“No, it’s all right,” she sobbed. “Maybe it will help to talk.” Wiping her eyes, she took a deep breath and began again. “The police said they’d try to find her. They said I should run along. I was already very late for work. I work as a sales girl at Campion’s Department Store, you know.” Her voice carried a tinge of pride at announcing her occupation. Belatedly catching herself, she continued. “Anyway, that’s neither here nor there. So I went to work and about an hour after I got there the floor manager called me aside and told me the police wanted me to come here to...” She wavered. “To...” Her lip was trembling again.
“To identify the body,” Freddie offered.
She nodded. Her hat flapped by way of confirmation. “Y... y... yes!” she wailed as a new torrent of emotion swept over her.
Freddie, convinced that the display of lamentation was at least partly the result of a desire for attention, busied himself with doodling in his notebook until it subsided. Punctiliously, he asked, “You’re sure there’s nothing I can do?”
She shook her head and sniffled.
He sighed and waited a while longer.
“Today was her birthday. It was so sad she never saw them.”
“Never saw what?” Freddie became instantly alert.
Sophie took another deep breath and seemed finally to have gotten a grip on her emotions. “The flowers. She never saw the lovely bouquet she received this morning.”
“Who were they from?” Freddie wasn’t sure whether the information was relevant but was unwilling to leave any avenue unexplored.
“I never knew. From time to time she got flowers from someone. She was very close-mouthed about him, but I think it was somebody she worked with here at the factory. The notes were always the same so I knew they were always from the same gentleman. They always read, ‘From your greatest admirer.’ And I’d tease her when they came and say, ‘Tell me, Nora. Who’s it from?’ She’d always just smile and tuck the note away. She kept a little cedar box just for the notes and saved them all. But the note today was different.” Sophie fumbled in the depths of her reticule to find a fresh handkerchief.
“Different, how?”
“Today it read, ‘Happy Birthday from your greatest admirer!’” She began to wail. “Only it was to be her last birthday! Oh, what will he do when he hears the news! Poor man! Poor, poor man! And poor Nora!”
Freddie had taken some notes about the flowers. When he looked up again, he saw O’Rourke making his way back toward them. The policeman held out his hand to Sophie. “Miss Simms, we have a few more questions for you if you’re ready to speak to us now.”
With one final sniffle, she smiled sadly at Freddie and gave the officer her hand. He led her back down to the guard rail. Freddie watched them go, at a loss for any further source of information. While pondering his next move, he idly began to listen to the murmured conversations going on behind him.
“Well, even if she was just goin’ in for a swim, the acid would’ve probably killed her anyhow.”
He turned around to see a dark-skinned boy lounging with a few of his friends in the doorway that led from the loading dock into the factory. He wore a spattered apron over his clothes, causing Freddie to assume he was one of the Hyperion employees.
Without ceremony, Freddie turned on the group. “What do you mean?”
Taken aback, the boy shuffled his feet. “Nothin’, nothin’ at all, mister.”
Freddie got up and walked over to where the trio stood. “What acid?”
The boy shrugged. “It was just a joke. A stupid joke, that’s all. I shouldn’t of said it. Nora was a nice girl an’ it was a rotten thing to poke fun at somebody who’s dead.”
Freddie waited in silence.
With an exasperated sigh, the boy continued. “Well, if you’re not gonna let it go.” He shifted the topic abruptly. “How much d’you know about the electroplating business?”
“What?”
“Electroplating. It’s not somethin’ you’d be likely to stain your lily-white hands over.”
Freddie looked at the boy’s fingers, which seemed to bear traces of burn marks, and then down at his own brown kidskin gloves.
“Well, to make all those bright, shiny copper an’ brass fittings that you rich people like puttin’ on your carriages, we gotta use poison an’ acid.”
“Acid?” Freddie echoed uncomprehendingly.
“That’s right. In the ‘lectroplate tanks. We use cyanide. Sulfuric acid for some things. Why else d’you think we wear these?” The boy pointed ruefully to his spattered apron. On closer examination, Freddie realized there were holes in the apron where the acid had eaten through the fabric. “Oughtta wear gloves too, but the company’s too cheap to give ‘em to us.”
“But I still don’t understand what that has to do with the drowning.”
The boy sighed at Freddie’s simplicity. “Every once in a while, the tanks gotta be drained out, see. We mix up a fresh solution an’ dump the old stuff in the river.”
“Right here?” Freddie was incredulous.
“Right down by the railin’ there. Sometimes from the pier.” The boy shrugged. “Where else we gonna take it, mister? There’s no law against it. Nobody fishes the river around here anyhow. Like I said, it was just a bad joke an’ I shouldn’t of said it. Besides, we didn’t drain any of the tanks lately so it couldn’t of been that. Forget I said it, all right?”
The boy, clearly unwilling to continue the conversation, turned on his heel and walked back into the factory. He was trailed by his companions who seemed afraid that they might become the target of Freddie’s inquisition if they remained outside.
Gradually, the crowd down by the police line had thinned out. Freddie watched to see who was left. Sophie had already been escorted to a hansom by one of the cops. A few workmen still loitered on the dock for a final smoke before going back inside. Freddie’s attention was drawn to a scruffy-looking man in a frayed overcoat who was standing on the fringe of what remained of the crowd. He wasn’t wearing work clothes but a ragged approximation of a gentleman’s dress—a derby hat badly in need of brushing, a stained fawn-colored vest and satin cravat. His complexion was dark. Everything about him seemed dark—a black beard and eyes the color of obsidian. Unlike everyone else standing around the police line, craning their necks for a look at the body, he seemed to have a purpose of some sort. He was working his way methodically from one end of the crowd to the other, leaning in as if to grasp whatever bits of information he could snatch from the conversations going on around him.
On impulse, Freddie moved back toward the watchman, who by this time was dozing again. Freddie crouched down beside him. “Mr. Sparrow?” He shook him gently by the shoulder.
“Wha... who?” The man roused himself and snorted a few times before recognizing where he was and who was addressing him.
“I’m sorry to startle you, but I wondered if you recognize that man down there?”
“What’s that you say, young man?” Sparrow adjusted his spectacles.
Freddie patiently pointed out the shabby character standing to one side of the broken guard rail.
Sparrow squinted hard for several seconds. “I can’t say that I’ve ever seen him around here before.”
“He doesn’t work at the factory?”
“No, he surely doesn’t. Looks like a bum to me.” Sparrow resettled himself decisively to resume his nap.
Freddie decided to venture closer. As he was walking back down to the crime scene, he heard the dog-faced policeman shout at the ragamuffin. “Hey, you there! Didn’t I tell you to clear out? You’ve got no business here so be off with you!” He shook his billy club in the man’s face. “If you don’t, I’ll run you in on vagrancy charges or worse!”
The man gave one more furtive look toward the body and took to his heels, his shabby overcoat flapping behind him in the breeze like the wings of some huge bird of prey.
Freddie would have puzzled over the matter a good deal longer bu
t just then he heard O’Rourke shouting orders to his men. “Right lads. The patrol wagon’s here. Time to get her to the morgue.”
Freddie watched as the boxy, top-heavy conveyance, drawn by a pair of tired-looking grays, pulled around the corner of the building and two men loaded the body into the back.
“Well, I guess that’s all there is to know.” Freddie tucked his notebook into his pocket as he briskly hiked back to the office to write up the story.
Chapter 2—A Noted Family
Later that same afternoon after turning in his article, Freddie felt unusually pleased with himself. Unable to resist the temptation to brag, he caught the early commuter train from the loop to the northern suburbs that bordered Lake Michigan where his friend Evangeline LeClair resided when she wasn’t staying at her townhouse in Chicago. Freddie had grown up in the wealthy suburb of Shore Cliff and had known Evangeline since he was a child, forming romantic designs toward her at the tender age of nine. The lady had always and, no doubt, would always regard him as a younger brother who could be bullied and teased and occasionally coddled. She was too rich, too well-educated, too attractive, and too damnably independent to seriously consider the prospect of matrimony. Freddie preferred not to contemplate the folly of his attachment. He was still too young to allow himself to be defeated by reality.
He arrived in Shore Cliff at about four o’clock, hoping that his timing might garner him an invitation to tea. The sun was casting a warm slant of light against his back and gilding the treetops of the hundred-year-old oaks that arched over the boulevard as far east as the lakefront. He passed a variety of architectural confections along the way—some colonial, some Georgian, some Italian. Just ahead of him he saw a toddler in a sailor suit break free of his nanny and frolic into the empty street. With a furtive look toward Freddie, the nanny chased after her charge, bundling him into her arms and scolding him for running away. Freddie smiled to himself. There was so little to fear in this village. So little danger. That was why his parents had come here. Evangeline’s parents, too, for that matter. Their wealth had built this fortress of serenity and created an illusion of permanence. Nothing could touch this place. Nothing would ever change here. It was a pleasant enough fantasy for those who could trick their minds into believing it.
As he strolled down Center Street to the three-story brick mansion Evangeline liked to call her “little house by the lake,” he quickly formed a strategy to circumvent what he anticipated to be an ugly confrontation. He knew Delphine, the housekeeper, kept a vigilant watch over the welfare of her mistress. For some reason she had long ago consigned Freddie to seventh circle of hell and did not consider him fit company for her “chère mademoiselle.”
Rather than be given the boot by the housekeeper, Freddie turned down a side street one block before he reached Evangeline’s door. He approached the house from the south, hoping he could blindside Delphine if she happened to be performing sentry duty in the foyer. He walked past the coach house and through the side yard until he came to the servant’s entrance at the back. He was tall enough just to be able to peek through the kitchen window to see if anyone was about. He caught the eye of Marie, Evangeline’s cook, and motioned her to keep quiet by putting a finger to his lips. He let himself noiselessly through the door next to the kitchen. Luckily, Marie was a neutral observer in the epic struggle between Freddie and Delphine. She merely chuckled and went back to kneading her bread dough.
Freddie knew the layout of the house by heart and also knew where to find Evangeline at this time of the afternoon. He prayed she wasn’t out making a round of calls as he pressed his back against the wall of the long hallway that led from the kitchen to the foyer and thence to the front parlor. Delphine was nowhere about. On tiptoe he skirted the edge of the front hall and noiselessly twisted the handle of the parlor door. Only after rounding the door and closing it behind him did he draw a free breath.
“Sanctuary at last!” He exhaled dramatically.
Light streamed through the western windows and spread over the polished tabletops, glinted off the silver candelabra, and formed an incandescent glow around the lady herself who was sitting in a wing chair, dangling a piece of string for Monsieur Beauvoir, her orange tabby. The cat, weighing at least twenty pounds and the size of a spaniel, was enraptured by the game—all four feet in the air, swatting furiously at the string. Evangeline, equally entranced by the sport, was giggling at his antics. Freddie had never known her to giggle, at least not in the presence of humans.
She looked up toward her visitor without surprise, despite an interval of two months since their last meeting. “Oh, it’s only you, Freddie.”
The young man briefly indulged himself in looking at her—the perfect form and features of an exquisite china doll clad in burgundy silk. He belatedly reminded himself that the eyes of china dolls were generally blue, not brown, and usually conveyed an expression of vacuity rather than archness. The contrast was enough to snap him out of his romantic fancy and remind him to take offense at her last comment.
“Engie, if you had any notion what I went through to get here, you might be more gracious in your welcome.”
The lady mollified him with a demi-smile. Rising to her statuesque height of five feet and one-half inch, she crossed the room with both hands extended in greeting.
“You must tell me all your tribulations. Indeed you must. Your face is wearing a most beleaguered expression.” She even laughed archly. “It’s not at all attractive. I wish you’d change it this instant.”
“Only if you let me stay for tea.” He secretly applauded his own smoothness.
Evangeline paused for what seemed like a decade to consider the matter before grudgingly acquiescing. “Well, I suppose you must stay, now that you’re here.” She led him to the sofa next to the tea table and rang the servant’s bell, then scowled as a new thought struck her. “How did you get in?”
“Snuck in through the back door.” Freddie felt particularly proud of that navigational feat.
“Well, you’d better not tell Delphine or she’ll start locking that one, too!”
As if the mention of her name had conjured the woman herself, Delphine opened the parlor door. Taking one look at Freddie, she muttered, “Mon Dieu! Qu’est-ce que c’est! Quelle horreur!”
“Horror though he may be, it makes no difference, Delphine.” Evangeline forestalled any further objection. “We are presented with a fait accompli. Since he’s here, we must make the best of it.” The look she now cast in Freddie’s direction was beyond arch.
“I’m most obliged to you, Engie, for coming so strongly to my defense.” The young man relaxed, knowing that however lackadaisical the protection, at least he wasn’t about to be given the boot.
“It seems we are required to have him stay for tea, Delphine.” Evangeline sighed. “Please see to it.”
While Freddie imagined he saw flames shooting from the housekeeper’s eyes, she held her tongue and returned to the kitchen to fetch the tea tray.
After she left, Freddie allowed himself a brief moment of self-pity. “I have no idea what I’ve ever done to that woman to make her hate me so!”
“She’s never forgiven you for what happened to Jonathan.” Evangeline alluded to one of her former suitors who happened to be Delphine’s favorite. The housekeeper, like Freddie, preferred to deceive herself as to Evangeline’s views on matrimony.
“As if his behavior was my fault!”
“I didn’t say it was a plausible reason.” Evangeline smoothed the wrinkles out of her gown. “Just a reason.” She paused to stare fixedly at her visitor. “What are you doing here, anyway? Since you moved into your bachelor flat in the city you’ve made yourself scarce in these parts.”
“I hardly thought you’d notice.” The faintest note of the martyr crept into his voice.
“Of course, I’ve noticed. It’s been very dull with no one here to tease!”
She idly walked across the room to retrieve the cat’s piece of string.
The tabby had been waiting for just such an opportunity and sprang out from under a chair to grapple once more with his adversary. Evangeline affectionately contemplated the flailing mound of striped orange fur.
Freddie broke into her reverie. “Besides, what do you need me for when you’ve got him?”
She appeared to ponder the matter. “I’ll agree he’s far better company than you, and generally more rational in his conversation—”
Freddie snorted in disbelief.
She looked back at her companion, the vaguest twinkle in her eye. “But you have your uses, too.”
“Such as?” Freddie held his breath, hoping against hope for a compliment.
“Well, you can be quite amusing whenever you give yourself the trouble to be. And”—she smiled more broadly—“you did help me solve a murder last fall.”
“Speaking of murder.” Freddie had been looking for an opening to brag. “That’s what I came here to tell you.”
“Whatever the reason for this intrusion, I’ll be glad when telephone service is installed all the way up the north shore instead of just in the city. That will eliminate these unexpected visits.”
“Be that as it may,” Freddie persisted, “I finally got my first murder assignment.”
“Really?” Evangeline dropped the string, clearly impressed. Monsieur Beau continued the game on his own as she returned to her chair opposite Freddie. “You mean to tell me this is the first since...” She trailed off, apparently thinking of the murder story that had gotten Freddie his job with the Gazette in the first place. The murder that he and Evangeline had solved together during the World’s Fair.
“The very first,” Freddie confirmed proudly. “They weren’t ready to trust me with anything too important. The closest I got was an arson story in Streeterville last month. But this!”
“Tell me all!” Evangeline sat forward.
Their tete-a-tete was interrupted by the return of Delphine bearing the tea tray. She thumped it down on the table next to Freddie’s sofa and drew herself up to an oratory stance. Addressing her employer, she began, “You know, cherie, it is not for me to say who you will see and who you will not.”
Shrouded In Thought (Gilded Age Mysteries Book 2) Page 2