The Case of the Troubled Tycoon: A Gilded Age Historical Cozy Mystery (Shipwreck Point Mysteries Book 5)

by Elise M Stone

  “I never thought…” Muir frowned, and Titus saw that the idea might not be new to him.

  “Do you have any idea where he might have run off to?”

  Muir furrowed his brow. “I have a cousin in Brookline, but I can’t imagine Duncan asking him to take him in.”

  Was that an admission? It sounded as if he knew his son had murdered Warren Chapman. “What did you think he’d do?”

  “What reason would he have to do anything?”

  Titus’s jaw ached, and he realized he was clenching his teeth. Even when he’d been speaking, he’d barely opened his mouth. He had to calm down if he was going to make any progress here. And then he thought of something he’d never bothered to ask the man. “You knew Warren Chapman longer than I did. Do you have any idea who might have wanted to kill him?”

  “Other than Duncan,” he said dryly, but then his eyes narrowed and he stared at the wall over Titus’s shoulder. After a while, he focused on the lawyer’s face again. “Sorry, no. I can’t imagine anyone committing murder, certainly not of our class.”

  The lawyer bristled at the insinuation. He wanted to shout out that he’d defended more than one of “our class”, which was not his own class at all, from a murder charge. Momentarily astonished that the incident that had brought him to his current situation was still so raw in his soul, he briefly closed his eyes as he took a deep breath. The man was only a product of his upbringing and the times. Despite much evidence to the contrary, the upper class seemed to believe that crimes were only committed by those below them. He doubted they’d ever see it any other way. “Anyone not ‘of your class’?”

  Muir shook his head. He took a deep breath. “I didn’t exactly tell you the truth when we spoke before. Arthur Muir wasn’t dead when I entered his house. He was alive.”

  Titus had all he could do to keep from hammering the man with questions. Better to let him tell it in his own way first.

  “He must have heard me calling his name because he came to the doorway of the room he uses as an office. When he saw me, he crossed his arms over his chest and his face took on a pinched expression.

  “Nevertheless, I was determined to settle things with him for once and for all, and so I apologized for the lateness of the hour, then told him I wanted to discuss our disagreements like gentlemen.”

  “And how did he react to that?” Titus asked.

  “He still wasn’t pleased. I could tell because he remained posed in the doorway, as if intent on blocking my admission. Finally, he uncrossed his arms, said, ‘Very well,’ then turned and led the way to his desk.

  “I explained about the cuckoo clock once more, trying to present my case in a manner he’d understand, but my strategy didn’t work. Rather than discuss the cuckoo clock, he jumped out of his chair and waved his fists in the air, bearing down on me like an angry bear.

  “ ‘You came about the clock?’ he yelled. ‘I thought you were here about the commodore’s position, which is at least up for discussion. But I will not discuss my clock with the man who stole it from me.’ All through this, he got closer and closer. Every time I backed up a step, he advanced. He was so angry, to be truthful, I feared for my life. When his arms reached out as if to choke me, I attempted to fight him off. We wrestled like madmen, but Chapman was fitter than I was, and was near to overcoming me. I remember my vest twisting on my torso as we struggled.

  “That’s when the charm must have separated from its fastening and fallen on the floor.” Muir took a deep breath. His fingers grasped the edge of the table as he leaned forward. “As we grappled with one another, my eyes lit on the spike on his desk, and in desperation, I grabbed it and stabbed him. He became limp and fell to the floor. I picked up Chapman’s wrist and felt for a pulse, but there wasn’t any.” Anguish choked his words. “At that point, all I could think of was getting as far away from him as fast as I could.”

  At the end of his speech, his body sagged.

  “Why didn’t you rouse the servants? Or call for the doctor? Chapman’s telephone was right there on the desk.”

  Muir relaxed his grip on the table and leaned back. “I told you I wasn’t thinking clearly. I didn’t dare let anyone see me there, not after our vicious argument at the yacht club meeting.”

  “So you thought you could get away with murder?”

  “It was an accident. I didn’t mean to kill him,” Muir said.

  Titus considered that for a few minutes. The tale was too perfect, almost as if Arthur Muir had rehearsed it. On the other hand, the way he told it, pleading self-defense was very likely to get him off. Or at least a minimal sentence. But the lawyer had serious doubts that the man had committed the murder at all. “Do you expect me to believe your story?”

  “I do. Because it’s true.”

  “Then I suppose we’re finished here. I’ll let you know if I hear any news about Duncan.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  Titus rose, slid open the door of the peep window, and shouted for Officer Ryan.

  Wanting to be helpful, and curious herself, Elisabeth decided there was time for one more stop before she headed home for supper. Rose Baldwin’s house was at the opposite end of Quincy Street from her own, and since she’d been at Melissa’s tussie-mussie class, she might know her well enough to have been a confidant.

  A housemaid showed her to the parlor and asked her to wait. The room was as ornate as any in Whitby, done in a Louis XVI style, with a crystal chandelier hanging from the intricately painted ceiling. A frieze of children engaged in various sports bordered the top of the wall, and red papier-mâché ornaments decorated the wainscoting. Elisabeth perched on a chair so delicate she was afraid it might fracture under her weight. Certainly its owner had assured that wouldn’t happen. Nevertheless, she rose to her feet and crossed to a sturdier seat in an armchair upholstered in gold brocade.

  A small table beside the chair held the latest copy of Godey’s Lady’s Book, which Elisabeth had already seen. The Whitby Weekly poked out from beneath it, the front page headline screaming the news of the arrest of Arthur Muir. Curious as to what it said, Elisabeth slid it from under the magazine and began to read the article. When it was continued on the inside, Elisabeth turned the page to continue reading, but her gaze was arrested by an advertisement for a women’s defense class.

  “Elisabeth.” Rose said with glee as she entered the parlor. “How nice of you to call. The only time I see you now is at the Chautauqua Club meetings.” She eased herself into a nearby chair. “I swear, the only reason I go to them is for the conversation. I’m hardly interested in the books Stella picks out.”

  Trying not to take offense, Elisabeth said, “You do know that I went into Boston with her recently to pick out our next read?”

  Rose’s hands, which had been folded demurely in her lap, fluttered about for a moment, touching her face, then her neck, before settling in their former position once more. “Well, uh, in that case, I’m sure it will be a much better selection this time.”

  Elisabeth almost laughed out loud. Thinking a change of topic before she got to the true reason for her visit might ease the situation, she tapped the advertisement with her fingernail. “Did you notice this about a self-defense class for women?”

  Rose arched her neck to look at what she was pointing to. “No, I hadn’t. I can’t see the point of one. At least not in Whitby. It’s very safe here.”

  “But all of us go into Boston occasionally,” she said, thinking of the ladies on the ferry traveling to the Holmes Department Store sale. “And not always accompanied by men. George Rowland is teaching it. I learned recently that he’s also giving fencing lessons to some of the young men here.”

  “I have a cousin in Newport who tells me fencing is all the rage now not only for men but also for women. They’re having all kinds of competitions. It doesn’t seem very ladylike to me.” Rose’s voice drifted into a disinterested monotone at the end. She sat back and looked about the room, as if seeking a topic o
f conversation on the walls.

  Elisabeth came to her rescue. “I was wondering…”

  Rose’s eyes pivoted to her guest. “Yes?”

  “Did you hear that Duncan Muir has disappeared?”

  Disappointed, Rose said, “Everyone’s heard that by now.”

  “But did you also hear that Melissa Chapman has left Whitby?”

  “No. Do tell.”

  Elisabeth nodded and leaned forward to enhance the impression that she had juicy gossip to share. “One morning, she up and announced to her mother she was going away for a few days. Pauline Chapman said she tried to dissuade her, but Melissa would have none of it.”

  “How scandalous! Do you suppose… ?”

  She nodded again. “Very possibly.”

  “She could be ruined if she’s caught with Duncan. I imagine if her father were alive, he would have imprisoned her in her room to keep her from going. But, of course, he’s not.” Her face took on a grave expression as she sighed.

  “I was wondering,” Elisabeth began, “you being of the same social class and all, if Melissa might have said something to you about where she was going?”

  “Me? We were never friends. In fact, the tussie-mussie class was the most time I’ve spent with her in years. She’s quite a bit younger than I am, you know.”

  While Rose Baldwin was almost a year older than herself, her youthful appearance always made Elisabeth think of her as one of the younger women in town. “Of course. Her mother is so worried, I thought it was worth the chance of asking in case you might know something that would ease her mind. Or tell her where to send someone after her wayward daughter.”

  “Sorry, no. But I’ll ask around and see if anyone else has heard something. There’s a tea tomorrow where there will be several young ladies accompanying their mothers. Perhaps one of them was a confidant.”

  “Thank you so much.” The Westminster chimes of a grandfather clock in the hall announced the hour, giving Elisabeth a reason to terminate the visit. “And now I’ll be late for supper and Annie will scold me because I’ve caused her to burn the biscuits again.”

  “I’d better let you go in that case,” Rose said. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Titus tried to turn the handle of the door to his law offices and was amazed to find it locked. Elisabeth almost always arrived before he did to start the fire in the parlor stove, make coffee, and be available for any unexpected potential clients. He hoped nothing had happened to her.

  Digging his keys out of his pocket, he found the correct one and inserted it in the lock. When he opened the door, the wan early morning light barely illuminated the outer office, and he hurried to raise the shade on the single window on the west wall. He thought about lighting the oil lamp on his secretary’s desk, but decided he’d leave that until she arrived.

  His office, which had outside walls on the north side as well as the west, had two windows and plenty of light to see by, so, after hanging up his hat, he set about starting a fire in the stove and hoped Elisabeth would arrive in time to make the coffee. He wasn’t used to doing that, and he was more likely to brew something undrinkable than not.

  Fortunately, he soon heard the door to the outer office open. His spirits rose, and he turned to greet her. Only it wasn’t Elisabeth who’d entered.

  “No coffee?” Owen Campbell cried with dismay.

  “I’m afraid my secretary hasn’t arrived yet. How are you with brewing coffee?”

  The detective shook his head. “I can make it in a pinch, but I think we’d be better off waiting a few minutes to see if she shows up.”

  To his relief, the outer door opened again almost immediately, followed by the appearance of Elisabeth Wade shortly thereafter. She glanced at the parlor stove. “Sorry I’m late. I stopped at the post office on my way in to check for mail. I’ll have your coffee ready in a jiffy.”

  She picked up the coffeepot from where it sat on a table near the stove and hurried down to the WC to fill it with water.

  “Do you have any news for me?” Titus asked Campbell, more to pass the time than with the expectation there would be any.

  “Not since yesterday. I wasn’t able to see Rowland at the bank. He promised me he’d make some time around the lunch hour today.”

  Once the coffee was happily burbling on the stove, Elisabeth ducked out to her desk. She returned carrying a stack of mail. “I’m afraid it’s mostly invoices for the monthly expenses, but there’s one envelope”—she paused to shuffle through them—“that looked important. Here it is.”

  She pulled it from the stack and put it in front of him. The return address was the Whitby Courthouse, and Titus felt a tightening in his throat. There was no point in delay, so he opened his desk drawer and took out a letter opener. After slitting the top of the envelope, he extracted the piece of paper inside and read it. When he was done, he said, “I’m afraid we’re under the gun now. Judge Crane would like me to meet with him this afternoon, which can only mean he’s decided on a date for the preliminary hearing.”

  It was a good thing Elisabeth had stopped for the mail this morning. If she hadn’t, and he’d missed the meeting—and possibly even the beginning of the hearing—his client would be in a great deal of trouble. Not that he wasn’t already. His secretary’s stricken look told him she understood the seriousness of the situation.

  “I should have gone to the post office yesterday. I mean to go at least every other day, but there’s rarely anything worth the time it takes to get it.”

  “You needn’t make excuses. The mail isn’t something I think much about myself. But we will have to be ready a lot sooner than I expected.”

  “Are you prepared for a hearing?” Campbell asked.

  “Hardly,” Titus admitted. “Whitby does make progress through a case more quickly than Boston, but old Judge Dewey was never in a rush to get to the preliminary hearing. There was plenty of time to prepare. In this instance, we’re going to be at a severe disadvantage unless one of you has figured out who the murderer is since yesterday. Because I certainly haven’t.”

  The detective shook his head.

  Elisabeth said, “I may not know the identity of the killer, but I do have some interesting news.”

  The lawyer’s mood lightened, and for the first time this morning, he thought there might be a chance of salvaging this case. “What would that be?” he asked eagerly.

  “As suggested, I paid a call at the Chapman house yesterday afternoon. To my surprise, it wasn’t Melissa Chapman who received me, but her mother. When I inquired how her daughter was feeling after the demise of Warren Chapman, Pauline said that Melissa had ‘gone away for a few days.’ ”

  “Do you know where?” Titus eagerly asked her.

  She shook her head. “Not precisely, but shortly before she made her announcement, she received a tussie-mussie. I can only surmise that it carried a message from young Duncan. I’m sure we’re all assuming she went to join her fiancé, but unless Owen finds out where he is, we’re no better off than we were yesterday.”

  “It’s starting to sound as if the two of them conspired to murder her father,” Owen said. “At the very least, you have your reasonable doubt.”

  “Perhaps. But I’m certain my client won’t let me go ahead on that basis.” It wasn’t as positive as the detective made it sound. “That may suffice at trial—although it’s a little subtle for a jury—but not for the hearing. Garner only needs to provide enough evidence to show that Muir should be put on trial there. Especially since Arthur confessed.”

  “What?” Campbell said.

  Titus explained how Arthur Muir had changed his story the minute he knew his son was likely to have been the murderer. “I’ll have enough trouble preventing him from telling his tale in court. Suggesting his son is the guilty party would only prompt him to blurt it out.”

  Titus took a deep breath. Why was no case ever easy? Pinning Campbell with his intense stare, he said, “You know wh
at your assignment is for today?”

  “I know. Finding the young lovers is like looking for a needle in a haystack, but I’ll give it my best shot.” He gulped down the last of his coffee and rose from his chair. “I’ll come back around five and report on what I’ve found. Or not found.”

  The morning went all too quickly, and after a quick luncheon at the pub, Titus said goodbye to Elisabeth at the courthouse while she returned to the office. He climbed the steps to the entrance. A lone clerk who sat at a small desk in the vestibule looked up as he walked in.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Strong. What can I do for you?”

  “Good afternoon, Zimmerman. I have a meeting with Judge Crane. Is he back from lunch yet?”

  “He is. Mr. Garner’s already with him.”

  “Thank you,” he said politely, although inside he was steaming. He didn’t like the idea of Garner and the judge conspiring together. For a moment he wondered about making that assumption, and then he didn’t wonder at all. Both of them were Payne’s men. It would be foolish to assume they weren’t on the same side.

  He entered the courtroom and, without pausing, marched to the door behind the bench which led to the judge’s chambers. He knocked, but didn’t wait for an answer before opening the door. As he’d assumed, the two men stood close together, their heads bent toward one another as if engaged in an intimate tête-à-tête. Startled at the sound of his heels on the wooden floor, both heads turned toward him with lips pressed together, as if afraid words they didn’t want him to hear might escape them.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Titus said heartily. “Was I mistaken about the time?”

  Light from the window behind Jasper Crane’s desk shone off his bald pate as he glanced at a nearby clock. “Not at all, Mr. Strong. In fact, you’re five minutes early.”