He let her go, sure she’d give him nothing more. What she had given him was simply confusing. She’d missed an opportunity to accuse the Wilbanks family of killing Anne Murphy, and he had no idea why. Was it because she already knew who did? But if she did, why hadn’t she told him? Or if the killer was someone she wanted to protect—like herself—why hadn’t she tried to put the blame on someone else? Nothing Emma Hardy did made sense to him. He wondered if it would make sense to Sarah and her mother. He’d be sure and ask them at the first opportunity. In the meantime, he’d realized he needed to see Michael Hicks’s investigator, who may know something Frank didn’t.
* * *
JUST THINK, SARAH,” HER MOTHER SAID AS HER CARRIAGE carried them through the city streets so slowly, she could have passed it walking without even exerting herself. “If you didn’t have to earn your living, you could go on visits like this with me every day.”
Sarah didn’t want her mother to know her true feelings about such a prospect. She dearly loved her mother, but the thought of returning to the life her mother led—an endless round of meaningless social engagements with people who talked only about themselves or gossiped about other people—made her want to throw herself into the East River. “You’re very kind to take me along today.”
“I realized I needed to do something of which your father would approve, and what better errand than finding out as much as we can about Gilda Wilbanks?”
“I must admit, I’m very curious about her. I just wish you could remember the rumor you heard about her.”
“I know, but believe me, if there’s anything at all to it, Olivia will know.”
Olivia Van Horn greeted them warmly, probably because she hadn’t seen Sarah in years and desperately wanted to know what she had been doing with herself all that time. Her home was located in the section of Fifth Avenue known as Marble Row. After her husband’s death, she had taken a small flat in a luxurious building where she could enjoy the comforts of wealth without the expense of an army of servants. She was one of the Van Horns who didn’t have a penny to her name, at least by Sarah’s mother’s standards.
Her parlor contained what was left of the family’s heirlooms—sideboards and tables from another age holding priceless porcelains—and plush furniture long past its prime. Olivia herself was like an heirloom. Still beautiful although her blond hair had gently turned to silver, she looked as fragile as one of her porcelains and almost as old.
When they were seated and served with tea and cakes, Olivia Van Horn said, “Sarah, you must tell me about yourself. Your mother hardly ever mentions you except to say that you are doing well. I must know everything. Is it true you’re a midwife?”
As much as she would have preferred to talk about Gilda Van Horn, Sarah realized that society gossip was tit for tat. She couldn’t expect to learn anything without sharing something herself. Too bad she didn’t know any juicy stories about anyone else in society that she could share instead. As briefly as she could, she brought Mrs. Van Horn up to date on her life story, managing not to mention a word about having ever assisted a police detective in solving murders.
As soon as Sarah had finished and before Olivia could think of another question to ask, her mother said, “We met a young relation of yours the other day.”
“You did? Who was that?”
“Gilda Wilbanks.”
“Oh, Gilda isn’t my relation. She was Gilbert’s, of course. Ralph Van Horn’s daughter. The Van Horns are prolific. I can hardly keep up with all of them. How did you happen to meet her?”
“Felix had some business with her father-in-law,” her mother said. “I thought it would be good for Sarah to make a friend her own age.”
“Oh, I thought perhaps Sarah had occasion to see her professionally, as a midwife, I mean. She’s been married to that Wilbanks boy for years now, and nothing in the way of offspring to show for it.”
“I think it’s only been a little over a year,” Sarah said, stretching the truth a bit. “Much too soon to give up hope.”
“How did she seem to you?” Olivia asked.
“What do you mean?” her mother asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. She wasn’t too happy about the match, you know.”
“Really?”
Sarah had to bite back a smile at her mother’s innocent stare.
“Oh, yes. Well, it’s not like she tried to run away or anything. That would have been foolish. The Wilbanks boy is going to inherit a fortune, and Gilda’s side of the family has to think about those things.”
Sarah knew that Olivia’s side of the family had to think about those things, too, but she merely nodded encouragingly.
“Gilda has a lovely home,” her mother said. “Well, it’s her father-in-law’s house, of course, but I understand he’s very ill.”
“That’s what I’ve heard. How tragic.”
“Yes, it is. But I think Gilda will do well when the time comes. She seems very settled.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Such a fuss at the time. You remember, don’t you?” Olivia’s faded blue eyes gleamed with her eagerness to tell.
“No, I don’t. Not as bad as the Vanderbilt girl, I hope.”
Sarah nearly choked. Consuelo Vanderbilt had been forced to marry an English duke she hardly knew and shipped off to a castle in England.
“Oh, no, nothing like that. The Wilbanks boy is an American, after all. No, she just had some silly notion about marrying for love.”
“That’s not so silly,” Sarah said.
“Isn’t it?” Olivia said, giving Sarah a critical stare. “And what happens when you’re left penniless? There’s nothing romantic about that.”
Sarah could have taken offense, but she had the strangest feeling Olivia was talking about herself.
“No, there isn’t,” her mother agreed, with an apologetic glance at Sarah. “But Gilda doesn’t have to worry about that now. Unless she’s pining away for her lost love.”
“Oh, I doubt it very much,” Olivia said. “She’s much too practical. Besides, her family would never have allowed her to marry him even if he was rich as Croesus.”
“And why not?” her mother asked.
“Because they were cousins, of course.”
10
SARAH’S MOUTH DROPPED OPEN BUT ONLY FOR A MOMENT before she managed to say, “You don’t mean Terrance Udall by any chance, do you?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. However did you know?”
Sarah glanced at her mother, wondering how much they dared tell Olivia, knowing it would be all over the city within days.
“When we called on Gilda, Mr. Udall happened to be visiting her, too. He’s a . . . a charming young man.”
“Oh, my,” Olivia said in obvious distress. “Did you . . . Oh, my.”
“What is it, Olivia?” her mother asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing, I’m sure. It’s just . . . How unwise of her to be seeing Terrance. I wonder that her husband allows it.”
“Perhaps he doesn’t know,” her mother suggested. “Mr. Udall is her cousin, after all. It must seem very innocent to him for a member of her family to call.”
“That must be the case. But she’s a fool. Anyone might tell him, and to tempt fate like that . . . Well, she’s insane to risk her marriage for a wastrel like Terrance Udall, that’s all I can say. And it’s always the female who pays the price in situations like that. If Mr. Wilbanks were to divorce her, do you think Terrance would want her? And even if he did, they’d be poor as church mice. Love flies out the window when the wolf is at the door.”
Sarah’s father had said something very similar years ago when her sister Maggie had married a poor man. She’d always wondered if it were true.
Sarah’s mother said something meant to comfort, but Olivia was having none of it. “I wonder if her mother knows. Someone needs to talk sense to the girl before it’s too late.”
“I’m so sorry we upset you. I would never have mentioned Gilda if I’d r
ealized . . .”
“You couldn’t have known, but I’m glad you did.”
After another few minutes of meaningless conversation, Sarah and her mother took their leave. When they were safely in the carriage, her mother turned to her. “Gilda wanted to marry Terrance Udall. I know I never heard that, or I would have remembered.”
“And now we know why Terrance is taking such an interest in Ozzie’s inheritance . . . because it’s Gilda’s inheritance, too.”
“How very unselfish of him,” her mother said, “to want the woman he couldn’t have to be rich and happy with another man.”
“I’m sure Malloy would say it’s too unselfish.”
“And I’d have to agree with him. What do you suppose they’re up to?”
Sarah sighed. “I don’t even want to guess, because none of the possibilities are very nice.”
“Well, perhaps we’re wrong. Perhaps we’ve completely misjudged Gilda Wilbanks. Perhaps she is just fond of her cousin, and she’s trying to help him meet a nice young lady from a wealthy family.”
“I just wish I thought you were right, Mother.”
* * *
FRANK WAS A LITTLE CONCERNED ABOUT TERRANCE Udall seeing him back at Michael Hicks’s office and wondering what he was up to, but Udall was nowhere in sight when he arrived and told the clerk he wanted to know what agency Hicks used to do his investigations. The clerk had to check with Hicks, of course, but to Frank’s surprise, with no argument at all, the man returned and handed him a piece of paper with the name and address of the Kirby Detective Agency on it.
Frank had never heard of it, but that wasn’t surprising. When the Pinkerton Detective Agency gained success after the War, dozens of private inquiry agencies had sprung up all over the country. Kirby probably only worked for Michael Hicks and maybe a few other attorneys. Since few people trusted the police, and for good reason, wealthy people who needed investigations usually relied on private agents.
He found the address on Sixth Avenue in a discreet office building. A female secretary sat at the desk in Kirby’s front office, and she frowned up at Frank. “May I help you?”
She didn’t sound like she thought that was possible, but Frank tried his most charming smile. “I think so. Attorney Michael Hicks sent me to speak with Mr. Kirby.”
She still didn’t look happy, but apparently, he’d said the right thing. She went into the inner office, and returned in a few moments. “Mr. Kirby will see you.”
She showed him in and said, “I didn’t get your name.”
“Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy of the New York City Police.”
She rolled her eyes. There wasn’t much love lost between private detectives and the police. The police considered payments to private investigators money lost that could’ve gone to them as bribes. Private investigators were usually former cops who left because the force was too corrupt or too incompetent. Frank knew how they felt. The secretary closed the door, leaving him alone with Kirby.
The office was simply furnished and Mr. Kirby looked like a simple man of middle age, clean shaven and neatly dressed with dark hair graying a bit at the temples.
“Mr. Malloy, I’m Clarence Kirby,” he said, rising from where he sat behind his desk. His handshake was firm, his palm dry. “I understand Mr. Hicks sent you. What can I do for you?”
“I had some questions about a case you worked on for Hicks, Emma Hardy.”
Kirby frowned. “Have a seat, Mr. Malloy. May I ask what your interest is in that case?”
Frank took the offered chair. “It’s personal. You see, I know the family who has Emma Hardy’s daughter, and they aren’t willing to give the child up unless they’re sure it’s the right thing.”
“I see,” Kirby said.
“I don’t think you see at all, so I’ll explain it to you. I know you were hired to find Emma after she disappeared. By the way, do you have any idea why she ran away in the first place?”
“You haven’t told me anything yet that makes me want to share information with you, Mr. Malloy, so if you don’t mind, I’ll not answer that question just yet.”
“Fair enough. I understand you found her on tour with some play. You approached her and tried to find out where the child was, but you didn’t have much luck. You found out she wrote to Anne Murphy, so you came back to the city and found her, but she didn’t have the child either, and so you killed her.”
Kirby reared back in his chair, his eyes wide. “I beg your pardon!”
“You heard me. You killed Anne Murphy.”
“I did no such thing. I’m a private investigator, not an assassin!”
“But you know who did.”
“Of course I don’t know. In fact, I only know she was murdered because Mr. Hicks told me. I’d stopped watching her as soon as I learned she had no idea where the child was.”
Frank studied him for a long moment, waiting to see if his outrage cracked to reveal a hint of guilt. It did not. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Kirby, but I had to be sure.”
“Sure of what? That I didn’t kill that poor woman? I would have told you that if you’d just asked.”
“And it would’ve been easy to lie if I just asked. You should know that.”
Kirby’s anger faded into a reluctant grin. “I used to know it. It’s been a long time since I questioned a suspect, though.”
“I guess you don’t have much call for that in this business.”
“No, I’m happy to say. Mostly, it’s just following some swell to a cheap hotel to find out he’s cheating on his wife so she can get a divorce and marry her own lover.”
Frank glanced around at the modest office. “Is your operation as small as it looks?”
“Oh, yes, just me and Abby. She types my reports and sends the bills. I used to have other agents, but the clients always wanted me, so it didn’t make sense to keep them on. If I need help, I bring in another agency.”
“What do you think of Emma Hardy?”
Kirby leaned back in his chair, and Frank knew he’d finally told Kirby enough to make him willing to share information. “She’s a hellion. Knows what she wants and goes after it. Near as I can tell, she worked Wilbanks perfectly. She’s not much of an actress on the stage, but she must be pretty good between the sheets, if you know what I mean.”
“Some men see what they want to see in a woman.”
“There’s that, of course, but from what I’ve heard, Emma never let him see what she was really like either.”
“She must’ve done a good job, if he was willing to marry her.”
“That was mostly for the child, I think, although he couldn’t have known what he’d really be getting with her, or he never would’ve considered it. So you know where the child is? What happened to her?”
Frank told him.
Kirby shook his head. “Too bad Anne Murphy never knew. She was terrified when she couldn’t find her.”
“Terrified of what? Do you know?”
“Well, I gather she cared for the little girl, and she became terrified when she couldn’t find her, but I think it was more than that. I never talked to her myself, you understand. I didn’t want to reveal my identity. But I talked to people who knew her. She thought somebody wanted to hurt the child. I guess that’s what Emma told her. So she was afraid they’d found the child and something had happened to her.”
“If she found out some man was asking her friends about her, she might’ve thought you were the one after the child. That would’ve scared her, too.”
“Maybe, but she was also scared of what Emma would do if she got back and found out Anne didn’t have her kid.”
“Should she have been?”
Kirby gave him a pitying stare. “Have you met Emma Hardy? Of course she was right to be scared. Emma might not have cared about the girl, but she cared about the money she could bring in. If she got back here and found out Anne Murphy had lost track of her, well, let’s just say I wouldn’t want to be in Anne’s shoes.”
“Do you think Emma would have killed her?”
“Not if she was thinking straight. Anne might still be some help in finding the kid, but in a fit of temper, sure. She smacks Vaughn around some, I hear.”
“What?”
“Didn’t you know?”
“No, I never heard of such a thing, a woman hitting a man. Why doesn’t he just hit her back?”
“You’d expect him to, wouldn’t you? But he doesn’t. I’ve seen it once or twice before. I know, usually it’s the man beating up his woman to keep her in line, but every now and then you see it the other way around.”
Frank remembered Vaughn’s black eye. He said he’d walked into a door. How many women had offered that excuse for bruises their husbands had given them? “So she’s been known to be violent.”
Kirby nodded. “I understand Miss Murphy was stabbed.”
“With a kitchen knife by someone visiting her in her room.”
“Another woman then.”
Frank frowned. “What makes you say that?”
“She lived in a boardinghouse. She wouldn’t have brought a man up to her room.”
Of course. Why hadn’t any of them realized that before? “She wouldn’t have thought twice about inviting her old friend Emma to her room, though.”
Kirby nodded. “Anne probably even suggested it, so they could talk privately, knowing Emma would make a fuss when she found out about the child.”
Could it really be that simple? Of course it could. Frank felt like an idiot. “So it was probably Emma that Anne Murphy was afraid of because she knew how angry Emma would be about Catherine.”
“She wouldn’t have expected Emma to murder her, though,” Kirby said. “Emma would need her help to find the child.”
“Once she calmed down, Emma probably realized that herself, but it was too late.” Frank shook his head. “I didn’t want it to be her.”
“Why not?”
“Because she’s Catherine’s mother.”
“I see. You’re fond of the child.”
Frank didn’t want to discuss this with Kirby. He rose. “Thank you for your help.”
Murder in Chelsea Page 16
