Murder on Trinity Place

by Victoria Thompson

  Gino chose his next words carefully. “I just need to verify where everyone was that evening Mr. Pritchard died.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the small notebook he carried and a pencil stub. He licked his thumb and carefully turned the pages until he came to the last one where he had jotted down the lies he had decided he would tell to get them to talk. “According to what Mrs. Pritchard told us, Mr. Pritchard left the house around nine o’clock that evening.”

  The women all turned to Zachary, who nodded reluctantly. “That’s about right, I guess. He said he wanted a chance to speak to as many people as possible at the church, so he needed to get there early. I believe . . .” He cleared his throat and looked embarrassed. “I believe he intended to approach each person as they arrived to tell them his theory about . . . uh . . . about the turn of the century.”

  Gino pretended not to notice his chagrin and simply made a notation: Pritchard, nine o’clock. “And Harvey left shortly afterward. Is that correct?”

  It was only a guess. Surely, if Harvey had followed his father to the church, he would have left after Mr. Pritchard, but not long after.

  But Zachary was shaking his head. “Oh no, Mr. Harvey had already gone. Said he was meeting some friends. He didn’t want any supper or anything.”

  That was interesting. “About what time did he leave, then?” Gino asked, pencil ready to jot it down.

  “I’d say around eight o’clock. I didn’t check the clock or anything, but I’d just finished helping him dress when Mr. Pritchard called for me. It usually takes an hour to get Mr. Pritchard into his formal dress, and if he was ready at nine . . .”

  Gino nodded, making another note. How strange. If Harvey really had left an hour before his father, how could he have followed him to the church? Then again, if he knew that’s where his father was going, he wouldn’t have needed to follow him at all.

  “And how long after Mr. Pritchard went out did Mrs. Pritchard leave?” Gino gave them his best innocent, questioning smile because this was the biggest test of all. Mrs. Pritchard had claimed to be home and to have gone to bed early that night.

  The servants wouldn’t know that, however, and they all looked at Daisy, who scratched her chin nervously, as if she’d been asked to give the answer to a very difficult arithmetic problem. “Not too long after Mr. Pritchard left, it was. She told me to tell her when he was gone, and then I helped her with her dress. She was all ready except for her gown.”

  Gino nodded as if this confirmed what he already knew, even though his heart was hammering away with excitement. Mrs. Pritchard had lied. “Did someone call for her?”

  Daisy shook her head. “She just walked down to the corner like she usually does.”

  “Like she usually does?” Gino asked, trying not to sound too shocked.

  “Mrs. Pritchard is very independent,” Mrs. Young said, giving Daisy a sharp warning glance. Maybe the girl really didn’t know that ladies did not usually leave their houses alone and walk off unaccompanied into the night. “And before you ask, she arrived home shortly after midnight.”

  “Alone?” Gino asked, still smiling.

  “Of course alone,” Mrs. Young said before anyone else could reply.

  “Does anybody remember what time Harvey got home that night?” Gino asked.

  “I waited up for him and Mr. Pritchard,” Zachary said, his expression bleak. “Mr. Harvey came in just after four, but Mr. Pritchard . . .” His voice broke, and a twinge of guilt twisted in Gino’s stomach for causing him pain.

  “You must’ve been worried.”

  “Of course I was. Mr. Pritchard had never stayed out all night before without telling anybody.”

  “And his family must have been worried, too.”

  “Mrs. Pritchard was when she found out,” Mrs. Young said a little defensively. “But what could she do? He’s a grown man, and if he wanted to stay out all night, that was his business.”

  “Did she consider notifying the police?” Gino asked.

  “Because a grown man stayed out all night on New Year’s Eve? Not likely.”

  “And how did Harvey react?”

  “When he woke up, you mean?” Daisy asked, and they all laughed.

  “I suppose he slept pretty late,” Gino said.

  “And he didn’t feel too well when he did wake up, either,” Daisy said. “I doubt he was thinking about his father at all.”

  So Harvey didn’t express concern over his missing father. Was that because he knew where his father was or because he just didn’t care?

  “I’ve been hearing some stories about Harvey,” Gino tried.

  Mrs. Young frowned her disapproval. “Have you, now? And what kind of stories have you heard?”

  “Oh, mostly just people shaking their heads and saying Harvey is kind of wild or that he made his father worry.”

  “His poor mother, too,” Mrs. Young said.

  “I don’t think we should be gossiping about Mr. Harvey’s behavior with this young man,” Zachary said with a frown.

  “You’re absolutely right,” Gino said, “unless he was involved in something that led to Mr. Pritchard’s death.”

  They all gaped at him, suitably shocked.

  “What do you mean by that?” Mrs. Young asked.

  Gino tried to look abashed and thought he probably succeeded. “Maybe you folks don’t know, but something was going on at the dairy, something illegal.”

  “What could have been going on at the dairy?” Zachary asked, outraged now.

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out. I don’t expect that Mr. Pritchard would have put up with somebody using his milk wagons for something illegal, would he?”

  “Certainly not!” Zachary said, looking to Mrs. Young for confirmation.

  “What makes you think something like that?” she asked.

  “Because I saw the wagons going out just before midnight, which is much too early for milk delivery, and besides, the wagons were empty.”

  “We don’t know anything about what goes on at the dairy,” Mrs. Young said, angry now.

  “I didn’t think you did, but you do know things about the family.”

  Zachary shook his head. “If you’re trying to get Mr. Harvey in trouble—”

  “I’m trying to figure out who killed Mr. Pritchard, and if something Harvey did got his father killed, then I need to know it.”

  “Maybe you do and maybe you don’t,” Mrs. Young said, “but you won’t find it out from us.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Mr. Pritchard had been a man of impeccable character and unwavering rectitude, if what Sarah had heard about him at his funeral was any indication. Of course, hardly anyone mentioned a person’s faults at his funeral. It simply wasn’t done. Sarah wondered idly if that was all part of the superstition that forbade speaking ill of the dead or if it was simply good manners practiced to spare the family additional grief.

  And, speaking of the family, Theda surely was grief stricken. She wept through the entire service. Poor Nelson comforted her as best he could, and Sarah was glad at least one person truly mourned Mr. Pritchard. His wife, as they say, was holding up well. Others would probably comment on her dignity and refusal to publicly show her grief, but Sarah knew she probably wasn’t showing much private grief either. Harvey, too, was trying to maintain his dignity, but he looked ill. Malloy would probably say he had a hangover, and maybe he did, but he might also finally be realizing his father was truly gone.

  When all the tributes had been given—Mr. Pritchard apparently had many friends who thought quite highly of him—and the hymns sung and the prayers said, Sarah and Malloy and Mother Malloy waited while the family followed the coffin out. Mrs. Ellsworth had sat with them near the front, not thinking it proper to sit with the family.

  “Poor Theda,” Mrs. Ellswort
h murmured as she and Sarah walked down the aisle together. “I surely hope you can figure out who killed her father and put her mind at ease. I don’t think she can even begin to recover from this until the killer has been punished.”

  Sarah couldn’t help thinking Theda might not be as comforted as she expected by seeing the killer identified if it proved to be a member of her family. She decided to see what Mrs. Ellsworth’s opinion might be about that. “Harvey seems to be taking it hard as well.”

  Mrs. Ellsworth looked at her in surprise. “You’re right, he is. I would have expected him to be relieved. They really didn’t get along, as you undoubtedly noticed, but Theda says he’s actually been getting more upset as the days go by.”

  “Perhaps he’s just beginning to realize what his father’s death means for him. He’ll have to run the dairy now, won’t he?”

  “Or sell it, although it wouldn’t bring all that much and I can’t think what he’d do for a living if he did sell.”

  Still, Harvey was young for so much responsibility, and Malloy had already observed that he didn’t seem pleased to have it.

  A line of rented carriages carried the mourners out to the cemetery for a brief graveside service and then back to the Pritchard house, where a buffet had been set. Otto Bergman, who had been discreetly invisible at the church, now made his presence known, making sure the widow was comfortable and got something to eat and that Nelson was adequately looking after Theda. His attentions, while marked, were also perfectly proper. Casual acquaintances would probably think him a beloved uncle or close family friend, which of course he was.

  Sarah could clearly see what would happen now. Mr. Bergman would continue to be of service to his dear friend Mrs. Pritchard. Their long friendship would gradually blossom, and they would quietly marry when the proper period of mourning had passed. No hint of scandal would touch them unless they had conspired together to murder Clarence Pritchard and happened to be found out.

  “What are you thinking?” Malloy asked, coming up behind where Sarah stood, absently eyeing the dessert table.

  “Just how awful it would be for Theda if her mother was involved in her father’s death.”

  “Excuse me.”

  They both looked up to find Nelson Ellsworth looking apologetic at having interrupted them.

  “Nelson, how are you holding up?” Sarah asked.

  “I’m fine, but . . . Do you know who that is talking to Theda?”

  They glanced over to see a young man leaning over a seated Theda, speaking somewhat urgently to her. She looked distressed and a little panicky.

  “That’s Amelio Bruno,” Malloy said.

  “Who?”

  “He works at the dairy,” Malloy said.

  “And he once fancied himself in love with Theda,” Sarah added, remembering the story.

  “So he’s the one,” Nelson muttered, moving quickly to rescue his wife.

  “Theda, are you all right?” Nelson asked a little louder than necessary.

  Bruno’s head jerked up, and he scowled at Nelson’s interference.

  For her part, Theda gave Nelson a grateful and loving smile. “Oh yes. Mr. Bruno was just expressing his condolences,” she said with an uneasy glance at him.

  “Your mother was asking for you,” Nelson said. “If you’ll excuse us, Mr. Bruno.”

  Plainly, Mr. Bruno did not want to excuse them for anything, but he stepped back so Theda could rise from her chair. Nelson took her arm tenderly and led her away. He didn’t see the fearful glare Bruno gave him as they walked off.

  “Oh my, I don’t think Mr. Bruno is quite over his infatuation with Theda,” Sarah said.

  “Maybe he thinks now that the old man is dead, he stands a chance with her,” Malloy said.

  “But she’s married.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t care about that.”

  Before Sarah could reply, they were distracted by an argument taking place at the other end of the room. In deference to the solemnity of the occasion, conversations were hushed at events like this, and Harvey was trying to keep his voice down but with limited success.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

  The gentleman to whom he spoke was middle-aged and well dressed, but something about him seemed out of place. Sarah couldn’t put her finger on it, but she was sure her mother could have told her instantly what it was that set him apart from the other mourners. All Sarah could manage was a deep sense that he was not one of them.

  “I just came to pay my respects, Pritchard,” he said with what appeared to be the proper amount of reverence, but something in his voice was off as well. He didn’t really consider Harvey worthy of concern and he didn’t really feel any sense of loss over the deceased. Sarah could not have said how she knew this, but she did, instinctively.

  “You can’t just walk in my house and pretend we’re friends,” Harvey said.

  “He’s drunk,” Malloy whispered to her. “Should I stop this before he makes a complete fool of himself?”

  Sarah glanced around. The other people who had been in the room, including Amelio Bruno, had discreetly wandered out, but anyone might walk in at any moment. If Harvey raised his voice any higher, a lot of people would. “Yes, please.”

  Sarah had missed what the man said in reply to Harvey’s last challenge, but it hadn’t placated him at all. Fortunately, Malloy reached the two men before Harvey could respond.

  “Harvey,” Malloy said sharply, to get his attention. “Oh, excuse me,” he said to the well-dressed man. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, but Harvey, your mother was asking for you.”

  If it had worked for Nelson . . .

  For a few terrible seconds, Sarah thought Harvey would ignore Malloy and go back to his argument with the strange man. But with one last, furious glance at the man, Harvey downed the dregs of the drink he held and marched out of the room in search of his mother.

  Malloy, God bless him, turned to the man and grinned in a way that usually intimidated even the most hardened criminals. “It would be a shame to cause a disturbance at a funeral. Think how upsetting it would be for the widow.”

  “That would indeed be a pity,” the man said. “I would never want to cause her any concern.” With a curt nod, he turned and left, passing a small group of mourners coming into the room in search of something to eat.

  “My hero,” Sarah said when Malloy had made his way back to her.

  He grinned for real at that. “And I wouldn’t worry about Theda. I’m afraid her brother is the one we have to worry about.”

  VIII

  Gino came by on Sunday morning and picked up Maeve and the motorcar for the trip down to the clinic. Maeve had insisted on an early start because she assumed Jocelyn Vane would want to spend a little time getting ready once she understood the real purpose of this outing.

  Everyone at the clinic understood that Maeve had come to fetch her for a visit with her parents. That, Maeve thought, would explain Miss Vane’s anxiety and desire to look her best. Miss Vane, however, was told the truth, so her anxiety and desire to look her best were much greater than anyone suspected.

  Only when they were in the motorcar, bundled in their dusters and goggles and lap robes and heading north to Bank Street, was she free to really question Maeve. “So this Mr. Robinson knows all about me and . . . and my situation?”

  “Yes. Mrs. Malloy and I told him everything. He thinks you’re very honorable for wanting to keep your child.”

  “He does?” she asked in patent disbelief.

  “Yes. He was . . . Well, his mother wasn’t married either, and she abandoned him.”

  “Oh.”

  “But you’d never guess he came from a background like that. He takes great pride in behaving like a gentleman.”

  “Did you tell her about the girl he lost?” Gino called.

  “Yes,
I did.”

  “So I know he’s still mourning her,” Miss Vane said with resignation. “I don’t expect to fall in love, in any case.”

  “He’s very charming, though,” Maeve said.

  Miss Vane didn’t look like she believed that for a moment, so Maeve would just let her be surprised.

  “He’s still . . . I mean, he owns gambling dens and saloons,” Miss Vane said.

  “And he’s very rich and has a lovely home.”

  Miss Vane simply looked determined. And a little terrified.

  * * *

  • • •

  Sarah had started to wonder if she should offer Jocelyn Vane a small dose of laudanum to calm her down. She’d been pacing their parlor for nearly an hour, occasionally stopping to glance out the front window and then moving toward the mirror to check her appearance yet again, all the while asking myriad questions about Black Jack Robinson without really listening to the answers. Finally, the doorbell rang, right on the dot of noon, when they had asked him to arrive.

  Malloy went to greet him while Sarah and Maeve arranged themselves on either side of Jocelyn on the sofa. Gino took his place by the fireplace. Malloy’s mother had chosen to have dinner with the children in her rooms. She had no desire to witness the awkwardness that surely would occur when two strangers met to consider an arranged marriage, and the children would have been too much of a distraction.

  Sarah heard Jocelyn’s breath catch when Mr. Robinson and Malloy came into the parlor but she somehow managed to appear completely composed.

  Mr. Robinson, for his part, had also taken great care with his appearance. He wore a tailor-made suit in a tastefully muted pattern and a modestly sized diamond stickpin in his tie. His shirt and collar were blindingly white. He came straight to Sarah and gave her a small bow.

  “Mrs. Malloy, thank you so much for the invitation. I hope you’re well.” She noticed he had barely glanced at Jocelyn, which she thought very gentlemanly of him.

  She gave him her hand. “I’m very well, thank you, and I’m glad you were able to come. You remember Miss Smith and Mr. Donatelli, I’m sure.”