Murder on Amsterdam Avenue

by Victoria Thompson

  Frank would have to go to Charles’s office and see what he could find out. Not for the first time, he felt his lack of authority. If he were still a detective sergeant with the New York City Police, he could make people talk to him. Now, he had no such power, so he’d have to rely on people’s natural instincts to help others. He tried to remember the last time he’d encountered someone with that instinct, but he couldn’t come up with anything.

  “Are you going to see Adderly?” Oakes asked.

  “Probably, unless I find out someone else did it first. But tell me one more thing. That woman with Adderly, the one who fainted at Charles’s funeral, did you lie about not knowing her, too?”

  “No. I never saw her before in my life. I swear it. I didn’t mean to lie to you before about Adderly. I just . . . I couldn’t think of any way he could be responsible.”

  “Until we find out exactly how Charles died, we won’t know who could be responsible.”

  “I see that now. I won’t keep anything else from you, I promise. Please, Malloy, just find out who killed my son.”

  • • •

  Frank found Gino alone in the butler’s pantry, scowling. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Gino blinked. “Me? Nothing, why?”

  “You look like you lost your best friend.”

  “I’m just trying to figure out why anybody would want to kill Charles Oakes.”

  “So am I.” Frank pulled out a chair and sat down across the table from him.

  Gino’s scowl disappeared. “Really?”

  “Yeah. Everybody in his family loved him except his wife, and nobody thinks he had enough gumption to make anybody mad enough to kill him.”

  “That’s pretty much what the servants said. Did you know one of them used to be a slave on Mrs. Oakes’s plantation in Georgia?”

  “Yeah, Daisy. Mrs. Oakes told me. That’s who Hannah thinks killed Charles.”

  “Really? Did she have a reason?”

  “I think she picked Daisy because she’s new.”

  “She’s new, but she loves Charles just like everybody else.”

  “Everybody except his wife,” Frank corrected him.

  “All the other maids liked him, too. I thought maybe he was having his way with them, but they said not. They got mad when I even suggested it.”

  “They actually got mad?”

  “Yeah, but I think they were just insulted that I thought of it. All the cops in New York think every colored woman is a whore, and they wanted me to know they were respectable women.”

  “Oakes told me nothing like that goes on in his house, so I guess it’s true. I was kind of hoping Charles threw one of them over, and she got even by putting arsenic in his bedtime milk.”

  “Patsy, the one who carried the milk upstairs, she was terrified I’d blame her for it. She was near hysterical before I could calm her down.”

  “So you don’t think she did it?”

  “No, and even if I did, they all told me that old Mrs. Oakes doesn’t allow them to keep arsenic in the house.”

  “That’s what she told me, too. Do they know why?”

  “No, they don’t, and they wish she did because there’s no other good way to get rid of rats, and they’re pretty put out with her over it.”

  “Then I guess it’s true, but one of them could’ve bought some without telling anybody.”

  “I guess they could have, but not to kill Charles Oakes. They’re all really sad he died.”

  “Except his wife.”

  “Really? Do you think she could’ve done it?”

  Frank shook his head. “She’s a piece of work, but Mrs. Oakes doesn’t think she could have done it. She wasn’t anywhere near him when he first got sick or any time after. They didn’t even sleep together.”

  “That’s strange.”

  “Not for rich people. Sometimes they even have separate bedrooms.”

  Gino frowned. “Are you and Mrs. Brandt going to have separate bedrooms?”

  “That’s none of your business, Gino, but absolutely not.”

  That made him grin. “So Charles and his wife had separate bedrooms?”

  Frank told him what he had learned about the sleeping arrangements of Charles and his wife and also about the timing of Charles’s illness and the delivery of the poisoned milk.

  “That’s what I heard, too. Patsy said she carried up the milk,” Gino confirmed, “and the cook heated it up. She took it from a crock that had been delivered just that morning, and other people in the house drank out of it before and after without getting sick.”

  “So the milk wasn’t poisoned until after it got poured. What about the cook?”

  “She’s in a state thinking something she did might’ve poisoned Charles, so I don’t think she did it either. She was practically sobbing when I got finished with her, and not because of anything I did.”

  “So the milk wasn’t poisoned when she poured it. Then Patsy carried it up, but she didn’t poison it either. Did anybody touch it or distract her or anything on the way?”

  “She says not. She says she carried it straight up to the room where he was. Daisy took the glass from her and sent her away.”

  “Who was in the sick room?”

  “She didn’t see anyone but Daisy and Charles.”

  “I thought the butler was in there.”

  “He didn’t come in until Charles got real bad, after he drank the milk.”

  Frank didn’t like this at all. “Then Daisy was the last one to touch the milk before he drank it, and she was all alone with Charles so no one saw what she did.”

  “And she’s hiding something.”

  Frank straightened in his chair. “How do you know?”

  “She lied to me. She said she didn’t give Charles anything except the milk, but I could tell she wasn’t being honest.”

  “And you let her get away with it?”

  “I let Zeller stay while I questioned her. I know!” Gino held up his hands to stop Frank’s outraged protest. “I shouldn’t have, but she was so scared, I was afraid she wouldn’t talk at all if he didn’t stay. He’s . . . I think he’s sweet on her or something.”

  “Sweet on her? What makes you say that?”

  “Because of the way he treated her. He was protective of all the maids, but Daisy was the only one he wouldn’t leave. He . . . I don’t know, but he acted like he was worried about her, the way you’d be worried that somebody was going to hurt your sister’s feelings or something.”

  “So he treated her like a sister?”

  Gino shook his head. “A sister or a wife. A woman you care about.”

  “There’s a difference between a sister and a wife.”

  “If you’re asking me if he is in love with her, I don’t know, but I didn’t want to risk pushing her and making him mad. He could’ve told the other maids not to talk to me.”

  “You did the right thing. We’ll get another chance at this Daisy.”

  “Maybe we should get Mrs. Brandt to talk to her. She’d probably be too scared of you, too.”

  “You might be right. Is there anybody else here you think we need to talk to?”

  “I think I saw all the servants who know anything. What do you think we should do now?”

  “What do you think we should do now?”

  Gino sat back in surprise. “I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “I . . . Well, I guess we should find out where Charles was and what he was doing the day he first got sick.”

  “And if he was doing anything that could’ve made somebody mad enough to kill him.”

  • • •

  “This is exactly what I’ve been afraid of,” Sarah said.

  “You’ve been afraid of riding in a carriage?” her mother asked as her carriag
e carried them through the city streets.

  “Of course not. I’ve been afraid that you’re going to draw me back into society, where I’ll spend my days visiting other society ladies and drinking tea and gossiping.”

  “I hope you think more of me than that, Sarah. Really, I wouldn’t have suggested this if I didn’t think it would help Mr. Malloy find out who killed poor Charles Oakes.”

  Sarah didn’t believe that for a minute, but she did, at least, believe her mother thought she was helping. “Tell me again why we’re going to see this Mrs. Peabody?”

  “Because she’s known the Oakes family all her life, and she’s the biggest gossip I know.”

  In the world of New York society, where gossip was the grease that smoothed the gears of conversation, this was quite an achievement, Sarah knew. “But what do you think she can tell us that Malloy can’t find out for himself?”

  “We won’t know that until we hear what she has to say, will we? But I do know she’s been friends with Prudence Oakes since they were in the nursery. If Charles was involved in anything unsavory, she’ll have caught wind of it.”

  Esther Peabody lived in a comfortable home on a once-fashionable street in Murray Hill. Many of her former neighbors had moved to newer parts of the city, and all around her, their old houses were being razed for more modest brownstone town houses. Sarah understood as soon as they were ushered into Mrs. Peabody’s slightly shabby parlor that she lacked the means to follow her old friends and would spend the remainder of her days living here in reduced circumstances, as many of the older families did.

  Mrs. Peabody was a plump woman with the face of a cherub. She wore an old-fashioned lace cap over her graying hair, and her lavender dress spoke of a half-mourning period for her late husband that would probably never end. She perfectly matched the overstuffed and lace-doilyed decoration of the room, which had been the style of the previous generation.

  She greeted Mrs. Decker warmly and seemed delighted to see Sarah, who had become an object of curiosity ever since the notice of her engagement to Frank Malloy had appeared in the newspapers.

  “Have you set a date for your wedding?” Mrs. Peabody asked Sarah when they were settled on the faded horsehair sofa and had been served tea.

  “Not yet. We’re waiting for our house to be ready.”

  “And will you have a big wedding? I should love to see it,” she said hopefully.

  “I’m afraid it’s going to be a small affair, just family and a few close friends.”

  “It’s the second marriage for both of them,” her mother said. “And Mr. Malloy isn’t accustomed to being in society.”

  “You must tell me how you came to meet such an interesting man, Sarah,” Mrs. Peabody said, and Sarah understood that this was her repayment for whatever information Mrs. Peabody would give them in return. She told a very brief version of her first encounter with Frank Malloy and how they had, together, solved the murder of a young woman Sarah had known.

  “How thrilling,” Mrs. Peabody said. “I can truthfully say I have never known anyone who was murdered.”

  “At least to your knowledge,” Sarah’s mother said.

  Mrs. Peabody smiled over her teacup. “Quite true. One does wonder sometimes, when inconvenient spouses conveniently die, doesn’t one?”

  “Or a young person is suddenly taken ill,” her mother said.

  “And especially when the two things happen together.”

  Sarah’s mother feigned surprise. “Are you speaking of someone in particular?”

  “You know I am. You were at Charles Oakes’s funeral, too.”

  “Do you think Hannah found him inconvenient?”

  “I have no idea, although I do know she wasn’t happy when he took a position at that Asylum.”

  “One can’t fault him for wanting to provide for his family,” her mother said.

  “Of course not, and I understand it pays five thousand a year.”

  Sarah almost gasped. The amount was quite generous, of course, but what really surprised her was she didn’t think she’d ever heard a woman of Mrs. Peabody’s station in life mention anything so crass as how much salary someone earned.

  “That seems . . . very generous,” her mother said.

  “Particularly when Charles hardly ever bothered to appear at his office.”

  Sarah had to bite her tongue to keep from demanding how she could know such a thing, reminding herself she wasn’t interrogating Mrs. Peabody. She had to allow her mother to obtain the information in the customary way that gossiping women did.

  “I wonder what he did with himself all day then,” her mother said.

  “Oh, that’s easy enough to determine. He went to his club. My nephew Percy would see him there almost every day.”

  “Percy?” her mother said. “Is that your sister’s boy?”

  “Yes, Percy Littlefield.”

  Her mother was going to ask another question, probably about Percy’s heritage, so Sarah decided to get the conversation back where she wanted it. “I wonder if Charles was at his club when he was first taken ill,” she said.

  “I’ll have to ask Percy,” Mrs. Peabody said. “Although I wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t been taken ill any number of times when he was at his club,” she added with a smirk.

  Her mother somehow managed to betray only mild interest. “Why is that?”

  “Well, I hate to speak ill of the dead, you understand, but it was common knowledge that Charles often drank far more than was sensible and certainly more than was good for him. Percy said that he had to be escorted home more than once after he had overindulged.”

  “Many young men overindulge.”

  “But how many of them become so ill from it that they die?”

  “Oh my.”

  “I hope we aren’t shocking you, Sarah,” Mrs. Peabody said, obviously hoping that she was.

  Sarah refused to react. “I was just thinking how tragic that is, for a young man’s lack of control to cost him his life.”

  “Indeed. Although there are other ways a young man’s lack of control can ruin him. His own father proved that.”

  “Whatever do you mean, Esther?” her mother asked.

  “You know the story as well as I, how Gerald took up with that girl down South during the war. Prudence hasn’t forgiven him to this day.”

  “Surely you exaggerate. No one can stay angry for thirty years.”

  “Perhaps not angry, but certainly bitter.”

  “Because her son fell in love?” her mother scoffed.

  “Because he was tricked. Oh, you must have heard the rumors. Prudence started them herself with her carrying on when Jenny first arrived here.”

  “I’m afraid I didn’t. What rumors do you mean?”

  “The rumor that Jenny wasn’t at all what she claimed to be.”

  “But she really was from the South. That part had to be true, because that’s where Gerald found her.”

  “Yes, but she claimed to be the daughter of a wealthy family who had owned a plantation and slaves, but Prudence said her manners were atrocious. She had to teach her everything—how to have a conversation and entertain company, even how to shop for clothing and deal with a dressmaker.”

  “I’m sure her life in the South was very different, and she was so young . . .” Sarah’s mother tried.

  “She was old enough to have a child, which was another thing that bothered Prudence. She could never get the truth of it, whether Charles had married her and gotten her with child or if it was the other way around.”

  “That’s a terrible thing to say,” her mother said.

  “Of course it is, but who could have blamed the girl? There was a war, and she’d lost everything and everyone. She wouldn’t be the first to trade her virtue for some security.”

  Sarah couldn’t keep sile
nt any longer. “But how could she be sure her virtue would really buy her security? As you said, there was a war, and the soldiers might be gone the next day.”

  “Ah yes, Sarah, you are absolutely right, which is why Prudence also never quite believed that Charles was Gerald’s son.”

  This time both Sarah and her mother did gasp.

  “You can’t be serious,” her mother said.

  “I’m perfectly serious. Of course I have no idea if Prudence’s suspicions were justified, but I do know she had them. A girl who had lied about her background would lie about anything, I suppose.”

  “But you’ve known Jenny all these years,” Sarah couldn’t help pointing out. “Wouldn’t you have suspected something yourself?”

  “No one really got to know her until after Charles was born and Gerald returned home. By then, she’d learned how to conduct herself, I suppose . . . And truth to tell, no one really knows her to this day. She keeps her own counsel, as they say.”

  Sarah couldn’t help wondering if Jenny had truly kept to herself or if the good citizens of New York had left her to herself because she was different and not really one of them. Enough money could overcome even that, but Gerald’s family didn’t have that kind of money, at least not anymore. If Mrs. Peabody was still spreading these stories about her, others probably were, too. Sarah felt a pang of sympathy for the young woman Jenny had been and the lonely, middle-aged woman she had become.

  “I wonder if Hannah knew any of this when she married Charles,” her mother said.

  “Oh my, I doubt it. The Kingsleys were never in our social circle. Mr. Kingsley made his money in railroads, I believe, and he brought his family to the city where his children would have more opportunities to marry well. Hannah chose Charles because she was interested in being invited to the right houses, and she was sorely disappointed that Charles’s name didn’t open those doors for her.”

  Sarah couldn’t help wondering what Mrs. Peabody would say if she knew Charles really had been murdered, but they had decided not to tell her this, since his family didn’t want anyone to know. Telling Mrs. Peabody would work better than putting it on the front page of a newspaper to make it public knowledge.