Murder on Sisters' Row

by Victoria Thompson

  “Don’t think anything of it. The only secret I have is my age, and I assure you, Amy doesn’t know it.”

  The three women smiled, although Miss Yingling’s was strained.

  Mrs. Spratt-Williams asked about the funeral arrangements, and Miss Yingling told them the service had been delayed because the coroner still had Mrs. Van Orner’s body. They had scheduled it for Tuesday.

  After they’d run out of things to talk about, Sarah and Mrs. Spratt-Williams took their leave.

  Out on the street, Sarah and her companion strolled back toward Fifth Avenue, where they could find a cab. Sarah would be heading the opposite direction this time, anxious to get home to her family and some normalcy.

  “Thank you for coming with me, Mrs. Brandt.”

  “I’m glad you suggested it. What an unusual situation.”

  “Exactly what I was thinking.”

  “What do you suppose Mr. Van Orner is going to do?”

  “I have no idea, but he can’t imagine he can marry that creature, even if he thinks the child is his. He’d be shunned by everyone he knows.”

  “I doubt his friends would look too kindly on his keeping a mistress in the home he’d shared with his wife either,” Sarah said.

  “I’m sure someone will talk sense to him once people begin to realize the situation. He may just be in shock right now, after all that’s happened.”

  Sarah doubted this, but she wasn’t going to argue the point. “I hate to ask this, but have you given any more thought to Rahab’s Daughters?”

  “I have indeed. We can’t allow Vivian’s work to die with her. She would have hated that. I will be honored to step into her place as leader of the organization. I intend to approach everyone who has been involved with the charity and ask them to continue their support. We’ll need funds, first of all. Vivian provided the majority of that, so the need will be much greater than before. I should also go see Miss Biafore and assure her they will not be forgotten.”

  “I know she would appreciate that. She was very worried when I saw her.”

  “I’ll go right after church tomorrow. Mrs. Brandt, I hope you will continue your association with Rahab’s Daughters.”

  “I have limited resources, I’m afraid, but I’ll be glad to contribute my widow’s mite.”

  “And can we count on you to help us with rescues in the future?”

  “I’m afraid the nature of my work makes me unreliable, but anytime I’m able to help, I certainly will.”

  “You’re very kind.” Mrs. Spratt-Williams looked oddly relieved, as if a burden had been lifted since they’d left her house earlier today. They’d reached Fifth Avenue. She hailed a cab rumbling by and took her leave. Sarah wished her well.

  SARAH LAY AWAKE PART OF SATURDAY NIGHT, GOING OVER what she knew about Amy Cunningham. She needed to share this new information with Malloy as soon as possible. She was sure he would chasten her for choosing someone as the killer simply because she didn’t like her. In the past, she’d also been guilty of refusing to see the evidence against a killer whom she did like. He would probably tell her that’s why they didn’t allow women to be detectives. Still, the evidence against Amy was compelling, and Malloy would need to know it.

  Sarah, Maeve, and Catherine enjoyed the rare opportunity to attend church together, then came home to the meal Maeve prepared. Sarah was trying to think of something they could do together that afternoon when the front doorbell rang.

  Maeve and Catherine moaned, thinking it was a client summoning Sarah to a delivery, but they were all delighted to discover Frank Malloy and his son, Brian, on their doorstep. At four years of age, Brian was a little younger than Catherine, although no one was exactly sure how old Catherine was. Brian was a handsome lad with red hair and bright blue eyes. He had been born deaf, and was attending a special school, where he was learning to speak by making signs with his hands.

  At the sight of the girls, Brian’s hands started flying.

  “What’s he saying?” Sarah asked.

  Malloy chuckled. “I have no idea.”

  “Aren’t you learning the signs, too?”

  “I know a few, but he’s going way too fast for me.” Malloy tapped Brian on the shoulder to get his attention, then made a few slow, simple signs to him. “I told him to go play,” he said to Maeve.

  Catherine clapped her hands in delight and started up the stairs at a run. Brian didn’t hesitate an instant, following at her heels. Maeve followed more sedately, as befitted her position as an adult.

  “I’m so glad you came,” Sarah said when they were alone in the entrance hall. She couldn’t help smiling. She was simply too happy to see him. “Catherine’s been asking me when she’d see Brian again.”

  “My mother needed a day of rest. She’s not getting any younger, and I know it’s hard for her taking Brian back and forth from school every day.”

  “Did she know where you were taking him?”

  “No.” He returned her smile. Mrs. Malloy didn’t approve of his friendship with Mrs. Brandt.

  “Come and have some coffee. There’s some cake for later, too.”

  “Mrs. Ellsworth?” Sarah’s neighbor often brought them desserts.

  “Oh, no, Maeve and Catherine made this one themselves. They’re getting very good. I have some news for you, too, about Vivian Van Orner’s murder.”

  “What?”

  “It’ll keep for a few more minutes,” she teased.

  Malloy followed her into the kitchen and took a seat at the freshly scrubbed table while Sarah made the coffee and set it on the stove to boil. Then she sat down opposite him at the table. How often had they sat just like this, talking about such important things? It felt entirely too natural.

  “I found Amy,” she said.

  “You did? Where is she?”

  “At Van Orner’s house.”

  His surprise was almost funny. “Van Orner? How many women does he have there now?”

  “Not counting his maids? Just the two, Tamar Yingling and Amy Cunningham. That’s her last name.”

  “Just two? Good God! Not many women would say just two when they’re talking about whores. Are you saying this Amy packed herself and her baby up and sashayed straight over to Van Orner’s house as soon as she heard his wife was dead?”

  “Something like that, although I’m not positive she actually sashayed.”

  Malloy didn’t smile. He was still too stunned. “I suppose you discovered this when you and your mother went to visit Van Orner.”

  “Yes, against your advice, I might add. Look at what we would have missed if we’d listened to you.” Malloy just glared. She ignored him. “I don’t think Van Orner intended for us to know Amy was there. I asked to see Miss Yingling, and he sent for her. Amy must have thought she and Van Orner were meeting alone or something. She came barging into the front parlor barefooted in her dressing gown.”

  “Your mother must have loved that,” he said with a grin, imagining the scene.

  “Oh, she did. I managed to get Amy alone for a few minutes. I asked to see the baby, and she took me upstairs. She told me Van Orner is going to hire a nurse for him and in general gave me the impression she’s there to stay.”

  Malloy gave a low whistle.

  “She’s not very sorry Vivian Van Orner is dead. And poor Miss Yingling is mortified that we discovered Amy is living there. She also hinted—very strongly—that she thinks Amy is the one who poisoned Mrs. Van Orner.”

  “I thought her running away made her look guilty, but running to Van Orner might even be worse.”

  “I thought the same thing. After Mother and I left, I realized I needed to tell Mrs. Spratt-Williams that I’d found Amy. She’s been very worried about her.”

  “She’s the only one.”

  “Yes, she is. Everyone else wishes Amy would disappear. Amy made a friend in Mrs. Spratt-Williams, though. She told the woman her sad tale, how her father killed himself after financial ruin and her mother sold her to a family
friend to become his mistress when she was still a young girl.”

  “That is sad, but lots of girls have it much worse,” he reminded her.

  “I know, I know. I’m not trying to win your sympathy. I’m just telling you how Amy won Mrs. Spratt-Williams over. I have to say, though, that after Mrs. Spratt-Williams and I talked about it, she also decided Amy was probably the one who killed Mrs. Van Orner.”

  “Amy is winning the vote,” he observed.

  Sarah folded her hands on the table. “I keep thinking there must be someone else who had a reason that we don’t know about to want Mrs. Van Orner dead.”

  “That’s always possible. But if they killed to keep it secret, we aren’t likely to find it out now.”

  The coffee started to boil, and Sarah got up to take it off the stove and pour them each a cup. When they were settled at the table again, Malloy carefully examined his spoon.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Making sure I only have one.”

  Sarah gave a yelp of laughter before she could stop herself.

  “What are you going to do now?” she asked when she had composed herself. “About Mrs. Van Orner, I mean.”

  “I have to go see Mr. Van Orner and tell him what I know. He might want to get rid of Amy by charging her with his wife’s murder, but he might not. If he doesn’t, there’s no point in arresting her because he’ll just bail her out and the whole thing will get pigeonholed.”

  “It will get what?”

  “Pigeonholed. Don’t you know how the courts work?”

  “Apparently not.”

  “When somebody gets arrested, the judge can set bail. If the arrested person gets bailed out and money is paid to the right people, their case papers get stuck into one of the slots in this big wooden case where they’re supposed to be stored—they call them pigeonholes—except nobody ever takes them out again.”

  “You mean the case is forgotten?”

  “Completely forgotten. Lots of murderers are walking around free because their case was pigeonholed.”

  Sarah hadn’t thought she could be shocked any more by the level of corruption in the city. “That’s horrible!”

  “That’s the way it is. So I’ve got to find out what Mr. Van Orner’s pleasure is in this matter, and I have a feeling the pleasure he gets from Miss Amy is going to win out over justice for his wife’s murder.”

  “It does seem likely.” Sarah sighed. “But if you’re going to see Mr. Van Orner, you should wait until midmorning tomorrow. Miss Yingling is taking Amy out shopping, and I’m sure you don’t want her around when you’re talking to Van Orner.”

  “Thanks, I’ll do that.”

  “Well,” Sarah said, brightening, “let’s try to forget all this ugliness for the rest of the day and enjoy ourselves.”

  “That’s a great idea.”

  The children had a wonderful time, and everyone decided the cake was delicious. Mrs. Ellsworth stopped by to say hello and bring some cookies she had just baked. No one wanted Malloy and Brian to leave, but when the time came, they all gathered in the front hallway to say good-bye.

  They were laughing at something Catherine had said when the front doorbell rang.

  “Ah, a baby being born, I’ll wager,” Mrs. Ellsworth said as Maeve opened the door.

  The young woman on the doorstep seemed taken aback to find so many people staring out at her, but she said, “Mrs. Brandt?”

  “I’m Mrs. Brandt,” Sarah said, stepping forward. She realized the girl looked familiar.

  “I have a message for you, from Mrs. Spratt-Williams.” Of course, she was Mrs. Spratt-Williams’s maid. She handed Sarah an envelope. “I’m to wait for your answer,” she added.

  Sarah opened the envelope and found a note card inside. Written in an elegant hand was an invitation for Sarah to join Mrs. Spratt-Williams for tea the next afternoon to discuss the future of Rahab’s Daughters.

  “Tell her I’ll be happy to accept her invitation,” Sarah said. She wasn’t sure how much assistance she could offer, but she was flattered to be asked. If she was summoned to a birth, she’d have to send her regrets, but she’d worry about that if it happened.

  TAKING SARAH’S ADVICE, FRANK WAITED UNTIL THE MIDDLE of the morning to call on Gregory Van Orner. The man seemed annoyed at being bothered, and Frank thought he might have been drinking already today.

  “I thought Tamar was taking care of all of this,” he muttered, grudgingly offering Frank a seat.

  “I thought you’d want to be kept informed of what I’ve found out so far.”

  “I suppose,” Mr. Van Orner said, leaning back in his chair as if challenging Frank to make this visit worth his time.

  “Your wife died from an overdose of laudanum that someone put into the flask she carried in her purse.”

  Van Orner shifted uneasily in his chair. “Flask? What are you talking about?”

  This was going to be more difficult than Frank had expected. Van Orner was going to pretend he didn’t know about his wife’s drinking. “According to Miss Yingling and some of your wife’s friends, Mrs. Van Orner carried a silver flask in her purse which contained crème de menthe.”

  “What on earth for?”

  “To drink,” Malloy said, hoping Van Orner wouldn’t decide to throw him out for speaking ill of his poor, dead wife. “According to Miss Yingling, Mrs. Van Orner would use it to . . . to calm herself when she became upset about something.”

  “Good God, no wonder . . . You know, she always smelled of mint. I thought it was those dammed peppermints she was always popping in her mouth.” At least he wasn’t going to tell Frank he was a liar.

  “A fatal dose of laudanum is only two or three spoonfuls, and the strong taste of the crème de menthe would have covered the bitterness of the laudanum, according to the medical examiner.”

  “So that’s what killed her. I’d been wondering.”

  “She might have been saved, but because she was alone in the carriage, and nobody knew she’d taken laudanum—she didn’t even know herself—she died within an hour.”

  This still wasn’t making sense to Van Orner. “But who could’ve done it?”

  “Someone who had access to her purse and the flask.”

  “Her maid,” Van Orner offered. “She has access to everything Vivian owns.”

  “Did her maid have any reason to want her dead?”

  Van Orner frowned. “Oh, I see. No, probably not. She was devoted to Vivian, too. She’s been hysterical ever since she got the news. Had to call in the doctor to give her something. Laudanum, probably,” he added with a trace of irony.

  “Would anyone else in your house . . . who lived in your house then,” Frank amended, “have any reason to harm your wife?”

  “Not that I can think of. She was never . . . She was always too easy with the servants. I told her a hundred times they took advantage of her.”

  “So no one here had a grudge against her?”

  “No, no one. But who else could it have been?”

  “She was at her office that day, but nobody else was there except Miss Yingling. Then they went to the rescue house.”

  Van Orner curled his lip in distaste. “Are you saying that’s where it happened?”

  “Anyone at that house could have had access to her purse,” Frank said, choosing not to answer the question. “From what I’ve been told, she always left it on a table in the hallway.”

  “And did they all know about the flask?”

  “I’ve been told they did.”

  “Who was there?”

  “Miss Yingling, of course. Mrs. Spratt-Williams—”

  “You can count her out. They’ve been lifelong friends.”

  Frank had already eliminated her. “Miss Biafore.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “She manages the rescue house.”

  “Vivian gave that responsibility to an Italian woman? What was she thinking? Those people will steal you blind!”

  Knowing
better than to respond to that, Frank said, “And three women whom Mrs. Van Orner and her friends had rescued.”

  “It had to be one of them, then. Everyone knows a whore would kill her own mother for fifty cents.”

  “One of the rescued women was Amy Cunningham.”

  12

  SARAH AND MAEVE GOT UP EARLY ON MONDAY MORNING to do the wash. The day was raw but fair, and they had everything on the line well before noon. They were sitting in the kitchen, warming themselves with hot tea, when Mrs. Ellsworth came to the back door with an offering of a freshly baked cake.

  “Ever since Nelson insisted we start taking our clothes to the Chinese laundry, I never know what to do with myself on Monday mornings,” Mrs. Ellsworth said, referring to her son.

  “Baking a cake was a good idea,” Maeve said, admiring the finished product.

  “We still have half of the cake Maeve and Catherine made on Saturday,” Sarah reminded them.

  Mrs. Ellsworth accepted the cup of tea Sarah had poured for her. “I’m sure you’ll find a good use for it, Mrs. Brandt. It’s good luck to give someone a cake. Has Mr. Malloy found the murderer yet?”

  “He thinks he knows who it is, but he had to go meet with Mr. Van Orner first.”

  “You didn’t tell me he knows who the killer is,” Maeve complained. “Who is it?”

  “I said he thinks he knows.”

  “Why does he need to talk to Mr. Van Orner?” Mrs. Ellsworth asked.

  “Because Mr. Van Orner might not want the killer arrested.”

  “Good heavens, why not?”

  “It’s that girl, isn’t it?” Maeve asked eagerly. “The one who had the baby.”

  “As I said, he’s not sure.”

  Maeve wasn’t fooled. “But if it is her, Mr. Van Orner might not want her punished. He might be in love with her, and she’s the mother of his baby into the bargain.”

  “How can he be sure it’s his baby?” Mrs. Ellsworth asked.

  “I don’t know,” Sarah said. “Maybe he can be sure or maybe he doesn’t care. At any rate, Mr. Malloy doesn’t want to arrest her unless Mr. Van Orner wants her punished.” She explained the practice of pigeonholing cases.