Whispers of Warning
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PRAISE FOR
Whispers Beyond the Veil
“Exciting and engrossing, this book captures you from the first page and doesn’t let go until the end. Jessica Estevao has given us a great read with a delightful heroine and a wonderful setting.”
—Emily Brightwell, New York Times bestselling author of the Victorian Mysteries
“You’ll love the not-so-innocent heroine of this delightful new series where no one and nothing is quite what it seems. Intriguing Ruby Proulx pretends to be a medium, but is she really pretending? And whom can she trust among the many new people she meets? Jessica Estevao will keep you guessing until the very last page!”
—Victoria Thompson, national bestselling author of Murder in the Bowery
“Old Orchard, Maine, at the turn of the twentieth century provides the setting for Estevao’s excellent series launch. The richness of the character backstories allows Estevao to strike a perfect balance, neither relying on a deus ex machina ending nor telegraphing the solution too early.”
—Publishers Weekly
BERKLEY PRIME CRIME TITLES BY JESSICA ESTEVAO
Whispers Beyond the Veil
Whispers of Warning
BERKLEY PRIME CRIME
Published by Berkley
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014
Copyright © 2017 by Jessie Crockett
Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.
BERKLEY is a registered trademark and BERKLEY PRIME CRIME and the B colophon are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Estevao, Jessica, author.
Title: Whispers of warning / Jessica Estevao.
Description: New York : Berkley Prime Crime, 2017. | Series: A change of fortune mystery ; 2
Identifiers: LCCN 2017009984 (print) | LCCN 2017013329 (ebook) |
ISBN 9780698197176 (eBook) | ISBN 9780425281611 (paperback)
Subjects: LCSH: Women psychics—Fiction. | Old Orchard Beach (Me.)—Fiction.
| Maine—History—19th century—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Mystery &
Detective / Historical. | FICTION / Mystery & Detective / Women Sleuths. |
GSAFD: Mystery fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3603.R63535 (ebook) | LCC PS3603.R63535 W49 2017
(print) | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017009984
First Edition: September 2017
Cover photos: Woman © Miquel Sobreira/Arcangel Images; Railing © Brian Dennett/Eyeem/Getty Images
Cover design by Katie Anderson
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Every time I start to write a book I wonder if I’m going to be able to complete it. In those dark moments, when I’m quite certain that I won’t, there are people in my life who support me, encourage me, and cheer me on. This is the place where I have the privilege of thanking them.
As always, I appreciate my blog mates the Wicked Cozy Authors: Sherry Harris, Julie Hennrikus, Edith Maxwell, Liz Mugavero, and Barb Ross. Thanks for always knowing why it’s hard and also why it’s worth it.
I also wish to thank my agent, John Talbot, and my editor, Michelle Vega, for their continued support. Without them this book would still be a figment of my imagination.
I wish to especially thank my dear friend Kathleen Kimball for suggesting a research road trip to the extraordinary village of Lily Dale, New York. Without her making the arrangements and providing such delightful companionship, I very much doubt I ever would have gotten there. This book was much improved by that experience; and memories of our time there, and of our friendship, are amongst my most cherished.
No list of thanks is complete without mentioning my family. My children: Will, Max, Theo, and Ari were endlessly patient and constantly encouraging.
And thanks also to my husband, Elias, who brings his own sort of magic to my life.
Contents
Praise for Whispers Beyond the Veil
Berkley Prime Crime Titles by Jessica Estevao
Title Page
Copyright
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
Chapter Forty-seven
Chapter Forty-eight
Chapter Forty-nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-one
Chapter Fifty-two
Chapter Fifty-three
Historical Note
About the Author
Chapter One
The atmosphere of the suffrage rally had far more in common with a medicine show performance than the attendants would likely have enjoyed hearing. In my experience, crowds of people composed of some filled with hope and others with skepticism create the same impression, no matter the subject of the gathering. Even the setting was similar. A steady breeze flapped canvas tents that ringed the border of the campground’s natural amphitheater. I felt oddly at home and deeply uncomfortable all at the same time.
As I headed for the seat my aunt Honoria had reserved for me near the front, I met Officer Lewis from the Old Orchard Police Department.
“I am pleased to see you support a woman’s right to vote, Officer,” I said, giving him a bright smile. “Not everyone is so enlightened.”
“I’m not sure if I support it or not. I’m on duty this evening.”
“On duty?” I wondered if something had occurred to warrant police attention. “Surely there’s no cause for concern when a group of politically minded women gather together to promote equality?”
“Rallies like these can easily get out of hand. Emotions tend to run high on the matter of suffrage.” Officer Lewis bent toward me. “Sometimes it’s the ladies who are the most unruly.”
“What is it that they do to get into so much trouble?” I asked. “Do they speak their minds? Wear bloomers? Smoke cigars?” Officer Lewis blushed to the roots of his hair. He shook his head and stammered.
“They chain themselves to fences and use language I haven’t even heard the local fishermen use,” Officer Lewis said.
“Some of them even have been known to hit men over the head with their parasols,” said a deep voice in back of me. I turned around to see Officer Warren Yancey standing directly behind me.
“I understand the urge,” I said. “Although I think it rather ungentlemanly for you to remind me of past sufferings.” Officer Yancey and I had met a few weeks earlier when a passing pickpocket had targeted me as soon as I had alighted from the train in Old Orchard. Since my purse had contained all my worldly goods, save the clothes on my back and my trusty parasol, I had used the latter to drive him off. In the course of doing so I had managed to fall and strike my head on the pavement. Officer Yancey considered himself to be my rescuer. I was convinced the credit for that stayed with me.
“Have you a place to sit?” he asked me. “They are already stopping people at the gate and asking them to listen as best they can from the outside.” Officer Yancey was right. Every bench was filled and people stood along the back.
“My aunt is holding a seat for me near the front. I’d better join her.” I gestured to a spot near the stage where Honoria had turned around and was beckoning me.
“Just be sure to mind your fetching hat when the rotted fruit starts flying.” He tipped his own cap at me as he took his leave. I hurried to where Honoria awaited me, all the while sneaking peeks at the other attendees for signs of produce. I settled myself just as a hush descended over the crowd and Sophronia Foster Eldridge took the stage. A cheer of welcome went up from the crowd and then the amphitheater quieted again as she motioned with her hands for the noise to stop.
Sophronia was one of the country’s most renowned suffragist leaders, one who used her abilities as a psychic medium to channel messages of equality from beyond the veil. Which is precisely why she reserved rooms at the Belden for her visit to Old Orchard. My aunt had realized some time ago that her modest hotel could not compete with the grandeur offered by the neighboring competition in our seaside community.
Like the savvy businesswoman she was, my aunt decided the only way to remain solvent was to create a niche for herself in the market. Honoria, who was a dedicated Spiritualist, decided to staff her establishment with paranormal practitioners and offer readings and development opportunities to spiritually inclined guests.
So far the venture was proving profitable and the arrival of Sophronia was expected to help make it even more so. In fact, Sophronia’s choice of the Belden as her base in Old Orchard was a magnificent peacock plume in Honoria’s straw bonnet. We found ourselves completely booked for the rest of the summer as a result of her stay.
Even though she was a guest at Honoria’s hotel I had yet to lay eyes on her. A delay in her train’s arrival had necessitated her heading straight from the station to the amphitheater. Honoria and I had had to content ourselves with welcoming her steamer trunks and valises. I could tell from her upright posture Honoria was even more eager than I for her first glance of our famous guest. She had nearly exhausted herself, not to mention the hotel staff, over the last few days ensuring every detail was in readiness for Sophronia’s arrival.
Sophronia stepped into the center of the stage. Her severe black gown highlighted the pallor of her cheeks and gave her an otherworldly appearance. Despite her ephemeral appearance her voice projected across the natural amphitheater with ease. Honoria leaned forward like an eager child. I felt a thrill of anticipation run across my stomach as I awaited her message.
“I am gratified to see that so many of you have turned out today in support of enfranchisement for women.” Sophronia’s cheeks pinked as she warmed to her subject. “I am here this day to encourage you to imagine a world where women not only have the right to vote in elections but are, in fact, a great force which shines their uniquely moral outlook on those in public office.” All around me voices began to murmur in agreement.
“No longer shall those in power abuse their positions without exposure, without consequence. Men have used the argument that we women are too noble, too pure, to sully ourselves by becoming involved in the moral morass that is politics.” The murmurs grew and Miss Foster Eldridge raised her hands for quiet once more. “I say the world of politics is shockingly in need of a dose of purity, or nobility. The very traits men fear are too delicate to survive the rough-and-tumble shenanigans of the world beyond the hearth and home are the ones most needed to guide our nation.”
She paused and looked out across the crowd. Her compelling gaze landed on several different points. My heart gave a little lurch and I found I was glad that gaze had not fixed on me. There was something about her that made me feel like she could see straight into the subject of her attention.
“For too many years such reasons to keep us at arm’s length have been offered. The quest for the vote has been slow and by no means steady. Year after year we gather and rally and ask for our due. And what have we accomplished of late? Very little, if you ask me.” Sophronia swept an accusing finger across the crowd. “Men of corrupt character freely and routinely hold positions of power in every branch of industry as well as government. For some time now I have received visions and messages from my spirit guide concerning secret dealings and corruption of all sorts and I have been urged by that same spirit to bring those dark deeds before the public. I have nearly finished compiling these messages into a manuscript. When it is finished I fully intend to offer it to the publisher who offered the highest bid. Not only will the world be forced to consider the consequences of men and their misuse of power but I will be in possession of a tidy sum to be used to fund further suffrage efforts.”
The murmurs swelled to a roar. All around me the amphitheater buzzed with noise and rustling as people turned in excitement to those around them. The din pressed against my head like the sound of an oncoming train. There was an uneasy feeling in the atmosphere and I felt the sudden urge to flee. I looked back over my shoulder at the exit, which seemed much farther away than it had when I entered.
Honoria seemed to sense my concern and she placed a reassuring hand on my forearm. I felt my shoulders unclench. Honoria was a dedicated suffragist with a great deal of experience at such rallies. If she noticed no cause for alarm I would trust there was nothing of concern about to transpire.
“You can’t possibly expect anyone will give credence to rumors you say you’ve received from a disembodied spirit?” A man stood in the row and shouted at Sophronia. “The notion is entirely ludicrous, even for a woman. If you have any sense of decorum you will quit the stage at once and save us all from more of these outrageous remarks.” Beside him a small woman in a white summer dress sat gazing up at him with what I interpreted to be a look of adoration upon her face. The man looked familiar but I could not say I had ever before seen him in person. I wondered if I had seen a photograph of him in the newspapers. He had the unchecked self-assurance of a man used to effortlessly getting his own way.
As if on cue Sophronia’s head lolled forward. The noise of the crowd cut off as if their voices had been snatched from their throats by an unseen force. She raised her head again and a voice entirely unlike her own rattled up from her chest and out from between her lips. Her eyes remained
closed and she swayed slightly back and forth. Her hand lifted and she stretched a slim finger in the direction of her heckler.
“Your confidence is misplaced. Repent or you will be harried and castigated. You will be thwarted at home and afield.” Sophronia’s voice cackled and she raised her other hand and pointed it at him as well. “You will be brought low by your past and cut off from your future. Change your ways before it is too late.” Sophronia’s voice tapered off at the end and her arms dropped to her sides. A woman from the wings rushed to her and supported her by wrapping a capable arm around her waist.
Before Sophronia’s eyes opened the man began once more to shout. “How dare you threaten me? You are nothing more than a charlatan and a harlot.” Another roar went up from the crowd and all around me people surged to their feet. I was about to stand myself when I felt Honoria’s restraining hand on my arm.
“Best to stay put. When Nelson Plaisted begins a tirade there will likely be projectiles.” She inclined her head in the direction of the man who had raised his voice to Sophronia. “I suggest we take cover before the onslaught begins.” With that, Honoria reached below the bench in front of us and retrieved an umbrella, which she deftly popped open above our heads. I pressed myself under its sheltering canopy just in time to hear something land on the waxed canvas above me.
“You know his name?” I said.
“Of course I do,” Honoria shook her head and exhaled deeply. “That odious fellow is Congressman Nelson Plaisted. I rather suspect he’s here running for reelection.”
Chapter Two
There were few things Yancey disliked more than disbanding unruly crowds. Especially those comprised mostly of women. Even more especially when the crowd contained his sister. His mood was not improved by the inclusion in the fray of Miss Honoria Belden and her niece, the irrepressible Miss Proulx.
Fruit had, as he had predicted, been flung, but he was relieved to note as he caught sight of Miss Proulx that none of it clung to her hat or any part of her costume. As she passed nearby, her hair tumbling out of its pins and framing her face in damp curls, Yancey’s heart gave a tight tug at the sight of her. That was until she approached and began to speak.