“Does that mean you’re giving up?”
“That means I don’t have any other places to look. Linton won’t let me talk to Grace, and Upchurch told me that if I wanted to talk to the boys at the church, I’d have to get permission from their mothers, but then I’d have to explain that I think their sons might’ve raped a young girl, so I doubt they’d be too cooperative. I wouldn’t get a very warm welcome if I showed up at church on Sunday morning and started questioning people in the pews, and it’s probably not a good idea to go knocking on the doors of all Mrs. Linton’s lady friends, either. Without a suspect, there’s not much else I can do without upsetting a lot of respectable people and letting everybody know what happened to Grace in the bargain.”
Sarah sighed. He was right, of course. If they were dealing with criminals on the Lower East Side, Malloy’s position as a detective would serve him well. On the Upper East Side, things were very different, though.
Malloy’s brows lowered over his dark eyes. “What are you thinking?” he asked suspiciously.
“Just that . . . Well, what we need is someone who can mingle with these people without causing alarm,” she said. “Someone who could ask questions without having to get permission and who could quite properly visit Mrs. Linton’s lady friends.”
“Someone like you,” he said. He didn’t sound pleased.
“You know I’m right, Malloy.”
“Sarah,” he said, and she felt a small thrill, as she always did when he used her given name. “This doesn’t have anything to do with you. Just take care of Grace Linton and deliver her baby.”
“And how many more babies will there be before this man is stopped? And how many young girls’ lives ruined? I can’t just sit by and do nothing.”
His expression was troubled, but she saw no trace of his usual anger. In fact, he almost looked resigned. Almost.
“It could be dangerous,” he warned. “A man like that won’t give up without a fight. If he realizes what you’re doing—”
“Malloy,” she said with a smile. “Be reasonable. I don’t really have a chance of finding him, and you know it as well as I do, so how dangerous could it possibly be?”
He ran a hand over his face in exasperation, but she thought she glimpsed a trace of a smile before he caught himself. “I never thought I’d hear you admit that.”
“I’m not stupid, Malloy. I know the chances of finding this man are very small, but I can’t just sit by and do nothing. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least try.”
“All right, then. Go visit Mrs. Linton’s friends and their church and make a pest of yourself, but if you find out anything important—anything at all!—promise you’ll send for me.”
“Of course I will,” she promised. “And Malloy, don’t worry. Remember, this isn’t a murder.”
He muttered something that sounded like, “Thank God for that.”
AFTER LUNCH, SARAH TOOK THE NINTH AVENUE ELEVATED train uptown and walked past the lower edge of Central Park into the Lenox Hill neighborhood. There she easily found the Church of the Good Shepherd, just as Malloy had described it. She’d timed her visit near the end of the school day, so she could meet the minister and explain her purpose and still be there when the boys Malloy had told her about arrived.
The sanctuary was empty, so Sarah located the stairs and went down to the church basement where experience told her she’d find some activity. She followed the sound of voices to a room where a group of women sat rolling bandages. To Sarah’s relief, Mrs. Linton and Grace were not among them, but she did see a familiar face.
“Mrs. Brandt, is that you?” Susannah Evans asked, rising from her chair to welcome her. “What brings you here?”
“You spoke so highly of your church that I thought I’d pay a visit to see what made it so special,” Sarah explained to Percy’s grandmother.
Mrs. Evans introduced Sarah to the other women, mostly matrons like herself who probably enjoyed the opportunity to visit and gossip while their hands were busy with a charitable task.
“We’re rolling bandages for the lepers. We send them to the missionaries in Africa,” she explained. “But I’m sure that’s not what you came to see. In fact, I’m surprised you didn’t choose to visit us on a Sunday morning.”
“Oh, I will,” Sarah said, quite certain she would try. “But I was interested in the activities you have to keep young people occupied. You see, I do volunteer work at a mission downtown. We minister to destitute young women, and when you told me how good your pastor is with young people, I wanted to meet him.”
“Oh, my, that must be challenging work. I do so admire those who’ve been called to serve the poor. I’m sure Reverend Upchurch would be happy to give whatever assistance he can. Let’s see if we can find him, shall we?”
Mrs. Evans showed Sarah where to hang her coat, and on the way to find the minister, Mrs. Evans gave Sarah a cursory tour of the building. The basement was divided into several large rooms that would allow different groups to meet at the same time and not disturb each other. Mrs. Evans explained that Sunday School classes met there, and during the week, the rooms provided space for Bible study classes and other meetings. Sarah looked around carefully for a place a young girl might be taken against her will, but she saw no place that would put her out of earshot of others in the building.
Mrs. Evans took Sarah back upstairs in search of the minister.
“You certainly have a beautiful sanctuary,” she observed as they walked down the aisle toward the altar.
“We’re very grateful for it,” Mrs. Evans said. “Many people gave generously to build it.”
Sarah could see small brass plaques beneath each of the stained glass windows, inscribed with the names of those who had purchased them for the church. Each pew also bore a small brass plate with a donor’s name. She could almost feel the love and devotion that had motivated people to give in order to create this majestic house of worship.
Near the front of the sanctuary, Mrs. Evans led Sarah through a door into a short hallway. Mrs. Evans knocked on the first door and was invited to enter.
“Reverend Upchurch, you have a visitor,” Mrs. Evans reported when she’d stepped into what was apparently the minister’s office.
Malloy had described the room to her, but she was still surprised at the air of informality compared to the rest of the building. Reverend Upchurch had created a haven here where boys would feel comfortable. She made a mental note to look at the mission through the eyes of the girls to see what could be done to make it just as inviting as this office.
Mrs. Evans was introducing her to the minister who had stood up when they entered. Sarah felt a shock of surprise at how handsome he was. Somehow she hadn’t expected that, and Malloy certainly hadn’t mentioned it. “We’ve been bragging about our church, I’m afraid,” Mrs. Evans was saying. “And Mrs. Brandt had to see for herself what we’ve accomplished.”
“I hope we won’t disappoint you, Mrs. Brandt,” Reverend Upchurch said with a smile, coming from around his desk. He had a charming smile, and Sarah felt herself easily falling under its spell. Seeing no reason to resist, she smiled back.
“I’m sure you won’t,” she said. “As I told Mrs. Evans, I do volunteer work down at the Prodigal Son Mission on Mulberry Street. I heard how much you’d influenced Mrs. Evans’s grandson and some of the other boys in your church, and I thought I’d see if what you’re doing here could help us reach more girls on the Lower East Side.”
“We aren’t doing anything special.” Plainly, he was uncomfortable taking any credit. “I just give the boys a place to come to stay out of trouble and have a little fun.”
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Evans scolded him good-naturedly. “He gives them much more than that,” she told Sarah. “They adore him. He’s like a father to every one of them, and he’s never too busy to spend time with them.”
“That’s hardly the virtue Mrs. Evans makes it out to be,” Reverend Upchurch said with an embarrasse
d grin. “Given the choice of sitting here writing a sermon or going out and playing baseball, what would you choose?”
Sarah thought about the other ministers she knew and couldn’t imagine any of them playing baseball. “You must do more than play baseball with the boys,” Sarah said with a meaningful glance at the pile of athletic equipment and the chess game that appeared to be in progress.
“Oh, he does,” Mrs. Evans assured her. “In the summer, he even takes them on trips to the shore or to the country. As I told you, he’s like a father to them, and whenever we have a problem with Percy, we simply call for Reverend Upchurch, and he comes immediately.”
Sarah wondered what kinds of problems Mrs. Evans and her daughter had with Percy. He’d seemed well-behaved, but she supposed even a normally active boy might sometimes be too much for two women.
“Boys need a strong hand to guide them,” Reverend Upchurch was saying.
“And a man to look up to,” Mrs. Evans added, beaming at Upchurch.
Upchurch certainly looked like the kind of man every woman wanted her son to become, too. Tall and broad-shouldered, he practically radiated vitality.
Before Sarah could think of something else to ask, they heard the front door of the church open and the sound of running feet in the sanctuary.
“Sounds like school is out,” Upchurch said with a tolerant grin.
“The boys come here straight from school most days,” Mrs. Evans explained, which Sarah already knew. “Maybe they could tell you what it is about our ministry here that appeals to them.”
“Oh, I’m sure Mrs. Brandt doesn’t have time for that,” Upchurch said quickly, obviously wanting to spare her the ordeal of making the acquaintance of a pack of rowdy boys.
“I’d love to meet them, at least,” Sarah said.
She got a fleeting impression that Upchurch wasn’t pleased at the prospect, but it was gone so quickly, she thought she must have imagined it.
Mrs. Evans was already heading back to the sanctuary. “I’m sure they’d be delighted to meet you, too.”
Sarah followed her, with the minister bringing up the rear. When Sarah stepped back into the sanctuary, she saw two boys scuffling at the back of the room, and about halfway down the aisle, another stood talking to a girl whose back was to them. He was older than the others, probably sixteen or so, and tall. He hadn’t quite grown comfortable with his changing body, and he didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, but his young face betrayed his avid interest in this fascinating creature of the opposite sex.
Sarah’s nerves tingled in alarm. Was this the boy who had seduced Grace? Was this girl to become his next victim? As the questions formed in her mind, the girl reached out and playfully plucked a piece of lint from the boy’s jacket, then smoothed the lapel. It was a blatantly flirtatious gesture, and the boy responded with a flirtatious smile of his own.
“Rachel,” Reverend Upchurch called sharply.
The girl turned toward the sound, and Sarah saw to her surprise that she wasn’t a girl at all but a woman who was probably in her thirties. She was small and slender, almost birdlike, giving the illusion of youth, and she wore her dark hair in a cascade of curls, pinned up just high enough to be respectable. Her sharp-featured face was plain, almost boyish, but her dark eyes caught and held Sarah’s attention. They seemed to hold a depth of emotion no mortal could contain. The impression was only momentary, but Sarah found it infinitely disturbing.
“Oliver,” Rachel replied coolly. “Mrs. Evans, how nice to see you.”
Susannah Evans didn’t reply. She frowned in stern disapproval, as the boy flushed scarlet.
They all stood for a long moment in awkward silence until Upchurch remembered his manners. “Mrs. Brandt, may I introduce my wife?”
6
“I’M PLEASED TO MEET YOU, MRS. BRANDT,” RACHEL UPCHURCH said with a strange smile. “Are you a new church member?”
“Mrs. Brandt is interested in our work here,” Upchurch informed his wife. Sarah thought she heard an edge of warning in his voice.
“And what work is that?” Rachel asked, never taking her dark eyes off Sarah.
“I’m interested in how Reverend Upchurch provides activities for boys to keep them out of trouble,” Sarah said before anyone could reply for her.
Mrs. Upchurch considered that for a few seconds before lifting her strange gaze to her husband. “Is that what you do, Oliver? Keep them out of trouble?”
Upchurch ignored the question. “Isaiah,” he said to the boy with whom his wife had been flirting moments ago, “why don’t you take the other boys downstairs and set up a game of dominoes?”
Apparently grateful for the excuse to escape this uncomfortable situation, the boy mumbled, “Yes, sir,” and practically fled, gathering up the others as he left.
“We’ve been rolling bandages all afternoon, Mrs. Upchurch,” Mrs. Evans told her with a trace of disapproval. “We’re sorry you couldn’t join us.”
“So am I,” Mrs. Upchurch replied without a shred of sincerity. “I do so enjoy rolling bandages. Mrs. Brandt, are you a widow?”
“Why, yes, I am,” Sarah said, too surprised by the bluntness of the question to think of not answering.
“And why are you so interested in my husband’s young playmates? Do you have a son of your own?”
“Oh, no, I—”
“That’s good,” Mrs. Upchurch said, cutting her off. “We already have enough fatherless boys around here, don’t we, Mrs. Evans?”
“I . . . Why . . . whatever do you mean, Mrs. Upchurch?” Mrs. Evans stammered, not certain if she should be offended or outraged.
“I mean exactly what I said. I always do.” Mrs. Upchurch gave her husband what could only be called a silent challenge.
“Rachel, don’t you have something you should be doing?” Upchurch asked in an agony of embarrassment at her odd behavior.
“What could I have to do?” she replied, then turned back to Sarah. “Those are fatherless boys,” she explained confidentially, indicating the direction the boys had gone. “I’m a boyless mother. And a girlless one, too.”
“Many women aren’t blessed with children,” Mrs. Evans reminded her sternly. “They still manage to find many worthwhile things to fill their time.”
“What a quaint expression,” Mrs. Upchurch observed. “Blessed with children. If only a blessing were all it took.”
“I believe you wanted to meet some of the boys, Mrs. Brandt,” Reverend Upchurch said in an obvious attempt to end this encounter with his wife. “I’d be happy to introduce you.”
“Thank you,” Sarah said, although she had a feeling this odd woman might be the only one in the church who could really help in her quest to find Grace’s attacker. “So nice meeting you,” she said to Mrs. Upchurch.
“Was it really?” she replied with a trace of a smile.
Reverend Upchurch indicated Sarah should precede him down the aisle toward the stairs, and as they passed his wife, Mrs. Upchurch turned to Mrs. Evans.
“Did you say you were rolling bandages? May I join you?” Without waiting for an answer, she fell in behind her husband, and the four of them made their way down to the church basement.
The sound of boys’ voices led them to the room where Isaiah was organizing a game of dominoes on a center table. The voices fell silent the instant Reverend Upchurch led the ladies into the room.
“I’d like you to meet Mrs. Brandt,” he told them. Their young eyes watched her with guarded interest, and she smiled in an effort to reassure them. “She came to see what our church is like.”
“I didn’t mean to interrupt your game,” Sarah said.
The boys just stared, not hostile but not friendly either. She realized that they would see her as just another boring adult, keeping them from their fun. She wanted to ask them questions. She wanted to know if they’d noticed anything or anyone suspicious around the church or if they knew what might have happened to Grace Linton. She also understood in this one
moment of confrontation that even if she could find a reason to ask them such questions, they’d never answer her honestly. They had no reason to trust her or even to take her seriously. If they did know something about Grace’s attack, they’d never tell her.
“What’s the matter, Isaiah?” Mrs. Underwood asked playfully. “Cat got your tongue?”
Isaiah blushed even more furiously than he had upstairs. “No, ma’am. You didn’t interrupt our game, Mrs. Brandt,” he added politely. “We didn’t start yet.”
“Did you want to ask the boys some questions?” Reverend Upchurch asked Sarah, but before she could reply two more boys came into the room. One of them was Percy York.
Mrs. Evans greeted her grandson, who managed to return the greeting in a manly enough way that his friends wouldn’t tease him. “You remember Mrs. Brandt, don’t you?” she added. “You met her at Mrs. Linton’s house.”
“Nice to see you, Mrs. Brandt,” he said politely. “What are you doing here?”
“Percy,” his grandmother scolded him for his bluntness, but Sarah only laughed.
“That’s a good question,” she told him, grateful for the opening she’d despaired of finding. “I came to find out why you boys would rather be here than out on the streets getting into trouble.”
She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but not the sudden wariness she felt crackle through the room. The boys all looked at Upchurch who had stiffened slightly, although his expression was still friendly and open.
“They’re good boys, Mrs. Brandt,” he said with just a trace of defensiveness. “They wouldn’t be getting into trouble even if they weren’t here, would you, boys?”
“No, sir,” they all agreed, almost in unison.
“But you are here, instead of many other places you could be,” Sarah said, not sure exactly how to phrase a question so she’d get the answer she needed. “I’m interested in helping children in the Lower East Side stay out of trouble, so I’m wondering what you find at the church that you don’t find anywhere else.”
Now they all seemed uncomfortable, and once again they looked to Upchurch for something. Perhaps they needed a clue from him on how to answer. Or perhaps he himself was the answer.
Murder on Lenox Hill Page 9
