Haunting Investigation

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “We’ll do what we can, but there are certain things we will not be at liberty to discuss with you, or anyone,” said Missus Haas, a little less formidably as she pushed the swinging door open.

  “I appreciate that,” said Poppy, alert to the warning the housekeeper was issuing.

  “Just so you understand,” said Missus Haas, and stepped into the kitchen; it was a very modern place, with all the most recent appliances, from a two-sided toaster, to an oversized refrigerator, and a four-burner range on which a large pot was emittining the aroma of chicken, wine, and herbs. The walls and the counters were clean and shiny, and the cabinet doors were closed, all neat as a pin. There was a good-sized preparation table in the middle of the room, and it was there that Missus Reedly was busy with getting a simple dinner ready. “This is Miss Drit — Thornton, Missus Reedly.” Missus Haas went to the tall cupboard next to the refrigerator, and began to take down dinner plates and large soup bowls, setting them on the counter beside the stove, which was lit by a hanging overhead light; it reminded Poppy a little of a hospital’s operating theater.

  “How do you do?” Missus Reedly looked up from the mound of vegetables she was cutting into bite-sized bits. She was sitting on a drafting stool, facing a large, thick butcher’s block set into the end of the counter. A chef’s muslin smock covered her black maid’s uniform; there were a few small stains smirching the fabric. “I’m almost done with the stew. If you’ll bear with me?” She smiled and continued to chop potatoes and carrots, sweeping the results of her labors into a large enameled bowl. “The chicken is already in the pot. I have onions and half a cabbage to go, and then you can have my undivided attention.”

  “I don’t want to interrupt you,” said Poppy, trying to find a place to stand that would keep her out of Missus Reedly’s and Missus Haas’ way.

  “I can talk and cook at the same time,” said Missus Reedly, taking two yellow onions and cutting both of them in half before beginning to peel them.

  “I realize that,” said Poppy, and made a show of taking her notebook and a pencil from her purse.

  “Would you pour us a cup of coffee, Missus Haas?” Missus Reedly asked. “I want to keep going while I talk.”

  Missus Haas went to the stove and lifted the percolator off the simmer burner, took three mugs down from the crockery cabinet, and poured coffee into all of them. “Do you take cream and sugar, Miss?” she asked Poppy.

  “One sugar and a little cream,” Poppy said, and watched while the housekeeper added cream to two of the mugs and sugar to all three. “So, thinking back, had Mister Moncrief been worried about anything recently?”

  Missus Haas paused in handing Poppy her mug. “He was desolated that Missus Moncrief had lost their child.”

  “Yes, so I have heard,” Poppy said, “but had he any other obvious worries?” She took the mug and set it on the counter at her elbow.

  Missus Reedly took the mug offered her. “He was a businessman, working with other people’s money. Of course he had worries. That’s part of his job.” She worked her cleaver energetically. “There was always something that bothered him. Ever since he went to Hadley and Grimes, he was … wound up.”

  “Do you have any idea why that should be?” Poppy asked.

  Missus Haas huffed. “He didn’t talk about such things with us.”

  “Why should he?” Missus Reedly agreed, continuing her chopping. “Missus Moncrief didn’t say much about it, but she was more melancholy than he was.”

  “But you must have seen something,” said Poppy, trying to encourage more responses from both women. “I have been told that he had had difficulties with some of his accounts recently. Do you recall him saying anything about them?”

  “Missus Moncrief told Mister Eastley that Mister Moncrief had unrealistically demanding clients,” Missus Haas conceded. “It troubled her that he took on such persons as he did.”

  “Do you know why he did? take them on?” Poppy asked.

  “Missus Moncrief said it was because Hadley and Grimes required it,” Missus Reedly said, pausing in her preparations. “She told me that he did not yet have the advancement to allow him to shift the clients to other members of the firm. Whatever it was the clients demanded, Missus Moncrief thought it might have been about business arrangements that were not entirely legal. She mentioned it to me because she was worried about him, and she was hoping I could find a way to ease his mind. I knew they occasionally argued about the demands of his work.”

  “You never mentioned that to me,” Missus Haas said, offended by this lapse.

  Missus Reedly shrugged. “It didn’t seem important, not then. I began to wonder about it when he … passed on.”

  Poppy inquired, pencil at the ready. “Did Missus Moncrief explain what it was that upset Mister Moncrief about those clients? What kind of things they wanted?”

  “No. But it wasn’t my place to ask,” said Missus Reedly, going to work on the half-cabbage. “She mentioned it privately, but she has mentioned it to others, as well. It was no secret that he was bothered about his work.”

  “That’s useful,” said Poppy, stretching the point.

  Now Missus Haas spoke up. “I once heard Mister Moncrief say to Mister Eastley that he was considering resigning his position, but it was after three very long days at the office, and I assumed he was objecting to the extra hours he had been told to put in. He — Mister Moncrief — was uneasy, wanting to decide if it would be proper to go to the authorities about his suspicions.”

  “Which authorities, did he say?” Poppy was hoping for a direct answer. “Local police, state investigators, regulatory institutions, the Justice Department?”

  “I have no idea,” said Missus Haas.

  “He mentioned someone in the District Attorney’s office once, to a small group of friends, to find out who among them knew the man he wanted to contact.” Missus Reedly wiped her eyes between onions.

  “Was that the evening that the Ellises were here?” Missus Haas asked, as she offered Poppy her coffee in a white ceramic mug. “With the Greenlochs and the Kinnons?”

  “That was the occasion,” said Missus Reedly, resuming her work on the onions.

  “Missus Moncrief retired early; she was feeling unwell? Mister Moncrief seemed anxious, and I attributed that to his concern for his wife.” Missus Haas pulled a small, black-edged handkerchief from her skirt pocket and dabbed at her eyes.

  “How long ago was that?” Poppy had wrapped one hand around her mug and nodded her thanks, not wanting to slow Missus Haas’ remarks.

  “Five or six weeks ago, I think,” said Missus Haas. “It was sleeting that night, as I recall, and Mister Moncrief had had a hard drive home. He looked exhausted when he arrived.”

  Poppy followed up this revelation. “Did he say anything more about resigning after that?”

  “Not that I can recall,” said Missus Haas.

  “Missus Moncrief was unwell during that time,” said Missus Reedly. “She was vexed about Mister Moncrief’s dissatisfaction, worried that it might mean problems when the baby came.”

  “In what way? Mister Moncrief didn’t need his job to support his family,” Poppy observed.

  “I don’t know nothing about that,” said Missus Reedly. “But I do know that Missus Moncrief had a lot of questions about what would become of their children if he lost his job. You see, she was planning a big family, five or six children is what they were aiming for, or so she reminded Mister Moncrief two weeks before he … did away with himself.” She sighed and looked away. “I don’t listen at doors, but as her maid, I occasionally hear things. You know how that is.”

  “That’s no longer what the police think happened — that he did away with himself,” said Poppy, and watched the two women for their reaction.

  “What do you mean?” Missus Haas asked sharply.

  “The coroner and Inspector Loring are of the opinion that there were aspects to Mister Moncrief’s death that rule out suicide.” Poppy let her wor
ds hang in the air.

  “Are you sure?” Missus Haas demanded.

  “Yes. I had it from the coroner himself.” Poppy did not want to extend the truth too far, but she felt she was on solid enough ground. “There was something about it in the paper yesterday.” She was not surprised that neither Missus Haas nor Missus Reedly had read the paper, for in most large households, the staff was not encouraged to do so.

  “But the chandelier … ” Missus Haas said.

  “Oh, my God,” exclaimed Missus Reedly. “Oh, poor Missus Moncrief.”

  “Murdered? Is that what they think?” Missus Haas asked, shock softening her voice.

  “Yes. The coroner has ruled his death a homicide.” Poppy forced herself to remain silent, and watch the two servants take this in.

  “Does Missus Moncrief know?” Missus Reedly asked.

  “Yes, she does,” Poppy replied. “Well, no wonder the press has been flocking to this house,” said Missus Haas, her indignation making her voice rise three notes.

  “The manner of death was not officially announced until day before yesterday,” Poppy said, “and the Clarion published it yesterday.”

  Missus Haas was unmollified. “I think we should have been told as soon as the possibility was recognized.”

  “It’s all of a piece,” said Missus Reedly. “God save us all.”

  “Who would have … They’re wrong to suspect Missus Moncrief. She isn’t the kind of woman to kill anyone, least of all her husband.” Missus Haas rounded on Poppy. “You put that in your paper: Missus Moncrief wouldn’t hurt a fly, and certainly would not do anything to harm her husband.”

  “I’ll let everyone know that you said so.” Poppy pledged.

  “How sad,” said Missus Reedly, who resumed chopping cabbage. “Do the police think that the troubles in Mister Moncrief’s business had anything to do with his getting … killed? How could that be?”

  “It would make sense for them to consider it, wouldn’t it?” Poppy said. “You see why your views are so important.”

  Missus Haas coughed diplomatically. “Missus Moncrief was worried about Mister Moncrief, as I’ve told you. I know he was distressed when Missus Moncrief lost their baby, and I didn’t realize how much his business contributed to his suffering. The last few weeks, he came home late more nights than not, and he seemed … more disturbed in many ways. He was lethargic, disinterested in things that usually pleased him, and fretful about minor issues: the lack of shine on the brass, the arrangement of furniture in the sitting room, the flowers in the entry hall vase, the choice of a coffee pot at breakfast. Little matters.”

  “Two weeks ago, Missus Moncrief was very troubled by his state of mind,” Missus Reedly contributed. “It bothered her that he was preoccupied with his business situation, which is what she felt it was, although she knew he was deeply disappointed in the loss of their child. She told me that he was escaping into work so that he would not have to think about the baby. I believed that the two things together had put him into his slump.”

  “How much did she know about his business dealings themselves? Did she know what was troubling him?” Poppy asked, hoping for another revelation that she could include in her story.

  “In terms of the nuts and bolts of his work, she didn’t know very much. She isn’t interested in such things,” said Missus Reedly.

  “But since she was aware something was wrong, did she mention anything about it to anyone? Perhaps to Mister Eastley?” Poppy urged.

  “It isn’t likely,” said Missus Haas. “Mister Moncrief always did all he could to shield his wife from problems. He was determined to spare her any more hurt after her miscarriage. He withheld many things.”

  “That’s very true,” Missus Reedly seconded.

  “I assumed he was trying to help her to recover from her loss, but now that you ask about it, I can see that more was upsetting him beyond losing the baby.” Missus Haas sounded shocked at her own lack of perception. “I should have been aware that it was more than that.”

  “Don’t blame yourself, Missus Haas,” said Missus Reedly. “We were both of us blind. Mister Tanner, too.”

  “Mister Tanner?” Poppy asked.

  “Our man-of-all-work. He comes in two days a week — does repairs and general household maintenance. He only said that Mister Moncrief seemed a bit off his feed. That was a keen observation for Mister Tanner.” Missus Haas took a generous gulp of coffee.

  “That’s more than he usually says,” Missus Reedly agreed. “And almost none of it to anyone’s good.”

  “I should have paid more attention,” Missus Haas said with deep regret, “but Mister Tanner is always deploring something.”

  “That he is,” said Missus Reedly. “He’s a sour sort of man.”

  “Do you think he would talk to me?” Poppy inquired.

  “It’s unlikely,” said Missus Haas, and Missus Reedly nodded.

  “Well, then, I won’t bother.” Poppy wrote Tanner at the bottom of her page, then looked at her notes, and tried to think of a few more questions, but decided she had enough material, as well as a few new leads; she said, “I’m grateful to you both for talking with me.”

  “We should be thanking you, for alerting us to the truth of Mister Moncrief’s … death,” Missus Haas said firmly. “We will be able to deal better now that we know what the situation is.”

  “Then we’re all better off for this meeting,” said Poppy, and added, “If you like, I will see you each get copies of the Clarion when my article with your insights appear. That should be in a day or two.”

  “That would be very nice of you; Mister Haas and I do not subscribe to a paper,” said Missus Haas with far more warmth than she had displayed since Poppy had arrived at the door. “I suppose we should get back to work — all of us.”

  Taking the hint, Poppy drank most of her coffee, and gathered up her notebook, pencil, purse and jacket, saying, “You’ve both been a great deal of help.” She allowed Missus Haas to precede her; she nodded to Missus Reedly as she went out of the swinging door.

  “I had been thinking that the reporters were trying to enlarge on the sensationalistic aspects of the case, and were exaggerating what was being said about the case. Now I understand better their reason for it. To think Mister Moncrief was murdered!” Missus Haas reached the front door. “I appreciate — ” She did not finish, but opened the door and saw Poppy out, closing the door before Poppy could thank her.

  TWENTY-NINE

  POPPY WAS ALMOST FINISHED WITH HER STORY WHEN MISSUS FLOWERS CALLED her to the telephone, saying, “It’s Missus Fairchild. She sounds very excited.”

  “I’ll be down in a minute. Please ask her to hang on,” Poppy raised her voice so she would be heard as she rose from the chair at the library desk. She wondered briefly where Chesterton Holte had gone, but shrugged the question away. After turning off the lamp, she hesitated before she decided to leave her current page in the typewriter and went downstairs to take the ‘phone call, her descent accompanied by the hall clock striking the half hour. Five-thirty, Poppy thought, and decided she would have to push herself to finish the story. She picked up the receiver, saying, “Good evening, Mildred. How are you?”

  “Oh, Poppy, it’s wonderful. I’m pregnant again. Humphrey’s beside himself! I wanted you to know before we make our announcement tomorrow. I’m so happy!” She was breathless with exhilaration.

  “That’s great news,” said Poppy, doing her best to summon up enthusiasm. “I’m very happy for you both, you and Humphrey. You’ve hoped for this so long.”

  “The doctor was kind enough to call me yesterday, knowing how hopeful I’ve been. He’s the best obstetrician in all of Philadelphia.” She took a joyous gasp. “Can you come ‘round for a toast on Tuesday evening? We’re going to celebrate. It won’t be the same without you.” She paused, then hurried on. “Nothing elaborate, just friends and family; a light supper and Champagne. Do, please, say you’ll come.” This all came out in a rush, and Pop
py listened with patience.

  “I’d love to be there, Milly, and I hope I can make it,” said Poppy, stretching the truth. “What time are the festivities?”

  “Seven-thirty. I know it’s a little early, but I’m under orders to get plenty of rest. As if I’d do anything else. Humphrey wouldn’t let me go gallivanting about in my condition.” Mildred gave a little spurt of laughter.

  “I’ll try to be there. If I can get there I will. But you know I’m on the Moncrief story still, and I may have to come a bit later than seven-thirty. I should be able to get there by eight.”

  “Eight?” Mildred gave a little shriek. “Oh, please, come before that.”

  “I have to turn a story in tomorrow evening, and if my editor wants me to do more work on it, I won’t be out of the office until after six. By the time I get home and change — ”

  “Come in your business clothes. It’s all right with me. You don’t need to change. Come straight from the paper,” Mildred urged her.

  “I’ll try,” Poppy assured Mildred. “I can’t promise, but I will try.” She did not want to injure her friend, so she added, “I’m thrilled for you, Milly.”

  “You don’t sound like it,” Mildred said, her tone petulant.

  “I am,” Poppy said emphatically. “I know this is just what you wanted. You said Humphrey is delighted, and I can hear your happiness in your voice.” She took a deep breath. “Are the twins happy about another child in the family?”

  “They’re more curious than excited. They don’t really understand much about this, but they are very interested. They want to know if I’ll have more twins, and they don’t believe that I don’t know. They’ve put in orders for a brother since each of them has a sister. They’re very clever for three.” She laughed a bit perfunctorily. “You should hear them: Miranda and Portia are full of questions. Almost as bad as you can be.” Her attempt at humor did not quite come off. “That’s nothing against you.”

  Poppy knew she needed to say more to explain her lack of ebullience. “I’m sorry if I seem uninterested, Milly. It’s the Moncrief investigation; it’s weighing on me. I was putting the finishing touches on my next installment when you called, and it has left me in a somber mood. I apologize. You know I’m having raptures for you, but until I finish the article for the paper, I’ve got my mind on murder.”