I lowered the stone to the ground for a moment to suck on my finger and catch my breath. This was an old shed and an old door. There might be more than one way to open it. If I pounded on the hinges, maybe I could break them. I felt on the right side but there was no hinge. Of course. The hinges must be on the outside, because the door opened out. Maybe I could loosen them from in here. I used the stone to pound some more, but when I leaned my shoulder into the door, it still didn’t budge. I kicked at where the lower hinge should be, resulting only in my big toe aching.
Back at the left side, I set down the rock. I was stronger than many of my sex, but not strong enough to break down a door with a stone. If only I had a prying tool of some kind. Oh. I might not have fully explored every inch of the shed. In fact, I hadn’t run my hands over the high shelf. On my way back there, my hip clipped the handlebar of one of the bicycles, causing it to fall away from me, taking the other one with it. Wreaking havoc with bicycles was worth it. I returned to the door grasping a two-foot-long metal bar with a flat claw at one end and a hooked one on the other, a tool my father had dubbed a crowbar. Could it act as enough of a lever to help me open the door?
I managed to wedge the flat end between the wide vertical boards at the hinge side of the door. Applying a mighty effort on both my part and the iron crow’s, I pried the board closest to the right free from the top hinge. Finally something was going my way. The bottom one screeched as it came away, the board falling toward me, the wind rushing in. I stepped aside to let the wood fall where it may. It hit the bicycles with a thud. I slid sideways through the opening, grateful I had a naturally slender build.
A moment of fright overcame me. Had my attacker waited outside the shed all this time to finish me off? When no one materialized, I raced toward the back door of the house, crowbar raised in one hand, house key in the other. The snick of the lock shutting me safely inside had never sounded so good.
Chapter Forty-nine
A fierce wind rattled the windows as I readied myself the next morning, but at least it wasn’t an attacker doing so. On my way out the door at around nine, I picked up the crowbar. I’d slept with it next to my bed, in case I would need a weapon at hand during the night. My sleep had been a restless one. A storm blowing in had set a branch to scratching the roof, and all night a door banged somewhere, likely the very shed door I’d left hanging by its locked latch.
Despite the wind, it was oddly warm out. Tropical storms sometimes came this far north, with Cape Cod bearing their brunt much more than where I lived. I prayed this one wouldn’t become a hurricane. Maybe they would have news in town of what the weather might bring.
Outside, I glanced all around. If my attacker came back, he or she would know I’d gotten out. I was still in danger as long as I was alone. But I saw no one lurking. After I locked the house door behind me, I first made my way to the shed. The door was a sorry sight, listing askew. I examined the latch. The hasp and plate were rusty, but the padlock my jailer had clicked shut was of a new and shiny metal. I leaned down and peered at the name printed on it: Yale. A piece of the hasp had broken off, leaving a jagged shard of metal stained with something dark. My attacker’s blood?
I needed to get to Edwin, and fast. First I set the crowbar inside the small building and rolled the large rock to the outside. I straightened and closed the door as best I could, jamming the stone against the bottom. If we had driving rains later, some would get inside, but this was the best I could do for now to keep the shed’s contents dry. I was not inclined to start reattaching the hinges, which would probably need replacing with new ones, anyway.
As a bell clanged furiously from the outer harbor, I made sure my bonnet was firmly tied and hurried toward town, the wind whipping my skirts around my legs. How many times had I entered the law office this week? Nearly daily, I thought.
Young Larkin looked up and jumped to his feet when I approached his desk. “Good morning, Mrs. Dodge. Detective Merritt is out, I’m afraid. Can I help you with anything?”
Alas. “Thank thee, Larkin. Does thee know when he’s expected to return?”
“No. He’s off on the trail of the murderer, you see, following up a number of leads,” he said with excitement.
“I understand.” I thought I’d better outline last night’s attack for him. If something happened to me, no one would know about the prior attack. “Please tell him I was attacked last evening by an unknown assailant.”
His eyes became saucers.
“But I got myself free unharmed. If Edwin arrives before noon, could thee ask him to pay me a call at Huldah and Sadie Gifford’s home? He knows where it is.”
“I shall do so, of course. I’m glad you are well, Mrs. Dodge.”
I smiled at his respectful tone. “I am, and I thank thee. Good day.”
Once outside, I thought I might see if the Union Store carried padlocks. I hurried along the walk. From the ever-darkening skies, rain seemed imminent, and I hoped to be indoors at Sadie’s when it hit. The train whistle sounded from a few blocks away. I smiled to myself, picturing Daddy already making his way south. Trains traveled in all kinds of weather. I knew even a tropical storm wouldn’t delay his arrival. A hurricane might be a different matter, and it would surely delay or even postpone the Memorial Meeting.
Gilbert Boyce greeted me when I entered his store.
“Good morning, Gilbert,” I said. Drat. I’d forgotten the egg container again.
“What can I help you with today, Mrs. Dodge?”
“An outbuilding on my aunts’ property needs securing. Might thee sell padlocks?”
“Indeed we do.” He came out from behind the counter, wiping his hands on his long half apron. “Follow me.” He led me to an area filled with bolts, nails, wires, and other bits of hardware. An array of Yale locks from tiny to bigger than my hand hung in order of size from hooks. An empty hook marked the spot where a lock the size of the one now fastened to Tilly and Dru’s shed would have been.
“Alas, this would be about the size I wanted.” I pointed to the gap. “Did someone recently purchase that very one?”
“I expect so, or I would have already restocked it. I can’t recall selling a padlock of late, though.”
“Perhaps Brigid waited on the person.”
“She’s the only other one who would have. I’d ask her but she requested the day off. Said she had to work with her father this morning, and she wanted to pay her respects to your aunts this afternoon.” He glanced at me. “Sure you can’t go up or down a size? We have plenty.”
“No, I think the missing one is the size which would work the best. I’ll have my aunts check with thee next week, shall I?”
“I can do better than that. I’ll deliver it to them when it comes in. Service with a smile is our motto here.” His broad grin was the proof of his statement.
“Well, I thank thee kindly.” I made my way out. Good. I could speak with Brigid before or after Frannie’s service and ask who’d bought the padlock in question. Now I wanted to find someone to repair the shed door before my aunts saw the damage. It wouldn’t do to worry them with the story of my being attacked. I was sure Daddy could do it if he had the proper tools. I’d be back in Amesbury by the time Tilly and Dru were surprised at the delivery of a shiny new padlock they hadn’t requested.
Chapter Fifty
I arrived at Sadie’s kitchen, which was redolent with delicious aromas, to find her, Dru, and Marie preparing refreshments to serve after Frannie’s farewell. I grabbed an apron, washed my hands, and insisted on helping. Two chicken aspics already glistened on a sideboard, and dozens of fish fritters drained on a piece of brown paper. Marie sat at the table slicing tomatoes and cucumbers for a salad platter.
“Good morning, Rose,” Marie said. “I have been meaning to ask you, do you know Mr. Whittier? He’s called the Quaker Poet, isn’t he?”
“Indeed I do,” I replied as I formed small balls of the sugar cookie dough Sadie had pointed me to and set them on a flat
baking sheet. “I’m blessed to call him friend with a small F.”
“Truly?” Marie asked in awe.
I laughed. “He’s a person, Marie. He has every bit as many foibles as the rest of us.”
She shook her head in wonder. But it was true. No matter what her church taught, no one was a saint. Each of us had failings and made mistakes, John Whittier included.
“Will thee invite everyone in attendance at the Meeting to gather here afterward?” I asked Sadie.
“I don’t see why not. It’s simpler that way.” Sadie rolled out another small circle of pie dough and nestled it into a six-inch pan. “What does thee think, Dru?”
My aunt frowned. “Tilly might not want certain personages included.” Dru was mincing celery and onions for meat pie filling. She sniffed and wiped her eyes from the onion tears.
“Like Reuben, for example?” I asked.
“Yes,” Dru said. “Abial Latting’s another one she’s taken a disliking to.”
With good reason, I thought.
“Then we shan’t announce the gathering here, instead asking only certain people in confidence,” Sadie said, but frowned to herself.
“Do you worry about hard feelings, not inviting everyone?” Marie asked.
“Of course,” Sadie said.
“Frannie’s friend Brigid is going to be there,” I chimed in. “I wonder if Hazel will come, too.”
Dru frowned. “I hope not.”
“Now, Dru, thee knows a Memorial Meeting for Worship is open to the community,” Sadie chided gently. “If someone is mourning the loss of Frannie, we always let them join us in worship.”
“I know, I know. My sister won’t be happy about that.”
“I won’t be happy about what?” Tilly appeared in the doorway, still in a faded blue flannel dressing gown, her slate gray hair in a messy braid, her face gaunt.
“Well, well. Good morning, sunshine,” Dru said.
“Oh, shut up, Drusilla,” Tilly snapped.
Dru drew back as if she’d been slapped. I’d never heard Tilly speak in such a severe fashion to her sister, but then, I didn’t live with these two ladies who were so different in temperament.
“I can stay in bed on the day of my . . .” She glanced at Marie. “Of my ward’s farewell if I want to, especially considering I didn’t sleep at all in the night.”
She must have been about to say “granddaughter,” but Marie didn’t know that Frannie had been more than a ward to Tilly.
Tilly came to my side. “Is thee all right, Rose? I had a terrible premonition thee was in trouble last evening.” She gazed into my eyes.
Good heavens. How could she have known? I kept my expression as even as I could. I would not add to her troubles by telling the truth about my being attacked. Not now and perhaps never. “I am well, Aunt Tilly. This is a terribly hard time for thee.”
“Does thee have any news?” Tilly asked with a burning intensity.
“Nothing of substance, I’m afraid, but I have every confidence Edwin will bring the villain to justice.”
“He always was a diligent boy,” Dru added.
Sadie dusted off her hands. “Sit, dear Tilly. I’ll make thee a plate of breakfast.”
Tilly shook her head. “I cannot eat at this time. I would be grateful for a cup of coffee, though.” She sank down to sit next to Marie.
Sadie had just delivered black coffee to Tilly and still held the pot when a rapping came at the screen door. The solid door was wide open so the kitchen didn’t overheat. Five female gazes swung in the same direction to see Edwin himself standing on the back porch.
“Edwin Merrit.” Sadie was the first to speak. “Do come in, Detective.”
He entered but hovered near the door, bowler in hand. “I’m sorry to intrude on you ladies.” He inhaled, his face taking on a hungry look. “My, but doesn’t it smell good in here. Cooking up delicacies for later, are you?”
“Yes, we are.” Sadie lifted the pot. “Coffee?”
“I can’t help but say yes. Thank you, Mrs. Gifford.”
Tilly drew her robe closer around her and tucked a few stray hairs behind her ears. “Please join us at the table, Edwin.”
“Yes, do,” Marie said, patting the place next to her.
Edwin cast me a look that telegraphed, “I only came to hear your information,” but he sat.
Sadie gave him a cup of coffee. She placed a cinnamon roll on a small plate and delivered that, too.
“Gracious sakes, Mrs. Gifford. I’m much obliged.”
I cleared my throat and gestured we all should resume our work. No need to make the man nervous. “We were talking about who might attend the service this afternoon.”
“Oh?” Edwin asked.
“I hope thee will join us, Edwin,” Dru said. “And come here after it is over for some sustenance and conversation.”
“I shall be at the Meetinghouse at the appointed hour,” he said.
I shot him a glance. He’d be at the service to pay his respects or to catch a killer? Both, with any luck.
“Is thee close to apprehending the villain?” Tilly wrapped both hands around her cup.
“I believe we’re making progress in the case, Miss Tilly.”
Good.
“But not enough yet to make an arrest, I’m afraid.” Edwin bit into the roll, clearly savoring it.
Oh. Tilly stared into her drink. I needed to tell Edwin about what had happened in the shed last night. I finished the cookie dough, then pressed each ball flat with two fingers. A pile of peelings and other vegetable refuse sat in a bowl.
“These cookies are ready for the oven, Sadie.” I picked up the bowl. “I’ll take this refuse out to the garden. Edwin, could thee help me, please?”
Sadie shot me a look, knowing full well it didn’t take two people to carry one container to the vegetable refuse heap. Edwin gulped down his coffee and stood, grabbing his hat.
“I need to be going, anyway. Thank you very much, Mrs. Gifford, for this refreshment. I shall see you ladies again in a few hours.”
“It was my pleasure,” Sadie said.
The wind blew like a demon outside, but the rain hadn’t yet begun to fall. I didn’t speak as we walked out back until we were well clear of the house and at the far edge of the garden. “I went by thy office earlier to tell thee I was forcibly locked in my aunts’ shed last night after dark.”
He gaped. “You what now, Mrs. Dodge?”
“Larkin didn’t tell thee?”
“No, I haven’t been by the office. When no one was home at your aunts’ house, I figured you might be here and wanted to know if you’d learned anything new.” He peered at me. “You seem well, but your forehead is cut. Were you otherwise hurt in the attack?”
“No.” I gingerly touched the healing wound and proceeded to tell him what had happened the evening before. “The thing is, I couldn’t identify the voice.”
“Not even male or female?”
I shook my head. The wind whipped a strand of my hair free from its pins, my bonnet being inside the house, and I pushed it out of my face. “Thee knows it’s entirely possible for a person to disguise his or her voice and sex by whispering and raising or lowering the pitch.”
“This is true, yes.”
“I finally managed to get free with the help of a friendly crowbar.”
His pale eyebrows went up. “You are a remarkable lady, I must say.”
“Not at all. But I didn’t want to spend my night in there, and my entreaties for help were not having the effect I’d desired.” I lifted a shoulder and dropped it. “Anyway, I examined the latch in the light of day this morning. A new Yale padlock of a sort sold in the market here in town had secured the door. The latch itself was old and rusty and the hasp half broken. I thought I might have seen blood on the metal shard. Looking closely for a bandaged hand or a bloody cuff this afternoon could prove important.”
“I shall do so. It’s curious that your attacker knew enough about the s
hed to bring a padlock with him.”
I stared at him. “That’s right. I hadn’t thought of that. Brigid McChesney might know who bought the last padlock of the exact size now affixed to the shed.”
“At the Union Store.”
“Yes.” I went on. “In addition, after I spoke with thee yesterday, I encountered Abial Latting near his home. I happened to inquire if he enjoyed fishing. He said he hated seafood and never went out on the water. He protested rather too vehemently, I thought. It’s something to consider.”
“It’s a bit of a stretch to leap from that to murder.” Edwin cocked his head. “You happened to encounter him?”
“Yes.” I raised my chin. “I was looking for Zerviah. Thee knows the Baxter family lives in the cottage behind the Latting mansion.”
“I do.”
“Abial seemed to know about my detecting, and I’m not sure how. At any rate, I proceeded to the back, where Reuben and his father were arguing. Zerviah was not at home. Joseph left and I had a brief chat with Reuben.” I realized I was still holding the bowl of trimmings. I dumped it on a fragrant pile of previously discarded kitchen waste.
“Did you learn something from young Baxter?”
“I think I mentioned earlier he had lost his hat, which is still missing. He also said Hazel Bowman manipulates girls and is possessive of their friendship. Was it she who told thee early on Reuben was seen with Frannie?”
“I’ll have to check my notes. The person spoke to Officer Larkin.”
“Regardless, Reuben thought Hazel could have killed Frannie because she had turned her affections away from Hazel and toward him.”
“Curious, but possible. I have to admit, Mrs. Dodge, the facts of this homicide are the murkiest and most tangled I’ve ever investigated.” He touched his hat. “And now I must get back to it. I shall see you this afternoon.”
I said goodbye and watched him go. Tangled and murky the case most certainly was. Impossible to solve? I prayed it wasn’t.
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