Whispers of Warning

by Jessica Estevao

  “I am sorry to inform you that Sophronia was found dead in Pinckney Ferris’s plunge pool just a couple hours ago.” My first thought was one of guilt. I am sorry to say the second was of relief.

  I knew I should have done more to convince her to take the threats to her life seriously. On the other hand, the wanton disregard Sophronia had for the safety of the other suffragists would no longer put anyone else at risk. I could stop worrying about Lucy and the Velmonts. I could also stop worrying about myself since I would no longer be expected to give any platform readings in public. The mixture of emotions was powerful and confusing.

  “How did she die? Do you think the person who wrote the threatening letter actually killed her?”

  “We don’t know yet. We know she drowned but there were some indications she may have wanted to end her own life,” Yancey said. His voice carried very little conviction.

  “You don’t believe that, do you? She’d received a threatening letter. She issued oblique threats herself in two different public forums. I saw her being assaulted. On top of it all, I would in no way characterize her as despondent.”

  “I have to investigate based on the evidence. I’ve only heard about the letter and only have your word for it that Congressman Plaisted got rough with her.”

  “Are you saying I made those things up? What about her manuscript?” I could hear the tone of my voice rising but I couldn’t seem to stop it.

  “I don’t mean to insult you. I just have to pursue an investigation based on facts. Especially if it involves a volatile public figure and a seated congressman.”

  “I didn’t think you were the sort of man who would let things like that influence you in carrying out your duties.”

  “I am not trying to shirk my duties. But with a case like this, especially one where the chief of police may also be involved, I have to be sure I cover all angles.” Officer Yancey’s voice was firm but not unkind. “I’m going to need a great deal more than hearsay and your opinion of Sophronia’s character in order to be persuasive at an inquest. After all, you’ve only known her for a few days.”

  “So you are saying you are planning to investigate this as a murder?”

  “I’m saying I need to have more facts. I will need to speak with the other guests. But first I need to search her room.” Officer Yancey pushed his chair back from the table. Whatever I had thought today would bring, I had been wrong.

  “I’ll get the key.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  It’s just along here,” I said, leading Officer Yancey down the hallway on the second floor. I stopped in front of Sophronia’s door and turned the key. I stepped inside and even though Sophronia couldn’t have left the space for the last time more than a few hours ago the room had already taken on the stuffy, forlorn air of an uninhabited place. I couldn’t help but feel that Sophronia’s spirit lingered in the room watching our every move and willing us to understand what had happened to her.

  “What exactly are we looking for?” I asked.

  “We aren’t looking for anything. Your part of the job ended when you let me into the room,” Yancey said. The look on his face, however, said he was not sure where to start. I couldn’t blame him in the least. But I could use his uncertainty to my advantage.

  “I’m sure you’ll want to finish up here and get on with questioning the guests as soon as you can. Do you have another officer available to help you get through all this before noon?” I asked.

  Sophronia had not been a tidy woman. Books and handkerchiefs cluttered the bedstand, and jackets, shirtwaists, and skirts were draped over the backs of chairs and heaped upon the bench placed at the foot of the high bed. The door of the drop-front, carved walnut desk lay open, exposing pigeonholes crammed with papers and envelopes. It looked like Millie had never been by to work her magic. In truth, I, too, felt daunted by the prospect of searching the space for information that would explain Sophronia’s death.

  “All the other officers are either assigned to the pier or are busy with other aspects of this investigation.”

  “Then you should be happy for an extra pair of hands. Besides, a woman is more likely to notice if something is amiss.”

  I noticed Officer Yancey averting his eyes from a pair of drawers heaped on the floor next to the nightstand. “I am happy to say I have rarely had the experience of a room such as this one.”

  “Then my assistance is all the more useful. I’m sorry to say scenes such as this are all too common in the hospitality business. There is just something about staying at a hotel that brings out the worst in some people.” I closed the door behind me and turned the lock. Officer Yancey looked at me with a distressed expression on his face.

  “Miss Proulx, what will people say if we are discovered in a room such as this, completely unchaperoned?”

  “Unless one of the hotel guests killed Sophronia, no one else in the building knows she isn’t the one in here. If we work quietly and keep the door shut I see no reason for concern,” I said. I pointed to the wardrobe. “So, are you prepared to tell me what you are looking for?”

  Officer Yancey glanced at the door once more then spoke softly. “I am looking for a note. Most people who decide to take their own lives leave one. We didn’t find one at the plunge pool, which makes this the next place to look.” Officer Yancey looked at me and shook his head. “I’ll start with the desk. Would you look over near the nightstand?” And just like that, I was once again helping the police with an investigation.

  We both turned to our respective areas and began the sad task of sifting through items Sophronia would never have need of again. It made me think about the things that my mother left behind when she died. I had believed all that remained of her by the time I was old enough to think of such things were a few pieces of jewelry, a letter from her sister, and a half a deck of tarot cards. By the time my father and I had parted ways even the jewelry was gone. Father sold it off one piece at a time as each of his business ventures failed.

  When I arrived in Old Orchard with only her letter, her tarot cards, and the clothing on my back, Honoria had surprised me by offering me the hotel room that had belonged to my mother. Honoria had preserved everything as she had left it when she snuck out of the house, with her shoes in her hands in order to elope with my father.

  By living for the last few weeks amongst her clothing and hairbrushes, her books and her furniture I felt like I knew her in a way I never had before. Looking around Sophronia’s room I wondered if she would have left it the way it was if she, like my mother, realized she would not come back.

  “I’ve had no luck. How about you?” Officer Yancey asked me about half an hour later. I shook my head.

  “Nothing at all. There are plenty of digestive aid packets and peppermint candy wrappers but no notes of any kind.” Apparently she enjoyed reading poetry. I held up a slim volume of verse I recognized from the hotel library. Which brought something to mind. “What about her manuscript? Have you seen that?” I stepped toward him.

  “No. Nothing that looks like a manuscript. Just drafts of her speech for the march.” Officer Yancey stepped aside to give me room to see for myself.

  I looked at the top of the desk for the stack of papers Sophronia had caressed like a good luck charm. Nothing but more dust and debris. Where could it have gone? Had I just assumed it was the manuscript because of Sophronia’s behavior? Had there ever even been a manuscript or was announcing one simply another one of her tactics for stirring up interest in the press?

  Officer Yancey and I proceeded to look into every possible hiding space. I riffled through the wardrobe, searching the folds of her clothing. Officer Yancey crawled under the bed and tapped the floor and the paneling for loose boards behind which to hide something. Long before I had shed three hairpins and Officer Yancey’s hands were covered in a fine layer of dust I had despaired of finding the reputed manuscript.

>   “No note. No manuscript. What’s next, Officer?” I asked, throwing my hands in the air.

  “What’s next is that I start interviewing the guests. Alone.”

  “Miss Rice was Sophronia’s close friend. I happen to know she is still abed as a result of some minor injuries acquired during the march. I suggest we start with her.”

  “Perhaps I need to be more clear. While I appreciate your help searching this room, I will be interviewing Miss Rice and all the other people on my own.”

  “I doubt that very much. Unlike me, I am quite certain Miss Rice will not be willing to be alone with you in a bedroom. I shall have to chaperone.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Miss Rice sat propped up against the headboard of the high bed in her room. She was in no way dressed to receive visitors, and just as Miss Proulx had predicted, had been extremely resistant to receiving Officer Yancey. But a murder inquiry cannot stand upon social niceties and so Yancey had to admit he was glad of Miss Proulx’s presence. Not that he thought it likely anyone would imagine anything untoward would occur between himself and the paragon of virginal rectitude, Miss Rice.

  While Miss Rice did indeed show signs of her ordeal the day before, in the form of bruises all along the left side of her face, she still looked more than capable of defending herself if she felt an imminent assault upon her virtue. Her sharp glances and pursed lips as well as the way she crossed her stout arms across her expansive chest gave the impression that while she was wounded she was not down for the count. Even from the confines of her bed she seemed a force of nature.

  “If you are here to finally take my statement about this”—she touched the side of her head and winced—“I can’t say I am impressed with your enthusiasm for the task.” Miss Rice nodded to Miss Proulx and her face softened slightly.

  Yancey was even more relieved Miss Proulx had insisted on accompanying him. Not that he liked to encourage her in her high-handedness with the police or everyone else, for that matter. She was already quite comfortable enough with investigatory work, as far as he was concerned. Still, her assistance was most welcome in this interview. Ruby shook her head slightly and he waited for her to break the news.

  “Miss Rice, Officer Yancey is here on an entirely different matter. One that I am afraid may prove distressing.” Ruby moved to the edge of the bed and took Miss Rice’s hand.

  “Has something happened to Sophronia?”

  “Why would you ask that?” Yancey rarely found loved ones in the least prepared for tragic news. They were even less likely to suggest such a thing themselves.

  “Surely you aren’t foolish enough to believe what happened at the march was an accident? Sophronia stirs up controversy wherever she goes. I have long been expecting she would come to harm.”

  “Any reason you can think of that matters would worsen at this time?” Yancey asked.

  “There is no doubt in my mind that now that Sophronia has announced her memoir is forthcoming things will escalate even further.” Miss Rice hugged her chest even more tightly. “You aren’t here to finally suggest police protection are you?”

  “That won’t be necessary, I’m afraid,” Yancey said. “I’m sorry to say Miss Foster Eldridge’s body was discovered at a local bathhouse this morning.” Yancey kept his eyes firmly on Miss Rice’s face as he delivered the news. It could be that their relationship had turned lethal.

  “Sophronia’s body?” Miss Rice’s eyes widened and she sat bolt upright. She turned to Miss Proulx and clutched at her as if trying not to lose her balance. Miss Proulx’s small frame wobbled then stiffened to help support them both. As much as he found it hard to admit, even to himself, Miss Proulx was a remarkable woman. “You mean to say Sophronia is dead?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid that is correct.” Yancey hated this part of his job. Grieving people made him squirm and he could feel his desire to flee increasing with each passing moment he spent with them. He always felt the best way to honor the victims and to bring solace to their loved ones was to get on with the job of solving their murder. But hurrying the bereaved was never the right thing to do.

  “Someone finally killed her?” Miss Rice turned her head slowly to Ruby and then back to Yancey again. Yancey wasn’t sure he understood the look playing across her features but he thought for just a second he saw a flicker of guilt before it was replaced by sorrow. Not that guilt was a rarity when a sudden death occurred. More often than not it was based on words left unsaid or those that never should have been but were and then regretted.

  “The investigation is in its early stages but her death doesn’t look like an accident.”

  “How did she die?”

  “She drowned. There’s a wound on the side of her head and her clothing was weighed down by rocks before she went into a saltwater pool at a bathhouse down at the beach,” Yancey said. Miss Rice gasped and fell back against her pillows, then covered her face with her hands. Yancey wondered if she was trying to block out the news or to keep him from seeing her reaction.

  “Did Miss Foster Eldridge ever give any indication of being in low spirits? Melancholy in any way?” Yancey slipped his small notebook and a pencil from his pocket and quietly opened the notebook. Miss Rice lowered her hands from her face, a spark of anger shining from her eyes.

  “What are you implying?”

  “From the way she died it is possible that she inflicted harm upon herself. Officer Yancey has to ask such things, Miss Rice,” the younger woman said. “Otherwise he won’t be doing his job properly and that is no way to honor her.” Miss Rice shrugged but then nodded.

  “Rather than feeling melancholy, Sophronia was elated. She considered the march a tremendous victory despite the way it ended,” Miss Rice said. “She said it showed that the cause of suffrage had a real chance of success if some in the crowd felt threatened enough to resort to sabotage.”

  “She thought the stage was rigged to collapse?” Yancey asked. He started to lean forward, then checked himself. There was no need to lead Miss Rice in an opinion. It wouldn’t help him get to the truth to do so.

  “She had absolutely no doubt. As she herself suffered no real injuries, she considered the whole incident a blessing. She was certain it would make the papers all over the eastern seaboard.”

  “Did she suspect anyone in particular of having a reason for carrying out an attack against her?” Yancey asked. He couldn’t help but notice Miss Rice’s posture stiffening and the way she protectively crossed her arms over her chest.

  “If she did, she didn’t make any such accusations to me.”

  “Do you have any ideas of your own?” Yancey asked.

  “I am not inclined to indulge in idle speculation. I am feeling most unwell now and would ask that you leave me in peace to grieve for my dear friend.” Miss Rice turned her head away and closed her eyes. Yancey thought she did look unwell but it wasn’t just from grief. He was certain that Miss Rice looked frightened.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  You know you shall have to question your sister, too,” I said as I closed the door of Miss Rice’s room behind us. “Other than Miss Rice, Lucy was the one who spent the most time in Sophronia’s company.”

  “I don’t suppose she is already here, is she?” he asked. After checking with Ben as to Lucy’s whereabouts, he confirmed she could be found in one of the small rooms off the lobby practitioners used for a variety of readings. Lucy sat at a small table in the center of the room but instead of a crystal ball or dowsing pendulum she sat busying herself with a gleaming black typewriter. As we entered she looked up and the clattering of the keys tapered off.

  “I wondered where you had gotten off to so early. What are you doing at the Belden?” Lucy asked, looking over my shoulder at her brother. I stepped aside to allow him to be the one to deliver the news.

  “I have something to tell you that I know you will not want to hear,” he s
aid. He spoke softly, like one might to a frightened child. Lucy’s eyes widened and her hands dropped to her lap.

  “Has something happened to Mother?” she asked with a quaver in her voice. I was suddenly reminded that her father had suffered a sudden death and that perhaps she lived in fear of losing her mother as well.

  “Mother’s fine but Miss Foster Eldridge, I’m sorry to say, is not. She was found drowned this morning in Pinckney Ferris’s plunge pool.”

  “That can’t be. She asked me to come in today to attend to her correspondence.” Lucy looked from Officer Yancey to me as if I would contradict him. I slowly shook my head and approached the table.

  “I’m sorry, Lucy, but she is no longer with us. I know you are shocked. We both are but your brother needs to ask you some questions and the sooner the better if he is to find out exactly how she died,” I said.

  “Is there some question as to what happened?” Lucy asked. “Wasn’t it just an accident?” The question was a natural one to ask, I suppose. With seven miles of beach on the Atlantic Ocean, Old Orchard was no stranger to the idea of accidental drownings. Swimmers were overcome by cold and cramp, fishing and pleasure vessels were caught in storms and sank to the bottom of the sea. Occasionally someone even toppled over in an inebriated state, despite prohibition laws, and drowned in shallow water.

  “I am trying to determine the exact cause but it seems unlikely it was an accident. Rocks weighted down her clothing.”

  “You don’t think she killed herself, do you?” Lucy’s eyes filled with tears and I was once again reminded of her father’s untimely passing. With every surprising death, suicide would spring to mind. Officer Yancey reached for her hand and held it in his own.