“Yes, we do. So you think it . . . it wasn’t dark yet when she . . . when it happened?”
“That’s certainly possible. What time did she go out?”
“I don’t know exactly. Bathsheba can tell you. But it was in the afternoon. We don’t have classes on Saturday, so we usually go someplace together . . . or at least we used to. But that wouldn’t be proper when we were still mourning poor Abby, would it?”
“But Miss Wilson went out somewhere without you yesterday.”
Miss Billingsly frowned. “Not on a social call. I’m sure of that. She wouldn’t do that.”
“Did she give you any idea where she was going?”
Miss Billingsly shook her head. “She was very mysterious. She said she had an appointment, but she would be home for supper. And then . . . she wasn’t.”
Sarah was trying to remember exactly when darkness would have fallen last night. Winter days could be dark by four thirty or five o’clock, and in the heavily shadowed streets, it came even earlier. “Would she have normally walked down the alley when she was coming home?”
“If she was coming from that direction, I suppose so.” Miss Billingsly had stopped crying and was concentrating very hard on what Sarah was asking her. “It was cold and she was probably in a hurry, so she’d take the shortest route.”
She might have been in a hurry because she was being pursued, too. “What’s in that direction?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is that the way she’d come home from the Normal School?”
“No.”
“Can you think of someone she might’ve met who lives in that direction?”
“I . . . Lots of people. Many of the teachers at the school live in the streets behind us.”
So no help there. Sarah managed not to sigh. “Had she said anything to you about Miss Northrup’s death?”
Her lip quivered, but to her credit, she bit down on it and kept her composure. “She’s hardly spoken to me since . . .” She drew a shuddering breath. “Since I accused her of killing Abigail.”
“Why did you say a thing like that? Did you really believe it?”
“I . . . I was so jealous, you see. Georgia and I . . .” She pressed a fist to her lips to hold back her tears.
Her despair was painful to witness, and Sarah took pity on her. “I know how much you loved her, and she loved you, too.”
This time she smiled, a painfully mirthless parody of a smile. “She loved me until she saw Abby. Georgia always said nothing could separate us. She owned this house, and we had our work, and we’d be together as long as we lived. Then Abby came, and she was so young and so smart and so pretty . . .”
Sarah wanted to say something to comfort her, but she knew nothing could. She waited until Miss Billingsly had calmed herself again. “Can you think of any reason someone might kill both of them?”
She considered the question for a long moment. Then her eyes grew wide with horror. “You mean me, don’t you? I’m the only one who could’ve wanted both of them dead!”
“Are you really?” Sarah asked, refusing to be baited.
This stunned her into silence.
“Are you really the only one who wanted them both dead?” Sarah repeated mercilessly.
“I didn’t want them dead at all,” she cried. “I just wanted everything back the way it was before. I know I’m not pretty. I never was, but Georgia didn’t care about that. She loved my mind. She loved the discussions we’d have long into the night. She loved talking with me about our students. She loved going to museums with me and talking about what we saw. We shared everything until Abby came.”
“Are you saying you didn’t resent Abigail?”
“Of course I did. I saw the way she looked at Georgia. She worshipped her. Nobody could resist a love like that. I didn’t even blame Georgia, or at least not very much.”
“You must have been angry when Abigail came here to live, though.”
“I was, but Georgia said it wouldn’t make any difference between us. Abby was a child. Georgia was going to be a mentor to her, and we would be an example to her of how females could live their lives without men interfering.”
“And you believed her?”
“I wanted to believe her, because if I didn’t . . .”
“If you didn’t, you’d have to leave her.”
Miss Billingsly’s eyes filled with tears. “I couldn’t leave. This is my home. Where would I go? What would I do?”
Sarah couldn’t help thinking of all the women whose husbands abandoned them for a younger, prettier woman. Miss Billingsly would have done what they did: survive somehow. At least Miss Billingsly had a profession. She wouldn’t have found herself penniless on the street as many women did. Sarah wasn’t going to point that out, however. Instead she said, “So you killed Abigail to protect yourself.”
“What?” Miss Billingsly cried, stiffening in shock. “How can you say such a thing! I could never hurt her. I could never hurt anyone!”
“Even someone who had ruined your whole life?”
That stopped her, but only for a few seconds. “Mrs. Malloy, I didn’t kill Abigail and I didn’t kill Georgia. What would that have gained me? When Abby died, Georgia didn’t come back to me, did she? If anything, things were worse between us. I couldn’t even comfort her because she thought I was glad Abby was gone.”
“But you couldn’t have known that until after Abigail was dead. Maybe you believed that with Abigail out of the way, you’d get her back.”
She was wagging her head before Sarah even got the words out. “I didn’t kill Abby, Mrs. Malloy. You’ve got to believe me.”
“Then, who did?”
“I don’t know! I thought—” She slapped a hand over her mouth as if to hold back the rest of her words.
“What did you think?”
She lowered her hand slowly, and Sarah could almost see her tears drying in the heat of her anger. “I thought Georgia had killed her.”
“You did?” Sarah asked in genuine surprise. “Why?”
“Because . . . they had a terrible fight the night before. I don’t know what they were arguing about, but they were both very angry. They didn’t even speak to each other that morning before we all left for school. So when Abby turned up dead . . .” She gestured helplessly.
“Do you still think she did it?”
“I don’t know, but if she did, then who killed her and why? It doesn’t make any sense!”
She was absolutely right. It didn’t make any sense at all.
* * *
Gino had waited patiently in the hallway for Bathsheba to return. She’d said something about sitting in the kitchen, but he knew better than to presume. She seemed a little surprised to find him still standing there, but she motioned impatiently that he was to follow her, so he did.
The warmth of the kitchen enveloped him, a welcome change from the frigid streets and drafty hallway.
“Sit yourself down,” she said without the slightest trace of hospitality. “I expect you want some coffee. Or tea. Which is it?”
“Whatever is easier,” he said, still smiling.
“I’m makin’ tea for Miss Estelle. You can have some of that.”
He waited while she filled the kettle and set it on to boil. Then she sliced some bread, and when she was finished, she laid the knife down and brushed her hands over her apron and looked around absently, as if she were at a loss as to what to do next.
“Maybe you’d sit with me while we wait for the water to boil,” he said.
She gave a little huff, as though she was disgusted, but she pulled out one of the chairs and sat down. Then she gave him a long, considering look. “A fine-lookin’ man like you, I reckon you get just about whatever you want in this world, don’t you?”
“Oh no, ma’am. Well, I gue
ss it’s a little better now. When I was an Italian on the police force, all the sergeants were Irish, and all they ever did was make life hard for me. Until Mr. Malloy came along, that is.”
“Least you got a job with the police. You don’t see no colored fellows in that uniform, do you?”
“No, ma’am.” Gino couldn’t even imagine that, but he supposed the Irish cops had never imagined having Italians on the force either. “I expect it’ll happen someday, though.”
“Not in my day,” she said. “Now, tell me what you think I know that’ll help you catch whoever been killing my ladies.”
“How did Miss Wilson happen to be out in the alley? Or was that really where they found her?”
“Oh, that’s where they found her, all right. Our neighbor, he was walking down the alley on his way home, and he nearly stepped on her. It’s right dark back there, so he didn’t see her at first. He started shouting, and I went out to see what was going on, and . . .” She clamped her jaw shut and looked away, unwilling to cry in front of him.
“And how did she happen to be outside in the dark all alone?”
Bathsheba swallowed hard and turned back to him. “She went out in the afternoon, while it was still daylight. Said she had an appointment, but she’d be home for supper.”
“Did she say who her appointment was with?”
“She don’t tell me her business, and I didn’t ask, though I wish now that I had.”
He was sure she did. “What time did she leave?”
“Oh, around three o’clock, I’d guess.”
“How did she seem? Was she nervous or anything?”
Bathsheba’s forehead wrinkled in concentration. “She seemed determined.”
“Determined?”
“Yes. Not nervous, I’m sure. She . . . Her mouth, it was all pinched up.” She puckered her lips to demonstrate.
“Like she was angry and not wanting to show it,” he guessed.
“More like she was angry, but not at me, so she was holding it back to be polite.”
“Who would she have been angry with?”
“Not Miss Billingsly, if that’s what you’re thinking. I told you before, they never had a cross word, not even when Miss Northrup moved in.”
Gino nodded as if he understood, and he was pretty sure he did. “But Miss Billingsly was upset when Miss Northrup moved in, wasn’t she?”
“Sure, but what could she do? This is Miss Georgia’s house. If she want, she can tell Miss Estelle to just find some other place to live.”
“So Miss Billingsly never got mad about it?”
“She was hurt, but she was too much of a lady to say anything, not like that Miss Northrup.”
Gino’s nerve endings twitched, but he knew better than to express too much interest in her provocative statement. “You already told Mr. Malloy that Miss Northrup argued with Miss Wilson. Was it more than that?”
Bathsheba shifted a little in her chair. “Well, now, like I said, she didn’t yell or scream or anything like that, but she let Miss Georgia know what she was thinking. That last day . . .” She looked away as if she’d lost her train of thought.
Gino waited, and when she didn’t continue, he said, “Did she argue with Miss Wilson on that last day?”
Bathsheba sighed wearily. “The night before. She . . . Well, she wanted to do something that Miss Georgia told her not to do. She said . . .”
“What did she say?” Gino prodded gently when she hesitated. “It could be important.”
Bathsheba winced. “I couldn’t hear all they was sayin’, you understand. I don’t listen at keyholes.”
“Of course not,” he said with perfect sincerity.
“But I couldn’t help hearing. They was right in there.” She motioned to the parlor.
He nodded.
“Miss Northrup, she say she gonna tell President Hatch something. She say he gonna be shocked and he gonna have to take some action.”
“What kind of action?”
“I don’t know.”
“What was she going to tell him?”
“Don’t know that neither, and she wouldn’t tell Miss Georgia either. Miss Georgia was real upset. Said she could cause a scandal that might ruin the school’s reputation. Miss Georgia say she should think about all the people who’d get hurt.”
“But she wouldn’t say what it was?”
“No, not even when Miss Georgia begged her.”
“Did she convince Miss Northrup not to tell?”
She shook her head. “Miss Northrup, she the most hardheaded . . . Miss Georgia couldn’t tell her nothing. Nobody could. She knew what was best, and she was gonna do it no matter what.”
“And you’re sure Miss Wilson wasn’t able to change her mind?”
“Not unless she did it after they left here that morning. Miss Georgia, she couldn’t hardly even look at Miss Abigail at breakfast. And Miss Abigail, she so smug, I couldn’t hardly stand to look at her neither.”
But Abigail hadn’t told Hatch. Or had she? Could the college president have killed her to avoid a scandal? What could she have possibly known that would be so important? “I know Abigail didn’t say, but do you have any idea what Abigail was going to tell Mr. Hatch?”
Bathsheba looked at him for a long moment, as if weighing his right to hear her theories. Finally, she said, “I think you know enough about what goes on in this house to guess.”
* * *
“She actually thinks Abigail was going to tell Hatch about Miss Wilson and Miss Billingsly having a . . .” Gino gestured helplessly when he realized he had no way to describe the relationship between the two women.
“A romance?” Sarah suggested with a smile. The three of them had returned home so they could share what they had learned without fear of being overheard, and were sitting in the parlor. She turned to Malloy. “Could that have gotten her killed?”
“People kill other people for stupid reasons sometimes, but Hatch is really terrified of scandal and rightly so. Parents are already taking their daughters home. If they found out there was a scandal in addition to two murders . . .” He shrugged.
“So maybe Abigail told Hatch about the romance,” Gino said, “and he killed her to keep her quiet. Then Miss Wilson figured it out and accused him, and he had to kill her, too.”
“That’s a good theory except for one thing,” Malloy said. “Don’t you wonder why Hatch wanted to see me today?”
“I thought he just wanted to tell you about Miss Wilson’s murder,” Gino said.
“He did, but he also wanted to hire me to investigate it.”
“Oh,” Gino said, obviously disappointed. “Which means he probably isn’t the killer.”
Sarah patted his hand to comfort him.
“Unless he’s very clever and thinks he can trick me into deciding it’s somebody else,” Malloy said.
“If he’s clever, he wouldn’t do a stupid thing like that,” Sarah said, earning a grin from Malloy. “Do you think Abigail told him something that day?”
“He didn’t mention it, but I’ll need to go back and ask him, I guess, just to make sure.”
“And why would he have gone outside to meet with her?” Gino asked. “He’s got an office where they could talk without being disturbed.”
“She might’ve met with Miss Wilson or Miss Billingsly outside, though,” Sarah said.
“Why not use her own office or theirs?” Malloy asked.
“She shared her office with Pelletier, and she wouldn’t want him to walk in on them,” Sarah said. “The other women probably share their offices as well.”
“So you think Miss Wilson might’ve tried once more to make Abigail change her mind?” Gino asked.
“Or even Miss Billingsly, if she figured out what Abigail was going to tell Mr. Hatch,” Sarah said. “Except I don�
��t think Miss Billingsly could’ve done it. She’s so fragile, I think she would’ve gone to pieces if she’d actually taken someone’s life.”
“Maybe she’s just pretending to be fragile,” Malloy said. “Maybe she’s even just pretending to be drunk.”
Sarah gaped at him. “I never thought of that! We expect females to be emotional and even hysterical, so we never question it when they are.”
“Do you think she could be pretending?” Gino asked Sarah.
She tried to recall all of her encounters with Miss Billingsly. “I don’t know her well enough to be sure, but I do know my mother says a female should always know how to faint convincingly in case she needs to get out of a difficult situation.”
“Did Miss Billingsly faint?” Malloy asked with interest.
“Not yet,” Sarah said with a grin, “although she did fall down rather well the very first time we met her.”
“Yes, she did,” he agreed with a grin of his own.
“We thought she was drunk,” Sarah told Gino. “Which reminds me, at the time I thought she’d been drinking because she was mourning Abigail, but now we know she hated Abigail and was probably glad she died. Today, she confessed that she thought Miss Wilson had killed her, though, which would explain why she was drinking.”
“Because she was afraid Miss Wilson would be arrested, I guess,” Gino said.
“That seems logical, but why did she think Miss Wilson killed her?” Malloy asked.
“Because of the fight they had the night before,” Sarah said.
“But Miss Billingsly said she doesn’t know what the scandal was that Abigail was going to reveal,” Malloy said.
“She claims she doesn’t, but we just have her word for that. She might’ve guessed or Miss Wilson might’ve told her at some point.”
“This is all a lot of guessing,” Gino complained. “And we’re forgetting all about Luther Northrup and Cornelius Raymond.”
“Should we still be thinking about them, though?” Sarah asked.
“Why wouldn’t we?” Gino asked right back.
“Because they might’ve killed Abigail, but they don’t have any reason to kill Miss Wilson.”
Murder in Morningside Heights Page 19
