Whispers of Warning

by Jessica Estevao

  “There is another person you are worried is involved though, isn’t there?” I said. “You are concerned about a role Officer Nichols may have played in the death?” Yancey snapped his head up to look me in the eyes.

  “How did you know that?” he asked. “Did his mother-in-law say something?”

  “Mrs. Doyle has nothing to do with this.” At least I sincerely hoped she did not. That part of the investigation I planned to keep to myself until I had time to mull it over. “As I’ve already told you, I am not a fraud. I do receive guidance from the world beyond,” I said. “So, why do you suspect him?”

  Yancey leaned back in his chair and squinted at me in an alarming imitation of Mrs. Doyle. The noises of the room stilled and all I heard were the ticking of the mantel clock and the low rumble of the sea. Something in him seemed to be at war and then I could see the decision flit across his face.

  “Frank left the chief’s office at the same time as Jellison.”

  “That isn’t so very damning.”

  “But you remember that a few weeks ago something occurred which put Frank in the chief’s debt. I don’t believe Frank has a personal motive to have harmed Miss Foster Eldridge but a small part of me wonders if he felt forced to do so at the chief’s bidding.”

  “Albert Fitch?” I asked. Albert Fitch had died in police custody weeks earlier. Frank had given him a beating but swore he hadn’t killed him. The chief had turned a blind eye on the incident and even helped to get rid of Albert Fitch’s body.

  “Exactly. Frank is lucky to still be on the force.” Yancey shook his head. “I’ve been waiting for the chief to start calling in favors ever since it happened.”

  “If the chief is capable of that he is certainly capable of covering up evidence or hushing witnesses,” I said.

  “We need to gather more information about what transpired between the chief and Henry,” Yancey said. “As soon as possible.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Amanda Howell stood in the doorway of a small reading room in the spiritual wing of the hotel, saying her good-byes to a group of women who had checked in the week before. I nodded to the ladies and tried to slip past Amanda without engaging her in conversation.

  “You must be simply devastated by the loss of Sophronia,” she said. A look of total insincerity wreathed her face. If Amanda had not professed her psychic gift to be one of token reading I would have sworn she had an unnatural ability to find a sore spot in anyone’s heart and to prick it until it bled. “But, I suppose it was only a matter of time until a woman of such an unbalanced temperament did herself irreversible harm.” Amanda smiled at me and drew her finger slowly across her neck.

  “Sophronia didn’t kill herself.”

  “Well, you wouldn’t think ill of her, now, would you? After all, she made quite a pet of you, didn’t she?”

  “Just because a woman believes she should have the right to vote does not mean she is out of her mind.”

  “It should. After all, everyone knows that women who support suffrage will begin to sprout beards.” Amanda blinked her dark blue eyes at me slowly. “But I don’t only say that because of her outrageous beliefs. It was her nasty temper that convinced me she was unstable. If anyone had truly cared about her in the least they would have shut her away in an asylum before she did such an unforgivable thing to herself.” I felt my anger mounting until I gave Amanda’s words some thought.

  “I never saw the least display of temper from Sophronia. I can’t believe you would seek to further damage her reputation.”

  “I can’t imagine how anything could possibly do that. Besides, why shouldn’t I say it if it is true? I happened to overhear Sophronia and that gangly friend of hers arguing like a pair of fishwives.”

  “You were eavesdropping on the guests?” That was the sort of thing that Honoria considered grounds for dismissal. The privacy of all hotel guests mattered but she particularly upheld the secrets of those who often encountered scorn from the outside world on account of their beliefs.

  “It isn’t eavesdropping if the other party decides to argue in a public space. It can hardly be considered my fault that I entered the dining room and found Sophronia and Miss Rice in the midst of a heated conversation.”

  “Did they know you were there?”

  “Both women acknowledged me with the barest nod of their heads and then they turned back to their own conversation. From their body language it was clear Miss Rice was seething and Sophronia felt she had nothing to apologize for. No one else was in the room besides the three of us but by the time I had helped myself to breakfast they seemed to have completely forgotten I was there.” Amanda shrugged. “I did sit as far from them as I was able. It wasn’t as though I had any desire to be included in what was clearly an unpleasant conversation.”

  In my mind’s eye I could see Amanda delighting in the show unfolding before her eyes. The trick would be to convince her to tell me what she heard without appearing to want to know. Pretending to disbelieve her seemed the best way to accomplish just that. Fortunately, I rarely believed her so I had had a great deal of practice.

  “I can’t believe two such dear friends would have been arguing at all, let alone in full view of anyone who happened to wander in.”

  “For someone who claims to have access to the spirit world you are poorly informed. They were arguing about Sophronia’s manuscript and how she planned to use it.” A look of triumph passed over Amanda’s face. “Miss Rice accused Sophronia of being reckless and hungry for fame and that the mob at the march proved she had finally gone too far. She said something about squandering, too.”

  “Squandering what?”

  “Money, I suppose. What else would you squander?”

  “What did Sophronia have to say to Miss Rice’s accusations?”

  “Nothing at all. She simply slapped her fist down on the table and knocked over a pitcher of milk. Then she stomped out of the room without another word.”

  “What did Miss Rice do?”

  “She just sat there motionless and stared at the table in front of her. It was a good thing the milk was already wasted because the look Sophronia had given her would have curdled it anyway.”

  “When did the argument take place?” I asked.

  “After they returned from the march.” Amanda smiled at me again. “You know, if the police were not so sure Sophronia had taken her own life I would have been convinced that Miss Rice had killed her.”

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Miss Rice finally felt well enough to have quitted her room and now seemed intent on using her renewed sense of health to develop her otherworldly abilities. It is never a surprising thing for those gripped by grief to turn to the spiritual realm. In fact, my father and I had made use of that very proclivity with an impressive degree of success for years. Miss Rice appeared to be one of those same people. Which suited my purposes just fine. After all, if she had still been bedridden and incoherent with grief I would have found it difficult to ask her about her argument with her dearly departed friend. As it was, I felt emboldened to do so.

  “Miss Rice, you look like you are on the mend,” I said, looking about the room Lucy had taken over as an office when Sophronia had requested her assistance. Miss Rice sat at the table in the center of the room. Pages covered with writing littered the floor and her fingers were stained with ink. Correspondence heaped and tumbled off the desk, too. “What has wrought this remarkable change?”

  “Sophronia came to me through automatic writing. Look.” Miss Rice held out a fistful of paper sheets. “While I am loath to do so, she insists I take up her mantle and carry on her work. She insists there is no one else to whom she would entrust such a thing. Look.” She thrust the ink-stained pages at me. I looked them over carefully, feeling the weight of her stare upon my face. As far as I could see the message appeared to be a mandate that she take Sophronia’s pla
ce for the good of the suffrage cause. The pages, as Miss Rice claimed, indicated Sophronia felt no other was up to the task.

  “Ask her if the argument was resolved,” I heard the voice say clearly in my ear. I took a seat and placed it quite near to Miss Rice’s own. I allowed my eyes to close and my head to fall forward as if in a trance. I did not feel good about the deception but if she was already using the spirit world to grant her leave to assume leadership it seemed fair to use something similar to question her. I began to sway slightly forward and back and then stopped suddenly and stiffened. I tipped my ear toward the ceiling and tried to appear as though I were straining to hear something from a distance.

  “I am hearing Sophronia’s voice and she speaks to me of an argument between the two of you. She says it makes her uneasy to have left this plane without returning to perfect harmony with her dearest friend. Does that make sense to you?”

  “There are always things we regret saying. I’m sure it was nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “She is quite insistent. She is showing me an image of the two of you seated at a table and you both have angry looks upon your faces. She stands and walks away, leaving you there alone. She wishes the two of you had never argued.” Miss Rice slumped in her chair, all the puff alarmingly leaking out of her. Perhaps it was a bit soon to give her another shock. Still, the voice never sent me careening in the wrong direction.

  “Please let her know I wish things had been different in these last weeks, too. I regret what I said.”

  “It would give me a better ability to convey your sentiments if I were clearer concerning the source of your regret. I am sensing there was a disagreement about squandered resources.”

  “That is the crux of the matter. Sophronia had begun to associate with wealthy and influential women, like those involved in the Hay Feverists Society. I questioned her motives in doing so. I regret that now.” I paused and cocked my head as if listening to the beyond. “I feared for her safety but she simply laughed it off saying I should know better than to allow it to worry me.” Miss Rice reached for a handkerchief and blew her nose loudly.

  “Why should you not have felt concern? I felt the same way when I heard about the threatening letter.” I felt the familiar tingle along my skin that always occurred when I realized I was on the right track with a reading. I was surprised once more by how much the skills of a confidence artist and those of an investigator overlapped.

  “I shouldn’t have worried because I knew that Sophronia generally sent such letters to herself.”

  “Sophronia sent the letter? Why would she do that?”

  “To drum up interest in the press. She did it at almost every place we stayed for any length of time.” I was stunned. I had not considered how far Sophronia was willing to go to support her cause. If she had been willing to lie about something that produced so much concern in those around her, what else would she be willing to do? Still, if Miss Rice knew that was her habit, why had she still been worried?

  “If you knew she did such things, why would you have concerns for her safety? What was unique about this situation?”

  “There were two things that bothered me. I told her she was making a mistake when she decided to announce her decision to publish a book about corruption. She wouldn’t even let me read it. She said she was the only one who should assume the risk for the secrets it contained.” Her voice caught in her throat.

  “So you haven’t seen her manuscript?” I had to wonder if Sophronia hadn’t trusted Miss Rice as much as it had seemed. Or maybe she really didn’t want to put her friend at risk. She had shared the secret of her fake hate mails with her, after all.

  “Sophronia always kept it secreted away except for when she was working on it. All I know was that she felt it was almost ready to be offered to publishers and that she had the last part all planned,” Miss Rice said. “She was overjoyed to be so close to finishing it when we last met.”

  “Do you know what the last step in her process was?”

  “A final revision, from what I understand. The heart of the work was all in place but she wanted to be sure the words were powerful enough to make a compelling case against those she accused of corruption.”

  “What was the second reason you were so worried for her safety despite what you knew about the note?” I asked.

  “It was the arrival of Nelson Plaisted. If I had known he would be in Old Orchard I would have insisted she change her plans to appear here.”

  Again I felt the crackling of excitement down the back of my neck and along my arms. Nelson Plaisted was my favorite suspect. I would much prefer for him to be guilty than poor George.

  “Why would you worry about the congressman?”

  “Were you at the rally on the day Sophronia arrived?” Miss Rice asked.

  “I was. He was combative and insulting but I took his words to be posturing. I got the impression he is as adept at getting into the newspapers as Sophronia herself,” I said. “Was there something more to his behavior than that?”

  “There is much more to the story than that.” Miss Rice paused and looked at me as if trying to decide whether to share what she knew. Something must have prompted her to do so. “Sophronia’s upbringing was not an easy one. Her family was of modest means and her father drank heavily. He made life an utter misery for her mother and all the children. By the time Sophronia’s mother had produced the seventh child in nine years her body and spirit were broken. She died giving birth to Sophronia’s youngest brother.”

  “I am very sorry to hear it.”

  Miss Rice placed her large, square hand over the base of her throat. “After her mother’s passing, Sophronia’s father’s drinking bouts grew more uncontrollable and he was not long after his wife in heading to the grave. In fact, he drowned facedown in a mud puddle one stormy night not fifty feet from his favorite tavern. His pockets had been picked clean and someone had stolen the shoes from his feet.” My heart went out to Sophronia as I thought of my own father’s drunken rages and how life for me would have been different if I had been raised by my aunt at the Belden instead of by him. “As soon as he no longer controlled Sophronia’s actions she joined the temperance movement in Portland.”

  “I understand that is where Sophronia first encountered Congressman Plaisted.”

  “It was. She met Nelson Plaisted at a meeting not long after she joined the group. She found they were both passionately committed to the passage of temperance in Maine.”

  “So they weren’t always the enemies they became?”

  “The way Sophronia told it was that they were so completely in harmony that even after seeing the drudgery of her mother’s life she did not hesitate to accept his proposal of marriage. She did, however, wish to have a long engagement. A little voice kept whispering in her ear that she ought take her time with such a matter.”

  “And she never did end up marrying him?”

  “When temperance laws were folded into the state constitution in 1885, not long after their engagement was announced, Sophronia was overjoyed. But as time went on there seemed to be little difference in the lives of actual women, law or no law. She became convinced that while drunkenness was destructive for families, prohibition was not the cure, women’s suffrage was. Nelson did not agree in the least.”

  “I can see how that would cause a rift even in the strongest of bonds.”

  “It did. He believed strongly in the cult of womanhood, and Sophronia believed there was more in store for her than making a home a haven for him and the children he wanted her to bear for him.”

  “Did she break off the engagement or did he?”

  “She did. What you witnessed at the rally was the result of that choice. Nelson was humiliated by her decision and he has taken every opportunity to obstruct her and ridicule her in public ever since.” Miss Rice stared off toward the horizon, where a sailboat scudded past, it
s white sails taut in the wind. “He even went so far as to base his political platform on anti-suffrage principles. He refuted all the things she stood for and ended up recruiting many of the powerful businessmen in Maine for his cause.”

  “Was she afraid of him?” I asked.

  “No, Miss Proulx. She was not afraid of him.” Miss Rice shook her head. “In fact, she said over and over that, rather, he had reason to be afraid of her but she would never tell me why. She said it was better I didn’t know.”

  I closed my eyes and pretended to listen to Sophronia’s spirit again. In my mind’s eye I saw Sophronia’s face when Congressman Plaisted assaulted her. I wasn’t convinced their prior personal relationship explained the anger I had witnessed from him. There had to be more to the story but it didn’t seem as though Miss Rice could tell me anything that would explain it.

  It was time to leave Miss Rice and to see what I could discover about the Plaisteds. As much as I dreaded questioning the congressman after having witnessed his behavior toward a woman who angered him I knew I must. I spoke once more in the voice I used to deliver messages from the beyond.

  “Sophronia says she wishes you would stop feeling guilty and would carry on valiantly working for the cause you shared.” I had the familiar sense of grimy triumph that always accompanied my use of people’s beliefs to extract information from them. “She says it is the best way to honor her life.”

  Miss Rice began to sob in earnest and I wondered if I had gone too far. I squeezed her hand and slipped out the door before I made things worse.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Yancey waited until the chief and Frank left the station. It hadn’t escaped his notice that they left together. He asked Officer Lewis to track down Henry Goodwin and to bring him back to the station. Yancey ducked into the chief’s office and pulled the newspaper from his wastepaper basket. If he were lucky maybe one of the reporters who covered the march would have unearthed something useful.