Contagion
Page 30
The drapes were still closed. The glass of the bookcases timidly reflected the light of the chandelier, capturing their distorted likenesses. The sage green walls looked brown. His desk, always neat, was angled to face the fireplace.
“Please, sit down. I’ll ask Julius to fire the coals.”
“I’m right here, miss,” Julius said softly, a pail of black coals in his swollen-knuckled hands.The light shined against his bald pate. “Brigid alerted me that you and the gentlemen were conversing in here.This room is always so cold.”
“Sir,” Detective Buchanan intercepted Julius on his way to the hearth. “I am glad to see that you beat the contagion. Mrs. Dugan will need you.”The detective shook Julius’s free hand vigorously. Julius smiled wearily before kneeling at the hearth.
“Please, everyone. Pull your chair close. The house has been so cold since Patrick’s death.”
The men stared straight ahead in the direction of the morning room, as if they could see Patrick’s coffin through the wall. The detective grimaced while Sean muttered, “Even in death, he is still a discomfort to you.”
“At least this time, it is not Dugan’s fault,” Officer Russo offered mildly.
I looked fondly at the men seated around me. Each had acted as my champion. The notion startled me. Yet, I had made the choices that delivered me to this place and time. I knew their friendship was genuine, but more importantly, I realized now, fortified by their presence, I was strong in my own right.
“What is it that you need to tell me, Detective?”
Detective Buchanan turned grave and ran one beefy hand across his face.
“I want to share with you the true circumstances of your friend’s death.” His eyes softened. “I interviewed Frank Mahoney, another scoundrel who this time was innocent of nothing, with the exception of Mrs. Murphy’s murder. His street gang wrote those threatening letters to you, dictated by our remorseful Chief Trout. Martha unwittingly was able to take advantage of the situation.”
I looked at the coals. “Poor Nellie. If only I knew. If only I had the chance to do things differently. I would never have involved her.”
Sean leaned over and took my hand. “It’s not your fault. You must remember that. Mrs. Murphy wanted to help you. She was your friend.You would have done the same, Rose. Of that, I am sure.” I nodded and thought of Nellie’s one-year-old daughter. Sarah had been on my mind frequently since Nellie’s death. How was she faring without her vibrant mother to guide her?
The detective cleared his throat. “Regarding your husband’s father and brother. The coroner confirmed that his father’s skull was fractured. He had probably been hit with a blunt instrument.The coroner could not confirm the nature of the brother’s death.”
“Oh, I’m sure he drowned all right, but at Patrick’s bidding,” I said bitterly.
“Your nightmare is over, Mrs. Dugan,” Officer Russo said hopefully. “You have been through so much. Now all that awaits you is your new life.” Russo’s smile was optimistic, almost radiant. He nearly lost his life protecting me—protecting me against my husband.
“There’s just one more thing I need to do.” I stood and lit the lamp on Patrick’s desk. My hand was steady as I opened the drawer. I could feel their eyes watching me expectantly. I saw the ledger.
I hesitated for just a moment before touching it. I lifted it, felt its heft, and thought of the weight of the sins diligently recorded in this book. I presented it to Detective Buchanan.
“It’s Patrick’s work ledger,” I said simply. “I believe this will fill in the blanks of your investigation.” I thought of the names catalogued in the book—the mayor, councilmen, policemen—a fair representation of the entire city government.
Detective Buchanan reached for it and laid it on the table beside him. “Officer Russo and I will examine this in detail back at our office.”
They all turned at a quick rap at the door, which flung open before anyone had a chance to rise. Sarah, dressed in a black skirt and blouse, stood unsteadily in the doorway. She wore a black mourning cap, the streamers of which fell about her shoulders. She squinted into the relative darkness and spying me, propelled herself into my arms.
I clung to Sarah before pulling her back to look into her freckled face. She had Nellie’s red hair and skin coloring. But Sarah’s wide blue eyes belonged to Charles.
“I’ve missed you, Sarah,” I said into her sweet smelling hair. With Sarah in my arms, I felt a billowing hopefulness. I hugged Nellie’s daughter again. “We must promise to see each other much more often,” I added, fighting tears. “Where’s your father?”
Charles stood awkwardly in the doorway. He held his top hat in one hand and Sarah’s crape trimmed cape in the other. He smiled sheepishly.
“Forgive us, Rose, for this rude interruption. I couldn’t hold her back. She was so anxious to see you.”
“Charles, please do not apologize,” I insisted. I held Sarah’s hand as I embraced him. “Sarah is the best thing that has happened to me all day.”
I heard someone in Patrick’s study clearing his throat. I turned to see all three men standing and smiling at the scene before them.
“I believe it is time that we pay our respects to the deceased,” Sean said, acknowledging Charles. “It is good to see you, Mr. Murphy.” Sean shook Charles’s hand. Detective Buchanan and Officer Russo did the same as they excused themselves from the room.
A smile came to my lips, unbidden. “Sean, gentlemen. Please don’t leave without saying good-bye.”
The eyes of the men were bright and steadfast as they paused in the hallway. Each in their own way shined a commitment to pursue and defend the good in life, each in his own way a noble man, I knew. I lingered last on Sean’s gaze and knew at that moment that I would be looking into those eyes for many years to come.
But right now, I needed to hold Charles and Sarah, to savor Nellie’s spark in them, before I returned to Patrick’s mourners to join them in bidding my old life good-bye.
JOANNE DAHME has first-hand knowledge about the rivers and streams in the Philadelphia area as she works for the Philadelphia Water Department as its Water-sheds Programs Manager. Her mission is to restore and revitalize Philadelphia’s rivers and streams. During her years with the department, Joanne obtained a Master’s of Journalism and Master’s in Creative Writing from Temple University. Joanne has completed a number of short stories and three young adult novels. She lives with her husband and son in Philadelphia.
© 2010 by Joanne Dahme
All rights reserved under the Pan-American and
International Copyright Conventions
This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, in any form or by
any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,
or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or hereafter
invented, without written permission from the publisher.
Digit on right indicates the numbers of this printing
Library of Congress Control Number: 2069940846
eISBN : 978-0-762-44169-3