Murder in Morningside Heights

by Victoria Thompson

  “I’m not saying anything about your sister. I’m just telling you who gave her the ring.”

  “But she took it,” Raymond said through gritted teeth. “And she wore it when she wouldn’t take one from me.”

  “Maybe she had to,” Luther argued. “You don’t know what went on in that house. Maybe she was afraid not to.”

  “Why would she have to take it, and why would she have to wear it?” Raymond demanded. “Why would she have to do anything? All she had to do was send for me. I would’ve taken her out of there.”

  Raymond seemed to expect Gino to answer him, and of course he didn’t have any answers at all. “She, uh, Miss Northrup, that is. She liked teaching. Maybe she was afraid of losing her job.”

  Raymond made a rude noise. “Women don’t need jobs. She could’ve married me. I would’ve taken care of her. She knew that.”

  “And she hadn’t said anything in her letters about Miss Wilson acting strange?” Gino tried. “Or being afraid of anybody?”

  Raymond’s glare was murderous. “Do you think I would’ve left her there for one minute if she had?”

  Luther’s glare was just as murderous. “I’ve had just about enough of you slandering my sister’s good name, detective boy. I think you should leave.”

  Gino was only too willing to oblige him.

  Not wanting to wait for the elevator, he took the stairs.

  10

  Mr. and Mrs. Northrup were expecting them, since Frank had telephoned that morning to ask permission to call on them. The Northrups were anxious for word that their daughter’s killer had been caught, or at least a bit of encouraging news, so they were more than willing to grant Frank and Sarah a visit.

  They sat in the Northrups’ formal parlor, drinking tea—or pretending to, in Frank’s case. The Northrups looked like they hadn’t been sleeping well, and they moved slowly, as if their grief weighed them down somehow. Mrs. Northrup occasionally dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.

  Frank told them about finding the letters from Cornelius Raymond in Abigail’s room.

  “We didn’t know he had proposed to her, of course,” Mr. Northrup said with a sigh of regret over what might have been.

  “I could understand why she wouldn’t accept him, though,” his wife said. “She loved teaching so much, and I guess she wasn’t ready to give it up.”

  “Do you think she would have married Mr. Raymond eventually?” Sarah asked.

  The Northrups exchanged a glance.

  “Getting married is such an important decision,” Mrs. Northrup said. “And I never even imagined Abby was in love with Cory. I also never got the idea he was in love with her either, for that matter. She was fond of him, I suppose, but you’d like to see some genuine affection between a couple, too, wouldn’t you?”

  “I would,” Sarah agreed. “Did she ever mention having affection for someone else?”

  Mrs. Northrup frowned as she considered. “Dear me, if she did, I don’t know who it could have been. She certainly didn’t meet any suitors at the Normal School, I know.”

  Frank and Sarah had decided not to mention the ring or Abigail’s relationship with Miss Wilson unless it was absolutely necessary, so Frank moved on.

  “I took the liberty of emptying Abigail’s desk at the school. I brought those things with me in case there’s something you wanted to keep.”

  “That was very thoughtful of you, Mr. Malloy,” Mrs. Northrup said, tearing up again. “I don’t know if we would have even thought of it.”

  “I found more letters in her desk. They were from some of her old classmates and from Miss Raymond, but we also found a few letters from France.” They had decided not to mention that some of them had been carefully hidden. “Do you know who might have been writing to her from France?” Frank asked.

  “Probably some of the friends she met last summer,” Mrs. Northrup said. “We had arranged for her to stay with different families while she was there, so she could practice her French. She had such a wonderful time.”

  “Couldn’t you just look at the letters to see who they’re from?” Mr. Northrup asked. “We certainly wouldn’t mind if you read them.”

  “They were in French,” Sarah said. “We’re trying to find someone who could read them for us.”

  “Oh, of course,” Mrs. Northrup said. “But couldn’t Professor Pelletier help you with that?”

  “We didn’t want someone who knew her to read them, in case there’s something in them she wouldn’t want anyone else to know,” Sarah said.

  “I can’t imagine what that would be,” Mrs. Northrup said, a little offended at the thought that her dearly departed daughter had secrets.

  “Abigail had told Miss Raymond that she’d discovered a scandal of some kind at the school,” Frank quickly explained. “We don’t know if that had anything to do with her death or if these letters are any part of it, but if there was a scandal and it’s mentioned in these letters, we don’t want to embarrass anyone if there’s no reason.”

  “Oh, I see,” Mrs. Northrup said, although she plainly didn’t.

  “Who are you going to show them to?” Mr. Northrup asked.

  “We’ve got someone from our agency working on it,” Frank assured him, surprising a suspicious-sounding cough from Sarah. What did she think, that he’d say his mother-in-law was hunting down a French expatriate?

  Frank had little left to tell them after he explained that none of the students or teachers had seen anyone in the gazebo with Abigail. He wasn’t going to mention that Miss Billingsly had hated Abigail for stealing Miss Wilson’s affections or that Luther had been painfully jealous of his sister and might possibly have wished her dead or that Cornelius Raymond might have been overcome with fury when Abigail told him she was leaving him for a woman.

  “We’ve had a difficult time finding Cory Raymond to speak with him,” Sarah said, rescuing Frank when he ran out of safe information to share with them. “Mr. Donatelli went to his place of business here in Tarrytown, but they said he is rarely there.”

  The Northrups exchanged a knowing look.

  “Yet another reason Cory wasn’t a good match for Abby,” Mrs. Northrup said. “He hasn’t shown much interest in his father’s business, I’m afraid, although when the time comes, he may well accept his responsibilities.”

  Frank wasn’t so sure, but it wasn’t his business or his son. “I understand he spends a lot of time in New York.”

  “Yes, he . . . he sees Luther there, I think,” Mr. Northrup said.

  “They belong to the same club, I believe,” his wife said.

  Mr. Northrup probably couldn’t help his expression of disapproval. “I believe they do. They both enjoy athletics.” The way he said the word athletics left no doubt of his low opinion of it.

  “They’re young,” Frank said, but that didn’t cheer Mr. Northrup. “I understand your son is quite accomplished in gymnastics.”

  “So he tells me,” Mr. Northrup said without enthusiasm. “But gymnastics is not a skill that will help him in business.”

  Frank decided not to mention that Luther had been offered a job at the club, teaching other young men skills that wouldn’t help them in business either.

  “Could you give us the names of the families Abigail stayed with in France?” Sarah asked. “Then we’ll at least know if these letters Mr. Malloy found are from them or someone else.”

  “I can’t imagine who else would be writing to her, but I’ll be happy to give you the names,” Mrs. Northrup said. “They’re in my book. If you’ll excuse me for a moment . . .”

  Sarah said, “I’ll go with you.”

  Frank watched her go, glad she’d given him a few minutes alone with Mr. Northrup. When the women were gone, he said, “Did Luther and Abigail get along well?”

  Northrup looked up in surprise. “As well as any si
blings do, I suppose. Why . . . ? Oh, dear God, you don’t think . . . ?” The color had drained from his face and he stared at Frank in horror.

  “No, I don’t have any reason to think that Luther had anything to do with Abigail’s death,” Frank lied hastily. “I just . . . He mentioned that he’s not much of a scholar, and we know Abigail did very well in school, so I was wondering about them.”

  “Luther would never apply himself in school. He may have been a bit jealous of all the attention Abigail received, but he only had himself to blame for not doing well himself.”

  Frank nodded, as if he understood. “It’s hard for boys to settle down sometimes. I didn’t have much use for school either, and I’ve done pretty well in life. You expect Cory Raymond to be successful, even though he’s not showing any signs of it now. Why couldn’t Luther be successful, too?”

  Northrup looked a bit surprised. “I suppose you’re right. I didn’t have much love for school myself, now that I remember. I just . . . Well, you expect so much from your son, don’t you?”

  Frank thought of his son, Brian, who had been born deaf and with a clubfoot. He’d thought the boy a hopeless case until Sarah had opened his eyes. “We should expect a lot from them, but maybe not too much.”

  “I think I know what you’re saying. I’ve also just been thinking that Luther is the only child we have left. I don’t suppose it would hurt to be kinder to him.”

  Frank agreed. He only hoped he didn’t have to come back here one day and tell Mr. Northrup his son had killed his daughter.

  * * *

  Mrs. Northrup took Sarah down the hall to a pleasant room that she recognized as the family’s parlor. It had been closed during the funeral, so Sarah looked around, admiring the framed photographs of Abigail and Luther as children that sat on the mantle, while Mrs. Northrup rummaged in her desk for her book of addresses.

  Luther had always been a handsome boy, large but not awkward. Abigail had grown into her looks, starting out rather plain with her pigtails and short skirts.

  “This one has always been my favorite,” Mrs. Northrup said. Sarah hadn’t realized she had come up beside her. She indicated a photo of Luther and Abigail as prepubescent youths, fairly bursting with promise. “It’s the last one they had made together.” She brushed away a tear. “Here are the addresses.”

  Sarah took the paper Mrs. Northrup handed her and glanced at it. Some of the addresses looked familiar. “Thank you. It was very generous of you to send her to France.”

  “We aren’t wealthy enough to send her on a real European tour, but we thought she deserved a few months in the country she’s loved ever since she first learned about it in school. She would read French novels for fun, when other girls were reading ladies’ magazines.”

  “You said she wanted to go so she could learn to speak French better.”

  “Oh yes, and she did. I was very surprised when she told me she was embarrassed when she first got there. She thought she spoke the language rather fluently, but she said they laughed at her accent and could hardly understand her at first. Can you imagine? After all the years she studied.”

  “And her professor at the Normal School is French himself,” Sarah marveled. “You’d think he would have helped her with that.”

  “You would, wouldn’t you? But maybe he’s from a different part of France. Maybe they have different accents there, like we do here.”

  “Maybe they do,” Sarah said, but she was thinking that even with our different accents, we can still understand each other. “Where did she stay when she was there?”

  “Paris, of course—she was there for a whole month. Then she went to Nice. She wanted to see the south of France. And then she spent a few days in a small town in Bourgogne. I can’t pronounce it, but it’s on your list. It wasn’t a place people usually go, but she was adamant she wanted to see it.”

  * * *

  Gino came over to the house that evening, after supper. His mother insisted he eat a meal with his family at least a few evenings a week, but he was anxious to hear how things had gone with the Northrups and to report on his visit with Luther Northrup and Cory Raymond.

  Sarah had brought Maeve up to date on the case when she and Malloy had returned from Tarrytown earlier. Now the children were asleep and Frank’s mother had retired to her rooms.

  “I warned you about being alone with those fellows,” Malloy said when Gino had told them about his uncomfortable encounter with the two men at their club.

  “I don’t think they would’ve killed me,” Gino said when he’d finished his tale, “but I hadn’t thought about them beating me up just because they were annoyed.”

  “At least you found out this Raymond fellow apparently didn’t know who his rival was for Abigail’s affections,” Maeve said.

  Malloy grinned. “Or so he said.”

  “You always have to make everything complicated,” Maeve complained.

  “Everything is already complicated,” he replied cheerfully. “I’m just trying to sort it out.”

  “I think the most important thing I learned is that either one of these fellows might’ve become violent if they got mad enough at Abigail,” Gino said. “And we know from what Miss Raymond told Mrs. Malloy that Abigail could be very annoying.”

  “They might also be the ones most likely to meet Abigail in the gazebo,” Sarah said. “I’ve been giving that some thought because it seems odd she’d be meeting someone outside in the middle of winter when she had a perfectly warm office she could’ve used.”

  “That’s true. Why wouldn’t she have met with them in her office?” Maeve asked.

  “Because the young ladies go into a tizzy if they see a strange man walking around the building,” Malloy said.

  “Well, we know they do now,” Sarah said, “and after Abigail was murdered, who can blame them? But would they have been upset to see a strange man before that? Is there some sort of rule about men coming into the building?”

  “Nobody said anything about any rules when Mr. Malloy and I came in to question people,” Gino said. “Although he’s right about the girls being in a tizzy.”

  Maeve rolled her eyes. “Girls always go into a tizzy when they see Gino.”

  “Not all girls,” Gino said meaningfully.

  Maeve ignored the provocation, of course, making Sarah smile. The two of them were such fun to watch.

  “Mrs. Northrup gave me a list of the people in France who hosted Abigail when she was there, but none of the addresses match the one on two of the letters Malloy found hidden,” Sarah said to bring them back to the subject at hand.

  “Do you think she had a secret lover over there?” Gino asked. “Maybe he came to America to find her, and she told him she was in love with somebody else and he killed her.”

  “It’s certainly possible,” Sarah said, “but nobody seems to have heard of this mysterious young man, much less seen him.”

  “Which probably means he doesn’t exist. I guess you haven’t heard anything from Mrs. Decker either,” Gino said.

  “Not yet,” Sarah said. “Finding someone who knows French well enough to read the letters is only half of it. The person also has to be discreet, just in case there really is some kind of scandal mentioned in them.”

  “So that could take a while,” Maeve said. “Meanwhile, who do you think killed her?”

  “After the way they acted today, I’m thinking it was Luther or Raymond,” Gino said.

  “Why?” Maeve asked. “Just because they scared you?”

  “They didn’t scare me,” he lied. “They just made me a little nervous. I think one of them probably did it because they’re young men. In my experience, young men are most likely to have bad tempers and use violence when things don’t go their way.”

  “That’s true,” Malloy said, “and whoever killed Abigail was really mad at her.”

&nb
sp; “I might agree with you except for one thing,” Sarah said. They all turned to her in surprise. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot. When I showed Miss Wilson the ring yesterday, she was surprised, but not for the reason I would have thought. Remember, she and Abigail were the only ones who knew its significance. We guessed it might be an engagement ring, but after Cory Raymond told us he hadn’t given it to her, we didn’t know what to think. I took a chance in showing it to Miss Wilson, and she was suitably shocked, but not because I had it or had thought to show it to her. She was shocked to learn that Abigail was wearing it when she died.”

  “Why would that shock her?” Gino asked.

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out. What does it mean if she didn’t know Abigail was wearing the ring she gave her? And that Miss Wilson was surprised to learn she was?”

  “Oh, that’s easy,” Maeve said. “A girl might accept a gift from a suitor, but the only way he’d know it meant something to her is if she wore it. So maybe Miss Wilson wasn’t sure why Abigail had accepted it or what her real feelings were.”

  “Because no matter what, Abigail couldn’t wear the ring openly,” Malloy said. “Not in that house, at least, where Miss Billingsly would see it and probably guess where it came from.”

  “Or anywhere, really,” Sarah said. “People at the school would see it and ask about it. And her family, too.”

  “And she couldn’t very well pretend some young man gave it to her,” Maeve said. “That would make Cory Raymond mad, and he’d want to know who it was.”

  “And so would her brother and her parents,” Gino said. “And everyone else she knows.”

  “So that’s why she wasn’t wearing it openly, but apparently, Miss Wilson didn’t know she was wearing it at all, because she seemed especially upset when she realized Abigail was wearing it when she died.”

  “That’s interesting,” Maeve said. “Did you ask her why?”

  “Unfortunately, I didn’t have a chance, because that was exactly when Miss Billingsly burst in and Miss Wilson asked me to leave.”