I wilted. Unfortunately, it was a very good point.
***
Will and I returned to the Finney’s kitchen door the following morning. Mrs. Weed let us in and was very helpful when we explained how we needed to test the silver pieces. I was coming to believe that the housekeeper would prove a valuable ally in our quest to help Mrs. Finney. A footman was sent for ice from the ice house. The chest of silver was brought from the butler’s pantry. We were provided with a large basin filled with water.
“Let’s begin with the forks,” I suggested. “They were the examples Mrs. Finney gave me to show that some were unlike the others.”
Will lifted all the forks from their velvet-lined bed and carefully set them in the water. With Mrs. Weed looking over his shoulder, no harm would be allowed to come to the family heirlooms. He then placed the small blocks of ice chips into the water and we waited with bated breath.
“It’s been one minute,” Mrs. Weed announced, her eyes locked on her timepiece.
I reached down and pulled out one fork, running my fingers over it before passing it to Will. The next fork felt similar to the first, as did the third. The fourth, however, was decidedly colder. My eyes grew wide and I handed it to Will who gripped it in his long fingers for a moment before nodding at me.
“This one has to be sterling silver.” He grinned.
We continued lifting out each fork and Will separated the genuine pieces from the copies. Once the basin was empty of silverware, we examined our progress. Of the thirty forks, twenty-one were fake and only nine were real.
“Should we test the other pieces?” I wondered.
Mrs. Weed nodded vehemently. “Please do.”
So, in went the spoons, then the knives, and finally the serving pieces. In under ten minutes, we had the entire set tested and knew the full weight of what had been replaced. About two-thirds of the pieces were forgeries. The thieves were closing in on the entire set.
Will whistled as he looked over the amount that had been stolen. Mrs. Weed began chattering about how she couldn’t imagine how this had happened. I was half listening to her while also watching my partner. He lifted one of the butter knives and held it up to the light. He turned it slowly, taking in all of its minute details. Then he did the same with one of the real knives.
“The forged pieces are much more consistent,” he said when the housekeeper paused in her protestations. “The original pieces have a number of inconsistencies. Look, this curl and this one are different.” Will handed me two of the genuine knives. “But the fakes are nearly identical.”
“That would make sense if they were made from the same mold. The thief might have been able to lift an original of each piece and the forger would have used them to make a mold and cast the new pieces.” I held one of the real knives thoughtfully. “If these were made more than a hundred years ago, the silver-making process must have been much more rudimentary. There would have been opportunities for the individual pieces to have slight differences.”
It was interesting, but was it helpful? I tapped the knife on one palm and tried to think of what to do. Removing the real pieces would only alert the thief that we were on to him or her. If we were going to catch the thief and find the rest of the set, we couldn’t let on that we knew what was happening.
“Could we speak with Mrs. Finney without alerting her daughter-in-law?” I asked Mrs. Weed.
“Mrs. Lillian is traveling to Chicago today. I’ll take you to the morning room where you can speak with Mrs. Finney.” Mrs. Weed told us to leave the silver as it was and that she’d put it away.
Will and I rose to our feet and thanked her for her assistance as she led us upstairs and into the morning room where Mrs. Finney was working on needlepoint with shaky hands.
“Good morning, Mrs. Finney,” I said as I took a seat near her. “Do you know who we are?” It felt like an impertinent question, but knowing how lucid our client was would drastically impact how we questioned her.
She peered at us before lifting her chin and saying, “You’re the detectives. Mr. Edwards and Miss…” Her wrinkled brow furrowed and she let out a frustrated sigh. “Growing old is terrible. Forgive me.”
Perhaps Mrs. Finney was frustrated by her memory, but Will and I exchanged a relieved look. The fact that she had any idea who we were was promising. I smiled at her reassuringly and said, “It’s Miss Lunceford. And no offense was given.”
“We’d like to ask you about your missing silver,” Will jumped in. “We tested it and found that only a third of the original pieces remain.”
The older woman’s eyes lit up. “I knew it! How did you discover the false pieces?”
Will explained about the cold water test and Mrs. Finney nodded intently, following every word.
“When did you first notice that something was wrong with the silver?” I asked.
“We don’t use that set very often since they are so old. However, it’s one of our traditions to use them for Christmas supper. That’s when I saw that my spoon was different from my knife and fork.” Mrs. Finney explained in her quavering voice. “I’ve used that set all my life. I knew something was wrong, though I couldn’t find the words to explain exactly what it was. Lillian looked at the set and told me that they looked the same to her. Poor Mrs. Weed tried to act as though she believed me, but I could tell that she didn’t really.”
“Do you know what this means?” I asked gently.
Mrs. Finney nodded once more. “There is a thief in my house.”
Chapter Seven
Will and I exchanged another look. It was a relief to know that Mrs. Finney was aware of the problems in her household, but I wasn’t certain that she understood what might happen if her daughter-in-law turned out to be the thief. Would she turn Lillian or her son in to the police if they were guilty? If one of the servants was behind the thefts, things would be much simpler. Unfortunately, the evidence was pointing towards a member of the family instead.
“When did you start to notice that other things were missing?” I asked.
“It was around the time I realized the silver was wrong. At first, I thought I must be mistaken. Perhaps one of the girls moved something or took it to the shop to be repaired.” Mrs. Finney’s voice grew stronger as she explained. “I asked Melvin if he knew what had happened to the Rembrandt etching and he assured me that nothing was wrong. That etching was a gift from my father when I married and I would not give it away no matter what my daughter-in-law might say.” Her eyes were positively sparking with indignation at the memory.
“Could you make a list for us of everything that has disappeared? Is there someone who could help you take notes?” I queried. “Mr. Edwards and I could look for the missing items among local pawnbrokers and fences.”
“Mrs. Weed would be happy to help me,” Mrs. Finney assured me. “She takes as much pride in this house as I do.”
“That’s good,” Will affirmed. His expression grew serious. “Mrs. Finney, if we find that a member of the household is responsible for the missing items, we will come to you first and you will have to decide what to do about it.”
The older woman blinked at him in confusion. “Whatever do you mean?”
I put a hand on her arm. “You will have to decide if you want us to help you go to the police.”
It took a moment before she understood the full weight of what we were suggesting. Her eyes grew wide and she nodded sagely. I smiled at her sadly. There was no promise that she would remember this conversation the following day, but at least we’d broached the topic.
Will and I discussed the case as we walked back to Maple House. We were greatly encouraged by the discovery of the false silver, yet we had too many questions lingering to take any new steps forward.
“Speaking of having too many unanswered questions,” Will began as we turned down the drive to his home, “would you like to come for supper tomorrow night? It’s Father’s birthday and Jane will be there with Ned and the boys. We might be able
to learn a bit more about my sister and her unhappy marriage.”
I accepted the invitation readily. I wasn’t as keen to pry into Jane’s private affairs now that I knew what was wrong and I hoped to be able to rein in Will if the need arose.
By the next evening, Will had done his best to prepare me to observe every detail of his sister and brother-in-law. He’d spent the day repeating instructions on what to do if any of a dozen situations occurred. I found that it was in my best interest to listen and make no promises. I was less concerned with discovering some marital secret than with keeping Will from saying something that would make things worse.
We sat down to a very festive table and we all gave Berta effusive praise. Once we’d been served, Will’s father delved into a discussion of the foibles of society. Will gave me a look of long suffering complete with eye rolls. I knew Mr. Edwards well enough to know of his enjoyment of criticizing everyone else.
“Miss Lunceford, how does the investigation into the death of that bookie progress?” He inquired, spearing me with a look over the top of his spectacles.
I patted my lips with my napkin and said, “The police are trying to rule out suspects. Unfortunately, underworld criminals have a great number of enemies.”
Our host harrumphed and frowned at us all. “Gambling is a plague upon our society. It wears the guise of entertainment, but many unwitting souls have become ensnared.”
Mrs. Edwards nodded as her husband spoke. However, she was the only one at the table who appreciated his arguments. Will rolled his eyes yet again and shook his head in frustration. Ned gulped down his wine quickly and refilled the glass immediately. Jane looked as though she wanted to be anywhere else. As for me, I observed everyone rather than listen to Mr. Edwards’ continuing homily on the dangers of gambling. The discomfort of Jane and her husband was telling. I had a feeling that we’d stumbled upon the real reason that money was a concern in their home.
The moment her father took a breath, Jane announced, “I believe that the Mackinnons are planning a trip to Europe soon.”
Her mother replied and the conversation turned to local gossip. I would have thought little of it if I hadn’t noticed Jane cast a relieved glance at her husband. Ned had drained a second glass and was reaching to fill his glass a third time. It was clear that Jane knew exactly what Ned’s problem with money was and he was none too happy about the situation.
I didn’t have a chance to speak with Will’s sister until after the meal had concluded. It had been fairly torturous to have to sit through a large dessert and the unwrapping of gifts while I watched Jane’s and Ned’s behavior. Finally, the men went to the library to look up something or other. Mrs. Edwards took the boys to the nursery, and I was alone with Jane.
Fortunately, the long delay had given me plenty of time to decide how I would approach the delicate topic. “Your father certainly has a strong aversion to gambling,” I said with a chuckle.
I watched Jane carefully and saw her grimace slightly. “He’s very old fashioned that way,” she said delicately.
“I know that many people enjoy putting a wager on this sporting event or that. It seems harmless enough to me.” My voice was as light as I could manage and I hoped Jane wasn’t suspicious of my ulterior motives.
“Some people are able to make a bet and walk away whether they win or lose. Others, though,” she said bleakly, “find that the thrill of winning is like a drug. They will go to any length to win again.” Her countenance was so full of sorrow that I knew I was on the right track.
I leaned closer to her and asked in a low voice, “Jane, is Ned gambling?”
Her head snapped up and she gaped at me with wide eyes. “Of course not! Why would you ask such a thing?”
I watched her closely. Jane was far more afraid than offended by my words.
Suddenly, tears welled in her eyes and she looked away, blinking to keep them from spilling down her cheeks. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. “Ned has spent all our savings making wagers. He’s had to sell my jewelry to keep the bookie off his back.”
“Do you know who his bookie is?” I wondered. It would be too much of a coincidence to learn that he’d used Hugh Meriwether, but it would be interesting if it were true.
Jane, however, shook her head. “He won’t tell me anything about what he’s doing. Sometimes he leaves work early to go to the racetrack. If he comes home in a particularly foul mood or a particularly happy one, I know where he’s been.” She pulled her handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes.
“Oh, Jane, I am sorry to hear it.” I wished I had the words to make things right. Ned was on his way to ruining his family and he didn’t seem to care. Poor, poor Jane.
“Monday night he came home in the worst mood yet. I can’t begin to guess how much he’d lost. We had the biggest argument we’ve ever had.”
“That’s why you came here with your sons.”
She gave a shuddering nod. “I know I’m a grown woman, but I needed to see my mother.”
“Of course,” I soothed. “I’m glad you have a place to go if you need it.”
Jane pursed her lips and refolded her handkerchief. “If something happens with Ned, I don’t know what to do. Mother and Father are in no position to get us out of trouble. I don’t know if I could bear the shame of having everyone know what sort of a man Ned has become.”
There were few options, I knew that well enough. If Jane were to pursue separating from her husband, she would risk losing her children. The law was most certainly on Ned’s side. There were a few instances in which women took their children and stayed with relatives, never seeking a legal separation from their husbands. Everyone knew what was happening, but it prevented the law from becoming involved. However, these women were social outcasts afterward and the town gossips could be vicious.
I thought over what I knew about gambling. If Ned was unable to pay his debts, enforcers would stop at nothing to make him pay. I wasn’t certain that Jane understood the full danger she and her children could be in if Ned couldn’t stop gambling.
“I still love him,” she whimpered. “I wish things would go back to the way that they were before he started making bets. We used to be so happy. I fear that he won’t stop until something desperate happens.”
I reached for her hand and squeezed it sympathetically. “If there’s ever anything I can do, Jane, you have only to ask.”
She gripped my fingers tightly and said fiercely, “Please don’t tell Will about this.”
“I don’t know if I can do that,” I floundered.
“He would kill Ned if he knew what was happening.” Her wide eyes beseeched me. “I’ll tell him in time, but I need to find a solution first. Otherwise, there’s no telling what Will might do.”
I knew that to be true. “I won’t lie to him,” I amended. “However, I won’t bring up the topic, nor will I share your secrets if I can avoid it.”
“Thank you, Rose,” she sighed.
We heard sounds of the men returning and Jane made a hasty retreat to the powder room to hide signs that she’d been crying. I took advantage of her absence to watch Ned carefully. He was most certainly miserable. His cheeks were reddened from drinking and he seemed incapable of keeping himself from pouring out drink after drink. He made no attempt to join in the conversation, choosing instead to frown broodily at his glass.
When Jane returned, she tried to follow along with the conversation, though her eyes and attention were repeatedly drawn back to her husband’s antisocial behavior.
Mr. Edwards circled back to the issue of Hugh Meriwether’s death. “Violent lives often beget violent deaths,” he preached. “Those who participate in such vices are often victims of their own degradation. Why would a man take his hard-earned money and give it away to wicked men? I’ve read that gamblers often also run brothels and other underhanded businesses that tear at the very fabric of good society.”
While he wasn’t wrong, poor Jane seemed as thoug
h she was about to fall apart into a hundred pieces. Mrs. Edwards was blushing at the mention of such things. I racked my brain for some way to change the subject.
Mr. Edwards preached on, “That Meriwether fellow was killed by a blow to the head. What sort of depraved individual must have been so desperate that he struck such a blow? Clearly, this is the evidence that gambling causes decent citizens to reach the end of their pitiful ropes.”
Ned stood abruptly to his feet, swayed in place, then slurred, “Thank you for a lovely evening. We’re leaving.”
He made his way to the door and Jane had nothing else to do but gather the children and follow him, casting apologetic looks at all of us as she went.
The Edwards followed their daughter to the foyer to bid her good night. Will took advantage of the opportunity to sidle up to me. I prayed that he wouldn’t ask me any questions about Jane.
“I have to hand it to Ned,” he said with a rueful smile. “I can’t begin to count the number of times I would have liked to leave one of Father’s lectures like that. I suppose it only required copious amounts of liquor to give Ned the courage to finally do it.”
I tried to smile at him, but my pity for his sister made it a struggle.
Chapter Eight
I will confess that I had a great deal of difficulty keeping my mind on Reverend Mitchell’s homily the next morning. Any time I could marshal my thoughts, they would sneak off to mull over the situation with Jane and Ned or the Finneys. Time and again, I would realize that the rest of the congregation was sitting or leafing through their hymnals while I was standing, lost in thought.
Our cook always created a more elaborate meal for Sunday luncheon. Father’s love of her roast chicken was well known and was often featured prominently on that day. On that particular Sunday, Cal joined us soon after we arrived home. I hadn’t seen him at church, but was glad he could join us for dinner. Now that we’d made our peace, I looked forward to seeing him with, what I told myself, was professional enthusiasm.
Betting on Death Page 6
