Murder on Lenox Hill

by Victoria Thompson

  Apparently, she wasn’t lying about not being sure. She helped Sarah look, throwing open cupboards and searching through the pantry until they located a half-empty box.

  “Arsenic,” Sarah read from the box.

  “What does that mean?” Rachel asked with a worried frown.

  “It means this isn’t what killed your husband.”

  “Did you think it was?”

  “No, but as I said, we have to be sure. Isaiah said they keep rat poison at the church. Do you know where it would be?”

  “Heavens, no,” Rachel said. “Did you look in the kitchen? That seems the most logical place.”

  “That’s where we looked first, but it isn’t there. Where else might it be?”

  “How should I know a thing like that?”

  “You’re the minister’s wife,” Sarah reminded her.

  Rachel gave her a pained look. “And that must mean I know everything that goes on at the church, I suppose. It might if I were the typical minister’s wife, but as you well know, I’m not. The only time I ever went over there was for Sunday services.”

  “And to seduce young boys,” Sarah reminded her.

  She flinched, but she didn’t back down. “I don’t know anything about rat poison at the church,” she insisted, her eyes filled with a pain Sarah felt she deserved to feel.

  As angry as she was with Rachel Upchurch, she couldn’t help feeling sorry for her, too. Her entire life had been lonely and loveless, and now she was more alone than she had ever been.

  “What will you do now?” she asked.

  “If you’re worried that I’m going to get Isaiah to marry me, don’t be concerned,” she replied defensively. “He doesn’t know about the baby, and I have no intention of telling him.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Sarah replied tartly. “He wouldn’t be much of a provider in any case. You’ll have to go someplace, though. They won’t let you stay here.”

  “I know. Actually, I’ve been trying to figure that out while you were gone. If Mr. Malloy doesn’t change his mind and put me in jail, I suppose I’ll contact my aunt and uncle. He’s my mother’s brother. When they hear I’ve been widowed and am expecting a child, they’ll most likely feel obligated to take me in. They live near Albany, so it’s unlikely the scandal of Oliver’s murder will follow me there.”

  “Do you think Isaiah will let you go?”

  “He’s just a child,” she said dismissively. “What could he do to stop me? I’ll simply tell him I no longer care for him. He’ll recover soon enough.”

  Sarah wondered if he’d ever recover from what both of the Upchurchs had put him through, but she wasn’t going to argue. She knew Rachel’s leaving him was the best thing for him. “I have to get back to the church,” she said.

  “What are you going to do there?”

  Sarah sighed. “Try to find the poison that killed your husband.”

  JUST A BLOCK AWAY FROM THE WILKINS’S HOUSE, FRANK came to the Evans-York household, his last stop. Mrs. Evans greeted him when the maid showed him into the parlor. She looked tired and much older than she had the first time he’d met her.

  “Have you changed your mind about arresting me, Mr. Malloy?” she asked with a touch of irony.

  “No, I know you didn’t do it,” he replied kindly.

  “I’m afraid I owe you an apology,” she said. “And a debt of gratitude.”

  “Yes, you do, but don’t give it another thought. How’s Mrs. York?”

  “She’s resting. I’m sure she’ll be fine now that she knows I’m not going to prison. You were right, Mr. Malloy. I did think she’d killed that awful man. I couldn’t bear the thought of her going to prison, so I lied. I was very angry when I found out she’d confessed to protect me, of all things, but I also have to be grateful for the love that motivated her.”

  “Yes, you do,” he said. “Not many people would sacrifice themselves like that for somebody else.”

  “And not many people would refuse to accept a confession of murder, Mr. Malloy,” she said gravely.

  He chose not to respond to that. “The reason I’m here is that I have to make sure there’s no real evidence against you and your daughter, in case somebody else gets assigned to this case later. Can you show me where you keep your rat poison?”

  “How will knowing where I keep my rat poison prove I’m innocent?” she asked in confusion.

  “Because not many kinds of rat poison are cyanide. Most of them are arsenic. Do you know which kind you have?”

  “I never paid any attention,” she realized.

  “Then show it to me, and we’ll find out.”

  She readily complied, and as Frank had hoped, it was arsenic.

  “I wonder if another detective would have taken the time to check my story,” she mused as she walked him back to the parlor.

  “I don’t think anybody would believe you’re a killer in the first place, Mrs. Evans,” he told her. “I just need to ask you one more thing. Do you know if there was rat poison in the church kitchen?”

  She looked up at him in surprise. “Why, yes, now that you mention it. I think we kept a box there. The rats get in everywhere,” she added almost apologetically. “We tried to keep the church clean and not tempt them, but even a crumb is enough to draw them.”

  “Do you know where the poison was kept?”

  “There’s a cabinet in the kitchen. The last time I saw it was on the top shelf, so the children couldn’t reach it, you understand. I can show you, if you like.”

  “That’s not necessary. Isaiah took me down there, but it wasn’t there.”

  “Oh, dear,” she said, instantly seeing the significance of this. “Do you think? . . .”

  “Who else knew it was there?”

  She considered. “Any of the women who worked in the kitchen could have seen it, and that’s all of us at one time or another.”

  “Mrs. Upchurch?” he suggested.

  This made her frown. “I couldn’t really say. I can’t actually recall her ever helping us down there, so she might not have known it was there, but then, she’s the minister’s wife, and she’s got access to the church all the time. I have no idea what she knows and doesn’t know.”

  “What about the men?”

  “You said Isaiah knew about it,” she said. “Some of the other boys might have, too, I suppose. I don’t know who else might have. The men seldom go into the kitchen, but that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t know about it.”

  “Would you by any chance know if the poison at the church was arsenic or cyanide?”

  She shook her head sadly. “I wish I did. I didn’t even know there were different types.”

  It was the echo of the story he’d heard over and over this afternoon. He thanked Mrs. Evans and took his leave. As he walked back to the church, he hoped Kelly or the patrolman or even Sarah had been more successful.

  SARAH WAS SITTING IN UPCHURCH’S OFFICE, TAKING ADVANTAGE of the comfortable chairs in there, when she heard the sanctuary door open and close. She tensed for a moment, realizing she was alone in the building where a murder had taken place. If the killer had returned . . .

  “Sarah? Where are you?” Malloy called.

  She hurried out into the sanctuary to meet him. “Did you find anything?”

  He looked even more discouraged than he had before, and Sarah’s heart ached for him. “No, and I met Kelly and that idiot patrolman a couple blocks from here. Neither of them did, either, so I sent them home. You should go home, too.”

  Sarah sighed. “I will. I just wanted to let you know that I searched every nook and cranny in this building, and I didn’t find any rat poison. Oh, except for Upchurch’s desk, which is locked. I couldn’t find any keys, either.”

  “Upchurch probably had them in his pocket, in which case they’re at the morgue. I’ll take a look, though. Maybe I won’t need any keys.”

  Before Sarah could ask what he meant by that, he was on his way to Upchurch’s office. Did police offic
ers learn how to pick locks the same way burglars did? She wondered idly as she watched him examine the end of a letter opener that had been lying on the desk. He leaned down and inserted it into the slot above the center drawer. A little jiggle produced a click and the drawer slid open.

  “How did you do that?” she asked in amazement.

  He ignored her and began pulling open the other drawers.

  “Hello, what’s this?” Malloy said, staring down into the largest drawer.

  The tone of his voice made the hairs on the back of Sarah’s neck stand up. She hurried over as he pulled a box out of the drawer.

  “Is that rat poison?” she asked incredulously. “Is it the right kind?”

  “Yeah, it is,” he confirmed, setting the box down in the middle of the cluttered desk top. “Says so right here: cyanide.” He pointed to the boldly printed words.

  “Why would it be in Upchurch’s desk?” Sarah asked, hardly able to believe it had been right there under their noses all along.

  “I don’t know, unless . . .”

  “Unless what?” she prodded.

  “Unless Upchurch put it there himself,” he mused.

  “Why would he have done that? Why would he have had it in the first place?”

  “Something’s been bothering me about this case from the beginning, and I couldn’t figure out what it was, but now . . . now I think I might have it.”

  “What?” she demanded. “Tell me what you think.”

  “Remember when I told you that the confessions didn’t make sense with what really happened?” he asked.

  “Yes, because putting the poison in the communion wine probably wouldn’t have killed Upchurch, and it could’ve made everyone else who drank out of the cup sick.”

  “But we know that somebody did put the poison in the cup.”

  “And we know that Upchurch drank it and died,” she added.

  “But the killer couldn’t have known that when he put the poison in the cup. Nobody knew the people weren’t going to come up for communion, and nobody knew Upchurch would drink it all himself.”

  “Then we’re back where we started, and it doesn’t make sense,” Sarah said.

  “Unless . . .”

  “Unless what?” she snapped impatiently.

  “Unless the person who put the poison in the cup wanted to make the people in the congregation sick,” he said.

  “Who would want to do that?” she scoffed.

  “Somebody who hated them or wanted to get even.”

  Sarah gaped at him. “You mean Upchurch? But he didn’t know what they were planning,” she argued.

  “Yes, he did. Wilfred Linton told him this morning.”

  “Why did he do a thing like that?”

  “He thought maybe Upchurch had tricked Grace the way he’d tricked the boys. He wanted to find out before the church members confronted him because he wouldn’t be likely to cooperate after that.”

  “Did Linton find out? Did Upchurch rape Grace, too?”

  “Not from what he said to Linton. Linton didn’t intend to let him know what was going to happen, but Upchurch got a little self-righteous and threatened to report Linton to the church elders for making false accusations. Linton got mad and told him everybody knew the truth about him.”

  Sarah thought back to that morning and how Upchurch had looked when he came out to lead the service. He’d seemed composed at first, but he’d rapidly lost that composure as things began to go awry. “He was upset when no one sang and the offering plates came back empty, but I thought that was because he didn’t know what was wrong.”

  “He knew, all right,” Malloy confirmed, still trying to put all the pieces together. “He knew they’d turned against him. He knew they were going to run him out of the church and probably out of the city.”

  “And you think he put poison in the communion wine?” she asked uncertainly.

  “It had to have been him. Who else would’ve locked it in his desk?”

  “But why did he do it?”

  “Who knows what his reason was, but he must’ve wanted to get back at them somehow,” Malloy suggested. “Maybe he hoped they’d all die, but he knew they’d get sick at least.

  He could even drink some to divert suspicion from himself. He wouldn’t even have to swallow it, just pretend to, and then pretend to be sick like the others.”

  “But no one came forward.” Sarah remembered the scene too well. “He called for them twice, but no one moved. I’ll never forget the expression on his face. I thought he was just humiliated.”

  “What did he do then?” Malloy asked. “Tell me exactly what you remember.”

  She pictured it in her mind. “He looked desperate. That’s the only word to describe it. He offered the cup to Isaiah. He’d offered him the bread first, and he didn’t take it, so Upchurch ate it himself. Isaiah wouldn’t take the cup, either. He even took a step backward. I remember thinking how embarrassing it was for Upchurch to have even his assistant refuse him. And then . . .”

  “Then what?” Malloy prodded.

  “Then he looked around the room. His eyes were terrible, almost crazed. I actually felt sorry for him. Then he lifted the cup to his lips and drank it down.”

  “He didn’t just take a sip?”

  “Oh, no. He tipped the cup up like he wanted to empty it. Some of the wine even ran down his face and stained his stole, that thing he wears around his neck. You probably noticed those stains.”

  Malloy rubbed a hand over his face. “Then it’s what I thought. Upchurch poisoned the wine.”

  “If Upchurch had poisoned the wine, why would he drink it himself?” she protested.

  “Because he saw his life crumbling around him,” Malloy said with a sigh. “He knew they’d expose him and ruin him. He might never get another church, and he might even go to prison. He’d wanted to punish them for what they were going to do to him, but they even ruined that by refusing to cooperate. He must have been desperate, just like you thought. He didn’t see any way out, and he knew the wine was poisoned, so he drank it. That’s why they call suicide the coward’s way out.”

  15

  ON TUESDAY EVENING, SARAH SAT IN THE WARMTH OF her kitchen after supper, enjoying the newspaper reports of Upchurch’s unusual death. Malloy had given his version of the story to an old friend of theirs, Webster Prescott, who worked for The World. The other papers had picked up the story and embellished it in various ways, but no one had discovered the truth behind the minister’s suicide. Malloy’s version had the church ready to dismiss him for stealing money from the offerings, and Upchurch choosing to end his life on the altar to avoid the accompanying scandal and what it would do to his career as a minister. It was close enough to the truth to be believable, and far enough to protect those most vulnerable.

  Once again Malloy had shown himself to be discreet and trustworthy and even kind. Sarah remembered the first time they’d met, when she’d been certain he was none of those things. Now she knew him to be all of that and more. She had no more than formed that thought when she heard the doorbell ring.

  Probably a baby to deliver, she thought, hearing Maeve and Aggie bolting down the stairs from the second-floor playroom to answer it. Then she heard a familiar voice and Maeve’s delighted laughter, and she knew these were welcome visitors instead.

  She found Malloy and Brian removing their coats while Aggie literally jumped up and down with excitement to see her playmate again. When Brian saw Sarah, he ran and threw his arms around her skirts, looking up adoringly. He was getting too big for her to lift anymore, so she could only reach down and give him a hug of greeting.

  “I’m so glad you came,” she told Malloy. “I know Aggie has missed Brian.”

  “I thought she might, and I didn’t want you to have to put up with my mother again so soon,” he said with a twinkle.

  She decided not to reply to that provocation. “Aggie, why don’t you take Brian upstairs and show him your new toys?”

 
Aggie grabbed his hand and fairly dragged him toward the steps before he got the idea and began to race her up. Maeve followed at a more dignified pace.

  “New toys?” Malloy echoed, still teasing. “You aren’t spoiling her, are you?”

  “My mother sent over some of my old things. I think it’s her way of telling me she approves of having Aggie as a member of our family.”

  “You’re going to adopt her, then?” he asked in surprise.

  Sarah felt the twinge of disappointment all over again. “I looked into it, and I just found out yesterday that I can’t legally adopt her because I’m not married,” she said. “But I’m going to keep her. I can be her legal guardian, so that will have to do. She’ll be my child in every other way.”

  She waited, half-afraid Malloy would tell her she had no business taking on a child. Other people had already warned her, and she knew they were probably right. Instead Malloy said, “Aggie’s a lucky little girl.”

  Sarah felt her face melt into a joyful smile. “No, I’m the lucky one. Come on into the kitchen, and I’ll get you some coffee.”

  He saw the newspapers still spread out on the kitchen table. “What did you think?” he asked, pointing at Prescott’s article as he arranged them into a neater pile.

  “I think you’re an excellent liar, Mr. Malloy,” she replied with a grin as she set a cup of coffee before him.

  “It helped that Prescott owed us a favor, too. He didn’t ask any questions when I told him he was getting first crack at the story.”

  “He did a very nice job. Did anybody at Police Headquarters ask any questions you didn’t want to answer?”

  “No. They were too relieved to get the mess cleared up so neatly. I didn’t exactly have proof Upchurch killed himself, but they were all willing to believe my theory, considering the evidence we did have.”

  “Thank heaven for that,” Sarah said, “and thank heaven none of the boys were guilty. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you’d had to arrest one of them. It would’ve been impossible to keep the secret then.”