It was quiet up there. No doubt Mr. Lockhart was sleeping, which made sense since he had been up all hours of the night into early morning.
Suddenly, the bell for the drawing room rang. Velma stopped what she was doing and went to prepare Mr. Lockhart's food.
She walked up the stairs with the tray, her heart beating erratically. When she reached Mr. Lockhart's floor, she stopped, resting the tray on the banister. She listened. Mr. Lockhart was talking. Reading.
"'She saith to him, stolen waters are sweet, and bread eaten in secret is pleasant. But he knoweth not that the dead are there, and that her guests are in the depths of hell.'"
Velma could hear the pages of the Bible being turned, rapidly. Then, Mr. Lockhart's voice once more:
"'She hath cast down many wounded from her; yea, many strong men have been slain by her. And I applied my heart to know, and to search, and to seek out wisdom and the reason of things; and to know the
wickedness of folly, even of foolishness and madness.'"
She stood listening and felt a strong sense of spiritual opposition. She felt an eternal weight of evil, sadness, and despair. She felt pity, unfathomable pity, for Mr. Lockhart, that almost overtook the fear and loathing she felt for him of late.
She knocked on the door and picked up the tray.
"Come in," Mr. Lockhart said with a small and lifeless voice.
Velma turned the doorknob and entered. Mr. Lockhart wasn't sitting where he normally sat to read the Bible. He had taken a seat at the small table where he usually placed his candle when he read in bed. He had moved it into the drawing room. Specifically, he moved it to the window in the drawing room.
The Bible and concordance were placed on the table. As Velma entered, Mr. Lockhart quickly closed the Bible and began looking out the window at the throng of men and women making their way down the street in the direction of the murder site.
"So many people outside today," he said.
"Yes, sir," Velma said as she set the tray down on the larger table. She laid the cloth out and set out the food. Her back was to him for a moment, but in that moment she felt such a great tidal wave of terror. It was an instinctive fear of Mr. Lockhart.
She turned as Mr. Lockhart got up from his seat and turned to face her. She had to will herself to look at him. He looked tired and worn and wild and strange.
He walked to his meal, rubbing his hands together, as if he were pleased with himself. Velma remembered he had done that when he first saw the upstairs room and realized it featured a gas stove and sink.
"Such a fine new day it is," said Mr. Lockhart as he sat and unfolded his napkin. "It appears the fog has finally lifted. I always feel better when the sun is shining, as it is today." He looked at Velma with an odd smile. It was a smile that appeared to be an imitation of a smile, but lacking any true emotion behind it. Velma couldn't speak, so she nodded. He nodded back, but as he looked down at the dish, he shook his head.
"S-something wrong, Mr. Lockhart?" Velma asked.
"I suddenly don't feel hungry, for some strange reason," he said. He reached into his pocket and removed a money clip with a thick stack of greenbacks.
Velma noticed that the waistcoat Mr. Lockhart wore wasn't the same as the one he wore the day before. "Velma, would you come here, please?"
She hesitated before slowly approaching him. He removed several bills from the money clip.
"Please take this in payment for the use of your kitchen last night," he said ever so quiet. "I tried to keep things as clean as possible, but the experiment was a very complicated one."
He handed the bills out to her. Velma took the money, holding it in her hand before closing it and placing it inside her apron pocket. Her fingers brushed against hers. They felt like ice on her skin.
She left the room without another word. Walking down the stairs, she looked at the money Mr. Lockhart had given her. It was fifty dollars. The midday sun shone through the window above the doorway, casting blood red streaks across her hand and the money.
The rest of the day passed much like other quiet days in the Barnes home, despite the constant stream of foot traffic on the street outside the house. Velma made sure Lamont kept the wrought-iron gate closed at all times. She didn't want any of the rabble going across their small front yard.
It might have been the fact the sun was out for the first time in days that caused nearly all of Charleston to make the trek to the Hangman's latest murder location.
Lamont came home and Velma listened as he recounted his experiences in the outside world. After several minutes of Lamont's over-detailed account, she interrupted him. "You went to see where it happened, didn't you?"
Her husband stopped talking for a moment, then nodded.
"And?" she asked.
"There wasn't much to see. Not now, after the police combed through it. But it was terrible! That poor soul didn't even have time to cry out from what folks were saying. Someone on the police force said that it's likely the Hangman took her quick and even if she had time to scream or shout, where it happened? It wasn't likely anyone would have heard.
"And they're saying that if he can do something like this in the middle of the afternoon, then he'll probably never be caught. Just minutes after he'd done the thing he was back in the crowd, making his way to God knows where!"
Lamont bought a newspaper before the nearest newsboy shouted the first syllable. He raced back to the house, remembering to shut the gate as Velma had said repeatedly. But the paper held no new clues or bits of information; it was merely rehashing what had been accounted so far.
One thing was clear: The police were stumped. Velma felt a little better, less anxious and less frightened than she had since the morning.
The quiet of the Barnes home was broken suddenly later that day. Lamont was finishing up the paper where there was a loud triple knock at the door.
It startled Velma, who looked up and said, "Who is that?"
Lamont rose quickly, for he was the man of the house and if anyone knocked that loudly, he would be the one to deal with it. "Sit down, Velma. I'll handle it. Probably someone seeking a place to lodge. I'll take care of it."
Another set of knocks, given by a very strong hand.
Velma rose from her chair and stood in the hallway as her husband opened the door.
It was a man standing there, a complete stranger to her. He was big and dark, sporting a large beard. Velma had a sense this man was law enforcement. Her sense was right as soon as he spoke his first words to Lamont.
"I have an arrest warrant!" he bellowed. Velma cried out and surged forward, nearly pushing Lamont out of the way. It was all over!
The stranger began to laugh and suddenly, the voice seemed familiar.
"Velma! I was only joking!" It was Carter, dressed up in a fake beard and hat. "It's me." He was in a street disguise, something the police often used when trying to keep a low profile and appear to be civilian.
Velma laughed in spite of herself. She laughed herself hysterical almost. Lamont stood there, a half smile on his face as he looked at Velma, then Carter, then Velma again.
Carter looked concerned. "I didn't meant to upset her, Lamont," he said. "I was being silly. Stupid, perhaps." They helped Velma into the sitting room for fear that she might swoon.
By the time they got Velma back to her chair, her laughter had become sobbing.
"I'm so sorry," Carter offered again.
"It doesn't matter," Velma said, taking her hands from her face, tears still streaming down her face. "I let myself get scared. That murder happened so close by and Lamont had been telling me about what he saw out there and it just... well, it shocked the hell out of me is what it did."
Lamont was surprised at his wife's choice of words, but he relented. Carter nodded, lowering his head.
"I understand. I should have known better than to do such a thing, Velma. I only stopped by, but I shouldn't have when I'm on duty," Carter said as he gestured at his clothing and beard. His ey
e caught the food that was on the table nearby.
"Sit down and we'll get you something to eat," Lamont said. "Then you can tell us the latest. We're in the middle of it now, aren't we?"
Carter nodded as he sat and took some of the bread and butter on the table. After he finished his first bite, he said, "I've got one piece of news, but I doubt it'll be of any interest to you."
Lamont and Velma looked at each other. Velma had gone quiet and calm, although she was breathing heavy, her bosom heaving slightly.
"The Commissioner has resigned," Carter said firmly.
"What?" Lamont exclaimed.
"It's true. He said he had to, in light of our inability to catch this Hangman. Things were reflecting too badly on us, so he's taking the blame and resigning. After the protests and the terrible things printed in the newspapers, enough was enough."
"What do you mean? Velma asked.
"There's been a constant call in the editorials for house-to-house investigations -- all over town! Can you imagine it? Everyone having to let the police go all through their homes, through every room, just to see where the Hangman might be concealed? As a policemen, I think it's absolutely absurd! Besides, it would take months to do such a thing here."
Lamont handed Carter a tin of potted meat, listening to Carter's every word. Carter took a bite, then reached into his coat for a clipping from the newspaper. After swallowing his bite of food, he began to read:
"'FORMER CHARLESTON MAYOR ON THE HANGMAN
"'Will this serial killer ever be caught? Yes, he will," replied former Mayor Ezekiel Colbert. "He'll be caught when he commits his next foul deed. There will be bloodhounds on his trail the moment he attempts to draw blood once more. This entire city will rise up against him and he will not escape, no matter hour of day.
"'This wonderful city is in a state of panic. Neighbor distrusts neighbor. Passerby look at each other with the gravest of suspicions. It must end now!'"
"I'd choke that man if I could," Carter said, throwing the clipping on the table. Lamont took it and looked it over, shaking his head.
Mr. Lockhart's bell rang at that very moment.
"I'll go up, dear," Lamont said, for Velma still looked terrified from Carter's prank.
"No," she said, rising up quickly. "Keep talking to Carter. I'll look after Mr. Lockhart. He's probably ready for his supper, although it's a little earlier than usual."
Her legs felt as if they were made of taffy as she pulled herself up the stairs. She knocked at the door.
"Come in," Mr. Lockhart said.
"You rang, Mr. Lockhart?" Velma asked. The tenant looked up at her. He looked... frightened? She had never seen such a look on him. She closed the door and took a step toward Mr. Lockhart.
"I heard a racket downstairs," he said, his hand slightly trembling before he put it in his coat pocket. "What was going on down there? As I told you, Mrs. Barnes, I took these rooms on the condition that this environment remains quiet."
"I do apologize, sir. It was a friend of ours come to pay a visit. It won't happen again."
He looked relieved and waved his other hand, dismissing her apology. "Just a friend is fine, Mrs. Barnes. He's quite noisy, though."
"He's just a young fella," she said. "He's the son of one of Lamont's old friends. He comes to visit often but he's never made such a racket like tonight before. I'll mention for him not to do it again."
"No, no, Mrs. Barnes. No need for that. It was just a minor annoyance. It's over now. It's fine."
There was an awkward silence. It seemed strange that Mr. Lockhart would find issue with Carter's prank yet not express any ire over the constant crying outside of newsboys and passerby on their way to the Hangman crime scene.
"Would you like your supper a little earlier tonight then?" she asked.
"Whenever you like, Mrs. Barnes. Whenever it's convenient. I don't want to put you out."
She nodded and left the room quietly, closing the door.
As she did, the front door banged shut, giving her a startle. She grimaced. Carter!
Chapter 17
"Do you want me to go with you?" he asked.
"No. I need you to stay here, in case Mr. Lockhart needs help with anything. And in case Delia arrives home early."
"All right. As you wish, sweetheart. You know what's best for yourself."
"It's a pain, a headache. Actually, it's the back of my neck. It gets worse when I get upset, like when Carter startled me last night."
"He was a jackass to do such a thing!" Lamont said. "I'll speak to him about it when I see him again. He won't be doing that any more. That big mustache and beard. He looked like a clown in that getup."
Lamont thought about Delia and Carter over the last few days and thought such a coupling to be a good idea. Delia was living a dull life with her grandmother. Spinsterhood awaited her on that path. Carter was making a good living, more than anyone in their social circle that was for sure. If they felt the time was now, Delia and Carter could get married more quickly than Lamont and Velma did.
Not that there wasn't plenty of time. Delia would turn twenty in two weeks. Maybe they would wait a year. By then, the grandmother might have passed, leaving Delia with a decent sum of money.
"Why are you smiling?" Velma asked, her brow furrowed.
"Nothing," he said. "If you must know, Delia and Carter. I suppose he'll be heading out sooner to fetch her from Margaux's. I wonder if he'll have to be at the inquest today."
"What inquest?" She put on her best puzzled look.
"I'm surprised you didn't see, the way you were poring over that paper. An inquest about the bodies found at Battery Row. I suspect he probably won't have to be there. He's a junior detective."
"Probably for the best," Velma said. "Otherwise, I'm sure you'd be begging him to take you. Since I'm going to be at the doctor's, I'd rather the house not be empty. Mr. Lockhart would be upset if someone came to the door and no one was here to answer it."
"I'm not going anywhere, so long as you go to the doctor," Lamont said.
"Not even if I'm gone for a while, Lamont."
"Of course. Do you think it will take a long time?" There was concern in Lamont's voice.
Velma shrugged. In her mind, it was better than openly lying with words.
Chapter 18
Velma managed to sleep well that night, mostly out of exhaustion. She fell asleep as soon as she laid her head on her pillow.
She awoke and rose early the next morning, inhaling her coffee before she got up and got dressed.
Mentally, she made a list of all the things she needed to do. Lamont was barely halfway through his own morning meal before Velma rose and began work.
It made Lamont uncomfortable to see his wife so manic. He read the paper as he ate, yet he finally stopped and looked at her, a whirling dervish around the room. "Velma, stop rushing about the room. Delia's coming back today. She can help you when she's back," he said, flicking his paper.
"That girl ain't no good at this kind of work. Stop worrying about me. I feel better when I'm busy cleaning," Velma said. "Besides, I don't want anyone seeing this house dirty."
"I don't think you have anything to worry about there," Lamont said. "But ain't you worried you going to wake up Mr. Lockhart?"
"He slept most of yesterday and all last night," Velma said quickly. "I don't think he's feeling well. But, it's been a while since I've done a deep cleaning. High time I do it now."
And so she went about cleaning. Lamont found it increasingly harder to finish his meal and the newspaper. He looked at her, irritated and frowning at his wife's busyness.
Suddenly, she was quiet. Lamont looked up again. She was standing in the hallway now, staring back at him, saying and doing absolutely nothing.
"Well, you finished?" he asked.
Sugar in Her Bowl Page 17