But she couldn’t very well excuse herself from her hosts at the beginning of the show to rush around to the other side to catch him. So for the third time, she sat through the songs and the girls in their short dresses and big hats, the feathers and silly plot of John Smith and Pocahontas. She would have to bide her time. Until the intermission.
When the lights rose again, Phil’s eyes were already trained on the watcher’s box. As Phil suspected, the box was empty. She scanned over to Godfrey’s box. The first thing she noticed was that Thomas wasn’t there and Ruth looked displeased.
Godfrey bent over her and said a few words, then he too left the box.
It was only a few minutes before he entered the Quincys’ box.
It was a formal call, no talk of murder. Phil introduced him to the Quincys, they spoke for a couple of minutes, and he departed as the lights for the second act went down.
It seemed interminable, before the curtain closed and the cast began their numerous curtain calls. Phil had to fall back on the time-old excuse of a headache to part from her friends as soon as they were out of the theatre.
“We totally understand,” Olivia said. “We’ve all been burning the candle at both ends and the season has barely started. But you, Phil, have put us all to shame. You could have blown me over when Godfrey Bennington appeared in our box this evening.”
“Oh really,” her husband complained.
“Well, he wasn’t coming to see me, I can assure you.”
“Good to know,” said her husband. “Let me put you in a taxi, Phil, and pay Livy no mind. With all the hoopla over this banking thing, even I’m feeling a bit off my game.”
“But you’re okay,” Phil said, suddenly realizing the repercussions were not over yet. In fact, they might just be beginning.
“Oh, I’ll see it through. Not to worry about me. But some. Whew, it’s been a brutal fall, I can tell you. Ah, here’s a taxi.”
As Phil stepped off the curb, someone brushed against her. She turned to look but saw nothing unusual, just the normal bustle of people leaving the theatre.
But as the taxi pulled away, she noticed that her purse was open. Hoping she hadn’t been the victim of a pickpocket, she quickly looked inside.
Nothing was missing, but something had been added. A torn corner from the evening’s program. Two names were handwritten in a script she recognized. Morse and Heinze. Tell Atkins.
She turned and looked out the window at the crowded sidewalk. Where are you? And why won’t you show yourself?
9
When Phil let herself into her apartments, Lily and Preswick were waiting at the study table, books and papers open and ready. Both were a little blurry-eyed and she made a note to give them some time off tomorrow.
Phil quickly exchanged her theatre gown for one of her silk kimonos. Wonderful things, kimonos. And joined them.
“I took the liberty of picking up the evening papers, my lady.” Preswick handed her several folded sheets. “Would you care for a cocktail or a cognac?”
“A cognac would be divine,” Phil said and opened the Times.
“‘An Accident with Deadly Consequences. Perry Fauks, son,’ etc., ‘and heir apparent of Fauks Copper, Coal and Steel, passed away Tuesday evening during a ball to celebrate,’ etc., etc.” She ran her finger down the article. “No mention of how, though I suspect it won’t be long until that news is leaked to the press. Let’s see. ‘Mr. Isaac Sheffield, New York manager of the company, was not available for comment.’ Some mention of the ball and who attended.” Phil dropped it to the floor. “Well, that didn’t take long.” She picked up The Sun.
“Oh dear. ‘Prank Takes a Tragic Turn. Heir to Fauks Copper, Coal and Steel died Thursday night from a fall that occurred during the debut ball of Miss Agnes Pratt.’ Interesting. But it pretty much has the same information as the Times. Well done, Detective Sergeant. Though I suspect much of the restraint came from Godfrey Bennington. Now, if we can depend on the family to be as discreet.”
She dropped the papers to the floor. “Now let us see how we can contribute to this investigation.”
The three of them opened their notebooks, a system they had been perfecting in the months since their first case.
“So we know that he was killed with a narrow sharp blade, as Lily says, something like a stiletto, or some other narrow fine blade. Most likely killed or at least unconscious before he was shoved down the laundry chute.” Phil shook her head. It was such an ignominious way to die. “He was dead when he was found. No active bleeding.” She took a sip of cognac. “Lily?”
“The girls when they were talking said they had been pushed out of the room as soon as the men came.”
“So they didn’t do any cleaning up?”
Lily shook her head. “Only the sheet they burned.”
“So there is still no murder weapon that we know of. The only things found in the chute were…” She glanced at Preswick. “A scrap of paper, a pair of lady’s drawers, and quite a bit of lint.”
They all took a moment to write their notes.
“I saw no scuffs on the carpets near the chute, nor in Perry Fauks’s room. Which means…”
“He was carried to the chute,” Lily said.
Preswick cleared his throat but didn’t reprimand her for speaking out of turn. Progress to be sure. “Or he was accosted in the hallway in front of the opening, stabbed, and pushed inside,” he added.
Phil looked at her notes. Many possibilities, not one clear explanation.
“I did find an Imperial topaz on the carpet nearby the opening on the second floor. It’s a valuable stone. If someone has lost it, surely they would have noticed by now and called on Mrs. Pratt to apprise her of the loss.”
“Do you think it is a clue?” Preswick asked.
“I have no reason to think so, but it’s not to be discounted. There were close to two hundred people at the ball that night, but most of them would have no reason to be in that section of the second floor.”
“Atkins didn’t ask the family about the gem, at least when I was around. I wonder why.”
“Perhaps he didn’t want to tip his hand,” Preswick said.
Phil and Lily both looked at him in surprise.
“I believe that is the expression.”
“To be sure,” Phil agreed, studying her notes. “And then there are Maud Jeffrey’s love notes to Perry. And Agnes, who according to everyone but Agnes expected a marriage proposal from Perry. But Atkins questioned her today. She asked me to accompany her.”
“Very clever, my lady.”
“It wasn’t my cleverness. She didn’t want her parents to hear what she had to say, but she needed support to say it. She intimated that he was insisting on more than she wanted to give, if you understand me.”
Both Preswick and Lily nodded seriously.
“Let’s see, what else? Oh yes, while we were in the study, Vincent the secretary came in for some papers. And there’s something between those two. Not necessarily love, but definitely attraction.
“Isaac Sheffield has for all intents and purposes disappeared. His office say he’s out of town on business but won’t say where. Gwen Pratt and I are calling on his wife tomorrow.
“Everyone caught up? Good. Did I miss anything?”
“The ticker tape, my lady.”
“Yes, Preswick. Were you able to ascertain anything about it?”
“It is the stock market initials for Fauks Copper, Coal and Steel. Its stock has dropped eighty-seven percent in the last few weeks. The bulk of it in the last few days.”
“That’s bad,” Phil said.
“Devastating, my lady.”
“But that wouldn’t be Perry’s fault. Sheffield’s? Perhaps Perry found out and confronted Sheffield. They fought and … Well, I’ll tell the detective sergeant about it and see if he thinks it’s important.
“And now for the pièce de résistance.” Phil reached into her kimono and pulled out the scrap from the Follies program. �
�Someone—and I believe it might have been our old friend, the master of disguise—bumped into me in the street outside the theatre tonight. I found this in my bag when I got in the taxi.”
“‘Morse and Heinze,’” Preswick read aloud, then looked at Phil.
“I have no idea what it means. But it must be important. Tomorrow, Preswick, ask if anyone among your town acquaintances can decipher it.”
“What shall I do?” asked Lily
“Pack for the country.”
* * *
Much to Phil’s surprise, Loretta Sheffield was “at home” when Phil and Gwen arrived at her doorstep the next morning.
“Dear Etta,” Gwen said, stepping forward to take their hostess’s hands in hers. “I’m so sorry that you missed Agnes’s ball, but Agnes loves the brooch you sent. She asked me to tell you that it was one of her favorite presents.”
Loretta smiled wanly. “So kind.”
“I’ve brought my friend, Lady Dunbridge. I knew you’d want to make her acquaintance.”
“I’m honored, Lady Dunbridge. Won’t you both be seated?”
She gestured to a sitting area on the far side of the parlor, where a dark Victorian sofa and two uncomfortable-looking parlor chairs were placed before a many-paned window that seemed to prevent any direct sunlight from creeping into the room.
The atmosphere was oppressive, dark and out of date as if time had stopped inside this room, perhaps in the entire house, and certainly within their hostess, who had probably been quite handsome as a young woman, but now wore the dour expression of someone who had borne many burdens and not borne them well.
She was petite, excruciatingly thin, with dark hair streaked with gray.
They all sat down and Loretta Sheffield rang for tea. Phil settled in for what might be a long and arduous visit before they got to the actual point of why they’d come.
But Loretta fooled her. “Gwen, how on earth did this happen?”
Gwen blinked in surprise. Then collected herself quickly. “Isaac told you then. I wasn’t sure…”
“Isaac? No. His office called looking for him. That nice Mr. Stokes broke the news. Luther had called him to inform Isaac, but Isaac had gone ‘out of town.’”
Phil perked up at the slightly acidic tone of Loretta’s statement. She recognized a euphemism when she heard it. Now what exactly did Loretta mean and was she going to enlighten them?
“And then some odious policeman came here yesterday. I suppose to inform Isaac of the news. I didn’t see him, but my butler said he had the actual effrontery to appear at the front door.”
And since he’d been denied, it fell to Phil to find out what she could.
“Did your husband learn of the terrible … event … before he left for his business trip?” Phil asked innocently.
“I have absolutely no idea.” Loretta waved to the maid to bring in the tea tray.
When she’d gone, Gwen said, “It must have been a sudden trip. Have you spoken to him?”
Loretta looked up briefly, but went back to pouring. “No. Milk? Sugar, Lady Dunbridge?”
“As is, thank you.” Phil took her cup, watched as Loretta went through the pouring ritual twice more, and thought she might scream with impatience.
“You must be sorely affected by poor Perry’s death,” Gwen said, taking another tack.
“Yes, very,” Loretta said.
Phil was surprised to see her smile slightly.
“He was like a puppy when he was younger, full of enthusiasm and grand ideas, always getting into mischief. Some of it harmless, some less so. I blame his family for not giving him more responsibility. He was very bright, full of schemes, but they would never listen to him.”
And to Phil’s utter astonishment, she began to cry.
Gwen switched seats to sit beside her on the settee. “Oh my dear, I had no idea you were that close.”
Loretta pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve, dabbed at her eyes. “We weren’t really. He used to stay with us when he was in town. Before…”
Gwen frowned. “Before he began paying attention to Agnes?”
“Oh no, Gwen. Nothing like that. He just got impatient and was always at loggerheads with Isaac. Perry urged Isaac to give him more power, but Isaac refused. Isaac’s hands were tied—it was stipulated by the trust that Perry wouldn’t be able to assume his rightful place in the company until he turned thirty. I sometimes heard them arguing and would quail, waiting for it to end.”
And Isaac Sheffield was at the ball; Luther had heard him arguing with Perry during the evening. And now Sheffield was conveniently away on a surprise business trip—or something else.
On the lam came to mind. Really, these Americans had such interesting expressions.
“But we mustn’t bore Lady Dunbridge with our worries,” she added and offered Phil a plate of dry-looking sandwiches.
Phil smiled, but shook her head. “Oh, I assure you, I’m not bored. I briefly met the young man at the ball.”
“Cut off like that,” Loretta finished. “I just don’t understand. Mr. Stokes said it was some kind of accident, but I was so shocked that I didn’t really follow what he was saying, something about him falling down a laundry chute. But that’s not possible.”
Gwen glanced at Phil, asking for guidance on how much to say.
Loretta sighed. “It seems so senseless.”
If Phil was going to mention that it was murder, now was the time. She might not have a better one. “We’re afraid that he didn’t actually fall. He was most likely dead before he entered the chute.”
Loretta stared at her. Her mouth slackening as the news seeped into her mind. “Dead already? How could that be?”
Neither Phil nor Gwen enlightened her.
“Someone pushed him into the chute? Deliberately?”
“The police are afraid that might be the case.”
“Good heavens.” Loretta reached for her cup, put it down. “And Isaac—”
“Must have been told about it and gone immediately to Pittsburgh to inform the family and deal with whatever business matters—” Gwen said.
She was interrupted by a very unladylike snort from Loretta. “Business matters. He hasn’t gone on a business trip. Or to pay his condolences to the family. At least he didn’t pack a valise. I had his servant check. I doubt if he’s even heard the news.”
“But his office said…” Gwen began.
“What they often say when he takes a personal day.”
“What on earth do you mean?” Gwen asked.
Phil held her peace. Loretta might clam up at any time once she remembered there was a virtual stranger listening to her story.
“Oh, Gwen. It’s no secret. He has a mistress. He spends quite a bit of time there.”
“Oh my dear, I had no idea. But please, don’t feel bad. It seems to be epidemic these days. Perfect respectability on the outside.”
“And rotten to the core inside,” Loretta said with so much vehemence that Phil flinched.
“Do I shock you, Lady Dunbridge? I doubt it. You are a woman of the world, or so they say. I hope you won’t hold it against me that I’m in this situation or that my husband is unfaithful.”
“Not at all,” Phil said. “I completely understand and sympathize.” She did indeed; the earl had had his share of illicit affaires, some truly illicit in the legal sense. She’d had a few of her own. Perhaps more than a few, but none that hurt anyone besides herself and her own reputation.
Though after meeting Loretta, Phil could understand why a man might seek some levity in his life. But surely he could have been more discreet and prevented humiliating his wife.
And if he was with his mistress, he might be unaware of events. Or he might know more than he wished to tell. But how to wheedle the mistress’s name out of Loretta, if she even knew it.
“Men,” Phil said.
“Oh, do not excuse them,” Loretta said with more energy than she had yet shown, color lighting her face briefly, a smolder
ing fire in her gray eyes. “Most people would say that my grief had driven him away, but it was just the opposite. He didn’t have the fortitude to face life with his own guilt.”
“Loretta,” Gwen said sympathetically.
“That’s what it is, Gwen. He killed our daughter.”
“Loretta, no. The influenza killed Rachel and the baby.”
“He refused to call the doctor.”
“No. Why would he do that?” Gwen blurted out, on the verge of tears herself. “Oh, I do beg your pardon.”
Loretta shook her head. “He was angry at her. So he let my daughter and grandson die. I hope he burns in hell.” She broke down, and clung to Gwen. Phil watched the two women rocking together, both freely crying, and wondered how soon she could suggest they leave.
It would only be a matter of minutes before Loretta Sheffield realized that she had said too much and would begin to resent them for it. And Phil couldn’t for the life of her see how a daughter dead from influenza could possibly have anything to do with the murder of Perry Fauks.
A few minutes later, Loretta showed them to the door, once again the drained, pale woman she’d been when they arrived.
Phil took her hand and held it long enough for Loretta to know that her grief was understood and safe with them.
“Call on me whenever you like,” Gwen told her. “We’ve been too much without seeing you.”
“Thank you.”
Phil and Gwen started down the steps to Gwen’s carriage, waiting at the curb.
“Mrs. Kidmore-Young,” Loretta said.
Gwen stopped and turned, looking up at their hostess from the sidewalk.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Tell the police that they’ll most likely find him at Mrs.Kidmore-Young’s.”
“I-I will,” Gwen said. “And remember. Anytime I’ll be happy to see you.”
Loretta shut the door and Phil and Gwen climbed into the carriage.
“Who is Mrs. Kidmore-Young?”
“Loretta must be mistaken. Mrs. Kidmore-Young is a widow and inimitably respectable. A paragon.”
“Alas,” Phil replied. “Still waters run deep, as they say.”
Tell Me No Lies Page 10