Whispers of Warning

by Jessica Estevao

  “It’s possible that she may have done so. Or someone may have wanted her dead. Which is what I wanted to ask you about.”

  “Do you think it was the hate mail?” Lucy asked. She turned to me. “I knew we should have forced her to cancel the march.” Lucy’s tears spilled over onto her cheeks. Officer Yancey pulled a pressed white handkerchief from his back trouser pocket and handed it to her.

  “We tried our best, Lucy. There was no chance we could have persuaded her to cancel the march. She was completely determined to go on.” I was gratified to see her give the slightest nod of her head in acknowledgment of my words. “The best way to help her now is to answer your brother’s questions. We’ve already spoken with Miss Rice but she was of little use.”

  “Did she ever give any hint as to who she thought had sent the threatening letter?” Yancey asked.

  “I’m sorry, but she didn’t.”

  “What about the manuscript she mentioned? Did she entrust it to you?” I asked.

  “No, she did not. I’ve never even seen it,” Lucy said.

  “Did she say anything to you about the stage possibly being rigged to collapse yesterday?”

  “I didn’t see Sophronia after the stage collapsed to discuss it. Mother wanted to go straight home and, I confess, I was too rattled by what had happened to argue with her. Do you really think the stage was sabotaged?”

  “It may have been. It was such a gimcrack job that when we checked it over there was no way to tell by what was left of it if someone had done it on purpose or if the stage just couldn’t bear weight,” Officer Yancey said. “Is there something about that you think I should know? Any small thing might be of assistance.”

  “I don’t want to cause someone’s reputation harm if the stage wasn’t sabotaged.”

  “Trust me to decide what is or isn’t important, Lucy. You know I am never eager to tarnish anyone’s reputation,” he said. A look passed between them and I wondered once more what it would be like to have a sibling.

  “I hate to say it because it seems so disloyal but one person does come to mind,” Lucy said. “George Cheswick.”

  “George?” I asked. I couldn’t believe my ears. “Are you quite certain?”

  “I’m afraid so. I didn’t want to say anything to you, Ruby, because it all seemed so gossipy when Sophronia mentioned it and in truth, I found it all quite embarrassing.”

  “What did Miss Foster Eldridge confide?” Officer Yancey sounded encouraging rather than impatient. I was impressed with his attitude as I was having trouble with my own.

  “According to Sophronia, George made rather a fool of himself at a Hay Feverists convention held in New Hampshire a couple of years ago,” Lucy said. “Everyone else there was focused entirely on improving their health and alleviating their symptoms. George’s attention was unfortunately pointed elsewhere.”

  “George attended a Hay Feverists convention? I had no idea George is involved with the organization,” I said.

  “Yes, he did. Sophronia said he was there with his brother and sister-in-law. Apparently, he used to be very active in the organization but he isn’t anymore. Sophronia told me he made rather a nuisance of himself through his bothersome and entirely unrequited interest in her. In fact, the president of the Hay Feverists Society felt compelled to ask him to desist in his attentions toward her.”

  I was astonished. It had been my understanding that George was and always had been utterly devoted to Honoria. The idea of him showing any interest in another was incomprehensible. He was the very picture of a devoted suitor.

  “George is such a mild-mannered gentleman. What could he have done to merit a sanction?” Officer Yancey asked.

  “Sophronia said a secret admirer insisted on showering her with inappropriate tokens of affection and handwritten poems.” Lucy shook her head. “She believed that George was responsible. She went to the president of the organization and complained. When the president asked George to apologize for his actions he simply packed his bags and quitted the hotel without a word. To my knowledge he’s never participated in the organization since.”

  “Why was it thought that George was the one responsible?”

  “Because once Sophronia began to complain of the unwanted gifts, the society president took it upon himself to discover who was sending them. The gifts were all charged to accounts at the shops in town in George’s name.”

  “And you think that would be enough to sabotage the stage over?” Yancey doubted George would be moved to action over a bit of embarrassment.

  “I shouldn’t have thought so except he has had a great deal of trouble in his life lately. Between his brother showing up to visit and the house fire, he can’t have been too happy to end up lodged in the same hotel as a woman who humiliated him. He may even have been certain she would tell Honoria about what had happened,” Lucy said. She looked at me and I nodded vigorously.

  “Why should Honoria knowing matter in the least to George?” Officer Yancey asked.

  “You cannot possibly call yourself an investigator if you can honestly say you’ve never noticed George’s feelings for Honoria,” Lucy said, sighing. “No wonder you are still unmarried at your advanced age.”

  Officer Yancey withdrew his hand from his sister’s and cleared his throat. “If there is nothing else you can tell me I think I should be going.”

  “Are you going to question George?” I asked.

  “George will be questioned eventually. But I have a couple of other lines of inquiry to follow before I get to him.”

  “Would you like me to ask him about his unrequited feelings for Sophronia?” I asked. “It would save you some trouble and as Lucy says, you may not be particularly well suited for such a task as that one.” I held my breath waiting for him to answer. A pained look flitted over his face.

  “I may not be the person in this room the most attuned to the personal lives of others but I am the only one authorized to ask questions in a police investigation. Your assistance is not required.” Officer Yancey returned his hat to his head and left the room without a backward glance.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  I decided to take advantage of Office Yancey’s absence by asking some questions on my own despite his assertions that it was not my place to do so.

  George had made himself at home in the family parlor. I shouldn’t like to speak ill of a dear friend of Honoria’s or second-guess her decision to offer him shelter but there was no denying George had made his presence felt. I had to wonder if his tendency to sloth had played any role in Honoria’s refusal of his alleged repeated offers of marriage. If it had, I could not blame her.

  As I picked my way between piles of socks and discarded sweets packets I was reminded of my father’s tendency to try my patience in the housekeeping department. Life in a tent is grubby at best. Conditions are crowded and dust is a constant companion. Father’s native untidiness was another cross to bear and one I did not shoulder without feeling decidedly put upon. Not that it would have been prudent to display such feelings to Father.

  George lay sprawled across the sofa in his stocking feet, gently snoring. The singed ends of his damaged mustache fluttered in the steady breeze issuing forth from his large nose. At rest George looked like an elderly baby with luxuriant facial hair. That might be another reason for Honoria’s polite but persistent refusal. It would be a rare woman who found such a comparison romantically appealing.

  I considered returning later to ask my questions but thought better of it. As was so often mentioned in detective fiction, it did not do for a case to be allowed to grow cold. Surely Sophronia’s death could be no exception. I approached the side of the sofa and feigned a delicate sneeze. George blinked rapidly then struggled upright with all the grace of a beached merman.

  “You’ve caught me resting my eyes, Ruby dear.” George looked at his feet and planted them firmly on
the floor. “A pitfall of age I’m afraid.”

  “I think it more likely a symptom of hay fever.” Even with all the mess strewn about it was impossible to harbor hard feelings toward someone whose wispy hair stood on end like a puff on a spent dandelion. Everything about his appearance made me want to pat him on the shoulder and hand him a teething biscuit. “I understood you attended a Hay Feverists convention some time ago.”

  “I have attended but if you ask me the whole thing is no more than an excuse for a bunch of self-absorbed laggards to idle about during some of the best weather of the year. They install themselves in luxury hotels in bucolic locations and then set about to suffering as if it were a paying job.” George’s face had purpled and a vein throbbed valiantly in his forehead.

  “I was given to understand that your brother and his wife accompanied you to the convention. Were they similarly disappointed in the experience?”

  “Not in the least. They fell for the whole of that nonsense, hook, line, and handkerchief. I’m sorry to say it was a sore spot between us for some time. In fact, this is the first I’ve seen of them since the convention.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it caused a rift. It must have been quite a while since last you saw them.”

  “Around two years. Not a word from either of them until they appeared without warning on my doorstep when they couldn’t find a hotel room in Old Orchard in time for the pier opening.” George shook his head. “Cursed uncomfortable that was, I can tell you.”

  I made a soothing, clucking sound as if George were a tiny chick with ruffled feathers. It seemed to do the trick so I steered the subject back to hay fever. “So Mr. and Mrs. Cheswick still take their hay fever seriously, then, do they?”

  “Like religious zealots. I would have expected such nonsense from Phyllis, who has always been too careful of her health for my taste. Usually Osmond can be counted on to be more sensible. But not this time.”

  “He was the instigator?”

  “No. I wouldn’t say that. But he took to it like a duck to water. He went on the hikes, took the alternating hot and cold water treatment baths, and booked rooms for the same time the following year before the first week was out.”

  “Something about the whole experience must have appealed to him.”

  “Or someone.” George said this under his breath and then clamped his lips together as if to keep more words from spilling out.

  “Your brother found the company at the convention to his liking?” I asked. “I shouldn’t have thought he had particularly, since he didn’t appear to recognize either Sophronia or Miss Rice.”

  “Perhaps he had simply forgotten.” George refused to meet my gaze. George was as bad a liar as I was an accomplished one. Between his darting glances, nervous foot shuffling, and the sheen of perspiration, which had misted his face like a soft, spring rain, there could be no doubt he wished to play down his association with the dead women. The question had to be asked why that would be so.

  “I was surprised that I never saw you speak to either of them here at the hotel. Surely that is odd?”

  “I can see how it would seem that way. Age dulls the memory as well as increasing the tendency to nap.” George looked as though he wished to be anywhere but with me. It pained me to press him but if George had anything to do with Sophronia’s death, I couldn’t allow societal niceties to coerce me into cowardice.

  “I suppose it is all for the best that you weren’t on close terms, considering the news I’ve just heard,” I said. I hated myself for suspecting him but I kept my eyes on George’s face, looking for signs of surprise or guilt. I was sorry to see a wariness in his eyes that left me with uncomfortable doubts.

  “Which news is that?” he asked.

  “I’m very sorry to say that Sophronia was found drowned this morning in Mr. Ferris’s plunge pool.” This time George’s face took on its customary expression of mild befuddlement.

  “Was she there for a hay fever treatment and something went wrong?” he asked.

  “I’m afraid not. She was found dressed in street clothing and her pockets were weighed down with rocks.” I shook my head with genuine sadness.

  “Do you have any idea why someone could have wanted to harm her?” I asked. “Or why she might have decided to harm herself?”

  “As you so astutely pointed out, we never even spoke during her stay here. I could not possibly speculate on this tragedy.”

  “What about your brother? Do you think he might be able to shed some light on the situation?” I asked. George paused as if considering his options, then let out a slow sigh.

  “I have never been good at speaking to or for my brother. Or his wife. I suggest you ask them yourself.” With that mild-mannered reproach George lay down once more on the sofa and closed his eyes. I had been dismissed.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Yancey stomped along the short stretch of sidewalk between the Belden and its neighboring hotel the Sea Spray. Why should he care what Miss Proulx thought of his ability to pick up on something so outside of his purview as George’s romantic interests? Everywhere he turned in this case he kept running up against romantic entanglements.

  And now he had the misfortune of needing to ask a congressman about a broken engagement to a dead woman. He had the irrational thought all of it was Miss Proulx’s fault. He reached for the brass handle of the Sea Spray’s lobby door and told himself to be reasonable. He simply needed to keep his attention on the job at hand.

  At the front desk he inquired after the congressman and was led by a chatty young man in livery to a darkly paneled room at the back of the hotel. The congressman sat silhouetted against a long window with a stack of papers in his lap and a silver fountain pen in his hand. On a white linen–covered table at his side sat a steaming cup of coffee and plate of nut bread.

  “Congressman Plaisted, my name is Warren Yancey and I’m an officer with the Old Orchard Police Department. I need to have a moment of your time.”

  “You’re here about Sophronia, aren’t you?” Nelson Plaisted tapped his spoon against his coffee cup and placed it on the tablecloth, leaving a dark stain on the white linen for someone else to clean up. “I heard about what happened.” The congressman gestured to the deep leather chair opposite him. Yancey thought that he could get used to such comforts. Not that he was likely to be able to afford them if he remained an honest police officer.

  “What specifically did you hear?”

  “That the poor woman had become unhinged after the scene at the march and had thrown herself into a pool at the bathhouse next door. Someone said her pockets were weighted down with rocks.”

  “We haven’t released such information to the public at this time. Would you mind telling me with whom you’ve been speaking?”

  “I shouldn’t like to say. But it would be fair to say I’ve had my information on very good authority.” The congressman gave an insincere smile. “How is it you think I can help you?”

  “Your behavior at the rally suggested you had strong opinions about suffrage and even about Miss Foster Eldridge herself. It seemed prudent to ask you why that might be.”

  “Strong isn’t the word. Sophronia was a blight on the face of our nation and I think I speak for men everywhere when I say I will sleep more soundly knowing she is no longer walking amongst us.”

  “You sound as though you wanted her dead,” Yancey said.

  “Are you accusing me of something?”

  “Not yet. I’m a fair man. I’d like to give you the opportunity to present your side of the problems you had with Miss Foster Eldridge in a calm and reasonable manner.” Yancey settled back deeper into the recesses of the chair. No sense not to be comfortable or to make it look like he didn’t have all the time in the world to dog Plaisted’s footsteps. “Because from what I remember at the rally, you looked anything but reasonable.”

  “Obvious
ly you did not know Sophronia like I did. If you had you would have considered that I was behaving with a great deal of self-control.”

  “That is one of the more interesting things I have heard in a long while. You must have really disliked her.”

  “Sophronia was the most ruthless person, man or woman, I have ever had the misfortune to meet.”

  “I’ve heard from another source that she could be single-minded in pursuit of her cause. That it meant more to her than anything else in the world. I also heard that at one point the two of you were on the same side of the prohibition issue.”

  “We were. In fact, it was how we met. She had a passion and a dedication to causes that won one over, convinced one to embrace her view. It was exhilarating to be in her presence when she was fired up about one thing or another.”

  “It sounds like you didn’t always dislike her. Is it true that you were once engaged to be married?”

  “I don’t deny it. I was a foolish, besotted youth when I asked for her hand. When it looked like I had a bright future she was happy to plan a future with me. But when my fortunes changed with the economic collapse she suddenly found we were incompatible.”

  “My source told the story differently,” Yancey said.

  “If Sophronia is your source, she would have. The truth made her look like a shallow, grasping social climber. I expect you have heard what everyone who meets her first hears. I’m certain she would have said she became convinced that suffrage, not prohibition, was the way to solve society’s ills and that I was too narrow-minded to consider that point of view.”

  “You sound quite sure of Miss Foster Eldridge’s opinions,” Yancey said. Far more certain than Yancey was himself, considering his source of information concerning the broken engagement was Thomas Lydale, not Miss Foster Eldridge.

  “I put up with listening to them long enough that I consider myself an expert. I expect she also said I was the one who ended our engagement?”