss Proulx.

  “Miss Proulx, please accept my apologies on behalf of my officer. The murder investigation has added to our burdens enormously and we are grateful for whatever help the public can provide.” He turned to Officer Yancey. “Have you taken down a detailed description?”