Murder on Waverly Place

by Victoria Thompson

  But when they got inside, the room was empty.

  “Where is he?” she asked in a whisper.

  Frank shrugged. “Maybe he’s in there.” He pointed to the curtained alcove. He stepped over and pulled back the curtain, but no one was in there either. He shrugged again.

  Without a word, she went to the wall opposite the back door and started to remove a picture hanging there. He hurried to take it from her. When he’d set it on the floor, he saw her pulling a plug of cotton wool from one of two holes. She pointed to the other one, and said, “Stand close to it so the light doesn’t shine into it.”

  He pulled the cotton wool out of the other hole and peered through. He had a perfect view of the séance room. Serafina had just put out the gaslight and was closing the door. He could see everyone seated around the table, their hands clasped just the way Serafina had demonstrated. Maeve was looking all around, taking in every detail of the room in the last seconds before the door closed, plunging them into darkness. She’d probably learned that from her short stint as a Pinkerton Detective a few weeks ago.

  Then the room was dark, and Frank and Sarah could see nothing, but after a few moments, when Serafina had taken her place again, she spoke, and they could hear her clearly.

  “Yellow Feather, are you there? What do the spirits have to tell us today? Yellow Feather, speak to us.”

  Someone at the table murmured something, and Cunningham called out, “Is my father there? I need to speak with him!”

  Serafina kept calling for Yellow Feather, pleading with him to make his presence known, and just when Frank thought maybe the spirit guide wasn’t going to cooperate, he heard her make an odd sound, and suddenly a new voice started speaking, one he’d never heard before.

  “This is Yellow Feather. I am very confused,” the voice said. A man’s voice, but not the voice of either of the men in the room. “So many spirits, too many, all shouting, all wanting to be heard.”

  Frank looked at Sarah, and she gave him a nod, telling him everything was as it should be.

  “Is my father there?” Cunningham asked desperately.

  “Soon, soon,” Yellow Feather soothed. “You must be patient. A new spirit is here. I have never seen him before. He is looking for someone, someone young. Are you there?”

  “Is it me?” Cunningham asked. “I’m here, Father!”

  “Who is it? Who are you?” Yellow Feather asked, sounding uncertain.

  Someone moaned, a plaintive sound that gave Frank gooseflesh, although he never would have admitted it.

  “The new spirit is searching. He is old, very old. And rich.”

  “It’s my father!” Cunningham insisted. “It must be!”

  “No, no,” Yellow Feather moaned. “No, I am seeing money, much money, but it does not belong to him. He only pretends to be rich. He lies. He lies to steal money from people.”

  Frank glanced at Sarah, but she looked as puzzled as he.

  “He is old,” Yellow Feather was saying. “No, not old, not very old, but he says he is old. He calls himself the . . . the Old Gentleman.”

  Sarah’s breath caught, and when he looked at her, her eyes were wide with surprise. She put her hand over the hole in the wall and whispered, “Maeve’s grandfather played the Old Gentleman in the Green Goods Game.”

  Now Frank’s eyes widened in surprise. When had Sarah come by that interesting piece of information? She had some explaining to do when this stupid séance was over.

  “I see money,” Yellow Feather was saying. “A lot of money, and blood. There is blood on the money, and the Old Gentleman is dead. Someone killed him.”

  “Who is he?” Mrs. Burke asked in alarm. “Why is he here?”

  “He has a message for someone,” Yellow Feather said. “He wants to say . . . Maeve! Maeve, are you here?” Yellow Feather’s voice rose with desperation.

  “Yes,” someone said faintly. Was it Maeve? Was she terrified? Too frightened to speak aloud?

  “Maeve, he wants to tell you something. He has a message for you.”

  “Who killed him?” Maeve asked, not sounding at all frightened. “Tell me that! Who killed you? Say his name!”

  Yellow Feather moaned. “I can’t hear him. Too many spirits. They are all shouting. They all want to speak through me, but I can’t—”

  “Is Mrs. Gittings there?”

  Sarah started. That was her mother’s voice.

  Yellow Feather gave a chilling moan. “I do not want to speak to her.”

  “Let her speak,” Mrs. Decker insisted. “Can she tell us who killed her?”

  “Oh, Elizabeth, please don’t!” Mrs. Burke cried.

  “So many spirits,” Yellow Feather complained. “I am so tired.”

  “No, no, you must find my father before you go!” Cunningham cried.

  “Someone is here, someone new . . .” Yellow Feather’s voice broke, and he made some strangled sounds. “He wants to speak. He’s trying so hard to speak.”

  Suddenly, a piano started to play. The notes were slow and uncertain, as if the player was just learning. Frank looked at Sarah. She covered her peek hole again and whispered, “It must be the Professor playing the gramophone.”

  Frank knew the Professor hadn’t been in the secret room a few minutes ago, but he stepped over again and pulled back the curtain. Sure enough, the gramophone was turning, the needle pressed against one of the wax cylinders, and the bell-shaped speaker was turned toward the door that led to the cabinet. But the room was still empty. Who had started it up?

  He hurried back to Sarah and shook his head to tell her no one was there.

  Apparently, Yellow Feather was still trying to get the new spirit to speak up and encountering resistance. “He can’t . . . He is still too close. The pull of life is still too strong.”

  Suddenly, everyone gasped, and they all started talking at once.

  “What’s that?”

  “Who’s there?”

  “Did you feel it, too?”

  Mrs. Burke made a sound like a sob.

  “He is here,” Yellow Feather said. “He needs to speak to you. Spirit, who are you? Why are you here?”

  This time the moan was a different voice, higher pitched and keening, and everyone gasped again.

  “Speak, Spirit,” Yellow Feather called out. “Do not be afraid!”

  “I . . . did . . . not . . . kill . . . her!”

  “Who is it?” Mr. Sharpe demanded. “Who are you?”

  “Nic . . . Nic . . . Nicola,” the spirit wailed, as if the word was torn from his throat.

  More gasps and sobs. The piano music had grown more confident.

  “I’m going to stop this,” Frank said, but Sarah grabbed his wrist and shook her head.

  “Let her go,” Sarah whispered fiercely. “Maybe she really knows who the killer is.”

  The new spirit was keening and Yellow Feather started shouting to be heard. “Stop it! Listen to me! What else do you have to tell us?”

  That was when Frank realized with a start that Serafina couldn’t be doing both voices at once. From the way Sarah’s eyes had nearly popped out of her head, she had realized the same thing.

  “Tell us!” Yellow Feather begged. “Tell us who killed her!”

  “I did not kill her,” the spirit insisted.

  “I know! I know! We believe you!” Yellow Feather said. “Tell us the truth. Tell us who killed her.”

  “The same . . . The same . . .” the spirit sputtered.

  “Who is it?” Yellow Feather cried.

  “The same who kills Serafina!”

  Someone shouted and suddenly a burst of light illuminated the room, and he could clearly see everything.

  Frank peered through the hole, desperate to see what was happening, but he could hardly make sense of what he saw.

  Nicola’s ghost stood in front of the cabinet, staring in wide-eyed shock at the dark figure holding a stiletto poised to strike, but not at Serafina at all.

  He was going to
stab Maeve.

  16

  MALLOY PRACTICALLY KNOCKED SARAH DOWN IN HIS frantic haste to get to the kitchen door and out into the hall so he could force open the door to the séance room. She caught herself and took out after him. He’d just forced the door open when she reached him.

  She could hear screams and shouts and the sound of a struggle. Malloy lunged for the struggle, which was taking place on the other side of the table, just where Maeve had been sitting, but she was gone. Dear heaven, had someone killed her, too?

  But in the next instant, she saw her good hat bobbing above the edge of the table, and an arm came up holding something long and cylindrical that had some kind of light streaming out of it and brought it down with a sickening thud. As quickly as that, the struggle ceased and the light went out, and from the other side of the table, people started to reappear. Malloy first, and then Mr. Sharpe, and finally Nicola.

  Nicola?

  Sarah blinked to make sure. He looked furious and slightly disheveled but very much alive. And he was helping Maeve to her feet.

  “What did you hit him with?” he was asking her.

  But Maeve wasn’t listening. She didn’t even seem to know she’d been assisted by a ghost. She was too busy glaring down at the body on the floor. “Is he dead?” she asked, obviously hoping he was.

  “Not likely,” Malloy said. “Probably just stunned, but we’d better truss him up before he comes to.” He turned and realized everyone else was staring at them in horrified silence.

  “Who is it?” Sarah asked, hurrying over to see for herself, and she looked down at the body sprawled unceremoniously on the floor, a nasty gash across his powdered hairline.

  “The Professor?” she said in surprise. “But he couldn’t be the killer. He was the only one who wasn’t in the room!”

  “Just as he was not in the room today,” Serafina said. “Did anyone see him come in?”

  “No, I didn’t,” Cunningham replied. At some point he’d gone to her aid and now held her arm as if to support her in case she fainted. Sarah had never seen anyone who looked less likely to faint.

  “Neither did I,” Mrs. Decker agreed. She was supporting Mrs. Burke, who did look like she might faint, although she was probably too interested in what was happening to risk missing any of it. “But I didn’t see that young man in here either,” she added, nodding toward Nicola.

  “He was probably hiding in the cabinet, weren’t you, Nicola?” Malloy asked.

  “Yes, I was,” he admitted a little defensively.

  “But the Professor wouldn’t fit in there,” Malloy pointed out. “And Nicola would have noticed him, so how did he get in?”

  “He hid behind the door,” Serafina said.

  Everyone looked at the door in question, and Malloy walked over to it. When he passed Sarah, he said. “Hold this,” and handed her the stiletto that she’d seen the shadowy figure ready to stab Maeve with. She looked at it with horrified fascination.

  Malloy was examining the door.

  “I did not think of it that day, not until later, but he would always come with me to escort the clients into the séance room,” Serafina was explaining. “He did not come that day, and I did not know where he was. Then I remember, I also did not see him come in at the end, when I called him to help when Mrs. Gittings fell over. He was just there, but he did not have the smelling salts. He always brings the smelling salts from the kitchen when he comes. Later, when I think about everything, I knew he must have been hiding behind the door. As the door closes, the room gets dark, and if he was very still, no one would notice him.”

  Malloy stepped behind the door, and Serafina demonstrated. Sure enough, if he pressed himself back into the corner behind the door, by the time he was really visible, the room was almost totally dark.

  “Everyone would be looking at me and not expecting to see anyone there,” she added.

  “Distraction,” Maeve said. “It’s an old magician’s trick.” She looked down at the figure still lying at her feet. “He used to do some magic, too.”

  “You know him?” Sarah asked in surprise.

  “Yes, I know him,” she said simply.

  “Nicola,” Malloy said, having emerged from behind the door, “do you have some rope we can tie him up with?”

  Nicola scrambled to do his bidding, and as he passed Mrs. Decker, she said, “I thought he was dead.”

  He flashed her an impudent grin and was gone. Sarah noticed Serafina’s gaze followed him, her feelings for him glowing in her eyes.

  “You identified the body,” Sarah reminded her.

  “I had to protect Nicola,” she said simply. “If we could not make you believe the Professor was the killer, then you would think Nicola was dead, and he would be safe.”

  “But you were so upset when you saw the birthmark on . . . on that poor fellow’s back,” Sarah said.

  “What poor fellow’s back?” Cunningham cried. “What is she talking about?”

  “Madame Serafina had to look at a dead body,” Malloy said. “We thought it might be Nicola, and she told us it was.”

  “How horrible for you,” Cunningham said solicitously. “You should have sent for me.”

  Serafina ignored him. “I was not sure at first. That is why I asked to see the back. Nicola has a scar from when he fell against the stove as a child. When I saw no scar, I knew it was not him.”

  “So you were crying from relief,” Sarah guessed. Serafina simply smiled.

  Nicola returned carrying a length of heavy twine. The Professor was starting to moan, and Malloy made short work of tying his hands and feet. By then he was awake, and he started cursing Malloy.

  “Watch your language, man,” Sharpe cautioned him as Malloy hauled him to his feet and sat him in Maeve’s former chair. “There are ladies present.”

  “You bitch,” he spat at Serafina, who simply glared back at him.

  “Mrs. Decker, allow me to take you and Mrs. Burke into the other room,” Sharpe offered.

  “You’ll do nothing of the kind,” Mrs. Decker said. “I want to hear what this man has to say for himself.” To her credit, Mrs. Burke stood her ground as well.

  But the Professor didn’t say anything at all. He just looked at each of the people standing around the room, one by one until he got to Maeve. Then his eyes narrowed and he lurched to his feet and made a lunge for her.

  Malloy caught him and slammed him back into the chair.

  “I knew he would try to kill someone today,” Serafina said with more confidence that Sarah could believe she felt.

  “But why would he try to kill Maeve?” Sarah asked.

  The Professor didn’t reply. He just gave Maeve another black look.

  “He killed my grandfather,” she said, drawing renewed gasps from everyone. “I guess he recognized me the same way I recognized him, and he was afraid I’d tell.”

  “How astonishing that you should be here practically by accident today!” Mrs. Decker said.

  “It wasn’t an accident,” Maeve said. “He always called himself the Professor, even in the old days. I suspected it was him the first time Serafina mentioned him.”

  “And you’ve been trying to get her to hold another séance right from the start,” Sarah remembered.

  “So I could see him for myself,” Maeve said.

  “But why would he kill Mrs. Gittings?” Mr. Sharpe asked impatiently.

  “They argued right before the last séance,” Mrs. Burke said, surprising everyone. “I told you that, didn’t I, Elizabeth?”

  “Yes, you did,” Mrs. Decker confirmed. “You were the only one who’d noticed that.”

  Mrs. Burke beamed.

  “They argued all the time,” Sarah said. “Why was this different?”

  “Why was it different?” Malloy asked, kicking the chair leg to give the Professor a jolt.

  He glared at Malloy but refused to speak.

  “Let me guess,” Malloy said thoughtfully. “She wasn’t going to give you the m
oney to set up your Green Goods Game.”

  The Professor’s eyes widened in surprise, but he still refused to speak.

  “You couldn’t stand being pushed around by a woman,” Malloy continued, still thoughtful. “And you weren’t man enough to stand up to her.”

  “Coward!” Cunningham supplied helpfully. “Afraid of a woman!”

  “That’s right, you were afraid of her,” Malloy went on, “so you took the easy way out and stabbed her when she was helpless so you could take all the money Serafina made for yourself—”

  “Stealing from a defenseless girl!” Cunningham cried, outraged.

  “She’s not defenseless!” the Professor snarled. “And I wasn’t afraid of Lucille!”

  “Then why did you kill her?” Malloy asked curiously.

  “Because she was causing too much trouble!” he said, then caught himself, realizing what he had done.

  “Too much trouble,” Malloy repeated thoughtfully, and glanced around at the people assembled there. “You mean the way she was trying to get extra money from everyone here? By offering to sell Serafina to Cunningham so he’d fall for that phony investment scheme she arranged?”

  “What?” Cunningham roared.

  “And by frightening Mrs. Burke into paying more and more for the séances, and—”

  “She couldn’t be satisfied!” the Professor moaned. “We had a perfect setup here, but she always wanted more and more. I told her she was going to ruin everything, but she wouldn’t listen! She just wouldn’t listen!”

  “But why take the chance of killing her like that?” Malloy asked.

  The Professor’s eyes narrowed, and he looked as if he wanted to slip a knife into Malloy. “Because a normal policeman wouldn’t have investigated at all, not with all these important people involved, and if he did, he would have been satisfied to charge Nicola with it and be done.”

  Sarah realized with a start that he was absolutely right. “But weren’t you afraid killing Mrs. Gittings would frighten clients away?” Sarah asked.

  He just glared at Sarah, but Maeve said, “You could always move to another city, couldn’t you, Professor? Just like you did when you killed the Old Gentleman?”