Murder on Amsterdam Avenue

by Victoria Thompson

“That’s Hannah’s decision. Do you know she’s leaving us?”

  “Yes. It . . . it must be difficult for her here.”

  “It’s difficult having her here. I’ll be glad to see her gone.” Jenny went to the door. When she opened it, she saw Patsy still waiting outside. “Mrs. Brandt would like to see Mrs. Charles, please. I’ll be in my room.”

  Sarah frowned. Could she have been wrong? They’d been so sure that Daisy had killed Charles for revenge and Jenny had avenged his death by killing her. Now she wasn’t sure of anything. She’d also been sure the candy box was Jenny’s, but now . . .

  Malloy came in and closed the door behind him. “What did she say?”

  “The candy box wasn’t hers. Gerald gave her one almost like it for Valentine’s Day, and she showed it to me.”

  “I know. I saw the maid bringing it in. I was positive Jenny had killed Daisy in revenge for killing Charles, but now . . .”

  “I know. Maybe we’ve been looking at the wrong person. Charles and Hannah weren’t happily married. Even his friends noticed how unhappy he was.”

  “And his flask would have been in his bedroom, where Hannah would’ve had access to it. What about the candy box?”

  “If Gerald gave Jenny one, maybe Charles gave Hannah one, too.”

  The parlor door opened, and Hannah stepped in. “I don’t know why you want to see me. I already told you everything I know about what happened to Charles, and I certainly don’t know what happened to that colored woman.”

  Sarah smiled as graciously as she could manage. “Thank you for coming. I know you don’t know anything about the deaths, but would you mind answering a few questions about Charles himself? You’re the one who knew him best, after all.”

  She preened a little at that. “Well, I suppose I did.”

  “I’d be very grateful,” Sarah said.

  Hannah gave Malloy a sharp glance that made him back up a step. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said and made a hasty exit.

  “Please, come sit here by me.” Sarah patted the sofa.

  Hannah strolled over, as if it were her own idea, and took her seat. “Oh, how pretty,” she said, noticing the candy box in Sarah’s lap. “Is it your birthday or something?”

  “This? No, it’s . . . I thought it might be yours.”

  “No, I don’t think so. Oh, wait, I think Charles gave me one like that on Valentine’s Day, but that was months ago.”

  “Didn’t you keep it?”

  “Whatever for? Once the candy was gone, what good is it?”

  What good, indeed? Sarah studied Hannah’s lovely face and saw no indication she was lying or even feeling the least bit guilty.

  “Charles’s friends said that he was very upset lately.”

  “Upset about what?”

  “They thought he was upset because he was having trouble with his marriage.”

  She gave a ladylike snort. “I don’t know what he would have to be upset about.”

  “Maybe the fact that he was sleeping in his dressing room,” Sarah tried.

  This shocked her, as Sarah had intended. “Who told you that?”

  “Everyone,” she said, only exaggerating a little. “Were you quarreling?”

  “Not at all. There was nothing to quarrel about.”

  “Then why was he sleeping in the dressing room?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but the fact is that I had decided I didn’t want to have any children.”

  “Oh,” was all Sarah could manage.

  “Don’t look at me like that. A woman should be able to decide whether she wants to have children or not, shouldn’t she?”

  In a perfect world, she should, Sarah supposed, but they didn’t live in a perfect world. “No wonder Charles was upset.”

  “Don’t take his part.”

  “I wasn’t. I just—”

  “Don’t lie to me. I can see it on your face. You think I’m a terrible wife, not fulfilling my wifely duties and driving my husband from the marriage bed.”

  Plainly, someone had already expressed these sentiments to her. “I don’t—”

  “But what can a female do when she’s been tricked and cheated? My whole life was ruined.”

  “Did Charles cheat on you?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course he didn’t cheat on me. I told you, he cheated me and tricked me. He’d misrepresented himself and there was nothing I could do about it.”

  Sarah tried to remember what she knew about Hannah and what she’d been unhappy about. “It must have been a disappointment to discover that the Oakes family wasn’t as wealthy as you’d thought.”

  “It was horrible, but I could have lived with that. My father would have helped us. He was already helping us, so I don’t know why Charles had to get that awful job at that awful hospital with the crazy people.”

  “So it wasn’t money you were angry about?”

  She lifted her chin. “What kind of a woman do you take me for?”

  Sarah wondered if she’d practiced that expression in front of a mirror. “I’m sorry. I should have known better.”

  “Yes, you should. A lady never discusses money.”

  A lady wasn’t supposed to denigrate her husband in public either, but that wasn’t stopping Hannah. “I’m a midwife,” she said in case Hannah had forgotten. “I can certainly understand that you might be afraid of childbirth.”

  “I’m not afraid of anything,” she snapped.

  “But you said you didn’t want to have children . . .”

  “I didn’t want to have Charles’s children!”

  “Then you’re not afraid?”

  “I told you, I’m not afraid of anything! I’d have a dozen children by a white man!”

  Sarah stared at her for a moment in stunned silence. Surely, she’d misheard her. “Did you say . . . ?”

  But Hannah had already clapped a hand over her mouth, because she really had said “white man.”

  “Charles was a white man,” Sarah said.

  “Of course he was,” Hannah said too quickly. “I don’t know what made me say that. I’ve just been so upset since he died, I don’t know what I’m saying half the time.”

  Sarah’s mind was racing. Could Hannah have heard the story of Daisy and Jenny and misunderstood? “Daisy and Jenny were half sisters, but Jenny was white. Their father owned the plantation, and Daisy’s mother was a slave.”

  “Is that what they told you? Oh, of course it is. That’s the story she wanted people to believe, but it’s not true. They tricked me, and then I was trapped. I couldn’t even get a divorce because divorced women aren’t accepted in society. What was I supposed to do?”

  “What are you talking about?” Sarah asked, hopelessly confused.

  “I’m talking about how Jenny Oakes lied about where she came from. Oh, her father did own the plantation, and she and Daisy were sisters, but not because they had the same father. They were sisters because they had the same mother, and she was a slave!”

  • • •

  Frank had sent Gino home. There was no use in both of them sitting around feeling useless. Gino hadn’t wanted to leave until Frank told him he should stop by the house to make sure Maeve was handling the workmen all right. Then he rushed right out.

  Now all Frank had to do was wait for Sarah to finish with Hannah so they could decide if she’s the one who killed Charles and Daisy. Frank should have considered her more seriously before now. She’d sent her husband to sleep in his dressing room, after all. Although, now that Frank thought about it, that was more of a reason for him to murder her.

  This case was one of the most baffling he’d ever worked on, and certainly one of the messiest. He couldn’t remember a killer so sloppy that innocent bystanders got killed or at least sickened by accident.

  “M
r. Malloy?”

  Frank looked up. He hadn’t noticed the maid approaching him. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Oakes would like to see you in his study.”

  She led him, although Frank knew perfectly well where Oakes’s study was by now. She opened the door for him and closed it behind him.

  Gerald Oakes looked like he hadn’t moved from his chair all day, but Frank knew that couldn’t be true. He’d certainly gotten up at least a dozen times to refill his glass.

  “What’s going on, Malloy? Patsy tells me my wife has gone to her room to lie down. Don’t tell me she’s been poisoned, too.”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Should I get the doctor back here for her, do you think?”

  “I’m sure she’ll let you know if she needs him.”

  “And what’s this about a candy box?”

  “I understand you gave your wife one of those fancy, heart-shaped boxes of candy on Valentine’s Day.”

  Gerald frowned, as if he needed to concentrate to remember something as far back as February. Frank realized he must be incredibly drunk, yet he showed no outward signs except for the rosy glow of his cheeks. “What on God’s earth does candy have to do with any of this?”

  “Mrs. Brandt has discovered that Daisy was poisoned with candy.”

  “How would they get poison in candy?”

  “I don’t know that, and the victims ate all of the candy, so we don’t have any to look at.”

  “And you think it was the candy I gave Jenny for Valentine’s Day?”

  “No, we don’t think that.”

  “I should hope not. Jenny would’ve died months ago if that was the case.”

  Frank was starting to wonder if Gerald was drunk or just stupid. “I guess Charles gave Hannah a box of candy, too.”

  Gerald waved away such a notion. “The boy never thought a breath of it. I got one for her and let him take the credit. Not that it did him much good. She just complained that she didn’t like the candy. Nothing is ever good enough for that girl.”

  “Do you know why they stopped sleeping together?”

  Some emotion flickered across Gerald’s florid face, but he said, “No idea at all. Probably just a lover’s quarrel. They would’ve been back together in another week or two, I’m sure.”

  “Too bad they’ll never have the chance to make up now.”

  Gerald didn’t respond to that. He didn’t even seem to have heard it. “Can I get you a drink?” he asked, getting up to get another one for himself.

  “No, thanks.”

  Watching Gerald fill his glass reminded Frank of Charles and his drinking habits. “Did Charles have a favorite brand of whiskey?”

  Gerald looked up in surprise. “I doubt it. He usually drank whatever was here.”

  “So he did drink from the same decanters that you did?”

  “Of course. Why do you ask?”

  “Because we think the poison was put into his flask.”

  Gerald nearly dropped the glass he’d just picked up. “His flask? Are you sure?”

  “He was in several different places the day he first got sick, but we couldn’t find any other way he could’ve gotten it without others getting poisoned as well. His friend told us he’d started carrying the flask with him lately and sipping from it when he wasn’t in a place where he could get a drink.”

  “He got the flask for his birthday, less than a month ago.” Gerald made his way carefully back to his chair and lowered himself slowly. The hand that raised the glass to his lips was not quite steady, and he wasn’t looking at Frank anymore.

  “Did you know he’d started drinking pretty heavily?” Frank asked when Gerald made no comment.

  “Young men drink.”

  “Charles’s friends said he was unhappy.”

  This made Gerald angry or at least annoyed him enough that he frowned again. “Who are these friends you keep quoting?”

  “Percy Littleton, for one.” The only one, Frank thought, but Gerald didn’t need to know that.

  “Percy Littleton is an idiot. I wouldn’t put much stock in anything he had to say.”

  “Then you don’t think Charles was carrying his flask and drinking out of it from time to time?”

  Gerald ran a hand over his face. “I can’t speak to that. He probably was. Young men carry flasks, and they do drink from them, after all.”

  Frank waited, giving Gerald a chance to think and possibly say more. Like most people, he grew uncomfortable as the silence stretched.

  “My mother gave him that flask,” he said at last, tears welling in his eyes. “For God’s sake, don’t tell her. She’d never be able to bear it.”

  Frank thought the senior Mrs. Oakes could bear just about anything, but he wasn’t going to give an old woman that awful knowledge if he could avoid it.

  “Does Jenny know?” Gerald asked after another moment.

  Frank figured Sarah would have mentioned it. “I think she might.”

  “No wonder she took to her bed. I didn’t know it would hurt so much.”

  “What would?”

  “Finding out how Charles died. I thought having him die at all was the worst pain I would ever feel, but now, knowing someone did that to him on purpose . . . It was someone close to him, wasn’t it?”

  “It almost always is,” Frank said. “Murder is a very personal crime. Maybe you don’t really want to know any more about it.”

  A tear slid down Gerald’s face. “I don’t. The very idea terrifies me, but now I have to know. How can I live the rest of my life in this house, suspecting everyone who lives here, and never knowing the truth?”

  He was right, of course.

  Someone tapped on the door, and the maid stuck her head in. “Mr. Malloy? Mrs. Brandt said to tell you she’s ready to leave.”

  That was odd. Or maybe not. If Sarah had discovered something important, maybe she just didn’t want to talk about it in the house where they might be overheard.

  “Does this mean you don’t know anything yet?” Gerald asked with something that sounded like relief.

  “Yes, but as soon as we do, we’ll tell you.”

  Gerald nodded and looked down at his now-empty glass, as if it might hold some secret. Frank left him, feeling a relief of his own. Whatever Sarah did or didn’t find out, they wouldn’t have to confront the killer today.

  He found her in the foyer, slapping her gloves against her skirt impatiently, and wearing an expression he couldn’t read. The maid handed him his hat and held the door for them as they took their leave.

  “We need to find a cab,” she said before he could ask her anything. “We can’t talk about this on the El.”

  They walked over to Broadway, where Frank hailed a cab, and when they were inside and making their way at a snail’s pace down the boulevard, he turned to her and said, “Well?”

  “I don’t know what to tell you. I mean I know what to tell you, and it’s quite a story, but I still don’t have any idea who killed Charles and the rest of them, or why.”

  “Tell me the story, then.”

  “You know how Jenny was raised on a plantation and how Gerald found her there and married her and sent her home?”

  “Yes. Isn’t it true?”

  “It’s true as far as it goes, but . . . According to Hannah, Jenny wasn’t who she claimed to be. Hannah said that Jenny’s father was the owner of the plantation but that her mother was a slave.”

  “What? How could that be?”

  “I thought at first that she was just confused. Daisy told the Nicelys that she and Jenny were half sisters. I’m not sure exactly what she told them, but they apparently assumed that Jenny was the daughter of the house and Daisy was a child Jenny’s father had by a slave woman.”

  “And that’s what we thought, too.”

&
nbsp; “Because that’s what Jenny let us believe, but Hannah told me it isn’t true and that Jenny was actually a slave herself.”

  “That’s ridiculous. How could she have passed herself off as a rich white girl? And look at her. She’s as white as you are.”

  “I’m not saying Hannah was right. I’m just telling you what she said, and if a story like that ever got out, even if it wasn’t true, imagine the scandal!”

  Frank could easily imagine. “But where did she get a story like that?” Knowing what little he did about Hannah, he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d made it up herself.

  “That’s the very worst part. She said Charles told her.”

  14

  “At least that would explain why Charles was sad and drinking so much,” Maeve said several hours later as they sat around Sarah’s kitchen table.

  “Yes, it would,” Sarah said with a sigh. When they’d arrived back at Malloy’s house, they’d had to have supper with the children, and then Maeve had to put Catherine to bed at Sarah’s house before they could really talk. Sarah had made Malloy and Gino wait until Maeve came back downstairs before they discussed the case. Then Malloy and Sarah had told Maeve and Gino what they’d learned that day.

  “It gives Hannah a good reason to kill Charles, too,” Gino said.

  “Yes, it does,” Sarah said. “She actually mentioned that a divorce would have made her unacceptable in polite society, which is apparently all she cares about in life.”

  “But Mrs. Belmont is divorced,” Maeve said, naming the former Mrs. William Vanderbilt who was still a leading socialite.

  “Mrs. Belmont has more money than God,” Malloy said. “She could divorce a dozen husbands and still be acceptable.”

  “Really?” Gino asked.

  “He’s exaggerating a bit,” Sarah said. “Hannah was probably right about herself, though. A divorced woman who has no family connections and who divorced the son of one of the old Knickerbocker families wouldn’t be welcome anywhere.”

  “Not even if she divorced him because he was the son of a slave?” Maeve asked.

  Sarah shook her head. “Probably not even then, because she’d also be tarnished by the scandal the same way the rest of the family was.”