Murder in Morningside Heights

by Victoria Thompson

  “Monsieur Pelletier?” Miss Raymond scoffed. She turned to Sarah. “Have you met him?”

  Sarah shook her head.

  “Abigail would never take him seriously. We always laughed at him behind his back.”

  “Did he know?” Malloy asked.

  “He never let on if he did. Besides, what could he do about it? But I’ll tell you, I was surprised when he gave Abigail a position. We all knew she was his best student, but I didn’t think he was particularly fond of her. If anything, I got the impression he was glad to see her finish her studies.”

  “Then I guess you didn’t know it was Miss Wilson who convinced President Hatch to hire her, not Pelletier,” Malloy said.

  “No, I didn’t, but that makes perfect sense. I wonder how they got Pelletier to agree to accept her.”

  “What does it matter?” Raymond snapped. “None of this matters. Who else could have given Abigail that ring?”

  Miss Raymond looked at the ring again and sighed. “I have no idea, and as for me being the person she would have confided in, I doubt it. I’m your sister, Cory. She’d never tell me she was keeping another man on the string at the same time she was leading you on.”

  She was right, of course. Sarah sighed and rose to her feet. “I think we’ve bothered you enough today. Thank you for your help.” She put out her hand and Miss Raymond gave her the ring.

  Malloy said, “If you think of anything else, please let us know.”

  “We will,” Miss Raymond promised, rising to see them out.

  Cory Raymond said nothing, nor did he even look up as they left.

  When they were well away from the house, Sarah said, “Did we learn anything, do you think?”

  “I learned that Cornelius Raymond is an angry young man.”

  “But was he angry before he knew about the ring?”

  “Oh yes. He’s been trying to court Abigail for years. She wouldn’t discuss marriage until she graduated, and even knowing he was going to propose, she accepted the job teaching at the Normal School.”

  “She doesn’t sound like a young lady in love, does she?”

  “Well, she certainly wasn’t anxious to get married.”

  Sarah smiled up at him. “Do you think that makes her strange?”

  “It makes her unusual.”

  “Yes, it does, but society is changing. At the college, we’ve already met several women who have chosen to have a career instead of getting married.”

  “You’re assuming they had the option to get married,” Malloy said. “Somehow, I can’t imagine Miss Billingsly having a long line of disappointed suitors.”

  “You may be right, but at least some of the teachers probably could have married if they’d chosen to. And we know Abigail had that choice.”

  “But you’ll notice she hadn’t turned the Raymond boy down flat. If anything, she was purposely keeping him dangling.”

  “Yes, she was, and that makes me wonder why. If she was in love with him, she would’ve given up her idea of having a career without a qualm, I think.”

  “The way you did to marry me?” Malloy asked with a grin.

  “Who said I’ve given up my career?” she replied with a grin of her own.

  “Well, I don’t see you going out to deliver babies anymore, and I have to admit, that surprises me a little.”

  “It does?”

  “Yes. I thought after we got back from our honeymoon that you’d last about a month before you got bored and found something to do.”

  “I have the work at the Mission,” she said.

  “The Mission practically runs itself now. And you’ve got a dozen rich ladies who support it and spend time there. They don’t need much from you.”

  This was true. “I guess I’m just not bored enough yet. You’re keeping me busy being a detective, after all.”

  “Or maybe you just haven’t figured out what you want to do.”

  “Malloy, you know me too well.”

  “I wish I did, but I know you well enough to know you need to be useful.”

  “All right. I’ll try to make myself useful on this case. Where were we?”

  “Giving up marriage to have a career.”

  Oh yes, which reminded her of her conversation with Irene Raymond. “Did you know there’s a special name for the kind of household Miss Wilson and Miss Billingsly have?” She explained the concept of a Boston marriage to him.

  “Maybe Abigail wanted to have a Boston marriage of her own,” Malloy said.

  “Then why was she keeping Cory Raymond on her string? Maybe she loved him and couldn’t make up her mind between him and her teaching career.”

  “Or maybe she had another lover and was trying to decide which one was the better catch. That would explain the ring, at least.”

  “And she could have been trying to choose between the two men and the career. But she couldn’t have been in love with either of her suitors, because that would have immediately eliminated the other one.”

  “Unless the one she didn’t love was rich and the one she did love was poor.”

  “You’re very cynical,” she scolded.

  “But very realistic.”

  “Unfortunately, the facts don’t fit your theory. Cory Raymond isn’t poor, and our mystery lover isn’t either, judging from the ring he gave her.”

  “All right, so both suitors are equal, and she doesn’t love either one.”

  “And she really loves teaching and knows she can support herself without a husband, so she doesn’t need to marry at all,” Sarah mused. “Why would she accept the ring, then? And why not just tell poor Cory Raymond she’s not interested?”

  “Let’s not forget the scandal she told Irene Raymond about.”

  “Oh yes. In all the talk about suitors, I completely forgot the scandal. What on earth could it be?”

  “All we know is she found out someone at the school was guilty of something unacceptable.”

  “A male teacher seducing a student?” Sarah said, stating what would be the most obvious type of scandal at a college for women.

  “That’s probably too easy.”

  “You’re right, but what if Abigail was the one being seduced? What if the ring came from her seducer?”

  “Do you think she’d be naïve enough for that?”

  Sarah considered what they knew. “I wouldn’t have thought so, but she was young and innocent. She might have believed this older, more experienced man. And maybe we’re wrong about her being in love. If she loved this professor, she would have accepted the ring. She would have believed they were secretly engaged.”

  “Which would explain why she wore it but kept it hidden. But not why she didn’t refuse Raymond’s offer.”

  “Maybe she didn’t trust this older man completely, and she wanted to keep all her options open. Or maybe she wanted to keep a suitor around in case someone suspected her romance with this teacher. If someone did, she could just point to poor Cory and say it was harmless gossip and she was spoken for or whatever.”

  “The whole thing sounds too complicated to me,” Malloy said with mock despair. “Maybe if I’d gone to college, I could figure it out.”

  “Don’t give up,” Sarah said with a grin. “All we really have to figure out is who in this mess might have killed Abigail in a fit of rage.”

  “That’s easy enough. Maybe Raymond found out she was just playing with him and got mad. Maybe this mysterious professor who seduced her and gave her the ring found out she had another lover—that would be Raymond—and got mad.”

  “Or maybe someone involved in a scandal that has nothing to do with Abigail’s suitors got mad,” Sarah said with a sigh. “This is giving me a headache.”

  “We should go back to our hotel and take a nap.”

  “A nap? I’m not tired.”

>   “Neither am I,” he told her with a provocative grin.

  * * *

  Luther Northrup was present for his sister’s funeral, much to everyone’s relief. He even looked appropriately grief stricken, although Frank thought he probably just had a hangover. Frank found he couldn’t bear to look at her parents, however. Their grief was simply too profound to witness. He and Sarah had silently agreed to avoid the front parlor, where the family sat with Abigail’s casket to receive the mourners. Instead, they stayed in the front hallway, where they could mingle with the arriving mourners and see who came in. Gino stood on the front porch, bundled up against the winter chill, so he could watch the street outside in case someone showed unnatural interest in the event without actually attending it.

  The Northrups lived a block down from the Raymonds in a large, beautiful house. The Raymond parents had been at the Northrup home when Frank and Sarah arrived, and Mr. Northrup had introduced them. Mr. and Mrs. Raymond gave no indication their children had told them about their visit yesterday. Frank supposed that was good. He didn’t want to cause the Northrups any extra distress on this difficult day.

  When Irene and Cory Raymond came in, they pointedly ignored Frank and Sarah.

  “I don’t expect we’ll hear any more from them, even if they happen to figure out who killed poor Abigail,” Sarah whispered.

  “Unless one of them decides to confess,” he replied.

  Her eyes widened at that. “You don’t really think Irene could have done it, do you?”

  “I wouldn’t want to discount her just because she’s female,” he said, earning a swat.

  Shortly before the service was to start, he was surprised to see Miss Wilson come in. Even more surprising, Miss Billingsly was with her. He supposed he should have expected to see them, though. Abigail had lived with them for months, and she had been their colleague and, before that, their student. Miss Wilson appeared to be controlling her emotions, whatever they were. Her expression was suitably grave, and she did not appear to have been weeping recently. Miss Billingsly, however, looked awful. Her eyes and nose were red, and her face pale. Even her hat looked like it was on crooked. She clung to Miss Wilson’s arm as if she really needed support.

  “Do you think she’s been drinking?” Sarah asked him.

  “I can’t imagine Miss Wilson would bring her here if she has. Too much danger of a scene.”

  “I’ll find out.”

  The maid was taking their coats, so Sarah made her way over and greeted them.

  “Mrs. Malloy,” Miss Wilson said without the slightest hint of warmth. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

  Frank noted that his wife refused to be baited and didn’t even bat an eye. They probably taught society girls how to ignore barbed remarks before they even left the nursery. She merely smiled her gracious smile and asked Miss Billingsly how she was.

  Miss Billingsly looked at her in surprise, obviously not used to being noticed. “It’s just so terrible about poor Miss Northrup. I keep expecting her to come home and tell us it was all a horrible mistake.”

  “It was a horrible mistake, I’m sure,” Miss Wilson said, although she sounded more angry than grieved. “No one who knew her could have wished her harm.”

  A man came in behind them, and when he removed his hat, Frank realized it was Pelletier. Frank stepped forward to greet him and introduce him to Sarah. The two female teachers moved past him with just the slightest nod of recognition, which suited him fine.

  “Pelletier,” he said by way of greeting. The two men shook hands, and Frank introduced the professor to Sarah, making careful note of her expression. She was too well-bred to let her real emotions show, of course. He’d have to wait until later to find out what her first impression had been.

  “Please accept my condolences,” she said. “It must be difficult to lose a fellow faculty member like that.”

  “Mais oui, madame. It is always tragic to lose one so young.”

  “It was kind of you to accompany Miss Wilson and Miss Billingsly.”

  “I did not accompany them,” he said with a tiny smile. “We were on the same train and shared a cab only. Excuse me, please. I must make my respects to Miss Northrup’s parents.”

  Frank didn’t recognize any of the rest of the late arrivals, so he and Sarah retreated to the other end of the hallway while they shed their coats and made their way into the parlor.

  “What did you think of him?” he asked.

  “Pelletier? He’s not exactly the stuff of young girls’ daydreams, is he? Except for the accent, I mean. Many people think a French accent is appealing.”

  “Do you?”

  She smiled. “On some men.”

  “So you agree with Irene Raymond that Abigail couldn’t have been seduced by Pelletier?”

  “Let’s just say it seems very unlikely. Aren’t you going to ask me if Miss Billingsly had been drinking?”

  He’d almost forgotten. “Oh yes, has she?”

  “I don’t think so. I think she’s just overcome with grief.”

  “That’s funny, since she was the one who didn’t like Abigail and didn’t want her living in the house.”

  “Sometimes people react strangely when someone they don’t like dies. It’s like they feel guilty for disliking them in life and are trying to make amends.”

  “Or maybe they killed the person they didn’t like and now they’re feeling guilty,” Frank said.

  “Do you really think poor Miss Billingsly stuck a screwdriver in Abigail’s eye?”

  “I think women are just as capable of committing murder as men.”

  “How very modern of you, Malloy.”

  “You aren’t the first person who remarked on that.”

  “Don’t be too pleased with yourself,” she said with a smirk. “It’s not a compliment.”

  The minister saved him from having to reply by asking everyone to move into the parlor because the service was about to start.

  7

  The funeral service for Abigail Northrup was as heart-wrenching as Sarah had expected. While the minister enumerated her many accomplishments during her brief life, hardly any of those present had dry eyes and many of the women were sobbing.

  She and Malloy had taken seats in the back so they could watch everyone else. Now Sarah wished they hadn’t even come. Dabbing at her own tears, she saw even Malloy rubbing his eyes. Miss Billingsly wept quietly into her handkerchief, her shoulders shaking, while Miss Wilson only occasionally had to swipe at a tear with hers. Professor Pelletier had to blow his nose several times. The young Raymonds comforted each other. Cory put his arm around his sister and made no attempt to stem his own tears, allowing them to stream down his face. The only person apparently not overcome with grief was Luther Northrup. His parents clung to each other, seeming oblivious to him, and he appeared to be transfixed by the painting hanging above the fireplace.

  In deference to the injuries to Abigail’s face and the fact that so much time had passed since her death, the casket remained closed. No one needed to see her body to be reminded of her presence, however, because of the large portrait of her that hung in the place of prominence.

  The artist hadn’t been particularly skilled, and Sarah couldn’t vouch for the likeness, having never seen the subject, but the picture of the blond girl in the powder blue gown definitely made her presence felt.

  The minister offered the traditional words of comfort, promising the Northrups they would meet their daughter again in the next world, but that was little consolation for the many years they would spend in this world without her. They were quite obviously devastated, her mother hysterical and her father nearly so. Their son, however, just continued to stare at the painting of his dead sister, his expression unreadable.

  Finally, the service was over, and the minister invited everyone to accompany them to the cemeter
y. Afterward, they would return here for a meal. The locals had their own transportation, of course, and the Northrups had hired carriages for those who did not. The process of getting coats and finding the proper conveyances took a while, and Frank and Sarah managed to be among the first outside so they could casually join the group they wanted to ride with.

  When Miss Wilson and Miss Billingsly left the house, the Malloys fell in behind them.

  “Do we have to go?” Miss Billingsly asked, sounding like a petulant child.

  “Of course we do,” Miss Wilson said.

  “But it’s cold.”

  Miss Wilson did not reply to that. They reached the next available hired carriage, and the driver helped them inside. Frank assisted Sarah and climbed in after her, and Frank slipped the driver a dollar and told him to follow the procession even though the carriage wasn’t full yet.

  “Hello again,” Sarah said, pretending not to notice Miss Billingsly’s alarm and Miss Wilson’s disgruntled frown.

  The carriage lurched into motion, startling them even more.

  When neither woman spoke, Malloy said, “I didn’t see President Hatch here today.”

  Miss Wilson waited a few moments to reply, making it clear she would prefer not to speak to Malloy at all. “He is organizing a memorial service at the school. He sent us in his place.”

  Sarah found that a little less than satisfactory. A teacher had been murdered on school grounds and the president didn’t attend her funeral? The Northrups would be outraged.

  “It was a lovely service,” Sarah tried.

  “Oh yes,” Miss Billingsly quickly agreed. “Very lovely. Poor Abigail. Poor, poor Abigail.”

  “You must have been very fond of her,” Sarah said, knowing this wasn’t true.

  Miss Billingsly’s eyes widened with what might have been fear. “I . . . She was a lovely girl.”

  “We were both fond of her,” Miss Wilson said, reminding Sarah that Miss Billingsly had said Miss Wilson had a smash on Abigail. “It was a delight having a young person in our home.”

  “Yes,” Miss Billingsly said without much enthusiasm. “A delight. Like having a daughter.”