Campion’s took up six stories of a full square city block. Everyone who was anyone shopped at Campion’s as did many nobodies who wanted to be somebody. Ever since the World’s Fair, Campion’s had become a landmark that had to be seen by foreign visitors before they could consider their tour of the city complete. Unfortunately, many of these visitors had decided to congregate in front of Campion’s display windows to gawk at the merchandise, so that Evangeline had to squeeze through the admiring throng to reach the entrance.
Once inside, she breathed a sigh of relief, but her trials were not yet over. She now had to navigate endless aisles of ladies’ hats and jewelry looking for the glove counter where Sophie had said she worked. After several twists and turns, Evangeline was finally confronted with a curved glass case displaying row after row of handwear in every conceivable style, color and fabric. Freddie had made particular mention of Miss Simms’ coiffure so Evangeline had no difficulty identifying the young woman with red hair piled up in what looked like a slightly asymmetrical beehive.
“Are you Sophie Simms?” She had very little doubt as she approached.
“Yes, I am. How may I help madame?”
Evangeline smiled to herself at the stilted form of address. “My name is Evangeline LeClair. We spoke over the telephone yesterday.”
“Oh my, yes!” Sophie’s hand flew to her mouth as if she’d been accused of doing something illegal. She looked surreptitiously around to see if she were being observed by a floorwalker or her supervisor. Seeing the coast was clear, she motioned to Evangeline to step to the corner, where the counter divided.
“I have them right here.” She slipped a hand into her skirt pocket and removed a stack of small notes. They were the size of calling cards, and Evangeline guessed there must have been about twenty of them.
“That’s quite a collection. May I look them over?”
Sophie bit her lip and glanced around again. “Yes, if you like. Just don’t spread them out on the counter, or somebody might wonder what I’m doing.”
Evangeline stared in curiosity at the girl. “Are you really being watched that closely?”
Sophie nodded solemnly, her beehive hairdo bobbing in assent. “All the time.”
Evangeline glanced casually around at a few of the other counters to see who might be watching. No one appeared to be paying any attention to them. It struck her that all the female clerks were dressed alike. She looked back to Sophie and scrutinized her more closely. “It’s funny. In all the years I’ve shopped here, I never realized that you all seem to be wearing some kind of uniform.”
“Well, it’s not a uniform exactly.” Sophie corrected her. “Just a white blouse and black skirt. We get to choose the fabric ourselves.”
“But not the style, apparently.”
“No, we’re all told that we have to present a neat and consistent appearance to the public. The store issues the clothes to us—”
Evangeline cut in archly. “And takes the cost of your apparel out of your paycheck, I expect.”
“Yes, that’s right. How did you know?” Sophie seemed genuinely startled at the observation.
Evangeline shrugged. “It just seemed the sort of thing Campion’s would do.” She cast a swift glance at the girl’s hair. “I’m surprised they didn’t make you dye your hair brown so it wouldn’t clash with the woodwork.”
Sophie’s eyes showed a trace of alarm. “Oh, but you misunderstand! This is a fine place to work! A fine place! Mr. Campion always tells us so, and he’s a very great man, so surely he must know. I’m fortunate to have this job at all when so many other poor girls are working in factories.” Sophie hesitated. “That’s why I... I...”
“Yes, my dear. I understand the need to be discreet. I won’t stay but a moment.” Evangeline began to sort through the note cards. After she had flipped through half the stack, she commented, “They all read the same. ‘From your greatest admirer.’”
“Except for this one.” Sophie reached for the bottom card in Evangeline’s hand.
“’Happy birthday from your greatest admirer!’” Evangeline squinted under the garish overhead lights to get a better look at something that had caught her attention. She looked back to the previous card and then compared it to the one Sophie had singled out. Finally, she saw it. “The handwriting appears to be different.”
“Does it? I never noticed.” Sophie took back the final card and the one sent before it.
“You see.” Evangeline pointed to the lettering. “This one was dated a week earlier than the final card. The words ‘from your greatest admirer’ ought to look the same if they were written by the same hand. Do you know who wrote these cards? Was it the florist or the man who sent the bouquets?”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know.” Sophie shook her head solemnly. “It was all I could do to get Nora to let me see them at all. She never told me who they were from.”
“Perhaps I can find out for myself. Do you know the name of the florist?”
“Why, yes, I guess I should after all those deliveries.” Sophie wrote the information on a slip of paper and handed it to Evangeline.
“May I take these with me, just in case the florist doesn’t remember?”
The shop girl hesitated. “Only if you promise to bring them back, ma’am. Nora was my friend and these were special to her.”
“Of course, I promise.” Evangeline smiled reassuringly. “And I am sorry about your friend.”
Just at that moment a man in a black suit walked up. He did not appear to be a customer. At first he said nothing but merely stared significantly in Sophie’s direction. The girl looked down and began to awkwardly rearrange the contents of a box of sale gloves on the counter in front of her.
“Are you finding everything you need, madame?” he inquired of Evangeline.
“Oh yes, everything I could possibly require.” Evangeline smiled graciously at the floor manager as she slipped the stack of note cards into her pocket and prepared to leave the store. “This young woman has been most helpful.”
***
About an hour later, Evangeline stepped off a streetcar at the corner of Clybourn and Willow. It was already quite late, but she thought the local shops might still be open for another half hour. A few doors up from the corner, she noticed a window displaying floral arrangements. Guessing this to be her destination, she entered the premises of Witherspoon Florists, where she was greeted by an elderly gentleman behind the counter. He wore no suit jacket, merely a vest and shirt with black sleeve protectors, which seemed a practical consideration since he was in the process of cutting a bouquet of roses. He had a face like a shriveled apple with a pair of bright eyes staring out from the core.
“Good afternoon, madame, how may I serve you?” He quickly reached for a towel to wipe off his hands.
“Good afternoon. Mr. Witherspoon, I presume?” Barely waiting for an acknowledgment, she forged ahead. “I’d like to order a large floral centerpiece and a few incidental arrangements to be sent to my home. I’m planning a small dinner party for tomorrow evening.”
The florist’s eyes grew brighter at the prospect of a large order. “Of course, madame. Of course.” He stooped under the counter for his order book and began the time-consuming process of asking what the lady’s preferred colors and flowers would be. As he was completing the paperwork, Evangeline skirted closer to the real purpose for her visit.
“You know there are many florist shops closer to my townhouse than this one, but I came here because your shop was recommended to me by an acquaintance of mine. He used your services quite frequently over the past several months.”
Without batting an eye, the florist replied, “Oh yes, that must have been Mr. Allworthy.”
Evangeline was speechless for a moment at how easily her suspicions had been confirmed. Although she had her hand cupped around the notecards in her pocket in the event she might need to prompt the florist’s memory, she released them and let them sink to the bottom of her skirt pocke
t. She did not have to feign surprise when she commented, “Why, Mr. Witherspoon, that’s exactly right! How could you have known so quickly who I meant?”
The old florist chuckled. “Well, this neighborhood is a bit off the beaten path. I don’t get many customers, and when I get one who’s a regular, I tend to remember.”
“I’ll bet you can’t remember what he looks like.” Evangeline tried to make the question sound innocent. She felt her heart pound with excitement—she was on the brink of discovering which Allworthy was Nora’s greatest admirer.
The old florist drew himself up importantly. “Why, I certainly can, madame. He was a middle-aged gentleman, gray-haired with a goatee.”
Evangeline made her face show pleased amazement instead of the shock she felt at having secretly guessed wrong. “Your memory is quite impressive, sir, I must say! Right again!”
She decided to inch a bit farther. “I don’t suppose you knew the purpose of all those bouquets?”
Mr. Witherspoon shrugged. “I know they went to a lady because of the name and address they were sent to, but I had no idea what the occasion was.”
“You mean you didn’t fill out the cards for my friend?”
Mr. Witherspoon looked horrified at the prospect. “No, I’m sure it was a personal matter. He always insisted on filling them out himself. He’d just write something quick and seal it up in an envelope. Then he’d hand it to me to include with the flowers. I didn’t think it was any of my business to inquire.”
“Quite right, Mr. Witherspoon, quite right.” Evangeline displayed an air of dignified propriety before changing the topic. “I don’t suppose any of my friend’s other acquaintances came to patronize your shop?”
“Not that I can think of, madame. I’ve heard no mention of the Allworthy name since he was here last. Except for the time he sent his son, that is.”
Evangeline was startled for a moment. “His son? Why, what do you mean? He has no son.”
The florist seemed puzzled. He scratched his head, trying to recall the circumstances. “Well, I thought it was his son since he had the same last name and sent flowers to the same address.”
“He did?” Evangeline acted all amazement though she guessed who the order might have come from. “When was this?”
“Oh, about three months back. He only came in one time.”
“Why that’s odd! Do you think you might take a look in your order book and check the exact date and the name of the young gentleman? I might know who it was.” She smiled appealingly. “You see, I’m a close friend of the family.”
The florist didn’t seem to think the request was suspicious. He checked the pages of his order book until he came to the entry. “Here it is. Roland Allworthy. He came in right after the shop opened on April twenty fourth. He wanted a bouquet delivered later that same morning.” The florist looked up from the book. “Do you know who he is?”
“Oh yes, of course,” Evangeline waved her hand airily. “That’s Mr. Allworthy’s nephew. A young blond gentleman, if I’m not mistaken?”
The florist nodded. “Yes, that’s what he looked like all right. When I wrote down his name and saw the address the flowers were going to, I just figured he was Mr. Allworthy’s son and had been sent to take care of the order in his place. I remember telling him to give my regards to his father. No wonder he looked at me so strangely.”
“Well, I’m glad I cleared up that little misunderstanding.” Evangeline laughed as she turned to go.
Halfway out the door, she heard the florist ask hopefully, “Do you know when Mr. Allworthy might be back to place another order?”
She turned and answered softly. “I don’t think he will. The young lady was very ill, you see. That’s why he was sending her flowers so often, and... and... well, she has since passed away.”
“Oh dear!” Mr. Witherspoon exclaimed as Evangeline closed the shop door behind her.
Chapter 23—The Guilty Party
Freddie loped up the stairs to Evangeline’s townhouse two at a time and knocked impatiently at the door. He was bursting at the seams to tell her what he’d discovered at the Evermore Club and had been unable to reach her by telephone. His impatience turned to surprise when the door was opened by Jack bearing a silver tray and, on it, a glass of champagne.
“I’ll trade you, Mr. Freddie.” The major domo laughed good-humoredly. “Your hat and coat for what I’ve got on this here tray.”
Freddie took the glass suspiciously while Jack disposed of his outerwear. “What’s the occasion?”
Jack shrugged. “One of Miss Engie’s fancies. She told me to open a bottle of the best we had in the cellar against your arrival. She said it was some kind of celebration on account of you two had got your quarry at bay. That’s the words she used for it, anyhow.”
“But she doesn’t even know what I found out today!”
Jack ushered Freddie into the drawing room where Evangeline sat ensconced in front of the fireplace. “There’s some things as she can guess, I suppose.” He closed the double-doors behind him and retreated to another part of the house. The clock on the mantel was just chiming seven.
“Ah there you are, Freddie. Just as I expected.”
“Just as you expected?” the young man echoed. “You didn’t know I was coming!”
“It was elementary logic that you would, dear boy, and that when you did we would have cause for celebration.” Evangeline refilled her half-empty glass and sat in amused contemplation of her friend’s befuddlement.
“How do you figure that?”
“When I returned from my own inquiries, Jack said that you’d been telephoning persistently all afternoon but didn’t leave any message.”
Freddie carefully placed his still-full glass on the coffee table and threw himself on the sofa. “And you inferred what?”
“I inferred that you were consumed with a desire to blurt out everything you’d learned at the Evermore Club. Taken together with what I discovered at the florist, I think we can safely say who the culprit is.”
“But I haven’t said a blessed thing yet!”
“I will give you leave to speak presently, but first a toast.” Evangeline rose from her chair, glass in hand, and strolled toward her guest.
Freddie stood and skeptically raised his glass.
“To justice triumphant,” Evangeline proposed.
Freddie grinned in spite of himself. “To justice,” he confirmed, clinking glasses and finally sampling the contents. “Now are you going to let me tell you what I found out?”
Evangeline resumed her chair by the fire. “In a nutshell, and much as I hate to admit it since it destroys my original theory, I’d say you found that Roland had a perfectly good alibi for the night Nora was murdered.”
Freddie felt the wind go out of his sails. “Well, yes, that’s the gist of it.”
Apparently not wishing to disappoint her friend too severely, Evangeline sat forward in an attempt to mimic an attitude of rapt attention. “But you must tell me the details! I wait in breathless anticipation!”
“Well, you needn’t lay it on that thick,” Freddie grumped.
Evangeline smiled, her eyes twinkling mischievously in the firelight, but said nothing more.
Freddie decided that he could only stand on his dignity for so long when there was a good story to be told. After one martyred sigh, he gave in and regaled Evangeline with everything he saw and heard at the Evermore Soeurs’ house of ill repute.
“Quite a fascinating place, I must say,” she commented when he had finished. “But you said the card game started at ten o’clock. What time do the police think Nora drowned?”
Freddie briefly consulted his notebook. “They thought it was some time around midnight.”
Evangeline decided to play devil’s advocate. “Could they have been wrong about the time of death? If it happened earlier than midnight, couldn’t Roland have had time to dispatch her and still get to the poker tournament?”
Freddie squinted
in the firelight as he scanned back through his notes. “It looks as if Thaddeus Sparrow, the night watchman, made his first evening rounds outside the building at nine o’clock. He didn’t see anything suspicious. Even if, for argument’s sake, we say that the earliest Nora could have died was some time between nine and nine-thirty, it would have been impossible.”
“Impossible?” Evangeline echoed.
“Impossible for Roland to get from the north side of town to the Evermore Club in time. It’s down at Twenty Second Street. He would have needed to sprout a pair of wings to travel that distance in under half an hour. Minna Evermore said he was already at the club by nine-thirty.”
“Well, that settles it then. Much as I loathe conceding defeat, I was wrong about Roland. Especially in light of what Mr. Witherspoon told me.”
“It was Martin who sent her all those flowers, wasn’t it?”
“All except the last. More champagne?” Evangeline asked sweetly as Freddie’s jaw dropped.
“But who...” He trailed off in surprise as she quietly refilled his glass.
“Roland did.”
“Roland! But if the last flowers were from him, that must mean he killed her! I don’t understand.” The young man’s elation was rapidly turning to frustration.
Still unruffled, Evangeline replied, “I beg to disagree. Those flowers are the best proof that he did not kill her.”
Freddie sat dumbfounded, waiting for an explanation.
Evangeline bestowed a brief smile of pity on her friend. “April twenty fourth was her birthday.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Freddie searched through his notebook for the passage. “Sophie mentioned something about that.”
“I must say, lack of verbal originality seems to run in the family when it comes to courting females. The card from Roland read ‘Happy Birthday from your greatest admirer!’”
“Which means?” The young man still was not convinced the bouquet was conclusive proof of innocence.
“There was no bouquet from Martin that day.”
Freddie remained silent, uncomprehending.
Evangeline sighed and pressed on. “The only reason why Martin would have failed to send a bouquet to his mistress bright and early on her birthday, thereby risking her displeasure, would have been if he knew...”
Shrouded In Thought (Gilded Age Mysteries Book 2) Page 23
