The Russian Hill Murders

by Shirley Tallman

  “You mean all this time the hospital board has been negotiating with the Godfrey brothers to lease the warehouse?” I shook my head. “Yet this is the first I’ve heard of it. Who do you suppose knows?”

  “Very few people, it seems. Arlen and the board dealt with the Godfreys’ property manager, not with the brothers themselves. What I find most strange is that Leonard, who was, after all, married to the board’s chairwoman, never mentioned that his company owned the building.”

  “Caroline must have known—she was his wife.”

  “If she did, she never let on.”

  My mind whirled with possible implications. What, if anything, could this have to do with the murders? And why had the Godfreys kept their ownership of the warehouse a secret?

  As if reading my thoughts, Samuel said, “I don’t see how this could have anything to do with Mrs. Godfrey’s death, which isn’t under investigation anyway. I can envision, though, how it might have some bearing on the other deaths.”

  “Yes,” I said, catching his meaning. “Halsey’s constant ranting about the new hospital might have eventually scotched the deal, leaving the brothers sitting with their empty warehouse. They must have been delighted to see Halsey out of the way, especially after his behavior the night Caroline died.”

  “That makes sense, as far as it goes. But what about Arlen? Why would they want him dead?”

  “I think he may have discovered some inconsistencies in the account books,” I answered slowly. “The kitchen maid, Dora Clemens, clearly knew more about what happened than she told the police. If she saw the person who poisoned Arlen—”

  “She’d have to be disposed of before she could talk,” Samuel finished for me.

  “Yes, but I don’t see how either brother could have access to hospital funds.”

  “Ah, but they do have access, little sister. That was something else I discovered today. Leonard Godfrey is still a member of the board. He and Caroline were responsible for a large percentage of the fundraising activities. What if he figured out a way to skim off some of the profits?”

  I thought of the stove and water heater Leonard donated to the hospital. In light of this generosity, it was hard to imagine him stealing hospital money.

  “But why would they do such a thing?” I asked. “Surely not just to find renters for their warehouse.”

  Samuel ground out his cigarette. “No, they had a more serious reason than that. I came across some articles that mentioned several Godfrey ships that sank over the past two years. The loss in cargo alone was so severe that for a time the brothers were in danger of going out of business.”

  “But I still don’t see—”

  “You just said you suspected someone on the board of directors was pilfering from the hospital fund. Well, with Leonard still on the board, he and his brother might have devised a scheme to pocket donations or even pad hospital expenses. Anyway, they’re suddenly back in the black. Did you know they’re purchasing a new fleet of ships?”

  Icy fingers gripped my heart. Good lord, I thought, the order from Finney’s! “Yes, as a matter of fact I do know about the ships.” I thought for a moment. “Samuel, we’ve got to learn more about the Godfreys’ finances, especially regarding their shipping firm. There may be a logical explanation for how they managed to revive their business after losing those ships.”

  Samuel smiled wryly. “You mean an explanation short of murder.”

  I felt a stab of guilt. Surely it wasn’t that obvious? For a brother who knew me as well as Samuel, it probably was. My feelings toward Pierce were confused. Despite his supposed affair with his sister-in-law, I couldn’t deny I felt an attraction for him. I wasn’t proud of my feelings, but it was vital I face them honestly.

  “Yes,” I admitted. “It’s difficult for me to picture Pierce as a murderer, but I won’t let that bias my thinking. Now,” I went on more briskly, “I plan to visit the Barlows tomorrow afternoon. If Margaret had a chance to speak to Arlen before his death, that may answer a number of questions.” I paused until a neighbor’s dog stopped barking. “Oh, and Pierce is taking me to dinner tomorrow night.”

  Through the soft glow of moonlight, I saw Samuel’s eyebrows rise. “Really? Are you sure that’s a good idea? Until we know more about the Godfreys, I don’t like the idea of you being out with him alone.”

  “I’ll be careful, Samuel. I promise.”

  “Hah,” he snorted. “Where have I heard that before?”

  “This time I mean it. We’ll be out in public, and I’ll make some excuse to come home early. I’ll be fine, really.”

  Samuel looked me in the eye. “You’d better be damn careful with that man, Sarah. In fact, you’d better be bloody cautious about this whole thing. We’re dealing with someone who’s killed three, possibly four, people. I don’t want my little sister to be victim number five!”

  As fate would have it, my employer actually facilitated my plan to visit the Barlows the following afternoon. Instead of having to fabricate an excuse to leave the office, I merely had to agree to deliver a portfolio across town to one of Shepard’s clients.

  Hurrying downstairs, I flagged down a cabriolet, which I knew would make excellent time. I felt a momentary pang of guilt that there’d been no time to summon Eddie and his brougham, but it was imperative that Shepard’s errand be completed as quickly as possible, so that I might conduct business of my own.

  I was in luck. The client—a tall, stooped man who, when told I was an attorney for Shepard’s firm, treated me like a freak attraction in P. T. Barnum’s sideshow—was at home and I was able to turn over the papers without delay. My next stop was Rincon Hill, where I picked up Celia, who had agreed to accompany me to the Barlows.

  Good fortune continued to be on my side. Arriving at the Barlow home, we found both Margaret and her mother, Adelina French, receiving guests. Using the not wholly dishonest pretext that we were concerned over Mrs. French’s health, we were warmly greeted and, at their insistence, pressed into remaining for tea.

  As Margaret showed us into the beautifully furnished front parlor, a black Scottish terrier bounded into the room, jumping up and barking loudly at Celia and me.

  “McKenzie, down!” Margaret ordered the animal, to no avail. “I’m sorry, ladies,” our hostess said, grabbing the dog’s collar. “McKenzie is my husband’s dog. I’m afraid the judge is the only one who can make him behave.” Ringing for a maid, Margaret ordered the dog confined to another room, then turned to us with an embarrassed smile. “Perhaps it’s because we weren’t blessed with children, but Tobias dotes shamelessly on that dog.”

  Now that quiet prevailed, we settled down to enjoy a delicious assortment of cakes and finger sandwiches, as well as excellent tea. While Mrs. French spoke with enthusiasm about the new hospital, I surreptitiously studied the woman.

  Adelina French certainly was attractive, I mused, thinking once again that mother and daughter could truly have passed for sisters. Tall and slender, Adelina obviously went to some pains with her appearance. This afternoon she wore a dark lavender morning dress of washed silk, fashioned with a double fishwife skirt. She’d pinned a striking diamond and amethyst broach to her bodice. Her light brown hair showed minimal strands of gray and she wore it drawn into a neat braided bun at the nape. Her skin was remarkably smooth for a woman of sixty, revealing only a few small crow’s feet around quite remarkable green eyes. I decided she must have been quite a beauty in her youth. Even today, though more frail than usual, her smile was warm and convivial.

  While we ate, Margaret explained that her mother’s arthritis was often exacerbated by cold and foggy weather.

  “We’ve certainly experienced more than enough of that this spring,” Celia said sympathetically. “I’m sorry to hear it aggravates your condition.”

  “Yes,” Margaret agreed, “it’s caused poor Mama a great deal of discomfort.”

  “Don’t make a fuss,” Adelina put in. “I’ll be right as rain in no time. The last thing I w
ant is to become a burden to my family.”

  Margaret reached over and patted her mother’s arm. “Don’t be silly, Mama, you could never be a burden. You’ve done more work for the hospital than anyone I know. I couldn’t get through a single day there without your help. And look at how many people have stopped by to pay their respects since your illness.”

  Adelina flushed and made a disparaging gesture with her hand. To the woman’s credit, she never once complained about her painful knees and joints, although I noticed her grimace when she touched the lovely brooch at her throat.

  “Why aren’t you wearing your matching earrings, Mama?” Margaret asked, also noticing the gesture. “The earrings and brooch were a gift from my husband,” she told Celia and me proudly. “He’s enormously fond of Mama.”

  Adelina fingered her ears curiously. “You know, I think I must have left them in my room. No matter, I’ll get them later.”

  We went on to chat about matters of little importance, at least in my opinion, and I blessed my foresight in bringing Celia with me. On occasions such as this, I freely admit that my social skills are sadly lacking. Fortunately, my dear sister-in-law more than makes up for any deficiencies on my part, even knowing the name of the young society bride Margaret and Adelina kept going on about.

  When the tea things were cleared away, I was at last able to introduce the real purpose for our visit. Leaving Celia to entertain Mrs. French—another reason I wanted her along—I asked Margaret if she would show me her lovely garden.

  “You must have a very talented gardener,” I said with genuine admiration, taking in the vast array of colorful and naturally arranged flowers and green plants.

  Margaret laughed. “Oh, no, Mama wouldn’t hear of it. This yard is her doing. Not only do we have fresh flowers for the house all year round—a feat in itself, I assure you—but you should see the vegetables and fruits she manages to produce.”

  I looked around at azaleas just coming into bloom, rosebushes of every conceivable color, daylilies, geraniums and even a California desert willow. One side of the yard had been set aside for vegetables and herbs, many of the varieties beyond my limited ability to identify. Peaceful as I found the setting, it was time to wade into more serious waters.

  “Mrs. Barlow, I noticed that neither Mr. Arlen nor Miss Clemens was mentioned during tea. You know of the kitchen maid’s death yesterday, don’t you?”

  Margaret’s face grew solemn. “Yes, Nicholas—that is, Reverend Prescott—told us.” She gave an involuntary shiver and motioned toward a stone bench out of sight of the house. When we were seated, she said, “My mother knows—she was here when he gave us the news. She found it most unsettling, especially coming so soon after poor Lucius’s death. In fact, she took to her room for the afternoon. I’ve tried not to bring it up today. I don’t want to add to her distress.”

  “No, of course not.” I paused to watch a small blue jay land on a Japanese maple across from our bench. Tilting his head, he trilled for a moment, then lifted his wings and flew away. “I wondered if you’d had an opportunity to talk to Mr. Arlen before he became ill?”

  “No,” she replied unhappily, “and I can’t tell you how desperately I wish I had. But my husband and I had a meeting with our architect that afternoon. When I heard Lucius was ill the next morning, I considered going to his rooms. Unfortunately, my mother suffered her arthritis attack and I was obliged to bring her home from the hospital instead. If I’d known I would never have another chance—”

  “You mustn’t blame yourself, Mrs. Barlow,” I said, trying, despite my disappointment, to sound sympathetic. “You couldn’t have known what was going to happen.”

  “But what if the matter he wished to discuss with me had something to do with his death? The police questioned us yesterday. They seemed to think Lucius was poisoned.”

  “You know they’ve arrested Chin Lee Fong?”

  “Yes, we heard. I can’t believe Mr. Chin could do such a terrible thing. I realize he can be bad-tempered, but he’s not violent—not a murderer. The police must be mistaken.”

  “If not Chin, then who do you think killed Mr. Arlen and Dora?” I asked, watching her closely.

  Again, she shook her head. “I have no idea.” Tears glistened in her eyes. “I hired Chin, Miss Woolson. He’s a wonderful cook and came with outstanding references. I thought—I truly thought well-prepared, nourishing food would be good for our patients.” She could no longer hold back the tears and, reaching for a handkerchief, buried her face in the lacy white linen.

  Awkwardly, I placed a hand on her arm. “Please, Mrs. Barlow, you can’t assume responsibility for this. I didn’t mean to distress you.”

  “It’s not your fault,” she sniffed. “I’ve tried not to let Mama see how upset I’ve been. And Tobias is not, well, the most sympathetic of men.”

  Ah, yes, I thought, another understanding husband. Aloud, I said, “You have enough on your mind with the hospital, without worrying about Mr. Arlen and Dora Clemens.”

  “You’re right, Miss Woolson. I must not let the board down, or the women and children who are depending on us for shelter and care.” She passed the handkerchief over her face a final time, then stood and straightened her gown. “Let’s return to the house now, shall we? Mama and your sister-in-law will wonder what has happened to us.”

  We entered the French doors into the drawing room to find Judge Barlow and Reverend Prescott chatting comfortably with Mrs. French and Celia. As usual, Adelina’s attention was focused on Prescott, and her cheeks had taken on a becoming flush that hadn’t been there before. I had to give the minister credit; Prescott’s appeal evidently knew no bounds if he could charm a woman old enough to be his mother. Reconsidering this, I realized that Adelina was probably no more than seven or eight years his senior. The minister was one of those fortunate men whose energy and good looks make them appear considerably younger than their years.

  Prescott had risen to his feet as we came in, but the judge, who was holding McKenzie in his lap, merely rose a few inches and nodded his head politely.

  “I trust you enjoyed your tour of the garden, Miss Woolson?” Judge Barlow said.

  “I certainly did. You’re an accomplished gardener, Mrs. French. I’m most impressed.”

  Mrs. French smiled warmly. “That is kind of you to say, Miss Woolson. This summer I will send you vegetables for your table. We always have more than we can eat.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. French,” Celia told her, with delight. “That will be a rare treat.”

  We chatted for several more minutes, then Celia and I stood to take our leave. Mr. Barlow, the little terrier still in his arms, rose, and he and his wife escorted us to the door. Prescott started to follow but stopped when Adelina took hold of his arm.

  “Do stay and keep me company, Nicholas. Being confined to the house is so tiresome. I long to hear all the news.”

  Reverend Prescott nodded agreeably and, after politely paying his respects to Celia and me, returned to his chair beside Mrs. French.

  When the rest of us reached the hall, I asked the judge if he’d heard any news concerning Chin.

  A frown crossed his face. “I’ve heard nothing, Miss Woolson. As far as I’m concerned, they can string the little devil up by his thumbs for what he’s done. Horrible crime, just horrible! I sincerely hope he’ll be punished to the full extent of the law.”

  His wife blanched but said nothing. Apparently, the judge’s view of the crime brooked no argument.

  Thanking our hosts, we stepped outside to find it had started to rain. As I looked up and down the street for a carriage, I was pleasantly surprised when a hansom cab reined up directly in front of the Barlows’ house.

  “Bad weather,” the driver said from his elevated seat in the rear of the vehicle. The man was dressed entirely in black, with a dark cap pulled low over his eyes so that it was impossible to see his face. “You need ride?”

  Something about the way he spoke caused me to hesitate, b
ut Celia was not as reluctant. Taking hold of my arm, she said, “Sarah, please, we’re getting drenched.”

  The wind had picked up and indeed, Celia and I were already soaking wet. “All right,” I said and, giving the driver our address, stepped gratefully into the two-passenger interior. Sitting closely together, we arranged the wool blanket we found on the seat to cover our damp skirts.

  Considering the weather, we reached Rincon Hill in good time. The driver assisted Celia from the carriage, but when I started to follow, he said, “Please, missy, friend want see you.”

  I jerked my head up to catch my first real glimpse of the driver’s face. He was Chinese!

  “Mr. Li say it important,” the man went on, an urgency to his voice. “Need see you right away.”

  Hearing that name, I paused only a moment before informing Celia there was one more errand I wished to take care of. Assuring her I would be home in time for dinner, I instructed the driver to depart before she could question my abrupt change of mind.

  Looking back, I could still see her surprised face in the rain, as the driver clicked his horse down the hill toward Chinatown.

  CHAPTER NINE

  When we arrived at Sacramento Street—known to its residents as Tong Yan Gai, or Chinese Street—the driver stopped the hansom. Climbing down from his seat, he bowed politely and handed me a colorful silk scarf, indicating I should wrap it over my eyes. As I did so, I couldn’t help but compare this visit with my first venture into Chinatown several months earlier. On that occasion, the two men who rudely abducted me did not bother to ask my permission before covering my eyes, stuffing a rag into my mouth, and half carrying me to meet the mysterious—and by all accounts extremely dangerous—tong lord, Li Ying.

  After the scarf was in place, the driver returned to his perch at the rear of the hansom and clicked his horse forward. We traveled for some time in this manner. Aware that Chinatown was hardly more than ten square blocks, I suspect he took a circuitous route in order to disorient me further. Since there was no one in the carriage to ensure I didn’t peek out from beneath the scarf, I found this a somewhat amusing precaution.