Whispers Beyond the Veil

by Jessica Estevao

  “She hasn’t given one that can be of value when out scouring the town for criminals. Unless you, sir, know what a murderous savage rage looks like.”

  “He was taller than I am and had dark hair. He wasn’t well dressed but neither was he dirty. His clothes were just a bit shabby, really.”

  “Did you see his eye color?” Chief Hurley asked.

  “I can’t say that I remember that clearly but if I had to guess I would say brown, considering how dark his hair was.”

  “Did he speak to you when he accosted you?” the chief asked.

  “No, he just stepped straight up to me and made a grab for my handbag. The look in his eyes was enough to start my teeth chattering.” Miss Proulx looked straight at Chief Hurley and added a little lip wobble to give weight to her words. Yancey barely stifled a rude noise that could rightly be interpreted as disbelief. “I’ve never been so frightened in all my life.” She widened her eyes so far Yancey worried they’d jump out of her head.

  The chief tsk-tsked and turned to Yancey. “I’ve been telling you this pickpocketing situation was dangerous. I want you to make it a top priority. We can’t have young ladies afraid to walk the streets of Old Orchard.” Miss Proulx batted her eyelashes at the chief, and Yancey felt his jaw clenching so hard one of his teeth wiggled.

  “Thank you for taking me seriously, sir. Since you seem to have the matter in hand, I’d best get back to the hotel. Things have been unsettled all day, as I’m sure you can imagine.” Miss Proulx pointed at the basket. “Enjoy the treats and please give my regards to your mother and sister.” With a dazzling smile for the chief and Jelly Roll, she turned to the door. Yancey’s irritation grew as Officer Lewis hurried to open it for her.

  The chief waved to Miss Proulx’s retreating form and then turned a scowl on Yancey.

  “I want you to get on this immediately. Nothing is more important.”

  “So you want me to set aside the murder investigation in order to look into the attack on Miss Proulx?”

  “I’m not sure if you are being deliberately obtuse or if your intellect is truly unequal to the task of a police investigation. It should be clear to you that the pickpocket and the murderer are one and the same.”

  “Even if that were so, sir, there is very little to go on in finding the man Miss Proulx claims to have seen. Taller than herself, with dark hair and a workingman’s wardrobe. How would you have me begin to find him in a town teeming with just such men?”

  “You missed the crucial information, Yancey. Miss Proulx has told you exactly where to look.”

  “I am afraid I am at a loss, sir,” Officer Yancey said, consulting his notebook.

  “She said the man was a savage, filled with a murderous rage.” Chief Hurley smiled at Yancey and he felt a shadow flicker across his heart. It was a smile that took pleasure in the suffering of others. “I suggest you get over to the Indian camp and make an arrest.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Even with so much on my mind it was hard not to be distracted by the roar of the sea and the happy clamor of the crowds as I made my way back to the hotel. All around me throngs of merrymakers and holiday visitors clogged the streets and slowed my passage. I was so taken with people watching and admiring the fashions and the frolicking I was oblivious to anyone calling my name until he was right beside me. Without warning, the sound of Mr. Ayers’s voice filled my ear. Despite the warm sun on my face a shiver skittered across my scalp.

  “Miss Proulx, how fortunate I feel to have come upon you so serendipitously.” Mr. Ayers attempted to blind me with a radiant smile.

  “We seem to encounter each other at regular intervals, do we not?” I hoped he could hear the sarcasm in my voice but if he had, he gave no indication of it.

  “Since the fates conspire to bring us together, Miss Proulx, I’d like to turn this moment of privacy to our mutual benefit. If you will permit me to accompany you to your destination we might discuss a matter I have in mind along the way.” Without waiting for a response, he placed his hand beneath my elbow and matched his pace to my own. Bending low, he said, “Smile, Miss Proulx. How can we speak freely if every person we pass stops to ask if you need to be rid of me?” I felt the pressure on my arm increase enough to be sure it was a threat and decided it best if I heard him out as far from the hotel as possible.

  In the crowd there might be many eyes and ears but they would be far less likely to be trained on me than if we were inside the walls of the Belden. I forced a smile to my face and turned my head to look at him.

  “I am not going very far, so you had best take advantage of my attention whilst it’s available. What do you wish to say to me?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to hazard a guess?”

  “I’m afraid I could not possibly do so.”

  “Certainly a smart girl such as yourself should have some inkling as to my intentions.” When I didn’t offer a guess he continued. “Very well, I’ll just tell you, then, shall I?”

  “I’m afraid you must. I have no appetite for guessing.”

  “No appetite perhaps, but certainly you have a gift for it. I wish to use your talent for persuasion to further my business interests.”

  “Talent for persuasion? I am still at a loss.”

  “Very well, allow me to be direct. I wish you to use your influence with the Velmont sisters. They are very wealthy and I want you to advise them during your séance sessions to invest in a venture in which I have a controlling interest.”

  “And why would I do a thing like that?”

  “Come now, Miss Proulx. Or should I say Miss Prideaux or would you prefer Miss Palmer? Perhaps Miss Parker? Shall I go on?” He drew me closer and bent his mouth to my ear. “Your name may have changed but your face is the same from all the handbills and snake oil bottles that bear your image. Your father certainly was one for getting the word out about his little medical miracle worker, now, wasn’t he?”

  My heart clutched and thumped. My stomach thrashed. My ears buzzed and even my sense of smell felt off-kilter. As much as I did not desire Mr. Ayers to touch me, if he had chosen that moment to release my arm I believe I would have fainted dead away right there in the street. Still, there was no reason to think he knew about Johnny.

  “Even if what you are saying about me is true, why would I risk the reputation of the hotel by conducting fraudulent readings?”

  “Because I know why you left Canada in such a hurry.”

  “I can’t imagine what you’re talking about.”

  “Perhaps this will aid your memory.” Mr. Ayers withdrew a small black book from his jacket pocket. “I do so like to put the time on a train to good use.” He thumbed through the pages and, finding what he sought, ripped it out and handed it to me. “You can keep that as a reminder. I can always draw another from memory.”

  There, in smudged charcoal, were the scenes that haunted me every time I closed my eyes, every time I didn’t deliberately crowd them from my thoughts. Johnny smiling, the Invigorizer strapped to his chest. My father urging me to action with an impatient wave. My own hand at the controls. My face clearly visible as I bent over Johnny’s body sprawled upon the straw. Seeing the tragedy, there in black and white brought back such painful memories and made me all the more aware I hadn’t been able to openly mourn Johnny’s death. Still, it was a collection of drawings, not of photographs. There must still be room for doubt. I raised my eyebrows and pointed to the book.

  “While I will say you are a talented artist I won’t say this is proof of anything besides your unbridled imagination.”

  “You are a cool one, Miss Proulx, I’ll give you that.” Mr. Ayers smiled at me with something that looked like admiration. “If it’s proof you want, it’s proof you’ll have.” He riffled through the sketchbook and retrieved from between its pages a folded piece of paper. I was quite ashamed of myself for the way my hand trembled as
I reached for it.

  “More scribblings?” I asked.

  “Of a sort. It’s the bill of sale. I had arranged to deliver it to your father at the demonstration tent the morning of the murder.” He smiled at me again, this time looking like a wolf baring its teeth. I unfolded the paper and looked it over carefully.

  “This is a bill for over four hundred dollars.”

  “He did say he wanted them all.”

  “There’s nothing to tie this to my father or to me.”

  “Your father really believed the Invigorizers were going to be the start of a whole new life for him,” he said. “Take a look at whose signature is on the bottom, acknowledging receipt of the Invigorizers.” He pointed to a flourishing scrawl at the bottom of the sheet. I recognized Father’s style of handwriting in the signature but the name startled me. He had abandoned his self-imposed rules and truly had fallen for his own con.

  “Ivory Proulx,” I said.

  “Yes. He signed it with his real name,” Mr. Ayers said. “Did you happen to note the name of the purchaser listed at the top?” I forced myself to look where he indicated.

  “Ruby Proulx.” My upper lip beaded with sweat and I wasn’t sure if I felt more frightened or angry. “I never placed such an order.”

  “Your father felt it best to amend the original bill of sale. When I caught up with him hitching up his wagon and explained to him the price had doubled to ensure I kept what I had seen to myself, he mentioned you were the one with better prospects.”

  “He told you to come after me?”

  “It was the only sensible thing to do. He convinced me that your wealthy aunt would be in a position to help you repay me.” Mr. Ayers plucked the paper from my quaking hand and tucked it back into his pocket. “He said if I hurried I could catch the same train you would take to Old Orchard. That’s exactly what I did.”

  “You make it all sound so easy.”

  “It was. Almost as easy as it would be to convince the police that someone like yourself, who has already killed once, is responsible for the death of Mr. Stickney. I think this paper and a telegram to New Brunswick would be all it would take to slip a noose over your lovely neck.”

  “So if I convince the Velmont sisters to invest in your sham company, the debt will be paid and you’ll give me the invoice?”

  “Precisely. You’ll have ownership of the evidence tying you to Johnny’s death and I’ll have my money.”

  “Why do you think they’d listen to me about matters of finance?”

  “I don’t. But they will listen to advice from their dearly departed father flowing through you. If he were to tell them to invest in my company, they would certainly do so.”

  “And you think I would save my own skin by swindling two little old ladies?”

  “I am certain of it. It is not as though you are a woman of scruples. After all, how many little old ladies did you sell your father’s miracle cures to? How many did you encourage to seek relief in a bottle of empty promises rather than the advice of a doctor?” He released my arm and I stumbled backward and sagged against a tree trunk. “I see you need time to think. I’ll say my good-byes and will await your decision.” He tipped his hat in my direction and strode away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Of all the infuriating women he had ever met, Miss Proulx took the cake. Yancey was disgusted with Miss Proulx for pointing her finger at the Indians. He would have expected more from Honoria’s niece. After all, Honoria was so broad-minded it made most people uncomfortable. Between her talk of women’s rights, equal opportunities for Negroes, and her fascination with people from other cultures it seemed incredible she could be nurturing a bigot to her outsize breast.

  It just went to show how deeply such things ran. And that people are more than their biology, their lineage. Which was the only cheering thought wending its way through Yancey’s mind as he landed at the bottom of Old Orchard Street and turned left onto East Grand Avenue.

  Just ahead was a flat piece of ground used for time beyond memory by the Indians who traveled down from Maritime Canada and points north in Maine to spend the summer, as had their families for generations. According to the Indians Yancey knew, their people had gathered on this stretch of sand ever since there was a beach to gather upon.

  Elders in the community credited the waters at Old Orchard with healing properties and made a point to bathe when it was warm enough to do so. Younger people seemed less inclined to believe in the power of the water but they did take benefit from the tourist trade. Some, like Nell, interacted with the vacationers by telling fortunes or selling medicines and cure-alls. Others put on shows of strength or shared stories, songs, and dancing. Not that all the stories, costumes, or dances were native to eastern Indian tribes.

  Wild Bill’s show had created assumptions amongst whites about what Indians were like, and the white people had no interest in the differences between Indian groups. Most of what was being demonstrated and displayed belonged west of the Mississippi, but that fact was of no concern to the audience and simply a matter of good business for the performers. Yancey wondered what the Indians he had known in the South Dakota Territory would have made of the mixed-up display spread out on this eastern shore.

  Yancey turned left and entered the campground proper. Tents flapped in the steady breeze and a small girl barreled into him as he passed. He watched as the girl dashed away, chased by a boy just a bit smaller than she. They disappeared behind a line of tents, and Yancey stood alone with his memories of another little girl with dark glossy braids and a fleeting smile. Nothing he did seemed to ease that memory. Yancey steeled himself for the flood of emotion he knew would accompany his trip into the camp.

  People all along the rows of tents looked up as he passed. Some waved out of recognition, some from a friendly nature, some not at all. But everyone saw him and noted his presence. His instincts told him this was a group braced for trouble. And why wouldn’t it be? A white man had been found dead not a quarter of a mile from where they lived. Yancey would be hard pressed to think of anyone the rest of the town would rather be found guilty of the murder than the Indians.

  Yancey stopped and asked a young man where he could find Nell. The man shook his head and hurried away. Yancey asked again, this time an older man with whom Yancey had once shared a walk along the beach at sunrise. The man smiled at him and escorted him to the front of Nell’s tent. Without a door to knock upon Yancey decided the thing to do was to call out a greeting. Before he could raise his voice the tent flap lifted and Nell appeared in the gap.

  “You’re late.”

  “How did you know I was coming?” Yancey asked.

  “You would not believe me if I told you. So we shall not waste our time. Are you coming in?” Nell held the flap open wider and beckoned with her free hand. Yancey hesitated and looked around. “Are you worried for your reputation, being seen with me?” she asked.

  “No, I am concerned for yours.”

  “I’ve already invited you in—that should be enough to assure you I am unconcerned. Besides, I am certain you do not want all eyes and ears on what you wish to say.” Yancey nodded and stepped into the tent. He looked at the small space and the simplicity of the interior and was struck by the contrast to the way his mother filled their home.

  The tent was comfortable, cozy even, with a lightness that came from the spareness of the decor. Yancey felt he could breathe and breathe deeply, that there was no chance he would ensnare a lacy doily with the power of his lungs or knock over a china statuette if he moved too quickly. Nell gestured to a neatly folded stack of blankets and, after seeing Nell settle herself on another, Yancey sat.

  “You are here about the dead white man.”

  “I’m here to ask about that and also about a pickpocketing incident that occurred recently. My chief thinks the two may be connected.”

  “What do you
think I can tell you?”

  “There’s a witness who saw you passing close to the body at the time it was discovered.”

  “And so you come to ask if I am involved in what happened to this man?”

  “No. I came to ask you if you saw anything or anyone strange as you passed by.”

  “You are not here to arrest me?”

  “I am only here to ask you questions. With all the time you spend there, I consider you to be an expert on the beach. If anything were amiss you would have noticed it.”

  “Everything on the beach is now unusual.”

  “Unusual how?” Yancey leaned forward, hoping for some scrap of information that would turn the investigation away from the Indian camp and back toward Jelly Roll and the chief.

  “Everything is disturbed by the building. Even the seagulls are skittish. The fog has been especially heavy and my eyes seem to play tricks on me at night when I am out walking.”

  “If you know something that could help catch who killed that man you should tell me.”

  “As I said, it was foggy. If I had seen a body anywhere I would have stopped. I can’t say I would have run to tell the police. You know how they are.” Nell smiled at him and let loose a deep laugh. “Most of them would have arrested me on the spot and then come for the men in my family, too.”

  “I wish I could contradict you, Nell, but you’re probably right.” Yancey paused and considered how to proceed with the next question. The real reason he had come to the camp.

  “Why are you really here?”

  “There are troubles brewing with the police. A young woman has made an accusation against a man who tried to grab her valuables a few days ago.” Yancey pulled his notebook from his pocket and pretended to consult the words written upon it. He wanted to look official in some capacity and his emotions were threatening to overwhelm his good sense. “Her description of the man could easily be interpreted as an Indian man by someone eager to do so.”